Wednesday night was celebration night for Junior Cert students. Lauren McCreery joined the teen party to check for bad behaviour.
Tuesday evening: results out tomorrow
The long-awaited Junior Cert results will be out in 12 hours and the girls I talk to are giddy with excitement. The anticipation seems a lot to do with the prospect of a great night celebrating the results. All are going to an alcohol-free disco at Ruby's nightclub on Harcourt Street, Dublin.
Sarah Melville (15) explains: "Everyone's been looking forward to it for so long, we're more grateful now because we had thought all the discos would be cancelled."
Claire is looking forward to the night. She thinks her results might affect how much fun she'll have, but "will get over it", because it's "the one night everyone goes out, everyone remembers it". She adds, "Everyone hypes it up, people who've been before say it's a brilliant night."
Only one of the girls I speak to is planning to drink alcohol the following night. Katy (16) is allowed to drink in front of her parents before she goes out. She will probably drink three cans of cider her mother bought for her. Her mother prefers Katy to drink at home than on the streets. Katy says she's not going crazy, she'll drink "what she normally does". She thinks it will be the boys who will go "over-line".
Claire thinks it will be different to a usual night out: "More people absolutely locked, more kids on the street and more fights". This doesn't scare her. "The people I hang around with are not looking for a fight, we're all really close." All agree it was a good thing that the ban on Junior Cert discos didn't go ahead.
"Riots would have gone on. Bunches and bunches of teenagers looking for a fight," Claire says. But these girls had booked to go out for a meal if the ban had gone ahead.
Wednesday evening: the big night
It's 7 p.m. and the queue is forming outside Ruby's nightclub on Harcourt Street. Voices are excited, but behaviour is quite restrained. Most girls are dressed maturely in longer skirts. The boys are mostly kitted out in various shades of blue short-sleeved shirts. All 850 tickets sold out in two hours a few days ago; many without tickets hang around outside, some since 2.30 p.m., but none get in.
Inside, the dance floor is pulsating with hyper teens showing off their best dance moves to the RTÉ 9 p.m. news camera crew. One girl is giving what looks to be a lap dance to an obviously delighted young boy, while his friends whoop encouragement. Junior Cert night uncovered.
One group of excited lads tell of how they all drank on the DART on the way into town. They said they each had about five cans of beer, which they claimed a sister had bought.
Other teens I question on the dance floor also claim to have been drinking before coming in, most citing mothers as having provided the drink. What seems strange is the age of some of the youngsters in the disco. Some couldn't possibly be more than 12.
Outside it seems to be getting a bit hairy. There are about 12 gardaí trying to keep the teenagers off the road. Hungry-looking packs of boys watch the scene from across the road.
"A few lads are robbing tickets", Barry Toomey, a friend of the organiser, tells me. "About three times more people than organised came." Whenever a Luas drives by a cheer erupts from the crowd. The queue is moving very slowly. Male and female bouncers are searching the teenagers extremely thoroughly, letting no one in who looks drunk.
"They even searched my boobs," one girl shrieks.
I spot the girls I talked with the previous night. A friend of the girls has clearly been drinking and tripped going down one of the steps to the club. Yanked back by one of the bouncers, she is told she has been drinking and isn't getting in.
Denials ensue, whereby she is asked would she take a breathalyser test. She agrees, but is told she still isn't getting in. Another boy is crying; a garda is trying to console him.
"But I wasn't drinking and they won't let me in," he sobs. Damien O'Donoghue, one of the disco's organisers, later told me they don't have a breathalyser, but two medics are on site to deal with those not allowed in on suspicion of drunkenness.
Meanwhile, in Old Wesley Rugby club in Donnybrook, the queue is practically gone, save for a ticketless few who are trying to beg their way in. A few girls are being escorted out by security. Some appear drunk, some are crying; security staff are phoning their parents to have them picked up.
Inside, the heat coupled with the smell of sweat is unreal. The hall is packed; boys are break-dancing inside circles of other dancers. Boys have their shirts open; girls' bosoms heave from their tiny tops and bums battle to escape from belts (um, skirts). So intense is the heat, scant clothing suddenly seems sensible.
One group of boys claims to have been drinking in a park earlier, about seven cans of beer each, bought by one of the boys who looks 18. He also claims to have a bag of E (ecstasy), with him. Others claim to have smuggled sachets of vodka in their socks, while another says he brought a noggin of vodka in his pocket.
The next group I speak to appears sober and happy. They say none of them has had a drink tonight. Their parents dropped them off, and are picking them up at 12.
Security appears quite tight, with gardaí standing inside the gates. Insp McGonnell of Donnybrook Garda station seems pleased with how the night is going. He says he "would rather have them in a disco here, than in the streets, fields or a park".
On my way out, I notice the group I spoke to sitting outside; they say they were ejected for talking to me.
Thursday morning: the aftermath
Overall, the night appears to have gone very well; tight security at the alcohol-free venues kept trouble at bay and the girls I was in contact with enjoyed the night. Katy, who was delighted with her results, summed it up as, "a brilliant night, didn't think it would be as good". Although Claire, also happy with her grades, got "a bit bored, my feet hurt", but "everything went well, nothing happened anyone".
Some names have been changed