Cassie's Crush

by Fiona Foden

  I must practise kissing in preparation for Saturday night. Surely it’s not normal to be thirteen years old and to have never kissed a boy. And there’s so much to worry about: eyes (shut or open?), tongue (in or out?). Also: saliva. What if there’s too much of it? Where does it go? Everything I’ve read on the subject says “just relax” and “it’ll all come naturally”, which is no use at all.

  I spotted the Leech at lunchtime with Jade and Natasha, screaming with laughter outside the bakery. As Marcia and I wandered past, I heard the Leech complaining that some boy had kissed her “like a washing machine”. What did that mean? That he’d started off slow, then gone for the frantic spin cycle? Then she started on about “tumble-drier kissers”. Now I was really confused. Does a tumble-drier kisser make lots of hot air and shrink everything?

  It was all horribly worrying, so, after dinner, I sat on my bed and did some secret snogging practice on the back of my hand. Just as I’d read, I tried to relax, and gave my hand a little pouty kiss, as if I were really in love with it. I have to say, it did seem a bit forward. Maybe I should have asked it out to the cinema first, ha ha.

  Then Beth marched into my room. “Oh my God, what are you doing?” she shrieked.

  “What are you doing in here?” I yelled back, yanking my hand away from my mouth and giving it a speedy wipe on my T-shirt.

  “You were kissing your hand! I saw you!” she yelled.

  “No I wasn’t. I’ve got, um, an insect bite. I was trying to suck out the poison.”

  “Really?” she asked.

  “Yeah. Something flew in through the window and bit me.”

  “What kind of insect?” She actually sounded concerned. For once in her life, she wasn’t looking at me as if I should be shovelled up with a poop-scoop.

  “Er, a big black thing with wings,” I muttered.

  “Let me see your hand.”

  I held it out reluctantly, and we both peered at it. The only thing on it was a dribble of spit. Did that mean I’m a washing-machine kisser? My party confidence was all shrivelling up.

  “Nothing there,” Beth scoffed. “Anyway, you don’t get stinging insects in February. And your window’s shut…”

  “Yes you do,” I retorted, “and it must’ve come up the stairs. And there’s nothing there ’cause I’ve sucked all the poison out.”

  She glared at me. “Anyway,” she went on, “what I came in for was to ask why you’ve been in my room again.”

  Oh God. All I’d done was have a little snoop last night. She’d probably sellotaped a hair across her door or something, as a trap. “I haven’t,” I said.

  Her eyes went narrow and mean. “Yes you have. I could sense you when I came in last night…” Her nostrils quivered, like Monty’s when he was sniffing around my trainers. God, she’s creepy.

  “What would I want in your room?” I snapped.

  “No idea. Just don’t do it again, OK?” She scowled at me and stomped off. Heck, maybe she’s got CCTV in her room.

  Once she’d gone, I got my pens out and started sketching my costume prototype. Ned came back from being “out” (no further details supplied) and we found loads of pictures of Venus flytraps on his laptop. We stayed up till eleven looking at them. I’m not sure about making petals that actually snap, as I don’t want to scare Ollie when he comes close. Maybe they should just close gently. But how will I make my costume do that? I’m not sure I’m up to dealing with hinges or a little motor or whatever. Maybe it should be a non-snapping flytrap instead.

  Anyway, I felt great about the costume and even better about Ned spending all that time helping me. It was nice having my old brother back again. I thought of asking if the red-headed girl had un-dumped him, but thought that might not go down too well.

  Sam showed up with a grey and white mongrel called Kevin who wasn’t in the appointments book. “I just thought, um, if you don’t mind, you could give me some advice on his coat,” he said, trying to coax him into Mum’s van.

  “Sure,” I said. “No problem.” Kevin was yapping and straining on his lead and definitely wasn’t keen on going in a pink van with poodles painted all over it. Can’t say I blamed him. As Sam was having no luck at all – it was as if the dog hardly knew him – I had to pick up Kevin, give him a reassuring cuddle and carry him in.

  I placed him on the grooming table and gave him a good brushing all over. It only took a few minutes and I wasn’t going to charge Sam for that. “He’s fine,” I told Sam. “We’ve got special conditioner I could use sometime to make his coat softer, and his nails could do with clipping … want me to do that now?”

  “Yeah, great,” he said eagerly.

  I grabbed the clippers. Kevin sat obediently while I snipped away. “Does he want a French manicure?” I asked.

  “Er, I don’t…”

  “Joking,” I sniggered, and Sam grinned.

  I lifted Kevin down from the table and gave him a biscuit for being so good. “All done,” I said.

  “Er, right. Thanks.” He delved into his pocket and brought out his wallet.

  “Oh, you don’t have to pay me for that. It only took about two seconds.”

  “You sure?” He smiled again. “Thanks, Cass.”

  “It’s fine, honestly. I enjoyed meeting Kevin.”

  It was true, I realized as I clipped his lead back on and led him out of the van. I’m getting used to Sam’s visits. It’s nice hanging out with a boy who doesn’t make my heart start hammering furiously, as if it’s going to burst right out of my chest.

  “I, er, s’pose you’re going to Marcia’s party?” Sam said.

  “Yes,” I replied, “but Marcia’s mum isn’t to know.”

  “Why not?” he frowned. “You’re her best friend, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, but … it’s complicated. I burnt her mum’s top with the iron and she seems to think I’m a bad influence.”

  “God,” Sam exclaimed. “That’s a bit of an overreaction, isn’t it?”

  I paused, not sure how to explain what’s been bothering me these past few days. “I don’t think it’s just about that. Marcia’s mum … well, she’s different to my parents. I think she thinks we’re a bit, y’know…” What was the right word? “Weird” sprung to mind.

  Sam shrugged. “So … what if her mum sees you? She won’t make you leave, will she?”

  “No,” I said, grinning, “’cause I’m going to be incognito.”

  “What as?”

  “Er … I’m still working on that.” I decided not to tell him about my Venus flytrap idea. Don’t want Ollie hearing about it and the surprise being spoiled. “Are you going?” I asked.

  “Marcia hasn’t invited me.” Sam bent down to fiddle with Kevin’s studded collar.

  “Oh, of course you can come! She probably just forgot. I’ll ask her if you like—”

  “S’all right.” He straightened up and looked at me.

  “Come on, you’ve got to come! It’s going to be brilliant. You don’t even have to dress up, not if you really don’t want to…”

  “The thing is,” Sam said, “if she’d wanted me to come she’d have invited me, right? So it’s OK. I won’t be going.”

  “But…” I tailed off. Sam was looking straight at me, and I noticed that his eyes are a startling blue. Like, zingy blue – as blue as the tissue-paper dye that stained my school top and left boob. I’d never noticed Sam’s eye colour before and it was making me a bit wobbly.

  “She invited Ollie,” he added with a shrug. “In fact, she delivered an invitation to his house.”

  “Did she?” I squeaked, conscious of my cheeks going hot.

  “Are you all right, Cass?” Sam asked.

  “Yeah, I’m fine…”

  “It just, you’ve gone really red…”

  “Er, I feel a bit hot and faint, that’s all…�
�� I grabbed the van’s bone-shaped door handle as if I might pass out unconscious at any moment.

  “Think you’re going to faint?” Sam asked, sounding alarmed.

  “Er, maybe,” I babbled. Why had I started this? I was only trying to cover up for my face inferno at his mention of the “O” word. Now I was acting as if I were on the verge of collapse.

  “Wait there and I’ll get your mum,” Sam said, tearing off to the house with Kevin scampering along beside him.

  I was still clutching the van’s handle when Mum came out. As I staggered towards them, making sure I still looked “faint”, she looked past Sam and frowned at me. “Cassie, what on earth’s wrong?” she demanded.

  “I was just de-matting Kevin when I came over all faint and weird…”

  “She looked hot,” Sam explained, flushing red himself as if Mum might have thought he meant hot as in gorgeous-hot and not just hot-hot.

  “You’d better come in and lie down,” Mum said, giving me one of her looks, obviously knowing I was faking.

  I nodded, feeling my blush dying down at long last. I really need to find a cure for this. Surely there’s some kind of medicine you can take?

  “Well,” Sam murmured, “if you’re all right, I suppose I’d better be off.”

  I smiled weakly. “OK. See you tomorrow.”

  As he left, Mum turned to me and said, “Nice boy.”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “I think he likes you,” she added with a smile.

  “Mum, he doesn’t, he’s just…”

  “He said you look hot,” she sniggered.

  “He just meant…”

  “Anyway,” she added, “how much did you charge him for that dog?”

  “Oh, I didn’t do anything to Kevin, really,” I said quickly. “Sam just came over to say hi.”

  The highlight today was driving with Dad to the chippy with all the windows open because of the cheese stink. This allowed rain to splatter in and soak us. Even worse, as we pulled into the high street, Ollie and Sam were coming out of the amusement arcade. I was nearly sick with shock. I didn’t want Ollie to spot us driving with the windows down and rain gushing in, so I “accidentally” dropped my ponytail band and scrabbled about on the floor, pretending to hunt for it. Dad said, “The funny thing is, Cassie, the car only stinks when you’re in it, so the smell must be coming off you.” Such glittering wit. Dad should obviously be on the stage, not working in a jam factory. At least Ollie and Sam didn’t notice us trundling by.

  “Maybe we should sell that car,” Dad suggested when we got home.

  “What kind of idiot would buy it?” Mum retorted.

  “Someone with no sense of smell?” Ned sniggered, stuffing his face with fat chips.

  Daniel came around to see Marcia after school, and she called as soon as he’d gone. “He’s actually quite sweet,” she said. “I mean, he seems really keen, Cass. What d’you think I should do?”

  What, she was asking me for boy advice? “It depends how much you like him,” I said.

  “Well, I’m not obsessed. Not like you are with Ollie,” she sniggered, which I chose to ignore.

  “So what did you do?” I asked, switching the subject.

  “Um … we went to the kebab shop.”

  “What happened there?”

  “We wanted kebabs,” she explained, “but didn’t have enough money, so we shared a can of Coke.”

  I paused, waiting for her to add a juicy piece of gossip. “And that was it?” I asked finally.

  “Er, yeah.” We finished the call with me wondering if this is what going out with someone is all about – standing outside the dry-cleaner’s, or sharing a can of Coke, or having a snog and being dumped like Ned was, or hooking up with someone like toilet-stink Henry. Put like that, there must be far better things to do with your life. Am I disillusioned with love, before I’ve even found out what it really is?

  I’m worried sick about the Leech coming to Marcia’s party. She’s so pushy, and all the boys are mad about her, so there’s no way Marcia will be able to force her to leave. I was still fretting about this when Beth and Henry started mauling each other in the kitchen. When Henry caught me glaring, he said, “It’s her perfume, Cassie. She’s just irresistible!” And the two of them burst out giggling and I had to escape to my room.

  It gave me an idea, though. I know you can get certain perfumes that attract the opposite sex. Something to do with hormones, I think. I don’t fancy my chances of nicking Beth’s perfume (anyway, would I really want to smell like her?) but what if I invented some kind of love potion and stood right by Ollie while he drank it?

  Ned let me use his laptop to investigate foods which are supposed to have a passion-making effect on the opposite sex:

  Asparagus. Nobody likes it unless they’re trying to be posh. It also makes your wee stink, apparently.

  Cardamom pods. Think they’re some kind of spice. I can’t imagine people queuing up to munch them at a party.

  Oysters. Sure. My £1.72 is going to buy me about half of one and they look disgusting anyway, like rotting ears.

  Rhino horn. This is meant to be a passion igniter, but I couldn’t find any info about whether you’re meant to grind it into a powder or nibble the end of it or what. Not that it matters, because where can I get hold of rhino horns in Tarmouth? I don’t think they sell them in Asda. Our nearest zoo is at Winterbourne and I’ve checked their website to see if they have rhinos. They do, but even if there were a few spare horns lying about in their enclosure, I don’t fancy scrambling in to get them. The rhinos on their website didn’t look especially friendly.

  Marcia snuck round to see me (she’d said she was “going swimming” again). “Cheer up, Cass,” she said, hugging me. “At least if the Leech comes, loads of hot boys will come too.”

  Maybe she’s right, and the Leech will act as some kind of magnet. It’s even more crucial that I invent a love potion as quickly as possible, but I didn’t mention this to Marcia, not after she’d said I was “obsessed”.

  Spent all morning trying to make my flytrap costume. Ned rummaged under his bed and found cardboard from old art projects. Even with his help, it was incredibly tricky to make and I wished I’d gone with Marcia’s gigantic heart idea. Finally, though, after much sweating and cursing, we managed to make a sort of giant cardboard collar with petals attached. I was just thinking that Ned’s not so bad for a hairy big brother when his mobile went off. I assumed it was the curly redhead, as he looked really chuffed. “Yuh,” he was murmuring. “Yuh, uh-huh, that’d be, like, uh, cool…” It wasn’t Ned’s normal voice at all. He sounded like one of those growly men who do horror-movie trailers. He started flapping me away with his hand as if I’d suddenly turned into an annoying insect.

  I gathered up all the flytrap pieces and took them to my room, then went out and found a bucket and some wallpaper paste in the garage. I also managed to unearth a pile of pink and white crepe paper left over from when Mum decorated the van with massive bows to attract customers.

  Things started to get really messy. I was trying to cover the whole collar and petals in papier mâché, and slathered on layer after layer of crepe paper and wallpaper paste. Whenever I started to feel frustrated, or was sick of the gunky paste, I imagined Ollie walking into the party. He’d see the Venus flytrap and think: Wow! I wonder who’s inside that ingenious costume? Must investigate immediately … out of my way, Leechy, posing in your push-up bra…

  Only I know it won’t happen like that. He’ll look at me and think: FOR GOD’S SAKE WHAT’S THAT MEANT TO BE? And he’ll grab the Leech by the hand and whisk her out to the back garden for private snoggings.

  Maybe it’s better that way. My kissing practice didn’t go too well, and would Ollie be any more enthusiastic than my hand? I stared at the pile of damp, sticky papier mâché petals on my bedroom floor, wond
ering when they’d magically transform themselves into a fantastic costume. When no miracle seemed to be happening, I decided to do more research on love-food-type stuff instead. Here’s what I found:

  HOW TO MAKE A STRAWBERRY LOVE POTION

  Ingredients

  500 g fresh strawberries

  1 tbs liquid honey

  1 cup water

  Juice of a lime

  Place all ingredients in a blender and whizz until smooth. Serve a glass to your beloved and watch the flames of passion ignite.

  Well, everyone knows these kinds of potions are a load of rubbish. But it could be fun to try, and it sounds easier than getting my hands on some rhino horns… I might just be tempted to give it a go (if nothing else, it sounds completely delicious. I love strawberries).

  When I woke up, my Venus flytrap was still lying in a damp, sticky pile. “Would you mind buying something today if you’re at the shops?” I asked Mum over breakfast.

  She shook her head and said, “I’m busy all day with back-to-back appointments. Anyway, we don’t need anything.”

  Oh yeah – we don’t need anything because our cupboards are full of tinned meat pies and unacceptable jam. “I just wondered,” I said in my politest voice, “if we could have some strawberries, please?”

  Mum frowned at me. She was washing her dog-grooming brushes in the kitchen sink. Bet that goes against health and safety regulations and if the council came round they’d shut down Posh Pooches straightaway. “Why d’you want strawberries, Cassie?” she asked.

  “I just … fancied some,” I said brightly. “You know – to make sure I’m getting my five a day.”

  “Since when have you been worried about getting your five a day?” Mum asked with an amused glance.