Seriously Sassy

by Maggi Gibson

  And all the time a little voice is nipping at my ear. ‘Why should you have to miss the party, Sassy, just because your dad was stupid enough to park on a double yellow?’

  I put some extra liner round my eyes, add a touch of mascara, a weensy bit of lip gloss, then stare at my reflection. ‘It would be such a waste to just go to sleep now… wouldn’t it?’ says the little voice.

  Just then I hear the parentals pass on their way to bed. Dad yawns loudly. The hot‐choccy overdose taking effect, I hope.

  I put some sounds on low. Then, ever so quietly, I open my bedroom window. My room’s on the first floor, but since I was about seven I’ve used the tree outside as an emergency exit. I’ve practised lots of times. In case of nuclear war, tsunamis, earthquakes or whatever.

  I hitch my dress up and ease myself on to the thick branch that reaches right over to the house, then on all fours I edge along it. Quickly and easily I scramble down through the branches, then keeping to the shadows I dash across the garden. Before I slip through the gate I glance back up at the house. Just in time to see Mum and Dad’s light clicking out.

  Megan’s is only five minutes from mine if you take the shortcut through Bluebell Wood.

  When we were little, me and Megan used to meet in the wood nearly every day and play for hours. All sorts of adventures. She’d be the beautiful Sky Child captured by the Grumpits from Middle Earth, and I’d be Zara, Warrior Princess. She’d be tied to a tree courtesy of Mum’s washing line, and I’d come galloping up on my magical unicorn, Xianthon, brandishing my laser sword, rushing to her rescue.

  One summer we took all our My Little Ponies camping in a den under the rhododendron bushes. We left them there overnight. Next day we couldn’t remember where. It was winter before we found them, smothered in dead leaves, spider‐webs and bird droppings. We couldn’t play with them again, so we gave them a decent burial and marked the spot with a little pink cross with all their names written on in sparkly glitter pen. It was very moving.

  I stop where the path leaves the lighted road and dips into the darkness of Bluebell Wood. If I dashed through I’d get to the party quicker. Three minutes max and I’d be there.

  But though I love the wood during the day – when the sun dapples through the leaves and the air’s all full of birdsong and the little squirrels go leaping through the high branches, and if you sit really quiet and still you might even see a fox – at night the woods are dark and scary. There might be a mad axe‐man or a mass murderer lurking in the shadows. And much as I want to be a great singer and everyone knows that dying young has always been a sure‐fire career move – I really need to have an album out first…

  While these crazy thoughts bounce through my head my legs carry me along the brightly lit roads. Then whaddaya know! I’m standing outside Megan’s house, trying to get my breathing to slow. All the curtains have been pulled shut, but the windows are open and the boom boom boom of music, the excited babble of voices, the occasional squeal of laughter, spill out into the cool night air.

  I tug my dress down, smooth my hair and walk up the path.

  I ring the front‐door bell but no one answers, and I’m just wondering whether to bang on a window when something hits the top of my head.

  ‘Ouch!’ I squeal, spinning round, eyes searching the dark garden. ‘What was that?’

  ‘A nut. Thought you might like one,’ a voice says somewhere above me. I look up into the branches of the only tree, but all I see is darkness. Suddenly the front door opens and light and noise flood out.

  ‘Sassy! Great!’ Megan flaps her arms like she’s really pleased to see me, then drags me inside. Another nut bounces off the back of my head.

  ‘Get lost, Twig!’ Megan hollers into the dark, and slams the door.

  ‘Twig?’ I ask. ‘Who’s Twig?’

  ‘My new stepbro.’ Megan flutters her eyelashes in a long‐suffering way. ‘Ignore him. He’s weird.’

  Cordelia and Taslima give me a great big hug when at last I find them in the darkened living room. The place is heaving. I guess Megan must have got carried away with her invite list!

  In the corner Sindi‐Sue is draped over an armchair. A herd of boys drool over her like she’s an ice‐cream sundae with a cherry on top.

  Magnus, thank goodness, is not among them. Sindi‐Sue gives me a little fluttery‐fingered wave and mouths, ‘Wow! You look great!’ Which instantly makes me wish I was in my old jeans and T, cos I really don’t want to be on Sindi‐Sue’s ‘approved’ list.

  The music in the living room’s ear‐bleedingly loud and I can’t see Magnus anywhere, so I grab Cordelia’s arm and she grabs Taslima and together we push through the mass of dancing bodies, out into the hall.

  And that’s when this little bubble of fear starts to grow inside my chest. I mean, only a week ago I promised Dad I’d behave, not get into any trouble, be a perfect daughter.

  And I know maybe I should’ve thought of that before I climbed out of the window, but I was so annoyed with Dad and the little voice in my head made it seem like such a good idea: ‘Sneak out to the party, dazzle Magnus, get him to walk you home, climb back in the window – hey presto – morning!’

  Clinging to each other so we don’t get separated, me, Cordelia and Taslima push our way through the hall and into the dining room, where Megan says we’ll find some drinks. A group of older boys are lounging by the open patio doors, slugging from what look like bottles of lager. I can’t imagine what those boys are even doing here. I’m sure Megan doesn’t know them.

  As we shove our way through to the table where all the juice and crisps and goodies are laid out there’s a crash and a flash as someone accidentally knocks over a table lamp. A big cheer goes up and the bubble of fear inside my chest gets bigger and bigger, pushing against my lungs, filling up with all kinds of horrible thoughts.

  What if the neighbours call the police because of all the noise? What if they suddenly raid the party? What if I get flung into the back of a police van and taken to the police station and Dad gets called and tomorrow’s headlines scream:

  OUT‐OF‐CONTROL TEENS – CANDIDATE’S DAUGHTER ARRESTED!

  ‘I’ll get the juice,’ Taslima giggles into my ear. She looks lovely tonight, a pale yellow top showing off her cinnamon skin, her eyes huge and dark as coffee beans. ‘You grab some goodies.’

  She elbows her way in and fills three plastic cups with apple juice. I grab a paper bowl and pile handfuls of crisps and nuts and marsh mallows and strawberry shoelaces and cheese strings in it, then we nudge our way towards the hall, where it’s quieter. Cordelia looks knockout in a black tutu, scarlet tights and black over‐the‐knee socks with little silver stars on. Boys keep turning and staring at her.

  At last we find a space halfway up the stairs. Taslima gives me a cup of juice and it’s so full I have to sip it right away to stop it spilling. Then Cordelia and Taslima are about to update me on what I’ve missed so far when Mad Midge Murphy14 goes sliding down the banister, shouting, ‘Hiyaz, girlz,’ then leaps off at the bottom and takes a dramatic bow before disappearing into the toilet.

  ‘So tell me everything!’ I say excitedly, taking a sip from the juice.

  ‘Megan has been trying to corner Magnus… ’ Cordelia gasps, waving her hands dramatically. ‘But he keeps making excuses to get away from her.’

  ‘I was chatting to him for a few minutes,’ Taslima adds. ‘And he asked if you were coming. And I said yes. And he said Great! and couldn’t stop grinning!’

  My heart does this little double‐flip thing like a tiny Olympic gymnast and – KAPOW – the bubble of fear, which was all but stopping me from breathing a few minutes ago, bursts and my head’s thinking, Oh yes, yes, yes, please, please, please…

  … when the living‐room door swings open and Megan emerges, laughing, into the hallway. Dragging Magnus.

  We sit, frozen, like kids watching the grown‐ups through the banisters, as Megan throws her arms round his neck and their mouths lock in
a passionate kiss.

  Inside my head there’s this loud noise, like a great iron door clanging shut. My fist tightens round the paper cup, and the juice squishes up – and spills all down the front of my pale blue dress, making this huge, dark, sticky stain.

  Which, in a silly way, I’m quite glad about. Cos it gives me the perfect excuse to go home early.

  They say you can’t really sing a love song till you’ve had your heart broken. That’s what I’m thinking as I shut the door of Megan’s house.

  Of course, when I was dabbing at Jamila’s dress with a towel in the kitchen, I’d told Cordelia and Taslima I was ABSOLUTELY TOTALLY ABSOTUTALLY fine about the Magnus/Megan thing.

  ‘Really, I’m OK,’ I’d insisted. ‘Like I said before, I don’t have time for a boyfriend. Single suits me. Honest! But I think I’ll go home anyway. Get out of this dress.’

  Just then Midge Murphy came leaping in to tell us that a new game of Spin the Bottle was starting up in the living room. It was so obvious he desperately wanted Cordelia to be in it!15

  ‘We need to walk Sassy home,’ Cordelia said loyally, and Midge’s face crumpled.

  ‘Look, I’ll be fine!’ I insisted, forcing a laugh. ‘Don’t fuss! It’s only a five‐minute walk. Phone me tomorrow and tell me everything!’

  Before they could protest, I was gone.

  As I walk down the garden path all the hurt and disappointment I’ve been suppressing starts to push up inside me. I grit my teeth and give myself a firm talking to. You’re a winner, Sassy. You’re gonna cut a demo and it’s gonna take the world by storm and then Magnus will be sorry.

  Suddenly something cracks my skull. A nut! I spin on my heel and glower into the darkness. ‘DO THAT AGAIN, PSYCHO,’ I scream, letting all my anger and frustration out in one almighty whoosh, ‘AND YOU’RE DEAD MEAT!’

  Then I storm off into the street.

  I can’t believe I just said dead meat! How could I say that? I mean, I’m a vegetarian. And a pacifist. Whether animal or human, I cannot condone reducing anyone to the status of dead meat! Secretly, inwardly, I blame Megan. And Magnus. This is insufferable. They are turning me into a monster.

  As I stride away from Megan’s house my heart thumps its fists against my ribcage. Then I remember something Taslima once said: If you feel panicky try to breathe through your heels. I know it sounds silly, and I don’t exactly understand what she means, but I concentrate on pulling my breath right up from my heels – and miraculously I start to feel more calm.

  At last my heartbeat settles and my pace slows. I look up at the sky. There’s a lovely silvery moon tonight. And suddenly, unexpectedly, whole bucketfuls of tears start streaming down my cheeks. Because it would’ve been so perfect walking home with Magnus. We could’ve stopped at the end of my road and maybe I would have let him kiss me. And it would have been my first kiss – ever!

  Just then a cloud floats across the moon, the streetlamp nearest me flickers out and I’m plunged into darkness. And I don’t know if it’s because I’m dressed up in a silly little dress and silly little sandals like the kind of girl who’s all feminine and vulnerable, but I start to feel really feminine and vulnerable.

  A few steps further on, I stumble on a loose paving slab, my ankle twists and I fall clumsily.

  Suddenly a voice behind me says, ‘Are you OK?’

  Startled, I look up.

  ‘Don’t panic! It’s only me. Twig. Megan’s stepbro.’

  And I’m just thinking, Oh no, it’s the weird nut‐throwing psycho, when he grips my hand and heaves me to my feet.

  ‘You OK?’ he asks again.

  ‘Of course I’m OK,’ I snap, tugging my hand free. Then I start limping off along the pavement. His footsteps follow me. Angrily I spin round.

  ‘Do you mind? I’m going home. Alone. And I do NOT need an escort.’

  ‘Well, I think you do,’ he says, and next minute he’s right beside me again.

  ‘You’ve been crying, haven’t you?’ he asks, and his voice is gentle.

  ‘I twisted my ankle, that’s all.’ I sniff. ‘It’s cool.’

  ‘You shouldn’t be walking home on your own,’ he says. ‘You never know who you might meet.’

  ‘Look, I’m going home,’ I say firmly, trying not to hobble.

  ‘I know,’ he says. ‘Let me walk you.’

  ‘Don’t bother. I can look after myself.’

  He looks me up and down, taking in my tear‐stained face, my tiny glam dress. I sniff again and wipe my cheeks with the back of my hand.

  ‘I’m fine. Honestly.’

  ‘Whatever,’ he says, and disappears off into the darkness.

  I limp off along the path, confused. What kind of chico leaves a damsel in distress to walk home alone late at night?

  Then it hits me. Maybe it’s just me! Maybe even in a glam dress with a twisted ankle and a tear‐stained face I still look like some Amazon‐Warrior‐Lara‐Croft‐type who could karate chop a brick at twenty paces and who no self‐respecting chico would dare to come near.

  I am so glad to reach my house at last. I limp round to the back garden, keeping to the shadows, then start climbing up the tree to get back in. I’m about to crawl along the branch that leads to my window when the dress snags and there’s this really loud ripping sound. I freeze, terrified my parents might have heard.

  Almost immediately the stair light flashes on and my heart plummets. This has to be the worst night of my life. I’ve lost Magnus to Megan, and now Dad is going to kill me.

  I close my eyes and brace myself for Dad’s shout. But all I hear is the sound of someone peeing, then the flush of the toilet! The stair light flicks off and the house falls still again. Attacked by a sudden fit of giggles I almost fall out of the tree.

  Five minutes later I’m snuggled down under my duvet with Tiny Ted tucked in beside me, and for some reason I’m not sobbing my heart out.

  So maybe it’s not broken after all.

  Only slightly cracked.

  I fall asleep not quite able to work out why…

  Guess what? Apparently my little outburst at the Lady Mayor’s Buffet last night raised Dad’s profile as a candidate! Two radio stations and one of the local papers have been in touch already, wanting to interview him about his campaign.

  Digby’s delighted. He says they could never have got so much exposure on their own. It’s worth a thousand election leaflets, Digby says. And they’ve even had people calling up this morning offering to help with mail‐outs and stuff. As a reward Digby bought me a Phoenix Macleod CD. Which is really cool, cos Phoenix Macleod writes and sings his own songs just like me.

  The bad news is that the Lady Mayor has announced that she too is going to stand as a parliamentary candidate. That, says Digby, makes things all the more difficult for a newcomer like Dad.

  Mum sorted out the car. She had to pay a fifty‐pound fine to get it back. More than it’s worth, Dad moaned, but Digby says the campaign fund will foot the bill for that and the taxi. So Pip can keep her pocket money and Agnes, my adopted donkey, will have her oats provided for another few months.

  What’s more, Dad says that after careful consideration – and some campaigning on my behalf by Mum, Pip and Digby – he’s decided that the deal for my demo disc still stands!

  Pip cheers and does a silly boogie dance around the kitchen. ‘You can be all happy again now, Sassy,’ she says, grinning. ‘Everything’s worked out OK!’

  I hug her and force a big smile. I don’t want to tell Pip about all the other things that are bothering me – like Magnus kissing Megan and me coming home all upset. She might pretend to be all grown up, but she’s actually sweet and innocent at heart.

  So now I’m up in my room, strumming my guitar, making myself think of all the reasons I have to be happy. Like Cordelia and Taslima, who are the best friends any girl could wish for. And how I’m gonna cut a demo disc – in just three weeks’ time – when I come to a momentous decision, which, I think, will affect the co
urse of the rest of my life.

  I am going to forget all about Magnus. Forever.

  Suddenly I feel so much better. I play this happy little tune. I smile at myself in the mirror.

  When – KAPOW! – this bit of my brain I don’t have any control over starts to think about Magnus again. And a big black cloud descends. And my reflection stops smiling back at me. And I feel all tearful and hurt.

  I am Sassy Wilde, I remind myself sharply. I refuse to get all weepy over a boy! I strum my guitar hard a few times, then my head starts filling up with lyrics for a new song, ‘My Bungee‐jumping Heart’, about how I’m up one minute and down the next.

  I scribble the lyrics into a notebook and hope that’ll be the end of it.

  I will be so glad when I’m no longer a teen and all this silly hormone stuff stops. Then I can just get on with my life.

  I’m in the kitchen just finishing off one of Mum’s fab Scotch drop pancakes with maple syrup – and thinking about how easy it would be to get fat if you were always getting your heart broken, cos you most def do feel better when you’re tucking into something sweet and sticky – when Cordelia materializes on the doorstep.

  I can tell from the minute Cordelia comes into the kitchen that she’s got something she’s dying to tell me. She kinda hops about like a little girl desperate for the loo. And I have this awful moment when Mum says, ‘So did you have a good time at Megan’s, Cordelia?’ And I think Cordelia’s going to forget that I wasn’t supposed to be there and put her tiny red‐shoed foot in it, but at the last minute she tunes into the thought vibes I’m firing across the kitchen, and she says, ‘Oh, it was OK. Nothing special. But we did all miss Sassy.’

  Phew! Moments later we dash out of the door and go whispering to the old swing at the bottom of the back garden. Mum shakes her head after us, saying, ‘Girls!’ in an exasperated, happy way.