I Made It {an Irish Dancer one-shot}

I Made It

I Made It

When I first started dancing all those years ago, I never pictured myself where I am today. Dance had merely started off as small hobby, or initially, a time waster. Eventually, the hobby grew into something much more. It was no longer a hobby, or even a sport; nearly thirteen years later, dancing was my life. In those thirteen years, I have met hundreds of girls like me, hoping to one day hit their big break or win a huge championship. The thing is though, only very few make it far before they hit an obstacle. May it be an injury, financial trouble, or even just the stress, there is no simple path when dancing. I, myself, have overcome a few obstacles but have always found a way out. Some say I have the medals, sashes, trophies, and perpetuals to prove it, but in reality, those are just objects. Sure I have won hundreds upon thousands, but in my eyes, it is the experience and dedication I have to show. Those two things have brought me to where I am today, the 42nd World Irish Dance Championships, or in a dancer's mind, it is simply Worlds.

"Ashton, honey, wake up! We're here at the hotel finally!" my mom's soft voice rang through my ears as I cracked my eyes open, letting the sunlight seep in.

Groaning, I sat up, pulling my dark brown, wavy hair into a messy bun atop my head. As I turned to look out the window, a large building caught my eye. The building, what I am assuming to be a hotel, was a light gray stone, ranging up to around fifty stories. Surrounding the hotel was a large park, Hyde Park to be exact. They do not hold the World Irish Dance Championships just anywhere!

Simultaneously, my parents and I climbed out of our SUV, the London air practically slapping us in the face. Immediately, we were flanked by hotel staff, asking if we needed our luggage taken. Graciously accepting the assistance, my family stood and watched as two younger men quickly unloaded the bags, stacking them orderly on a gold luggage cart. Slipping in front of them, I stepped up to the trunk of the car to grab my black diamante ZUCA and matching dress bag. You could call me OCD when it comes to taking care of my dance things, but I really do not care anymore.

As we walked into the hotel, I glanced around, recognizing a few American faces, waving to a few others, and rolling my eyes at some. I could tell that a few of these girls were a bunch of little wimps just by looking at them!

Just as I was about to walk to the elevators, I felt a rough pull against my arm. Jerking around, I came glare to glare with a fellow fifteen year-old that was smirking at me.

"So I see you decided to show up this year, huh, Brees? No staying back in Washington, crying to your mummy?" the Irish, red head asked snarkily. As usual, her hair was pulled up into a perfect braided bun, somehow complimenting her crystal blue eyes and pale face. To be honest, this girl never left me alone! I mean just because she has won Worlds three times consecutively, does not give her the right to act like a brat.

Sighing, I reply just as annoyingly with a fake Irish accent, "For your information, McCay, it was not my choice to drop out last year. I, for sure, cannot plan when I break a leg, and it just so happens to be a week before Worlds. By the way, Brogan, there is something called sympathy, you should try it sometime." That is right, Brogan fights, but Ashton Brees always fights back.

Amused by the now bewildered look on Brogan's face, I simply smirk and push past the Michael Kors clad girl. She is one of "those girls," who love to flaunt money and body image. Personally, I have been compared to Brogan McCay, but the key difference is that I actually have a heart.

Now caught up with my parents, who were still in line for the elevator, I assured them everything was alright with a simple smile and wave of the hand. My parents were completely aware of how Brogan and I treat each other, but they made no motion to stop me. They could care less about the petite girl's attitude either.