The van was small, beat up and in need of a lick of paint and a wash. At the wheel sat Saoirse's 20-something brother, Rory, who sat casually with a head out the window, a fag in his mouth. He had one hand on the wheel and one arm out the window, soaking up the sun. He, like many Irishmen, worked in manual labour and that usually meant that his van was dusty, stanky and untidy. In the front seat beside him sat Saoirse, who looked like she had just awoken from a short sleep. Saoirse hadn't bothered with simple formalities like brushing her hair or eating breakfast this morning - she had run a toothbrush around her mouth, tossed on some old clothes and jumped into her brothers van to go to school.

'You walkin' home, aye?' asked Rory, blowing smoke out the window as he went through the suburbs at a casual speed. 'Aye' said Saoirse groggily, feeling her eyelids beginning to slip. No doubt she would sleep through most of her classes. 'Sound grunted Rory. 'You should stop sittin' up playing fuckin' TF2 all night. It fucks with your sleep, hey!' Saoirse grunted in reply and soon, they were approaching the school. A few Hispanic beano's hung out the front but everyone had more or less already gone inside. 'Fuck sakes, look at that brown bastard!' grinned Rory, watching as one of the Beano's stood up. 'Aye' murmured Saoirse, too tired to care. 'Good luck'. 'Good luck' answered Rory, unlocking the door and letting the Irish teenager out of his car. She waved nonchalantly as he pulled off with a large screech from the brakes and was around a corner in seconds. Saoirse sighed and turned to face her school, nothing better than a prison. She walked quickly towards the school doors, carefully stepping over the used needles, used condoms and used burrito's that often littered the front of American Highschools. The beano's ignored her, too busy smoking their cigarettes, reloading their guns and re-wrapping their bandanna's.

The inside of the school smelt of angst, sweat and, near the lads toilet, had a tinge of piss. Kids lined the corridors, all nervously waiting to see what classes they would be put in or talking with friends. As she walked by the noticeboard, a green poster caught her eye and she groaned. 'DIA DHUIT, CAIRDE! THE IRISH-AMERICAN CLUB IS RECRUITING! ALL IRISH KIDS WELCOME FOR DISCUSSION THIS WEEK: POTATOS, THE IRISH LANGUAGE AND HOW MUCH WE HATE THOSE FUCKIN' ORANGE BASTARDS IN THE NORTH! MEETINGS ON EVERY WEDNESDAY AND FRIDAY! TIOCFAIDH AR LA!' 

The Irish-American Club was one of the groups that annoyed Saoirse to no ends. When she had first joined the school, she had gone to the club curious to find fellow Irish people in America. To her horror, she discovered the small club was made up of just five people with vague Irish roots and the leader was a black kid called LeShawn McSean, who immediately began speaking broken Irish to her and showing her badly drawn Fanart of Eamonn De Valera killing the Queen of England. The rest were just as bad - often fat, nerdy and perverted with a habit of doing fake, horrible Irish accents that sounded rough and rugged compared to her own soft Irish tones. She had backed out of the club on the first day but had spent the rest of the year dodging LeShawn McSean who bombarded her with questions about Ireland, it's language and often made creepy comment about her accent and how she needed to dress 'more Irish'. She had hoped that the club would disband with LeShawn going to college but it seemed another group of so-called 'Irish-Americans' had popped up. She rubbed her eyes as she scanned the board, hoping a video game club had popped up. But alas, it looked like another year looked to go by without video game club. 

She sighed as she turned around and dropped her satchel onto the floor. She leaned on the wall outside the door of her first class, Maths. She was going to wait a bit before walking in. Saoirse needed to see an old friend first.