Kitten Cupid

by Anna Wilson

I’d taken the bus to our old school enough times when Dad hadn’t been able to drive me, so I shouldn’t have been freaked out by anything. But somehow when I was one of the ‘big girls’ in our last school, I at least felt I knew where I belonged. Now, on this crowded bus full of teenagers, I felt small and shy, just as I’d feared I would.

  Jazz grabbed my hand and dragged me along behind her.

  ‘Here,’ she said. She flung her bag on to the floor and slid across to a window seat.

  I plonked myself down next to her and let out the breath I realized I’d been holding. I was sure everyone had been staring at us, checking us out when we’d boarded the bus. Oh great – I was gripped by a sudden panic – had my skirt been hitched into the back of those gross tights? I pulled madly at the fabric just as a voice screeched out:

  ‘Hey, look, guys!’ Whoever was speaking was sitting in a seat somewhere behind us. ‘It’s Jasmeena and her mate whatshername . . . Bertie. You know, they were on the telly. At least, they were in the background in that lame Pets with Whatever thing . . .’

  My heart fluttered. It hadn’t occurred to me that people I didn’t know would have watched the talent show Jaffa had won. I mean, obviously there would have been thousands of people I didn’t know watching it – we knew that from the votes that had poured in – but I hadn’t given a moment’s thought to anyone from this area actually recognizing us.

  Jazz beamed with delight and bobbed up over the top of her seat, scanning the bus to see who had shouted out her name.

  ‘Yeaaaah!’ said another voice. ‘It is her.’

  I glanced up at my best mate anxiously, but Jazz was still beaming. She caught my eye. ‘It’s Kezia,’ she said. ‘You know, Leanne’s sister? She’s in Year Nine – she might be in Fergus’s class. Hey, Kez!’ she called, waving her bangle-festooned arm.

  I slid further down my seat, cringing. I couldn’t help feeling a Year 9 would not think it was cool to be waved at like a loony by a Year 7.

  But Jazz was still grinning when she slid back down next to me. ‘This is going to be mega,’ she said, eyes shining. ‘People know who I am! People in Year Nine know who I am! Do you reckon this is what it feels like to be famous?’

  I pursed my lips. ‘Dunno.’

  ‘Hey, jasmeeeeeeena!’ someone else was calling out now. ‘Can I have your autograph?’

  Jazz popped up out of her seat again and said, laughing. ‘Autographs in the foyer after the show!’

  She was lapping it up, and all my fears of her leaving me for a cooler bunch of friends came surging back. But I was distracted out of my depressing thoughts by the welcome sight of a familiar face. Fergus was coming down the aisle, puffing and panting, his blazer falling off one shoulder. I waved and he saw me.

  ‘Hey!’ He came closer, beaming. ‘Like the hair, – it’s wild!’

  I felt myself redden. ‘Mmm, it’s a new look. I call it “The Wrong Side of the Bed Head”.’

  Fergus laughed. ‘Well, look at me – I overslept on my first day, can you believe it? I told Mum to wake me and she said she had! I must have rolled over and gone back to sleep.’

  I grinned. ‘Sounds familiar.’

  Jazz stopped posing for her fans long enough to sit down and notice Fergus. ‘Oh, hey, Fergieeeee,’ she drawled, waving her fingers at him and batting her eyelashes. ‘You going to come and sit on our laps? Hahaha!’ she laughed.

  Fergus looked sheepish. ‘Yeah, looks like I’m too late to grab a seat, doesn’t it? Can I perch on the armrest?’

  ‘Sure,’ I said.

  We chatted all the way to school, oblivious to anyone else for the rest of the journey. We were still nattering as we shuffled off the bus, the noise level around us growing as people spotted mates they hadn’t seen all holiday. Girls were shrieking at each other and waving madly, bags were flailing around dangerously, thwacking people in the arms and legs. Boys were shouting and lobbing footballs and throwing mock punches. It was a crazy crush as we inched through the crowds.

  Just as Jazz and I were fumbling our way out of the frenzy, Jazz suddenly yelped.

  ‘Ow!’ she said, turning on me accusingly. ‘Did you just poke me?’

  ‘No!’ I cried. ‘What would I do that for?’

  ‘Well, someone did,’ said Jazz grimly, scouting around for the culprit.

  I was just about to tell Jazz she must have imagined it when I felt someone push me hard between the shoulder blades, sending me careering into Jazz. As I tried to regain my footing, I heard a snigger.

  Jazz skittered to one side, looking nervously over her shoulder, and nudged me to get me to move quicker. ‘Bertieee!’ she urged. ‘Let’s get inside.’

  I pushed my way through the jostling hordes and found a space near the front door just as the bell went. I’d lost sight of Fergus. I guessed he must have made his way to the Year 9 classrooms already. I stood there, catching my breath and trying to straighten myself out. Jazz dodged her way towards me.

  ‘Listen,’ I said firmly, holding up a hand. I wanted to stop her from getting a word in edgeways first. ‘Before you have a go at me, I didn’t touch you. And actually someone just pushed me too. I think it was the same person.’

  Jazz looked steely eyed. She said with determination, ‘I know. Whoever it is had better watch out.’ And she pulled me by the arm as she followed the other Year 7s into the lower-school block.

  As we made our way through the double glass-fronted doors, I had a nasty feeling that someone was watching us.

  4

  Cold Comfort

  By the time the bell rang for the end of school my mind was whirring with new information and instructions about where to be and when and for how long. (And the homework! Homework on our very first day! Can you believe it?) It wasn’t until I flopped into a free seat on the bus and closed my eyes for a second that it occurred to me to wonder how Jaffa was doing without me. I immediately felt guilty and hoped and prayed that Bex had not forgotten the poor little cat as well.

  I scrambled in my pocket for my phone. We weren’t allowed to have our phones with us during school – we had to hand them in to the school office and collect them at the end of the day. Apparently this changed later in the year, but they had told us that ‘New pupils have enough to worry about without losing their phones, iPods and so on,’ and so they ‘looked after them’ for us until we had found our feet. This made me feel like a baby and sent Jazz into one of her huffing-and-puffing routines.

  As I turned on my phone I wondered idly where Jazz and Fergus had got to. There had been a mass exodus when the bell had gone, and Jazz and I hadn’t been in the same class for last lesson, so I had no idea which direction she’d be coming from. And I hadn’t seen Fergus at all since the morning.

  My phone beeped and flashed at me. It was a text from Fergus.

  Did you have gd day? Mine was gr8! Have joined band so L8 home. Catch u L8r?

  So Fergus was already in with the ‘musos’ (as he called anyone who was as into music as he was). I was pleased for him as I knew he’d been in a band before he had moved here. He’d told us how gutted he’d been about having to leave his old mates.

  I grinned and texted back:

  Fab about band! Gotta check on Jaffsie + got tons of h/wk GOL c u 2moro

  I sat back and stared out of the window and my phone beeped again. Maybe Jazz had found out about the band and had stayed to watch them rehearse. That’d be just like her, becoming a groupie on her first day! But it was Bex:

  Hope u had nice day. Am at yr house. Will wait for u. Bex x

  I couldn’t help feeling a bit disappointed. I had hoped Dad would be home to greet me on my first day, not Bex. Still, I supposed it was nice of her not to leave me to come home to an empty house. And it was good she’d not forgotten about checking on Jaffa.

  A Year 7 I didn’t know very well came and asked if she could sit next to me, so I reluctantly moved my bag from the seat I was saving for Jazz and got a book out to read so that I wouldn’t have to chat
all the way home.

  Bex was sitting at the kitchen table when I got in. She was flicking through a pet-supplies catalogue and sipping a mug of tea. She’d certainly made herself at home, I noted.

  ‘Hi, Bertie!’ She beamed her warm, cheery grin. ‘How was school?’

  ‘OK,’ I said. I shrugged. ‘Bit scary but I’ll get over it,’ I added hastily, seeing a concerned look cross Bex’s face. ‘Hey, where’s Jaffs?’ I scanned the room. I was pretty desperate to see my kitten and give her a cuddle.

  ‘Aaaaaah. Little Jaffsie was curled up on the sofa in the sitting room last time I looked,’ Bex said in a soppy voice, nodding towards the hall. ‘Naughty thing’s shattered, and I’m not surprised. It looked as if she’d had a house party with half the cats in the neighbourhood when I came in.’

  ‘House party?’ I asked, puzzled.

  Bex was laughing. ‘You should have seen the mess in here! Food everywhere, shredded bits of tissue paper . . . it looked like a younger version of Sparky had come to visit.’

  ‘R-right,’ I said shakily. That did not sound like my little cat at all. She had freaked out at being on her own all day, I knew it! ‘So, er, how did Jaffa seem when you got in?’ I tried to keep my voice light.

  Bex stuck out her bottom lip. ‘A bit nervy actually – but then I guess she felt guilty that she’d been caught in the act! It’s OK, I’ve cleaned it all up now.’

  ‘W-what act?’ I stammered.

  But before Bex could explain, a faint squeaking sound interrupted our conversation.

  ‘Meeeeeee!’

  I jumped. ‘What was that?’ I said.

  Bex looked confused. ‘What was what?’

  I looked around the room carefully. ‘Sounded like mewing, but it was kind of muffled. Are you sure Jaffa’s in the sitting room?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Bex. ‘I went in there to look for a pen to mark up this catalogue, and Jaffa was on the sofa. Then I came in here to make some tea.’

  ‘Meeeeeeeeewwwww!’

  ‘Listen!’ I shouted. ‘There it is again!’

  Bex shook her head. ‘Sorry, didn’t hear a thing. Why don’t you go and say hi to Jaffa?’

  I ran into the sitting room, looking around wildly. No sign of Jaffa anywhere, just a small indentation on the sofa cushion where she liked to take a nap.

  I whizzed back to Bex in the kitchen. ‘She’s not there now,’ I said anxiously.

  Bex was staring at the fridge with a bemused expression on her face.

  ‘I’m sure I heard a mew in here, you know,’ I said, casting my eyes around the kitchen. ‘Maybe she’s stuck under the cupboards; she’s done that before.’ I was getting worried now.

  ‘Jaffsie!’ I called. ‘Has something scared you? Where are you—?’ I stopped when I realized Bex was looking at me strangely. ‘What?’ I asked nervously.

  ‘Erm, well, I know this sounds odd, but I thought I heard a mew just now too, while you were in the sitting room . . .’ she said haltingly, her eyes flicking back to the fridge. ‘But – no, it couldn’t have been.’

  I gasped, one hand flying to my mouth. ‘No! You don’t think . . . ?’ I rushed to the fridge and yanked the door open so brusquely the bottles and jars in the door clanked and wobbled dangerously.

  There, on the middle shelf, her large light blue eyes peering out at me from between the yogurts and the cheese, was my naughty little kitten.

  ‘Me . . . is . . . f-f-f-f-reeeeeeezin’!’ Her teeth were chattering!

  ‘Oh, Jaffsie! What on earth possessed you to hide in the fridge?’ I cried. ‘How did you even get in there?’ I reached in, cupped the poor shivering little kitten in my hands and held her close to me.

  ‘Give her loads of cuddles!’ Bex urged. ‘Should I grab a blanket? Shall I call the ve—?’

  ‘NO!’ Jaffa jumped and I held her to me more firmly. ‘No,’ I repeated more calmly. ‘Don’t say the V-E-T word. She hates it,’ I said, realizing how stupid that must sound. I didn’t care though; I was more concerned about not upsetting Jaffa further after her ordeal. ‘I’ll just snuggle her and stroke her, and when she’s warmed up a bit I’ll give her a treat.’

  Bex peered at Jaffa anxiously. ‘OK, if you’re sure. Maybe I should check on the Internet to see if there’s any advice on caring for a freezing-cold cat?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, my eyes lighting up. That would be a great way to get rid of her so I could actually talk to Jaffa in private. ‘That would be kind of you,’ I added, smiling in what I hoped was a grateful manner. I gently nuzzled Jaffa’s gorgeous velvety fur. She had finally stopped quivering and was even starting to purr softly.

  Bex nodded and hurried upstairs to the computer. I waited until she was out of earshot and then I lowered my voice and said, ‘So are you going to tell me what’s been going on?’

  ‘Jaffsie a bit tired and sleepy now,’ she whined, avoiding my gaze.

  ‘Jaffa,’ I warned, ‘I think you should talk to me about this. Was it Bex? Did she shout at you – because of the mess she was telling me about?’

  Jaffa jerked her chin up and shot me a wounded look. ‘Me did NOT make mess!’ she mewled.

  I sighed. ‘Bex told me that when she came in it looked as though her dog had been let loose in the house! So how are you going to explain that?’

  Jaffa dropped her gaze and let out a snuffly noise that could have been her version of a sigh. ‘If Bertie don’t want to believe Jaffsie, then what can Jaffsie do?’ she said pitifully.

  I could see I was not going to get much sense out of her. Maybe she really had had a huge shock of some kind. Mind you, getting stuck in the fridge was enough of a shock in itself. . .

  I went upstairs to Dad’s study. Bex was tapping away at the computer keyboard and peering at the screen. She looked up when I coughed.

  ‘Oh, hi! Sorry, got a bit sidetracked,’ she said sheepishly. ‘Happens whenever I look up anything about animals on the Internet!’

  I grinned. ‘Know what you mean,’ I said, pulling up a spare chair and plonking myself down beside her.

  Bex was looking at a website called ‘Curiosity Killed the Cat’, which sounded a bit alarming, but as I scanned the page I was relieved to see that the real-life stories didn’t contain anything more gruesome than cats who’d got stuck in trees, sheds, other people’s garages, and so on. As it happened, there was one story of a cat who’d been shut in the fridge by mistake, and this had prompted a huge number of comments.

  ‘Badger’s quite a cool name. I’d be pretty upset if I was called “Mr Woo-woo” though,’ I sneered.

  Bex laughed. ‘People can sound crazy when it comes to their pets, can’t they?’

  I wondered if she thought I was crazy, espedaily since she’d heard me talking to Jaffa like she could understand every word I said. Which of course she could.

  Bex carried on. ‘But, hey, I’m a complete nutcase when it comes to Sparky! I love him to bits. If anything happened to upset him, I’d be right on to one of these chat rooms and I’d probably be writing five-page essays about it! Not that I can see Sparky finding it easy to hide behind the yogurts and the cheese – he’d probably scoff it all down in the blink of an eye and be left with nothing to hide behind. And I’d be left with a fridge full of freezing stuffed dog and nothing else!’

  This conjured up such a bonkers image that I dissolved into fits of giggles, which then set Bex off too. Soon the pair of us were hooting and shrieking and coming up with even more loony ideas of what Sparky would get up to.

  Perhaps having Bex around the place wasn’t so bad after all.

  5

  Freaky Goings-On

  ‘Good to see you two having fun.’

  It was Dad. I’d been having such a blast with Bex that I hadn’t heard him come in.

  ‘Oh, hi!’ I said, wiping tears of laughter from my face.

  ‘Tee-hee! Er, hi,’ said Bex coyly.

  ‘Right . . . I-I’ll just go and get on with my homework,’ I stammered, pushing the ch
air back and making for the door. ‘I’ve got shedloads of the stuff.’

  ‘Oh no, you won’t,’ Dad said, barring the way. I looked up at him and realized that he was actually looking pretty grim-faced. ‘You’re not doing anything or going anywhere until you’ve cleaned up the mess downstairs.’

  ‘What?’ Bex and I cried in unison.

  Dad folded his arms and looked at us both, head on one side in a yeah-yeah-pull-the-other-one-why-don’t-you expression. ‘So you’re telling me you have no idea how the kitchen got into the state I’ve just found it in?’ he asked.

  Bex and I looked at each other, jaws hanging open.

  We followed him downstairs, Bex filling Dad in on what she had found when she’d come in from work earlier.

  ‘Well, it looks like she’s been up to even more tricks,’ Dad said, as we walked into the kitchen, to be met by a pretty impressive replica of the scene Bex had described earlier.

  ‘Oh my word, she has done it again!’ Bex’s voice rose in disbelief.

  Jaffa was crouched on the worktop under an open cupboard door, surrounded by what could only be described as a scene of devastation: ripped-up teabags, packets of crisps and peanuts, rice, pasta and cereals were tumbling off the surface on to the floor to join other shredded items of food and packaging, and yet more bits and pieces were falling out of the cupboard, as if Jaffa had, moments before, been rummaging about in there, throwing things over her shoulder in a frenzied hunt for something to eat.

  ‘Jaffa!’ I breathed.

  ‘I have to say that whoever left the cupboard door open was a bit daft,’ Dad said. I could tell he was trying to keep a lid on his temper for Bex’s benefit.

  ‘Well, it wasn’t me,’ said Bex, turning to me. ‘And I know it wasn’t Bertie because she was with me the whole time, weren’t you?’

  I nodded. ‘That’s right,’ I said. ‘Just had a cuddle with Jaffsie to warm her up and then we went upstairs to Google something.’

  ‘Warm her up?’ Dad repeated incredulously. ‘It’s hardly the bleak midwinter out there.’