Cassie's Crush

by Fiona Foden

  Oh God. Why did she have to bring that up now? She was still sniggering, and Ollie looked confused, and I wondered what had possessed me to think I could march up to him and start chatting and be his friend. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Amber,” I said with as much dignity as I could muster. Then I folded my left arm over my left side and walked away as fast as I could to find Marcia and Evie.

  The three of us went out for a baguette at lunchtime. “The Leech ruined everything,” I told them as we squished on to a bench in the high street. “She was going on about things coming in different sizes.” I prodded my left side, where I’d stuffed a bit of loo roll into my bra. Our school uses horrible cheap stuff so it was really scratchy. I was worried it’d make a rustly noise if I moved the wrong way.

  “Who cares about her?” Marcia retorted. “She’s such an airhead.”

  “Anyway,” Evie cut in, “never mind the Leech. What about Ollie?”

  “What about him?” I asked glumly.

  “Well, if you like him that much, you should ask him out or something…”

  “I couldn’t do that!” I exclaimed.

  “Why not?” Evie asked with a shrug. “You’re making it pretty obvious anyway. You were staring at him all through English…”

  “And registration,” Marcia pointed out.

  “I was not staring!”

  “OK. Not staring,” Evie agreed. “Just drooling, then.” A bit of bread shot out of Marcia’s mouth and on to the pavement as she burst out laughing.

  “I was not drooling,” I spluttered.

  “Right,” Marcia said. “What did we do in English, then?”

  “Um, er…”

  “Got memory loss?” Evie asked.

  “I was … daydreaming. I just haven’t clicked back into school yet after the holidays.”

  “Pffff,” Evie sniggered, taking a gigantic chomp off the end of her baguette. “Can’t imagine what you were daydreaming about.”

  “Just stuff,” I said, which sent us all into hysterics. I felt better already, just being out of school with Marcia and Evie, who have the knack of making me see the funny side of things. And Ollie did smile at me – in registration and in the playing field. The thought of those smiles hovered about in my mind for the rest of the day.

  How has Ollie managed to become so popular in just one day? I’ve lived in Tarmouth all my life and don’t have people gathered around me, all chatting and asking questions, like he does. Half the time it was the Leech, Jade, Natasha and the rest of her hangers-on. Then it was Sam, Joey, and a few other boys, so it looks like he’s got a group of mates already. I couldn’t bring myself to talk to him with so many people around.

  Then, first period after lunch, I spotted him wandering along looking a little bit lost in the corridor. “Hi,” I said as we passed. I also flashed a huge, friendly smile, which I hoped made him realize that if he needed any help settling in, I mean anything at all, then I was the girl to do it. I also hoped to God there wasn’t any lunch stuck to my teeth.

  “Hi,” he said. Then he paused and looked at me with those melty brown eyes, which was hotly embarrassing because I didn’t know what to say next.

  “Um, Carrie…” Ollie fished out a crumpled timetable from his trouser pocket.

  “Cassie,” I corrected him. “My name’s Cassie.”

  “Oh. Right. Sorry.”

  “S’OK,” I said with a shrug, as if I was used to being called the wrong name and it didn’t bother me at all.

  He frowned at his timetable. “D’you know where Mr Snow’s class is?”

  “Yeah,” I said, but as I started to tell him my mind went kind of … empty. It was as if all the little cogs in my brain had suddenly stopped working. “Er, Mr Snow…” I mumbled over the thumping of my heart.

  “French,” Ollie said, giving me a strange look. I had my left arm clamped over the left side of my body to disguise my “unusual” shape.

  “Oh yeah,” I said with a loud, stupid laugh. “You’re in Mr Snow’s class, are you? I get Miss Hitchin for French. Mr Snow’s stricter but he’ll be fine with you, seeing as you’re new…”

  “Er, right,” he said with a grin. Shut up, Cassie. Shut up. “So where’s his class?” he prompted me.

  “Oh, um … go along to the end, turn left, and I think his room’s, er, second on the…”

  “Have you hurt your arm?” Ollie interrupted.

  “What? No. Why?” I kept it bent and stuck to my body. The loo paper had got too scratchy so I was going about unpadded.

  “It’s just, you’re holding it like this…” He copied my odd pose.

  “I’m fine. It’s just kinda … achy.” I winced and gave the elbow area a little rub with my other hand.

  “Why?” Ollie frowned.

  “Um … I’m not sure. Growing pains, I think. That’s what my dad said.”

  “Can you get those in your elbow?”

  “Yeah.” I nodded firmly. “I’m sure you can. It’s all to do with the, er … joint. And the bones.” Shut your great big idiot mouth, Cassie Malone, before he thinks you’re insane.

  “Is it?” His lips twitched a bit.

  “Uh-huh. Everything grows too quickly, faster than the bones can keep up, so you get these pains in the, er…” I tailed off and blinked down at my shoes. What was I on about, pretending to be some kind of bone expert?

  “Don’t you have classes, you two?” barked Miss Rashley, marching towards us with her nostrils flaring and a furious scowl on her face.

  “Just going,” I gabbled, hurrying away, relieved that she’d got me out of the bone conversation. And at least we’d talked, me and Ollie. Take that, push-up-bra-Leech. She might have simpered all over him with her fluttery eyes and flicky hair, but he seemed genuinely worried about my elbow. Which must mean…

  Actually, I don’t know what it means. But I’m going to have to sort out the boob situation urgently.

  Normally I’m ready for school in about six minutes. Today, though, I tried to do my hair so it wasn’t so wild and messy-looking (my shoulder-length muddy-coloured hair has a mind of its own) and wondered if maybe one day I might persuade Mum to buy me some straighteners.

  “What are you doing in there?” she yelled through the locked bathroom door, while I rummaged through our cupboard for something to make my hair lie flat. Dad’s anti-baldie lotion stuff was sitting there on the shelf, and I was so tempted to slap a bit on my boob to see if it might speed up its growth.

  “Cassie!” Mum shouted again.

  “She’s beautifying,” chuckled my big brother Ned from the landing. “She’s transforming herself into a vision of loveliness.”

  “How long will that take?” Mum retorted in response.

  “Years,” I growled, wishing we had a proper second bathroom – an en suite like Marcia’s – instead of just one for our whole family. How are five people meant to manage with just one bathroom? We do have a broken old toilet in the horrible stinking shed at the bottom of our garden, but I doubt if anyone’s used it since Victorian times. You’d probably get some kind of bum disease if you sat on that loo.

  Later, at school, I heard the Leech saying to Jade, “Looks like Cassie’s actually tried to do her hair today, ha ha!”

  “Yeah,” Jade said. “Wonder why?”

  They both burst out laughing, then the Leech said, “C’mon, let’s ask her for some styling tips.”

  I bolted away down the corridor before they could get me, wishing I wasn’t such a coward. Perhaps combing through conditioner and leaving it in wasn’t such a great idea, even though I’d read it as a beauty tip in one of Marcia’s magazines. Ollie smiled at me, though, in history. He either didn’t notice my peculiar lank hair, or is too in awe of my sparkling personality to care what I look like.

  Big sis Beth was whisked off at seven thirty a
.m. by her boyfriend Henry to some posh family do miles and miles away. I can’t stand Henry. He drenches himself in so much aftershave it’s a wonder he manages to breathe in any oxygen. And Beth’s not much better. She’s just turned eighteen and is meant to be on a gap year, which I’d assumed meant doing exciting stuff like trekking through India or swimming with dolphins, but all she seems to do is paint her nails and drool over Henry. As soon as they’d left, I snuck into her room to nick some of her baby-soft tissues. I stuffed a whole wodge of them into the left cup of my bra and was quite pleased with the natural-looking result. But when I glanced down in morning break, the tissue clump had worked its way down to my stomach. Now it looked like I had some kind of horrible growth.

  Left boob still hasn’t grown. No wonder I’m feeling so unbalanced.

  No chance to talk to Ollie this morning because there was a swarm of people buzzing around him at break. I’m glad he’s hanging out with Sam and Joey, though. They’re pretty friendly and like a laugh, which might make getting to know Ollie a bit easier.

  The three of them were hanging about outside the chippy at lunchtime. They were chatting, probably about London and how it compares to living in such a boring place like Tarmouth, where even the pier fell into the sea because it couldn’t be bothered with the place any more. Me and Evie had walked past the chippy queue when someone shouted, “Hey, Cassie!”

  I whirled around to see who it was. Sam was grinning at me and holding out his bag of chips. “Want one?” he asked.

  “Thanks,” I said, going back to take one from his bag.

  Ollie was watching me. I was trying to focus on Sam because I knew if I even glanced at Ollie, I’d go bright red and not be able to speak normally. “Growing pains any better?” Ollie asked with a smirk.

  “Oh, yeah, thanks,” I mumbled to the ground.

  “Have you been ill or something?” Sam asked, looking concerned.

  “No, no,” I said quickly. “It’s just … just some pains I was having the other day.”

  I’d told Evie all about the growing pains incident, and she was giggling as we walked away from the boys. “Maybe you should see a doctor, Cassie,” she teased. “Those pains of yours sound serious.”

  After school, I phoned Mum and said I was going to Marcia’s. She sounded annoyed. “I’ve got a few jobs for you, Cassie,” she said, which made me even gladder that Marcia had asked me over (even though Marcia’s mum can be a bit scary and never seems exactly delighted whenever I go round). Me and Marcia had dinner in their huge, incredibly tidy kitchen, with her mum banging cups and things in the background. We had steak and a big salad, like in a restaurant, and Marcia’s mum made fresh drinks from real oranges in the kind of machine you normally only get in juice bars. No wonder Marcia’s developing properly. She gets all the vitamins her body needs.

  It was a relief to get away from her mum and escape to Marcia’s room. “Think Ollie will end up going out with the Leech?” I asked as we lounged on her huge double bed with its vast assortment of posh velvet cushions.

  “Are you insane?” she exclaimed. “Of course he won’t, Cass. Why would he go out with a total airhead with sticky-out boobs who talks in an ickle girlie voice?” When Marcia says stuff like this, she always sounds so confident and absolutely sure that she’s right. And she’s great at imitating the Leech.

  “Well,” I said, “she usually gets what she wants, doesn’t she?”

  “She’s a spoiled brat,” Marcia declared, “and all she cares about is what she looks like. D’you really think he’d like someone as shallow as that?”

  “Yes, but…” I tailed off and tried to take in what she’d said. Marcia’s right, I thought as I ran home later. Why would a gorgeous London boy want a bubble-head girlfriend when he could go out with someone like me – i.e., someone who actually has a brain and opinions? Actually, I could think of a million reasons. But I tried to squash them all out of my head.

  Mum came up just after nine a.m. and found me lying on my bed, plotting ways to have the Leech sent away to another continent. “Here you are,” she said, like she’d spent hours searching all over for me. “Get up, Cassie! There’s stuff to do. I need you to help me clean out the van.”

  “But I’ve got homework,” I said, leaping off my bed and scrabbling in my bag for my English jotter.

  “You’ve got all weekend for that,” she said, as if my schoolwork – my whole future – didn’t matter one bit. She made my lazy old brother help too, forcing him off the sofa and snatching his life-support device (the TV remote) off him. It was weird, seeing Ned without it gripped in his hand. Like part of his body was missing.

  Princess Beth wasn’t made to help as her enormous brain was far too busy with important matters like deciding whether to go for the pearly lilac or turquoise nail polish. She actually said she had a pounding headache and earache, then stood there, gloating, at the top of the stairs (not looking remotely ill) while me and Ned were shoved out into the drizzle by Mum. It’s not fair. Beth is treated like royalty around here, just because she’s the eldest. Mum doesn’t expect Dad to help much either, but that’s probably because he works really long hours at the Jolly Jam Company. I used to love going to the factory occasionally with Dad, and getting to wear a little blue hair net. Although I’d still like to go, I’d feel a bit silly asking now.

  So there we were, me and Ned in full view of the public, scrubbing and hosing the outside of the van. That would be OK-ish if it were a normal van. But it’s not normal. It’s bright pink, with Posh Pooches painted on the side and a big picture of a grinning poodle. When she decided to start a dog-grooming business, Mum reckoned Posh Pooches was the best name ever. My (much better) suggestions “lacked pizzazz”, as she put it. I suggested:

  No Barking. I imagined something like a No Parking sign but of a dog crossed out. Mum said that was stupid, as it sounded as if she didn’t allow dogs in her dog-grooming van, and did I think that would be good for business? I said I wasn’t thinking in a business way. I was thinking creatively.

  Simply the Pets. This started her singing “Simply the Best” and dancing madly, so I regretted even suggesting it. Dad just kept sniggering and shaking his head, then went back to reading the sports pages of the newspaper. No one complains about him “lacking pizzazz”.

  It took me and Ned two hours to scrub out the van. At least Ned had brought out the inflatable mallet he won at a fair, and kept bopping me on the head to make me work harder (a sixteen-year-old boy should be too old for blow-up mallets, really, but I love it that Ned’s such an idiot). Mum just stood there barking instructions, chatting to her best friend Suzie and waving her cigarette about. And Beth had a totally stressful afternoon lying on the sofa while pushing back her cuticles with a little wooden stick.

  Went swimming with Marcia and just had to brazen out the boob thing in the pool. While I can camouflage it with bra-stuffing and fifty layers of thick clothes, I couldn’t stuff my costume with tissue as it’d have gone all soggy and floated out in little flakes.

  Stalking Paul was in the pool and kept staring and grinning at me. “My God, the boy’s in love,” Marcia kept saying, digging me in the ribs.

  “Lucky me,” I groaned.

  “He adores you! Look, he can’t take his eyes off you.” I had to hold my nose and duck under the water, just to escape his creepy staring for a few seconds. And when I came up, gasping for air, he was still grinning at me. The tragic thing is, Paul’s the only boy in the entire world who’s ever really shown any interest in me. And when I say “shown interest”, I mean he’s always there, hovering, with a slimy little smile on his face.

  Thankfully, Sam and Joey turned up at the pool, and Paul started showing off the great dives he can do (belly flops, more like). Most of the boys either tease or ignore him, so he was probably chuffed to bits when Sam said, “Er, well done, Paul, but you don’t really have to show me again. I kind o
f get the picture.” Me and Marcia had a Coke and crisps with Sam and Joey, and then it started pouring so I called Dad and asked if he’d pick us up, because no one else’s parents would do it. He’s nice like that. Mum would say she was far too busy and ask what was wrong with my legs (or the bus), but Dad turned up fifteen minutes later in his rattly little car with a smile on his face, and didn’t complain about dropping off Joey, Sam and Marcia in all different parts of town. I just wish our car didn’t whiff of cheese. The smell’s been there for weeks, and every time we get in the car it’s a little bit worse. Although Sam wrinkled his nose, everyone was too polite to ask why, and Dad hasn’t been able to figure out why either.

  I sat up late in bed, using Ned’s laptop to Google ways to make my left boob catch up with the right one. Here’s what I learned:

  1.It’s normal for bodies to be asymmetrical and almost everyone has different-sized hands and feet. Who cares about hands and feet? You can disguise them in shoes and gloves. But there’s going to come a point – like this summer, on the beach – when everyone’ll notice my tiddly fried-egg boob compared to the normal one. Will I have to wear a jumper all year?

  2.As my right boob is bigger, that’s probably my dominant side. Well, that’s just fascinating. Congratulations, right side.

  3.It will “probably” even out “eventually”. This is as reassuring as Dad saying he’ll “probably” find out why our car smells of cheese “eventually”.

  4.I am obviously a freak.

  I was all fired up to be friendly to Ollie when the Leech came strutting over in her stupid peep-toe boots and MADE HIM GIVE HER A PIGGYBACK!!! He was laughing, which either means he liked doing it, or was just trying being nice and humouring her, which means he’s a lovely person as well as being the cutest boy ever in Tarmouth. Sigh. I’m now convinced that Ollie’s never going to be interested in an unsymmetrical girl who spends most of her spare time working for her mum for no money (i.e. slavery).