Cassie's Crush

by Fiona Foden

  “Course I can,” I muttered.

  “You’re making a right meal of that,” Mum chipped in. “Here, let me help.”

  “No, it’s OK. It’s nearly done…”

  “Can anyone smell burning?” Beth asked. I looked down and saw a small brown moon-shaped mark just below the little crocodile on the top. “Oh God!” I screamed.

  “What’s wrong, Cassie?” Mum asked.

  “I can’t believe I’ve burnt it!” I wailed, staring at the scorch mark, willing it to magically fade away to snowy white.

  “You’ve got it on too hot a setting,” Beth said smugly.

  “I can’t have.” I checked the dial, and it was on the ultra-hot cotton setting. I’d have thought a seventy-five pound top could stand that.

  “What is it, anyway?” Mum asked.

  “Just a top, OK?”

  “All right, Cassie,” Mum said sternly. “No need to be so tetchy. But you have been ironing the same bit over and over, so maybe that’s why it’s burnt. Why are you using your left hand, anyway?”

  “Um … I don’t know.”

  “D’you want to burn yourself or something?”

  “No. No, I…” What the heck could I say? “I didn’t realize,” I said, which made Beth snort and shake her head as if she couldn’t believe she has to live under the same roof as me.

  I examined the top and decided I might just get away with it (perhaps the tiny brown mark, and it really was tiny, could be the crocodile’s shadow).

  “So you turned left-handed in the night?” Mum asked, her mouth quivering with amusement.

  “Who knows?” I shrugged dramatically.

  “I’ve never heard of that happening before,” she added.

  “Never heard of what happening?” Ned slumped into the kitchen wearing only his boxers and rammed a burnt slice of toast into his mouth.

  “Turning left-handed in the night,” Mum said, which set everyone sniggering. I grabbed a carrier bag for Marcia’s mum’s top and slung my schoolbag over my shoulder. What was she on about, anyway? I have one boob bigger than the other, which shows that anything can happen in the night.

  On the way to Marcia’s, I thought about the impression Ollie’s had of me so far. And it’s not good.

  1.Weird girl prowling around him on the playing field, then Leech going on about things coming in different sizes.

  2.Encounter in corridor when a) I couldn’t remember where Mr Snow’s class was and b) I started blabbing on about growing pains in my elbow.

  3.Mysterious blue splodge on my top in art.

  I need to make him see me as a normal girl, doing normal things like a normal person. Which means hanging out where he does outside school. And THAT means getting started on Operation SOOP right away. I couldn’t wait to get to Marcia’s to discuss.

  “Thank you, Cassie,” her mum said on her doorstep, taking the carrier bag from me. Don’t open it, I prayed silently. Don’t look at that top. She didn’t open it or look at the top.

  “Thank you for lending it,” I said in my politest voice. We both stood there awkwardly. “Er, is Marcia ready?” I asked.

  “She’s already gone,” her mum said.

  “You mean she went to school without me?”

  “Looks like it, Cassie.” She pulled her lips together in a tight line.

  “Oh,” I said, feeling hurt. Had I upset her or something? Was she sick of me going on about Ollie all the time?

  I stormed onwards to Evie’s and banged on her door really hard. “What’s up with you?” she asked, flinging the door open.

  “Nothing,” I growled. “It’s just, Marcia didn’t wait for me.”

  “Yes I did,” Marcia announced, jumping out from behind Evie and grinning. “I’ve been waiting for you here.”

  This was completely bizarre. “Why didn’t you wait at yours?” I asked. “Like you have every day for about three years?”

  “Er … Mum made me go early. Said she’s sick of me dilly-dallying and being late.” Marcia blushed and gave me an apologetic look. We both knew what her mum was really up to – and anyway, Marcia’s never late. Her mum just doesn’t want Marcia hanging out with someone who sneaks into their house at lunchtime, borrows expensive sportswear without asking, then returns it one day late.

  “Don’t worry, Cass,” Marcia said, as if she could read my mind. “She’ll soon get over it and everything’ll be fine.”

  Not when she sees that burn mark, I thought.

  School was pretty stressy, mainly because of my new left-handed state. Apart from writing, which was bad enough, I’d never realized how many times you automatically use your right hand to do ordinary things. I was determined to keep it up, though, to maximally develop my left side.

  Every time I saw Ollie, he was either mucking about with Sam, or had the Leech buzzing around him like a wasp. He fancies her. He must do. It’s pathetic, the way she flicks her shiny hair and goes all giggly around boys, but they seem to like it. Any time they were together, Ollie had this big grin on his face, showing his perfect white teeth. He didn’t look at me once. I felt all limp and miserable.

  After lunch, in science, Stalking Paul sidled over to me. “Still going out with that, uh … person, Cassie?” he asked.

  “Er, yeah,” I mumbled as quietly as I could. I didn’t want Ollie overhearing, just in case he does like me but might be put off if he thinks I have a boyfriend.

  “Who is it?” Paul asked. I was horribly aware of Ollie listening at the next table.

  “You don’t know him,” I whispered.

  “Why are you whispering?” Paul asked.

  “Because we’re not meant to be talking.” I motioned over to Miss Bull, who kept glancing over at me.

  “What’s he like?”

  Did he want a complete description or what? “He’s just … nice, y’know?” In case Ollie could hear, I wanted it to sound like a totally non-serious casual thing. But at the same time I wanted Paul to think I was too busy with this non-serious-casual thing to go out with him. Considering the boy doesn’t even exist, it was horribly complicated. “Thought of any more rude words that are the same spelled backwards?” I asked, thinking that might take his mind off my love life.

  “Nah,” he said. “But I’ll show you something if you like.”

  I frowned at him. Even though Miss Bull was at the other side of the room, I couldn’t believe Paul was going to get out … “something” to show me. “What is it?” I asked nervously.

  He grinned, turned on the Bunsen burner and held it at his bum. Then he did a huge, loud fart, which shot out in a blue flame across the room. It was really dramatic. We were all screaming and laughing. Ollie was laughing so much I thought he was going to collapse. Stalking Paul was laughing too, until Miss Bull rushed over and yelled at him for “performing silly tricks with dangerous equipment”.

  “I was just trying to see if fart gas was flammable,” he said.

  “Of course it is,” she roared. “It’s methane, idiot!” She then gave us a lecture about farting cows playing a major part in global warming. I imagined Paul’s fart drifting up and burning a tiny hole in the ozone layer and him getting into all sorts of bother with environmental groups. He’d be named and shamed on their websites and be labelled The Farting Ozone Wrecker.

  Paul’s trick cheered me up for the rest of the day, and I had the double delight of telling Marcia and Evie about it later, because they’re in a different science class. The three of us were still giggling about it as we left school together. “Look – there’s Ollie!” Evie yelped, a bit too loudly, when we spotted him by the gates.

  “All by himself as well,” Marcia added, giving me a big, teasing grin. “Go and talk to him, Cass. Now’s your chance.”

  I nodded firmly and wandered over, trying to look casual but aware that my heart was doing th
at speeding-up thing again. So I wasn’t too obvious, I stopped a few feet away and started looking this way and that, as if I were frantically searching for someone who wasn’t him. He turned around and saw me. “Y’all right, Cassie?” he said.

  “Yeah, fine,” I said, still glancing about as if I were trying to spot this mysterious person. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Marcia and Evie, acting as if they were trying not to watch, but unable to stop themselves. They were probably waiting around to be supportive, but I really didn’t want an audience.

  “Who are you looking for?” Ollie asked.

  “Er, just someone,” I said.

  “Marcia?”

  “No. Er, yes. Marcia.” I peered down at a metal drain cover on the ground as if she might pop up out of it.

  He paused, and my heart stopped beating as I waited for him to say: Marcia’s gone. Why don’t we walk home together? You can come over to my place if you like, maybe see a movie at the weekend, be my girlfriend … and, by the way, you look really cute today with your hair in that plait…

  “Look, Marcia’s over there,” Ollie said helpfully, pointing her out, “with Evie.”

  “Oh!” I exclaimed, feeling ridiculous now (why do I always act like an idiot whenever Ollie talks to me? Why does he have this effect?). “I, er … I meant someone else,” I babbled. “Someone you don’t know.”

  “Oh…” He looked a bit baffled, then brightened up as the Leech clattered towards us in her stupid patent ankle boots.

  “Hi, Ollie!” she simpered.

  “Hey, Amber,” Ollie replied, thrusting his hands into his pockets.

  We both watched her approaching. She’s had her hair honey-blonded and her shirt was partly undone to expose a bit of her bra. I don’t know how she gets away with it when I got into trouble for wearing stripy socks. Ollie was staring at her. She hurried towards us, panting, and dropped her bag at his feet. “Carry my bag for me, babe,” she said.

  Babe? I nearly choked. When I glanced around for Marcia and Evie, hoping to transmit a what is she like? message, they’d already gone.

  “Sure,” Ollie said, then he picked up the Leech’s denim backpack and slung it over his shoulder as they walked away. He didn’t even seem to care that it was plastered with cutesy badges and had a fluffy owl dangling from the zip. Or that I’d been standing there, supposedly having a conversation with him.

  Obviously, I’d just melted into thin air.

  I watched them strolling off together. The two of them were sniggering about something, and Ollie hadn’t even said goodbye.

  I tried to call Marcia’s mobile as I marched home. With the Leech lurking around Ollie all the time, Operation SOOP was becoming more urgent by the minute. But Marcia’s phone was off, and when I called her house a bit later, her mum said in a really snooty voice, “Er, did you do something to my top, Cassie?”

  “I … I don’t think so…”

  “No? Because there’s a burn mark on it which I don’t think was there before?” She said this like a question. I didn’t know what to say back.

  “Oh. I, er, didn’t notice,” I said.

  “Really?” Her voice was hard and mean. “You didn’t burn it when you were ironing it?”

  “I … I … I’m not sure. I might have but I don’t think…”

  “Well, you did!”

  There was a horrible tense silence. I paced up and down our hallway, clutching the phone, and decided it wouldn’t be a good idea to say it was just the crocodile’s shadow. “I’ll pay for it,” I murmured, figuring that, with the money I get, it’ll probably take me till I’m about a hundred and seven.

  “Forget it. Never mind.”

  “Er, is Marcia home yet?” I asked in a small voice.

  “Yes, but she’s busy right now.”

  “Um, how long will she be busy for?”

  “For the foreseeable future,” her mum snapped before putting the phone down on me. And that was that. I’m almost glad I burnt her stupid seventy-five-pound top.

  Good thing: With loads and loads of rubbing and an extra-hot bath, I finally managed to get the blue tissue-paper dye off my boob.

  Bad thing (which turned out to be not so bad after all): I’m sick of having no money and not being able to do or buy anything. So I offered to do the three o’clock dog for Mum in the hope that she’d throw me a few quid. In the appointments book it said Mrs Roach, Old English, Billy. But it wasn’t a Mrs Roach who brought Billy. It was Sam Roach, Ollie’s new best mate, which set me all of a flutter. It was important to do a good job so Sam would tell Ollie how brilliant I am, and Ollie would realize he’s been missing out big time by not asking me to go out with him.

  “Mum asked me to bring him,” Sam explained. I waited for him to make a rude comment about the van’s sicky pink colour but he didn’t. I also wanted to ask him how Ollie was, and did he know what Ollie was doing today, but couldn’t think how to without sounding obsessed.

  First I bathed Billy. His coat was a bit matted but he was really patient while I teased it all out with the brush. “How long’ve you been doing this?” Sam asked, hanging about at the van door.

  “Couple of years, since Mum started the business.” I shampooed Billy, rinsed him with the hand hose and slathered on doggie conditioner.

  “Wow,” Sam said, looking impressed. “You’re good at this.”

  “It’s easy, really,” I said, feeling strangely proud of myself. I was enjoying working on Billy, even though things were trickier than usual, trying to do everything left-handed. At least it was better than being trapped indoors with Beth slurping all over Henry on the sofa and, at one point, licking his neck (shudder). “What kind of finish d’you want?” I asked Sam.

  He looked at me. Even though he doesn’t set my heart flapping like Ollie does, he has a nice, friendly face. And at least I could be normal with him.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “What kind of finishes are there?”

  “Well, there’s the sleek finish, or the fuller blow-dry where you get more volume…”

  “Can you just do it natural? I don’t think Billy would like looking too, you know…”

  “Done?” I suggested.

  “Exactly. He’s more of a casual sort of dog.”

  We both laughed at that, and I felt happier than I had done in ages. I rinsed Billy again, then towelled and brushed him before his blow-dry and trim. I decided it was too risky trimming him left-handed, so just used my normal hand. I didn’t want to make a mess of it or accidentally stab Billy with the scissors.

  “That’s weird,” Sam said. “You were left-handed when you started and now you’re using your right hand.”

  “Oh yeah,” I said. “I’m, er … that thing where you can use both hands equally.”

  “Really? That’s unusual, isn’t it?”

  “All my family have it,” I babbled, wishing I hadn’t started this. First the imaginary boyfriend, and now both sides of me work equally well. My life’s tangled up in stupid lies.

  At least Sam said I’d done a great job with Billy, and I slipped him a doggie choc for being so good. Billy, I mean. Not Sam.

  We had a massive pile of jams to choose from at breakfast because Dad brought home eleven different types from work on Friday. I don’t exactly know what he does in the factory except it’s something to do with quality control. This means he can bring home any jam that doesn’t meet “acceptable standards”.

  At first, when he started working there a couple of years ago, I was worried about finding something horrible in the unacceptable jam, like a dead beetle or the end of somebody’s finger. But Dad explained, “It just means the consistency wasn’t right, or the label hasn’t been stuck on properly. Look – this one’s all squint.” He was right. It had been stuck on all wrinkled up. Secretly, though, I wished we could have normal jam that had passed all its t
ests.

  After I’d tidied my bedroom (under Mum’s orders) I called Marcia, asking her to come over. “Mum says I’ve got to stay in and do my homework,” she grumbled.

  “You mean she won’t let you see me,” I said, feeling a pang of hurt.

  “Um … yeah. I’m sorry, Cass. She’s really mad about that top.”

  I couldn’t believe her mum was acting like this. I mean, Marcia and me have been friends for nearly all our lives! Is she trying to destroy our ten-year friendship over a top? She obviously earns loads of money, so why can’t she just go out and buy another top? “Couldn’t you sneak over?” I asked.

  “Better not.” Marcia sighed. “She’s in a really foul mood.”

  I felt so lonely and fed up, all I could think of to do was figure out how to be a better person, the kind of person who’d be welcome in her best friend’s house. I wrote a list of ways to improve myself:

  1. Get over my crush.

  2. Remember that I don’t need a boyfriend to lead a brilliant life.

  3. Help Mum a bit.

  4. Agree fair pay for above.

  5. Be mature.

  When I read through my list, I decided I hate the word “mature”. It reminds me of the rank cheese stink in our car which is now so bad, none of us want to go anywhere in it. Mum forced us to, though. She said, “We need to spend some family time together”, which I think she meant as a good thing, so I tried to look enthusiastic. I found this difficult when it turned out that we weren’t going to a theme park or anywhere remotely interesting but a garden centre in the middle of nowhere. And Beth got to stay at home with Henry. When I’m eighteen, I hope I’ll be allowed to do whatever I want, like she is.

  Anyway, Mum must’ve forgotten that, as it’s the middle of winter, it’s not the time to plant anything (but then, all she ever does in the garden is smoke in it). All four of us wandered around the garden place, peering at sad-looking plants and nearly collapsing with hunger (Mum said the café was “extortionate”). Then Dad drove us home.