by Fiona Foden
Mum kept shrieking things like, “Red light coming up!” and “Watch out, Colin – a cat in the road!”
“I can see the cat, thank you, Barbara,” Dad said. As Dad drives at about thirteen miles an hour (that’s all the cheese-mobile’s capable of), any cat would have about half an hour to get itself off the road.
Mum’s best friend Suzie came over later to drink wine in our kitchen. Although I was watching TV in the living room, I could still hear them gassing away about the days when they used to go out with wild biker boys and zoom along the twisty coast roads on their motorbikes. “Those were the days,” Mum said wistfully.
“You could still get a bike,” Suzie said. “There’s nothing stopping you.”
“Oh yeah,” Mum laughed, “with the money I make? And keeping up with three kids and all their demands…”
Hang on – what demands do I make? A bit of cash for all the dog-clipping I do, that’s all, instead of being the family slave.
“It’s different for you,” Mum added, “not having kids…” Then Suzie told Mum that Michael – that’s Suzie’s new boyfriend – has a daughter who was hopeless at school, a real dreamer (even worse than me, probably) and had gone travelling round Europe and come back this amazing, totally together person.
“Maybe Cassie will do something like that,” Mum murmured.
“You never know,” Suzie said.
“Of course,” Mum went on, sounding a bit tipsy now, “we were quite happy with Beth and Ned. We didn’t plan any more babies. But then there was that night we came back from your little cocktail do…” And the two of them started giggling. I felt totally sick. The thought of my parents doing anything together is puke-making enough, and now I know that they were a happy little foursome until I came along and ruined it all.
Is it any wonder I have self-esteem problems?
Everyone was leaving English when Miss Rashley called me back and made me stand at her desk. “I don’t know what’s happened to your handwriting,” she said. “Is something wrong with your hand, Cassie?”
We were both staring down at my jotter, which was filled with the scrawlings of a demented three-year-old. What was I supposed to say? I couldn’t tell her about my lopsided boob situation.
“Er … nothing’s wrong,” I muttered.
“But your writing used to be … well, not great, certainly not tidy, ever – in fact, I’d say it’s pretty appalling generally…” Brilliant. Carry on and really boost my confidence. “But it’s never been as bad as this,” she concluded with a scowl.
“I was maybe, er, rushing a bit,” I said lamely.
“Could you write something for me now, so I can see if it’s anything obvious?”
Now I was stuck. I couldn’t do the left-handed thing in front of her because she knows I’m not really left-handed. So I picked up a pen with my right hand and held it over a blank sheet of paper on her desk. “Write something, then,” she barked at me.
“Er, what?” I babbled.
“I don’t care! Anything you like, so we can see what the problem is.” She was breathing heavily through her nose and I could smell her horrible old-lady perfume.
What the heck should I write? I wasn’t confident that I could do the same kind of wobbly scrawl that covered two pages of my jotter.
Hello, I wrote in baby writing. Miss Rashley stared at it, then at me. “You’re doing that on purpose!” she snapped. “What are you playing at? If this is one of your games, your silly little japes…”
“It’s not a jape,” I protested. “I … I can’t help it.”
“If you can’t stop it,” she said, “you’ll have to get yourself along to a doctor, because something’s obviously not working with your hand. D’you want me to get in touch with your mum?”
“No!” I cried. “I’m sure it’s … it’s fine, I must have twisted something, a muscle or a vein…”
“A twisted vein?” she said sternly. “I see. Well, if it doesn’t untwist itself and your writing doesn’t become legible next time I see you, I’ll be sending a note home to your parents. This is ridiculous, Cassie. I don’t have time for your nonsense.”
I nodded, realizing I’d have to resume my normal writing style by tomorrow, which means being stuck with lopsided boobs for ever.
Hand miraculously “cured”.
Started Operation SOOP!!! In history, when Mr Bowman was rambling on about the Second World War, my ears picked up something far more interesting.
“So we’re gonna do it?” Sam whispered.
“Yeah, why not?” Ollie replied. “Should be a laugh. Loads of people are up for it.”
Up for what??? I desperately needed to know, but Mr Bowman had come over to where Ollie and Sam were sitting and said, “So, you two, would you like to sum up the significance of the fall of the Berlin Wall?”
Yikes. I’d thought he was talking about the 1940s. What did the Berlin Wall have to do with that? “It’s, er, kinda…” Ollie spoke like he was mulling over the answer but I could tell he was stuck.
“Um, Berlin was divided after the war,” murmured Sam, “and one side of the wall was Communist. When they pulled it down it was the end of communism, sort of, and now…”
“Very good,” Mr Bowman said impatiently.
“Swot,” sniggered the Leech.
“Now,” Mr Bowman added, “I’d be grateful if you two could stop your chitter-chatter and keep your minds on your work.”
“Yes, sir,” Ollie said cheekily. “So, we’ll have the fire then,” he hissed moments later, “on the beach? About six-ish?”
I saw Sam nodding. The beach, I thought. Well, I just so happened to have no prior engagements at six-ish today. Perhaps I might happen to casually wander down there too and see what was going on. I wouldn’t normally hang out at the shore in the middle of winter, but suddenly, it seemed a pretty appealing thing to do. Luckily, Marcia and Evie thought so too.
By the time I’d had dinner, told Mum I was going round to Marcia’s and caught the bus down to the seafront, it was already dark. Evie and Marcia were waiting, all giggly and excited (Marcia had told her mum she was meeting Evie, which was true, sort of … and that was OK ’cause Evie doesn’t burn tennis tops).
“Look what I’ve got,” Marcia sniggered, pulling some binoculars out of her bag.
“Where d’you find those?” I asked.
“They’re my granddad’s bird-watching ones.”
“Brilliant,” I said, taking them from her and peering down at the sand. All I could see was an old man walking his dog.
“No,” she said, “they’re over there, way past the rocks. Look! See the fire?”
I swivelled around and, sure enough, there was a flickering orangey glow by the broken old beach huts in the distance. “Shall we go?” Marcia asked.
“Course!” I said, starting to feel a little less brave. I was freezing too. The waves were churning and a sharp wind was whipping up from the sea.
“Looks like there’s a whole load of them,” Evie said, squinting into the distance. “D’you think it’ll be OK to just turn up?”
“It’s a beach, isn’t it?” I retorted, trying to muster some courage. “You don’t need to be invited to a beach, do you? It’s everyone’s. Come on.”
Even so, I was starting to regret coming up with this plan as we crept along the seafront. The glow became brighter and we could see a whole pile of boys messing about around the bonfire. They must’ve spent ages collecting driftwood to burn. I could make out Joey with his carroty hair, and Sam and Daniel Herring dribbling a football on the sand. At first there was no sign of Ollie. Stalking Paul was there – I hoped he hadn’t mentioned my imaginary boyfriend, not that they’d be talking about me, of course – and a few others I don’t know too well. Then I realized that most of them were clustered around Ollie. He was in the middle of it all, bei
ng Mr Popular, making everyone laugh.
Why couldn’t my crush be on someone ordinary like Joey or Sam? I guess you can’t control these things. “Give us a look,” Marcia said, snatching the binoculars from me. She did some peering, and then Evie had a look too.
“Er … why are we doing this again?” Evie asked with a frown.
“Operation SOOP,” I reminded her, desperate for another turn with the binoculars.
“I know, but…” Evie took them away from her face. “What’s the point? I mean, apart from looking, what are we actually going to do?”
I sighed. Wasn’t it obvious? “We’re monitoring his movements,” I explained, “to get as much information as we can, so…”
“But all we’re doing is watching a load of boys messing about around a fire!”
“She’s right,” Marcia said, turning to me. “What are you going to do with all this … information?”
“Write it down in a little book?” giggled Evie.
“Of course I’m not,” I said firmly. “I’m … just trying to get to know him, aren’t I? Anyway, I’m going closer to find out what they’re talking about.”
“A load of rubbish, probably,” Evie said, rolling her eyes.
“Well, let’s see, shall we?” I jumped down from the seafront on to the sand. Marcia and Evie leapt down behind me and we hurried along towards the rocks. I felt more positive now, and my nervousness had all disappeared. The Leech could flirt all she wanted but I was doing something much smarter. I once read that the best thing is to get to know a boy as a friend first, and then see what develops. And what better way to make friends with someone than to turn up at their little beach party?
From behind the rocks, we could peep over and observe them close up. “The Leech is there!” I hissed as she ran towards the boys from the sea.
“Why did he invite her?” Marcia whispered.
“Maybe he didn’t,” I said. “She might’ve just turned up…”
“Like us,” Evie pointed out. She was right, of course. It was a dumb idea, I’d started to worry about Mum finding out I’d lied, and the wind was now gusting the smoke from the fire straight at us. I tried to hold in the cough, but started to splutter, and Evie and Marcia were coughing and rubbing their eyes too. “I can’t see anything,” Evie complained. “My eyes are in agony.”
“Let’s go back,” Marcia hissed. “This is stupid.”
“OK,” I mumbled, and we all stood up and started to hurry back to the seafront.
“Hey, girls!” Joey yelled after us. “Wanna join the party?”
We all stopped dead. “Er, what party?” I asked, as if I hadn’t noticed anything going on at all.
“Our party,” he said, laughing.
“All right,” I said with a shrug, hoping to God that he assumed we just happened to be lurking about on the beach in the dark, and not spying.
We tried to look casual as we strolled towards them. The boys had stopped messing about and I felt loads of eyes boring into me. “Hey,” Ollie said with a big, heart-flipping grin. “No need to be shy, girls. You should’ve just come over.”
Well, this just shows what a brilliant idea Operation SOOP actually is. Not only were we invited to the beach party, but we were also given toasted marshmallows that were as sweet and melty as I felt inside. Ollie kept looking at me. I’m sure he did. And every time his eyes swivelled in my direction, the Leech grabbed his arm and started shrieking something like, “Toast me a marshmallow, Ollie. Mine keep burning or falling off. You’re sooo good at it!”
It was sickening, really. But I clung on to the hope that she was getting on his nerves, because once I saw him screw up his face in annoyance (or maybe some smoke had just gusted into his eyes). Sam came over and sat by me and we hung out and chewed our marshmallows. “You all right?” he asked, spotting me glancing in Ollie’s direction.
“Yeah, yeah,” I said quickly.
“Wanna paddle?”
“What?” I laughed. “It’s winter, Sam, in case you hadn’t noticed. It’ll be freezing!”
“So what?” He was already rolling up his jeans and striding towards the sea. “C’mon,” he said, grinning. “Dare you.”
Well, I wasn’t going to be some pathetic girlie, so I rolled up my jeans too and scampered after Sam. The sea was freezing, colder than anything I’d ever felt in my life, and Marcia was yelling, “Cassie, you’re mad! You’ll freeze to death!” But it also felt surprisingly nice – icy and tingly and sparkling from the glow of the lighthouse out on Bear Rock. We paddled about, letting the waves rush in and out around our feet, and maybe because I was enjoying that, I forgot about Ollie for about 0.5 seconds. “What are you two doing?” he called out, waving from the beach.
“Paddling!” I called back, realizing my feet were now completely numb.
“How romantic,” he sniggered.
As he turned away, an awful thought hit me: I WAS ALONE WITH SAM IN THE SEA AND OLLIE WAS GOING TO GET COMPLETELY THE WRONG IDEA.
Without saying anything to Sam, I rushed out of the sea and hurried up to Ollie. “Needed to cool off a bit, did you?” he teased.
“Yeah. No. Er, it was Sam’s idea, just a dare…”
“Well,” he said with a smirk, “it would be.”
What did that mean? Sam was heading towards us now, looking a little left out, and I felt a pang of guilt for running off like that. I’d started shivering too, and my teeth were chattering. “You should warm up, Cass,” Ollie said gently. “Let’s go back to the fire before you catch pneumonia.”
I nodded, and we all sat round the fire, laughing and stuffing more marshmallows into our mouths, and Ollie sat next to me. The Leech flounced off, and Sam left too, and soon it was just Marcia, Evie, Ollie and me, laughing and watching the glow of the fire. And I wondered how it’d go down with Mum if I stayed here all night or even for the rest of my life.
I didn’t dare, of course. I was home just after ten and Mum knew the second I walked in that I hadn’t been round at Evie’s. “You’re all sandy and you stink of smoke,” she announced. “I don’t mind you going out, Cassie, but I do object to you lying to me…”
“Sorry, Mum,” I murmured, still feeling glowingly happy inside. “We didn’t plan it. We just went out for a walk and there was this fire and all these people from school and…”
“Well, if you catch a cold, don’t come running to me. It’s ridiculous, Cassie. This is January.” She shook her head in despair and stomped out of the room.
I couldn’t believe she was acting like that when I hadn’t actually done anything. It was worth it, though. Operation SOOP has turned out to be a brilliant idea. I washed the smokiness out of my hair in the shower, and could still taste yummy marshmallows even after cleaning my teeth.
Marcia’s had a brainwave. She’s going to have a party! A VALENTINE’S party on the theme of love! She’s promised her mum it’ll be a tiny gathering and, amazingly, she agreed (probably because Marcia got 98% in our last science test. Apart from her obvious genius qualities, she also has the advantage of having a teacher who actually teaches useful stuff, instead of just barking on about cows and all the methane they produce). Her mum’s refused to go out and leave us to it, but Marcia reckons she’ll stay out of the way as long as things don’t get out of hand. She didn’t even notice the smoke on Marcia’s clothes and hair after the fire, so her luck’s definitely on the up. Of course, officially I’m not welcome in Marcia’s house, but that doesn’t matter because it’s a FANCY DRESS party so her mum’ll never know it’s me.
My only problem is what to go as. There’s been no payment from Mum for grooming Billy, but I desperately need money for a costume if I’m going to be incognito. Would Ned lend me some? No, he never has any cash either, and I wouldn’t dream of asking Beth.
I spent the evening designing cards offering my babysitting services. “Yo
u think people will trust you with their babies?” Beth sneered, spotting my handiwork on the kitchen table.
“Why not?” I asked as Ned wandered in, snatched the orange juice carton from the fridge and glugged the lot.
“Because you’re a thief, that’s why,” Beth added.
“No I’m not. I don’t know what you’re talking about…”
“Yes you do,” she snapped. “You’ve been stealing my knickers again. I’m sick of you taking stuff from my room without asking.” Ned spluttered and wiped his mouth on a tea towel.
“It was only knickers,” I protested. “And they were old ones that are far too small for you.”
“Why don’t you wear your own knickers?”
“Because they’re all eaten!” I told her. “There are moths in this house and no one ever does anything about it.”
“Moths don’t eat your knickers,” Beth sneered. “They don’t like cheap, horrible synthetic fibres. They only like natural materials like cotton or wool.”
“Don’t be stupid,” I said. “No one wears woolly knickers…”
“Beth does,” Ned sniggered. “Didn’t you know hers are cashmere, Cass?”
“Oh, shut up.” Beth did her superior eye-rolling thing. “Anyway,” she went on, “you’re too young to babysit. No one’ll book a thirteen-year-old. It’s probably against the law.”
I glared at her and gathered up the cards I’d written in careful curly lettering. “What can I do, then,” I muttered, “to earn money?”
“You’re too young to do anything,” she said with a sniff.
Not to punch you, I thought.
P.S. I still can’t understand why, if big sis is meant to be on a gap year, she isn’t doing anything? Maybe that’s why it’s called a gap year. Because it’s just a big blank gap with nothing in it, like the inside of her head.
Sam came over at break and said, “Hi, how you doing?”
“Fine, thanks,” I told him.
