Ronan sighed as he bent over his Algebra homework for the third time. He
would rather sit on a burning stovetop naked for an hour than attempt to
work on this. He could never remember a time in his life when any form of
math was easy for him. His spirits sank as he gazed longingly at the
fiberglass toes of his most prized possessions: His dancing shoes. His
parents had first taught him to dance at the age of six, and he knew from
the moment he put on his first pair of reel shoes that he wanted to do this
for the rest of his life. He really wasn't showing it now. His friends had
invited him to a party in honor of St. Patrick's Day that night; he would
have been there in a heartbeat, but the Algebra homework in front of him
meant the difference between his passing and failing that class for the
grading period. He desperately wished that he hadn't put it off so long,
but he knew that wishing wouldn't make it go away, so he continued to
scribble away the numbers that now looked like a lost language.
At about two in the morning, Ronan had somehow managed to finish the homework that plagued him so, and he had sunk into bed without even changing out of his uniform. He had just settled into a doze when his roommate Justin entered the room, completely devoid of the fact that Ronan was trying to sleep. Justin clicked on the light as Ronan turned his back to him, foreseeing that he would want to tell him every detail of the party. This still did no good; Justin shook him gently and Ronan turned over, looking up at his breathless friend with a pleading look. Justin did not catch his hint.
"You're such a stick in the mud, Ronan!" Justin said, grinning. "You missed a great party! Such music.everyone was sad that you weren't there to dance for us!" Ronan rolled his eyes.
"Thanks again for being such a great friend and reminding me that I had to miss it because of Algebra," he said, standing up and going to his desk to fiddle with his old, worn-in hardshoes. "Almost makes me feel guilty.I'm still the only Irish dancer at St. Pat's."
"That was the idea, Ron," Justin said, throwing a baseball up in the air and catching it. "If I make you feel so guilty that you missed a party where a fiddle could be heard-on St. Patrick's Day, no doubt-then you won't miss the next one." Ronan couldn't help but smile.
"Thanks for that." Justin smiled and clapped him heartily on the back.
"I think you need a new pair of those things," Justin said, indicating his old hardshoe that was beginning to lose its color.
"I've known that for about two years now," Ronan replied, running his fingers over the fiberglass in the toe. "You think I would have let it stand if I had the money for a new pair?"
"There's always Christmas," Justin suggested.
"I could never bring myself to ask my parents for something so expensive," Ronan said. Justin rolled his eyes.
"I'm going to get some rest," Justin said. "Good thing you got that done, Harper would have your head if you came to class again without your homework done." Ronan sighed in relief. Justin was right.their Algebra teacher, Mr. Harper, was one of the most unpleasant men that Ronan had ever encountered. He had gray, oily hair that was always flat against his head with plenty of the foulest smelling oil that anyone could imagine. He always looked at Ronan down the length of his long, aquiline nose, and his cold, empty gray eyes were always full of malice; he loved to torture his students, especially Ronan. He never looked forward to his classes.in fact, Harper's classes were the ones that he dreaded the most.
Ronan followed Justin's example and changed into his dressing gown. Before he fell asleep, he gave one last longing look at his hardshoes, and surrendered himself to the oncoming wave of drowsiness. His eyelids closed involuntarily, and Ronan fell into a deep sleep that could have been mistaken for death.if anyone had cared.
At about two in the morning, Ronan had somehow managed to finish the homework that plagued him so, and he had sunk into bed without even changing out of his uniform. He had just settled into a doze when his roommate Justin entered the room, completely devoid of the fact that Ronan was trying to sleep. Justin clicked on the light as Ronan turned his back to him, foreseeing that he would want to tell him every detail of the party. This still did no good; Justin shook him gently and Ronan turned over, looking up at his breathless friend with a pleading look. Justin did not catch his hint.
"You're such a stick in the mud, Ronan!" Justin said, grinning. "You missed a great party! Such music.everyone was sad that you weren't there to dance for us!" Ronan rolled his eyes.
"Thanks again for being such a great friend and reminding me that I had to miss it because of Algebra," he said, standing up and going to his desk to fiddle with his old, worn-in hardshoes. "Almost makes me feel guilty.I'm still the only Irish dancer at St. Pat's."
"That was the idea, Ron," Justin said, throwing a baseball up in the air and catching it. "If I make you feel so guilty that you missed a party where a fiddle could be heard-on St. Patrick's Day, no doubt-then you won't miss the next one." Ronan couldn't help but smile.
"Thanks for that." Justin smiled and clapped him heartily on the back.
"I think you need a new pair of those things," Justin said, indicating his old hardshoe that was beginning to lose its color.
"I've known that for about two years now," Ronan replied, running his fingers over the fiberglass in the toe. "You think I would have let it stand if I had the money for a new pair?"
"There's always Christmas," Justin suggested.
"I could never bring myself to ask my parents for something so expensive," Ronan said. Justin rolled his eyes.
"I'm going to get some rest," Justin said. "Good thing you got that done, Harper would have your head if you came to class again without your homework done." Ronan sighed in relief. Justin was right.their Algebra teacher, Mr. Harper, was one of the most unpleasant men that Ronan had ever encountered. He had gray, oily hair that was always flat against his head with plenty of the foulest smelling oil that anyone could imagine. He always looked at Ronan down the length of his long, aquiline nose, and his cold, empty gray eyes were always full of malice; he loved to torture his students, especially Ronan. He never looked forward to his classes.in fact, Harper's classes were the ones that he dreaded the most.
Ronan followed Justin's example and changed into his dressing gown. Before he fell asleep, he gave one last longing look at his hardshoes, and surrendered himself to the oncoming wave of drowsiness. His eyelids closed involuntarily, and Ronan fell into a deep sleep that could have been mistaken for death.if anyone had cared.