Rebecca Rocks E-Book

Anna Carey

• Herausgeber: The O'Brien Press
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2013

Seitenzahl: 262

Beschreibung

My name is Rebecca Rafferty, and I know that this is going to be the best summer ever. Well, maybe. On the plus side, holidays mean no school for three months. And my band Hey Dollface are going to a cool summer camp where we will (hopefully) learn how to become total rock stars. Which is all good, obviously. But there are problems too. There are summer exams, a band of mean boys out to spoil our fun, my friend Cass's love life is complicated and my own love life just doesn't really exist at all ... The third installment of the award-winning series about Rebecca Rafferty.

Leseprobe

Reviews

PRAISE FORTHE REAL REBECCA

‘Our new Book of the Week is The Real Rebecca by Anna Carey, a great new voice and definite Princess of Teen.’

Books for Keeps

‘I laughed and squirmed my way through The Real Rebecca, the sparkling and spookily accurate diary of a Dublin teenager. It’s stonkingly good and I haven’t laughed so much since reading Louise Rennison. Teenage girls (and grown-up teens) will love Rebecca to bits!’

Sarah Webb, author of the Ask Amy Green books

‘This book is fantastic! Rebecca is sweet, funny and down-to-earth, and I adored her friends, her quirky parents, her changeable but ultimately loving older sister and the swoonworthy Paperboy.’

Chicklish Blog

‘What is it like inside the mind of a teenage girl? It’s a strange, confused and frustrated place, as Anna Carey’s first novel The Real Rebecca makes clear … A laugh-out-loud story of a fourteen-year-old girl, Rebecca Rafferty.’

Hot Press

‘The story rattles along at a glorious rate − with plenty of witty asides. Rebecca herself is a thoroughly likeable heroine − angsty and mixed-up but warm-hearted and feisty.’

Books Ireland

‘Carey’s teen voice is spot-on …’

Irish Independent

PRAISE FORREBECCA’S RULES

‘A gorgeous book! … so funny, sweet, bright. I loved it.’

Marian Keyes

‘Amusing from the first page … better than Adrian Mole! … highly recommended.’

lovereading4kids.co.uk

‘The teen voice is spot on. Carey captures the excitement, camaraderie and tensions brilliantly.’

Books for Keeps

‘John Kowalski is an inspired creation.’

Irish Independent

‘Sure to be a favourite with fans of authors such as Sarah Webb and Judi Curtin.’

Children’s Books Ireland’s Recommended Reads 2012

To Helen, without whom Rebecca would (probably) never have existed at all

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Thanks to everyone at the O’Brien Press, especially Clare Kelly, Brenda Boyne and, of course, my patient editor Susan Houlden; Chris Judge for another fantastic cover; Sarah Webb and Sarra Manning for their continued support; the lovely Marian Keyes for her much-appreciated kind words; the extended Carey and Freyne families, especially Lisa and Eli, aka the Meeper, who cheered me greatly when I was writing this book; everyone on Twitter who distracted, cheered and amused me while I wrote; Maria Doyle Kennedy, Rebecca Moses and Dara Higgins for their excellent band name suggestions; and, of course, my husband Patrick Freyne, who always made me laugh when I was in the creative doldrums. And a very special thank you to Michael Barron and Gerard Roe who do such amazing work at BelongTo, and to all the smart, hilarious Ladybirds who shared their stories with me. If I got anything wrong, it’s my fault. I hope they like the book.

Contents

ReviewsTitle PageDedicationAcknowledgementsWeek 1Week 2Week 3Week 4Week 5Week 6Week 7Week 8Week 9About the AuthorCopyrightOther Books

Week 1

I’m not meant to be writing this.

I’m meant to be studying, because our summer tests are in just three weeks, and my mother has locked me in my room and forced me to do maths and geography for an hour. Well, okay, she hasn’t literally locked me in my room. But this is probably only because my room doesn’t actually have a lock. I wish it did, though, then I could lock her out. She keeps peering in and making sure I’m studying. And she says reading non-school books doesn’t count, even though I tried to tell her that all reading is the study of literature and that I was learning about LIFE and art, but she didn’t care. She knows there’s no chance I could be on the Internet or the phone because I don’t have a computer of my own and she has taken my phone away and locked it in her study! Not that it would be much use, I have no credit on it anyway.

But still, Cass or Alice might ring me. Although they probably won’t; their parents have got all strict about studying and homework too, so I bet they’re locked (not literally) in their rooms as well. Recently all our parents have started saying annoying things like: ‘You’ve got up to an awful lot over this school year, but school still has to come first!’ Cass’s mum even started hinting that if she doesn’t do well in the summer tests, she might have to go to a special summer school where she would have non-stop maths grinds. This is a terrible prospect for poor old Cass and, on a selfish note, would totally spoil all our big summer plans.

Our parents are right about some things, though. Not about possibly forcing Cass to go to summer maths classes, of course, but it’s true, a lot did happen this year. Nothing really happened at all when we were in First Year, apart from the time Ellie fell into the lake on the school tour to Glendalough, of course, but our second year at St Dominic’s has been surprisingly dramatic. I mean, first my mum wrote that terrible book and everyone thought it was about me, and then I met Paperboy, the nicest boy in the world, and then me and Cass and Alice started our band, and then Paperboy moved to Canada and I was a miserable hollow shell of a girl for months and months.

All that on its own would have been eventful enough − much more eventful than all of First Year – but then we had to go to crazy Vanessa’s giant birthday party and Alice had her accident so the band had to go on hiatus. And THEN we were in the school musical and I met John Kowalski and went temporarily insane for a few weeks (it is the only explanation for the fact that I thought he was a decent human being). And then we did the musical. And since then we have been doing band practices and planning for the greatest musical summer ever.

I have to admit that from the outside it might look as if we have not had much time for studying and all that. But that would be very unfair. My parents have clearly forgotten that when I was rehearsing for the greatest school production of Mary Poppins ever, they were obsessed with my homework and kept forcing me to stay at home and study practically every non-rehearsal night and at the weekends too. And when I was all miserable about Paperboy going to Canada, I sometimes ended up just doing my homework by accident because after a while anything was better than staring out the window for hours wondering why he hadn’t mailed me in ten days. So, actually, all our extra-curricular activities haven’t made any difference to my school work at all.

Of course, there’s no point in telling my parents any of this because they never listen to me. This is because they’re totally obsessed with their latest plan to humiliate me in front of the world. But I can’t bear to write about that now, it’s too terrible.

Oh no, I can hear Mum coming up the stairs to check on me AGAIN. Better go.

I can’t wait for these stupid summer tests to be over. I keep dreaming of being able to just lie around and read and not have to think about maths or Irish. I actually can’t remember what it was like not having to study all the time. It’s like having school twenty-four hours a day. Speaking of which, actual school is even worse than ever, because all our teachers are acting like we’re doing our Leaving Cert rather than our second-year summer exams, which, let’s face it, are not going to make any difference to our lives whatsoever. I think some of them are still annoyed with us musical people for spending so much time on Mary Poppins. Miss Kelly can’t stop going on about it in geography class (when she’s not telling us about environmental disasters, her favourite subject).

‘Now, some of you may have been too busy singing and dancing to notice,’ she said this afternoon after going on about climate-related crop failure for what seemed like about ten years, ‘but we did actually cover this subject a few months ago.’

Even Mrs Harrington has started to have little digs at us in English class, and she was quite enthusiastic about the whole musical thing when we were doing it.

‘I know some of you have had lots of fun and games this year,’ she said, ‘but we need to get down to work now and make up for all that lost time!’

I don’t know what they’re talking about – it’s not like we got out of lessons when we were doing the musical. Apart from the day of the actual show, but even that was just for a few hours.

‘I think doing the musical should count as an exam,’ said Cass when we were walking home. ‘Or even two exams. I mean, we worked really hard on something and it turned out brilliantly. And we learned loads. Like, I learned how to make sets, and you learned lots of songs and how to perform them, and we all learned how to put on a big show. I think we should get off at least one exam for having done all that.’

I think she is right. But unfortunately neither our school nor our parents agree on the importance of all our hard work. Which is pretty hypocritical of my parents, because now they’re off doing a musical of their own, and they make such a fuss about it you’d think they were taking part in a big Broadway spectacular rather than something that’s going to be put on in a school hall down the road. Yes, my own musical adventures reminded them of the time they took part in some crazy college production of The Pirates of Penzance, and they went off and found a local musical society to join. So now they are both going to star in a production of Oliver!, which I hope I can get out of going to see because the last thing I need, after the year I’ve had, is being forced to watch my parents dressed in Victorian outfits singing about food glorious food. But I bet I’ll end up going whether I like it or not, and, knowing my luck, someone from my class like Karen Rodgers will be there too, and I’ll never hear the end of it. This may seem unlikely, but after all the embarrassing things my parents have got up to this year, it wouldn’t surprise me if half my class just happened to go and see them parading about on stage in top hats. It’s like they spend their entire lives working out new ways to be embarrassing.

The only good thing about this musical business is that in a few minutes they will both be leaving the house to go to a rehearsal, so I am going to take a break from my labours and go and watch telly until they come back singing about picking a pocket or two or some such nonsense.

I was settled in front of the telly when Rachel came in and said, ‘Aren’t you meant to be studying?’ in her most irritating big sister voice.

‘Aren’t you?’ I said.

She glared at me. ‘Mum and Dad told me to keep an eye on you, so that’s what I’m doing.’

‘Well, now you’ve seen me,’ I said. ‘Oh, come on, Rachel, I’m allowed to take breaks.’

Rachel sighed and stopped looking so grown up.

‘I suppose so,’ she said. ‘Shove over.’

And then she slumped down next to me on the couch, and we spent a very relaxing hour watching Laurel Canyon until we heard the car in the drive.

‘Quick, turn it off!’ said Rachel, and we both sprang off the couch and ran into the kitchen where Rachel quickly put the kettle on.

‘Hello, girls,’ said Mum when she came in. ‘What are you up to? Haven’t you been studying?’

Honestly! She doesn’t trust us at all.

‘We’re not up to anything,’ said Rachel. ‘I’m just making me and Bex some nice herbal tea to soothe our nerves after all our hard work.’

‘Really,’ said Mum. She didn’t sound very convinced.

‘How was the rehearsal?’ I said. Which, if I say so myself, was a brilliant thing to say, because of course they immediately forgot about our studies and started going on about how well everything is going in their ridiculous production, despite the fact that they are not the stars of the show. Even though it’s twenty-five years since they were last in a musical and they are the newest members of the musical society, I think they are both secretly disappointed they didn’t get huge parts. They’re just in the chorus, though Dad is also understudying the Beadle, the man who runs the workhouse where poor little Oliver lives. Mum isn’t even understudying anyone, but, as I pointed out to her, there aren’t really very many parts in Oliver! for older ladies. She didn’t seem very comforted by this, though.

Anyway, they blathered about the musical for a while and got so enthusiastic that they forgot to lecture me and Rachel about studying. They even let us watch some telly, as though we were just normal girls and not studying slaves. So actually it was quite a nice evening in the end.

Oh dear. I had forgotten that in a moment of what I can only describe as insanity I told Mrs Harrington that my mum was going to name a character in her next book after her. I just did it out of guilt because Mrs Harrington had really wanted to meet Mum, and I’d managed to arrange it so their paths didn’t cross, so I told Mrs Harrington a total lie to cheer her up. I know it was stupid but it somehow seemed like a good idea at the time. Like I said, it was a moment of insanity.

Anyway, I hoped she’d forgotten about it because she hasn’t mentioned it in weeks, but of course she hasn’t, as she proved when she pounced on me today. Luckily she waited until our English class was over and we were all going off to lunch so none of my classmates witnessed it all.

‘Now, Rebecca,’ she said. ‘I know it’s a bit cheeky, but I was wondering if you know what sort of character your mammy has named after me in her new book? Gerard and I are so excited. He thinks it’ll probably be a teacher, like me, but I have a feeling it’s going to be a nurse. Or the heroine’s mother.’

Good lord. She has been thinking about this far too much. As has Gerard, apparently. Gerard is her husband who is just as much of a crazed fan of my mother as his wife. Although in fairness you’d never guess if you met him, he seems quite normal.

I managed to get out of it by saying, ‘Oh, Mum never tells us details about her books until they’re finished,’ which was another total lie. But I know I’m only putting off the terrible day when she eventually picks up my mum’s new book and realises there’s no Mrs Harrington in it. Or whatever her first name is. She did tell me at one stage, ‘so you can tell your mammy’, but I’ve forgotten. Was it Eileen? I have a feeling it was Eileen.

Anyway, I told Cass and Alice at lunch, but they weren’t as sympathetic as I’d hoped.

‘Why on earth did you say it in the first place?’ said Cass. ‘It’s not as if she even suggested your mum put her in a book! It was all your idea!’

‘I don’t know why!’ I said miserably. ‘I just felt guilty because she was so disappointed when my mum didn’t turn up that night. Although I don’t know why I felt bad for her, considering how much she’s tormented me all year going on about how she loves my “mammy’s lovely books”.’ (I did what I think was quite a good impression of Mrs Harrington for that last bit.)

‘Maybe you could persuade your mum to actually put Mrs Harrington into the book?’ suggested Alice.

‘But then I’d have to tell Mum that I lied to Mrs Harrington,’ I said. ‘She won’t be very happy if she thinks I’ve been going around telling people they can be in the next Rosie Carberry book.’

‘Don’t worry, you’ll figure something out,’ said Cass cheerfully, which was a bit callous, I thought. She could have shown a bit more concern for my plight. ‘Now, let’s talk about a bigger issue – the future of Hey Dollface. We need to sort out our summer plans. Like regular practices.’

‘I wish we could have regular practices,’ said Alice sadly. ‘If only I lived nearer town.’

We practise out in Alice’s place, because there are all these barns and old stables and things next to the house. The thing is, the only reason they have all that space is because they live in the middle of the countryside near Kinsealy, and it’s hard for me and Cass to get out there. There’s a bus that comes about once every two weeks (well, that’s what it feels like if you miss it), and even if you get it, the bus stop is about twenty minutes’ walk from Alice’s house. So basically we have to rely on getting lifts, which doesn’t suit any of our parents, and will suit them even less once the holidays start and we want to go out there during the week when they’re all at work.

Of course, my mum works at home, so technically she could easily take a break and give me and Cass a lift, but she gets very annoyed if you suggest that working from home is in any way different from working in an office. Over the Easter holidays I tried to get her to take us out to Kinsealy, and she acted like I’d interrupted her while she was in the middle of doing some brain surgery.

‘I’m at work, Rebecca!’ she said when I knocked on the door of her study. ‘Would you go in to your dad if he was at work giving a lecture and ask him for a lift?’

I was just about to say, ‘Well, Dad wouldn’t be wearing pyjama bottoms at work and you are.’ But I didn’t because I knew it would increase her wrath.

Anyway, we are trying to think of ways to get around the lift/bus issue but it’s not looking good.

‘Maybe we could get a rehearsal space somewhere in town?’ said Cass. ‘Liz says that her big sister’s band rent a place on Parnell Square. It’s a bit ramshackle, and the loo doesn’t work very well, but it’s okay.’ Liz is in a band called Bad Monkey who we met at the Battle of the Bands, and she and Cass have become good friends.

‘But that costs money,’ I said. ‘And isn’t Liz’s sister in college? I mean, I don’t think our parents would give us the cash to just go to some manky old studio somewhere.’

‘You’re probably right,’ admitted Cass. ‘Oh well. We’ll just have to get really good at timing the buses.’

She’s right, we can manage it. It’s not the end of the world if we have to keep on practising at Alice’s place. It’s just that it would be good to be able to practise more often. Imagine if we could practise every day! We’d be, like, professional quality musicians by the end of the summer.

I am studying again! Well, obviously I’m not, I’m writing this, but I’m meant to be studying. The problem is that I have now read so much about the Reformation my eyes are starting to glaze over, so I need to take a break from my academic labours. But I will still be technically working, because I’m going to come up with a list of what we need to do to make Hey Dollface the best band in Dublin.

1. Practise loads.

We have been practising as much as possible recently, despite the difficulties of getting out to Alice’s place, because we had to make up for lost time. It’s now three months since Alice fell off a chair at Vanessa’s ridiculous birthday party and fractured her wrist. Which of course meant she couldn’t play the guitar and the band had to go on hiatus for ages and ages.

Of course, after Alice fractured her wrist, we had the whole school musical thing to occupy us, but even taking part in the greatest production of Mary Poppins ever didn’t make up for the fact that we were missing out on weeks and weeks of practising. A few months ago I thought we’d be, like, total band experts by summer. But Cass still sometimes gets the rhythms wrong in her keyboard basslines, and I still have moments when I sort of forget how to play the drums at all.

Weirdly, Alice, the one who was actually physically unable to play her instrument for weeks and weeks, makes fewer mistakes than either of us. Maybe she was just, like, saving her musical strength during all those weeks in a cast. Anyway, she is very devoted to the Hey Dollface cause and has made lots of time to practise since the cast came off, which is particularly good because she is the only one of us with a boyfriend and she doesn’t get to see him during the week. There are some people who would ditch their old friends at the weekends when a new love came along, but not Alice. She is a good friend AND a good bandmate. Of course, her boyfriend, Richard, aka Bike Boy, understands because he is in a band too. They respect each other’s work.

Sometimes I sort of wish I had a boyfriend too, but, actually, it is quite peaceful not having a distracting boy to think about. For ages I was thinking of lovely Paperboy, then he moved to Canada, and I was thinking about him in a sad way, and then I was thinking about John Kowalski from the musical, and then I realised that he was a selfish smelly fool and not worth thinking about at all. And since then there have been no boys at all. I was worried it might be a bit boring without somebody to think about and be excited about seeing. But actually it is a relief. I can think about lots of other things, like books, and the story I’ve started writing, and how we’re going to play loads of gigs this summer and become the greatest band ever. Well, you never know. As Alice said, ‘We’ve got to have ambition.’

Which brings me on to number two on our list.

2. Play gigs. Preferably loads of them.

To be honest, I thought we’d have played more gigs by now, because when we finished the musical we were sure we were going to put on a show with Bad Monkey. But by the time Alice’s wrist was better it was so near the summer tests that none of us had time to organise a gig (or, rather, our evil parents won’t let us) so it somehow hasn’t happened yet. The problem is that, as we are all under eighteen, we have to arrange an afternoon gig, and that is easier said than done. I think it’s very unfair that we can’t play gigs in the evening. Mum explained that venues don’t want to host under-eighteens nights because that means they have to close the bar and they generally make most of their profits selling booze, but I think they should be noble and sacrifice a few euro for the sake of the future of music.

But we’re going to manage to play a gig somehow. Whenever I remember the (very short) bit of the Battle of the Bands when it all seemed to come together and the crowd were all cheering and dancing, I feel all tingly and sparkling inside. It made all the annoying practising bits when I couldn’t play the drums properly worthwhile.

And, well, that’s it. I suppose it’s not really much of a list if there are only two things on it. But anyway, it’s a mission statement: practise lots, and play gigs. And maybe get, like, a manager who could sort all that out for us. Although I don’t think that’s very likely.

Right, back to my studies again. I know that in a few weeks I’ll be able to relax in the evenings and read anything I like, but that seems a very long way away right now.

God, I can’t wait until school is over and I don’t have to see anyone from that ridiculous place (apart from my actual friends) for three months. Today Miss Kelly started grilling us on where we were going on holidays.

‘I hope none of you are going to be getting in an aeroplane, girls,’ she said sternly. ‘The more people fly, the quicker all the oil runs out.’

‘Where are you going on holiday, Miss Kelly?’ said Cass, who has always been very good at distracting teachers. It is one of her main talents. She has often wondered if she could use this skill in some sort of career.

‘I’m cycling to the south of France with a group of friends,’ said Miss Kelly, proudly. ‘One hundred per cent pedal powered!’

We all stared at her.

‘But, um, what about the sea bit?’ said Cass.

‘Ah, we have to resort to a ferry from Rosslare to Cherbourg,’ admitted Miss Kelly. ‘But that’s much less environmentally damaging than getting a plane. And if I didn’t get ferries, I’d never be able to leave the country. I see it as my duty as a geographer to see the world.’

Which is fair enough, I suppose. But still, I think it’s a bit much of Miss Kelly to be giving out to us about our holiday destinations as well as giving us horrible geography exams.

I suppose it wasn’t all bad today, though. My parents deigned to let me go over to Cass’s house after school. I’m still jealous of her bedroom; it’s so much cooler than mine. I am going to have to make my parents let me do mine up this summer, it’s ridiculous having such a babyish room when I’m practically fifteen. I can even do it myself. How hard can it be to paint over some wallpaper? All I need is some paint and a ladder. And a brush, obviously.

Anyway, Cass and I lay on her bed and ate some Pringles and had deep conversations about LIFE and love.

‘You haven’t heard anything from you-know-who, have you?’ said Cass.

‘Which you-know-who?’ I said. Because I genuinely didn’t know.

‘John,’ said Cass.

‘Oh, him,’ I said crossly. Not that I was cross at Cass. Just at the thought of John. ‘No, I’d have told you if I had. I thought I saw him on Griffith Avenue the other day but it was someone else.’

‘Someone less of a stinker, probably,’ said Cass. ‘And what about …’

I knew she meant Paperboy. It doesn’t hurt so much thinking about him anymore, not like after he went to Canada and I was a hollow shell of a girl. I know he isn’t coming back, and I know we’re not getting back together, and I don’t really mind.

But there is a part of me that feels all sad whenever I think about him. Every so often I hear a song that reminds me of when we were going out or even of the time before that when I really fancied him and got all excited whenever he called to our house to collect the money for the papers. And it’s like something washes right over me and I’m back there for a second. But then I have to go back to the boring old present day. I didn’t want to go on about this too much to Cass. I do remember the days when I kept moping about Paperboy’s disappearance, and it started to drive my friends mad because I didn’t really pay attention to anything either of them said. So I told her that I’d heard from Paperboy last week and he was fine.

‘But I still feel weird when I get a mail or a message from him,’ I said. ‘And whenever anything really reminds me of him I feel a bit sad. And I really, really don’t want to know if he’s going out with someone else. Does that mean I’m still moping?’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Cass. ‘I think it would be weird if you’d, like, totally forgotten about him. And I think maybe you always feel a bit odd when you hear someone you used to go out with is going out with someone else. It doesn’t mean you’re still madly in love with him or pining after him or anything like that. It’s just normal.’

Cass may not be personally experienced in the ways of love, but she is certainly full of wisdom. Sometimes, anyway. And then we stopped talking about love and talked about ways we could earn money over the holidays in order to pay for a practice space. Cass suggested we could make sweets like fudge and sell them at farmers’ markets.

‘There’s one in Saint Anne’s Park in Raheny on Saturdays,’ she said. ‘We could take our wares there and sell them among the farmers.’

This seemed like a very good idea.

‘Ooh, yes,’ I said. ‘And we’d stand out because we’d be the youngest people there, and everyone would be really impressed. And we could call our sweet company Hey Dollface and sell the sweets at our gigs!’

‘Yes!’ said Cass. ‘And the whole thing would hardly cost anything. I mean, I bet we could get little bags or boxes in a supermarket for a euro or two. And then the ingredients wouldn’t cost very much. What do you need to make fudge?’

‘Um … I’m not sure,’ I said. ‘Sugar, probably.’

‘Vanilla essence,’ said Cass knowledgeably. ‘And … um … butter? Maybe eggs?’

And then we realised that neither of us have ever made fudge before. Or any sweets. In fact, the only sugary foodstuff I’ve ever made was a slightly soggy lemon drizzle cake over the Christmas holidays. But, as I told Cass, it was quite delicious even if it was soggy (and despite the fact I got slightly nervous whenever I turned on the electric hand mixer in case I lost control of it and it sliced my fingers off, even though Mum kept saying that wasn’t going to happen).

‘Can we actually sell soggy cake, though?’ said Cass. ‘Or whatever the fudge equivalent of soggy cake is?’

‘Well, I bet we’d get the hang of it with a little bit of practice,’ I said. I mean, how hard could it be?

I mentioned my and Cass’s plans to become artisan farmers’ market sweet makers to my mother, and she LAUGHED. She does nothing but crush my dreams.

‘I’m sorry, love,’ she said when she’d stopped laughing. ‘It’s just that I think you might need a bit more practice before you can sell sweets at that market. And possibly some sort of food production licence.’

Honestly, the way she goes on about how much she and Dad spend on me and Rachel, you’d think she’d welcome my plans to earn my own money, but no! Talent and initiative are not encouraged in this family.

My father has abandoned us! But only for a few days. He has gone off to a conference in Oxford. Dad is an academic, which in his case means he is basically a fancy history teacher, and every so often he goes off to England or New Jersey or Istanbul for conferences where he meets lots of other history teachers, and they all stand around talking about Early Modern European History, which is Dad’s supposed ‘speciality’. And what they call Early Modern European History isn’t very modern at all. It’s, like, six hundred years ago, which makes no sense. But I shouldn’t expect something to make sense if my dad, a man who once played the part of a dancing pirate on stage while wearing gold harem pants, has anything to do with it.