Seriously Sassy: Crazy Days

by Maggi Gibson

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  Hi! Have you ever felt like you do things for all the RIGHT reasons, then everything SPIRALS out of control in ways you could NEVER have imagined – and you’re left wondering, how on earth did all that happen?

  Well, that’s why this book’s called CRAZY DAYS. My life has been a total ROLLER-COASTER recently – some things have been BRILLIANT and others have been nothing short of DISASTROUS.

  But, hey – I guess that’s what being thirteen’s all about … And that’s why we all need fab BEZZIES like Taslima (cool and calm) and Cordelia (scary and stunning).

  And at least I can hold my head high and say I TRY to do the right thing. Even when it all gets REALLY, REALLY tricky.

  Oh, and I do my best to be a GOOD ROLE MODEL for my little sis, Pip (nine going on nineteen) – even though I suspect she’s already got the world sussed better than I ever will.

  One last thing – the whole BOY thing has got me BAFFLED! I mean, I thought it would be simple. You meet the Love of your Life, then it’s pink clouds and sparkles all the way. Turns out it doesn’t work that way. Sigh. Want to know more? Then read on …

  Loadsalove,

  Sassy :o) xxx

  Books by Maggi Gibson

  Seriously Sassy

  Seriously Sassy: Pinch Me, I’m Dreaming

  Seriously Sassy: Crazy Days

  Everybody loves Sassy!

  ‘I absolutely love your book, Seriously Sassy.

  It’s like you wrote it all about me!’

  – Saskia, 10

  ‘Your books are brill, Maggi! I’ve read Seriously

  Sassy 17 times ’cause it was soo good! Can’t wait

  till the next one!’ – Heather, 12

  ‘I’ve just finished reading Pinch Me, I’m Dreaming

  and I love this book! I’m rating it an “A”!’ –

  Guneet, 11

  ‘You are my favourite author ever. I got your

  book Seriously Sassy and didn’t want it to end!’ –

  Mairi, 12

  Maggi Gibson

  PUFFIN

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4P 2Y3 (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Ireland, 25 St Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd)

  Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd)

  Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi – 110 017, India

  Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  puffinbooks.com

  First published 2010

  Text copyright © Maggi Gibson, 2010

  Illustrations copyright © Hennie Haworth, 2010

  All rights reserved

  The moral right of the author and illustrator has been asserted

  Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN: 978-0-141-92408-3

  For my mother, Peggy

  Table of Contents

  TRACK ONE

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  LAST TRACK

  THANK YOU to …

  TRACK ONE

  Yay! Life is great in every way

  I’m young and I care and I got so much to say.

  Like the bee in the hive

  I love being alive

  Like a bird on the wing

  I love to sing

  Like a cloud in the sky

  I love floating by.

  Yay! Life is great in every way

  Cos I’m young and I care and I got so much to say.

  Like a fish in the flow – or a penguin in the snow

  Or a monkey up a tree – or a dolphin in the sea

  Or a crab on the sand – or a horse on the land

  I’m young and I’m free and I’m gonna make a stand!

  Sassy Wilde, age 13

  1

  It’s half seven in the morning and I’m in my Greenpeace nightie, playing air guitar and belting out, ‘Yay! Life is great in every way!’ when I stop in my tracks cos the tiger on my wall poster’s staring at me accusingly with two sad amber eyes.

  ‘OK, OK, Mr Tiger, I apologize! Life isn’t quite as perfect as I make out in my song, what with all the forests getting chopped down and the rubbish piling up. But once I’m a famous rock-chica-extraordinaire I promise-promise-promise I’ll fight global warming … and cruelty to animals … and pollution and everything else that our stupid parentals have done to mess up the planet.’

  And with that I grab my robe and dash to the bathroom.

  As I leap into the shower I run through the events of the last week that have made my life SO GOOD:

  Y-Generation Music are almost 100% definitely gonna offer me a record deal – whoop whoop! … shampoo hair …

  It’s official! I have a boyfriend, the one and only Twig … rinse hair … AND I’VE HAD MY FIRST EVER KISS! Phew! At last. I’m thirteen and a half! … slap on Tame the Wild Beast conditioner …

  I have the two bestest bezzies in the whole wide world – Cordelia and Taslima

  Oh, and guess what? My long-running feud with Megan Campbell is over! We are now real buds again, if not quite best buds just yet.

  I’m so happy I grab the showerhead like it’s a mike and belt out again, ‘Yay! Life is great in every way!’

  The bathroom’s totally steamed up now. It looks like that dry ice stuff you get on TV shows. As it swirls around me I imagine I’m singing my hit single to an audience of millions. (Ooops, totally naked – I don’t thi
nk so!) ‘YAY! LIFE IS –’

  My prize-winning performance is rudely interrupted by a hysterical hammering on the bathroom door. ‘SASSY!’ screams my little sis. ‘You’ve been in there for YEARS! Get out NOW!’

  ‘Just coming!’ I yell.

  Quickly I rinse the conditioner from my hair and as I emerge from the shower cubicle I bow to my imaginary fans. Then I wind myself into a big fluffy towel and wrap a smaller one, turban-style, around my head.

  ‘SASSY!’ Pip batters her fists on the door again. (She’s nine and two-eighths, but in my head she’ll be forever two and two-quarters. Even when she’s ancient, like twenty-five or something, I’ll always see her as a pretty little toddler with a chocolate-smeared face.)

  ‘SASSEEEE!!! I NEED TO GET IN NOW!’ Pip shrieks so loud I swear my ears pop.

  I finish brushing my teeth, wipe the steam from the mirror, flash myself a film-star smile, then throw the door open with a theatrical flourish.

  ‘At last!’ Pip gasps as she rockets past.

  Discreetly I close the bathroom door. Some things are not meant to be shared. Even by sisters.

  Twenty minutes later I’ve dried my hair, which, I regret to report, is more unruly than a roomful of toddlers on E-numbers, and I’m just pulling my despicable school polo shirt over my head when my mobile pings.

  I dive on it – and can you believe it? It’s a text from Magnus Menzies. At eight in the morning! That boy is NOT normal. I go to press Delete … but sad, sad, sad … I’m too curious! I don’t actually WANT a text message from Magnus Menzies – we have BAD HISTORY – but isn’t it weird that even when a text is from someone you don’t want to hear from, it’s almost impossible not to look at it!

  While my mind’s considering the weirdness of the human brain, my eyes read.

  Hey Babes saw u on tv. WOW! C U @ skule. MAGNUS xxx

  XXX?!! From Magnus!!! Blaaargh … I’ll need to brush my teeth again and gargle with some extra-zingy-minty-antiseptic mouthwash.

  Five minutes later I swan into the kitchen. ‘No, no, Miss Wilde isn’t doing autographs,’ I say, flapping a languid hand. ‘Not before brekkie.’

  ‘I was only wanting to say good morning,’ Dad mutters as he puts the kettle on. ‘And find out if Miss Wilde would like pancakes?’

  Mmmmm … I had planned a zingy wake-me-up smoothie, but let’s face it, I’m pretty woken up already – any more awake and you’d have to scrape me off the ceiling! Dad pours some batter into the hot frying pan. It sizzles enticingly and whispers, Eat me, eat me, eat me.

  Mum yawns and looks over her spectacles. ‘Your father’s trying to get back into Pip’s good books after last weekend’s hamster fiasco.’

  Dad looks glum. (Let’s just say he was left in charge of Pip’s hamster and, well, things didn’t go according to plan. Which is somewhat worrying. I mean, my dad’s an MP. He’s supposed to be running the country. But leave him alone with just one little hamster to look after – and we come back to chaos.)

  Five minutes later me and Pip are scoffing Dad’s delicious pancakes slathered in maple syrup. Pip has granted Dad Total and Absolute Forgiveness. Mum’s quietly reading her book and Dad’s hiding behind the morning paper. To the inexperienced eye we might even look like a normal family.

  ‘Sassy,’ Mum puts her book down suddenly. ‘I’m worried.’

  ‘I’m not surprised.’ I lick some stray syrup from my fingers. ‘The bee population’s dying out … lick lick … and Einstein – you know that genius scientist dude … lick lick … – well, he said that if all the bees die out, then four years later the whole of civilization will collapse … lick lick … Something to do with food chains and things.’ I gobble another piece of pancake. ‘I’m pretty worried myself. The whole world’s in meltdown. And what’s worse – no one seems to be doing anything about it!’

  ‘It’s not civilization I’m worried about,’ Mum sighs. ‘It’s you getting involved in this music business. I’ve just been reading about Arizona Kelly.’

  I squint at the cover of her book – Arizona Kelly: The Tragedy of my Success.

  ‘Mum!’ I squeak. ‘I hope you’re not comparing me to Arizona Kelly! She’s a complete bubble-head. She dropped out of school when she was twelve. She completely went for the fame thing. And she’ll do anything to get on the front page of the papers!’

  ‘It’s true.’ Dad taps his paper. ‘She’s on the front page again. Just got married –’

  ‘So?’ Pip protests as she lathers another pancake with maple syrup. ‘Lots of people get married. I want to get married!’

  ‘Well, I don’t,’ I say firmly.

  ‘But Arizona Kelly’s only sixteen,’ says Mum.

  ‘And it’s her third marriage!’ Dad adds.

  ‘Hmmmpphhh …’ Pip says with a waggle of her nine-year-old glittery pink fingernails. ‘Sixteen’s ancient.’

  ‘Anyway, you don’t need to worry about me turning out like Arizona Kelly,’ I assure Mum. ‘I want to be the best singer ever and write the best songs ever. Then I’m gonna use my fame and money to make the world a better place. I don’t want to be an empty-headed star. Or a drug addict. Or married. OK?’

  ‘Well, that’s a relief, Sassy, but you really need to stick at your schoolwork too.’ Dad folds his paper and takes off his frilly apron. ‘You’re too young to be sure about what you want to do with your life. So even if Y-Generation get in touch and offer you a record deal, and even if we do all agree that it’s acceptable, you still need to get qualifications. Keep your options open.’

  ‘Dad, I have only ever wanted to be a singer,’ I protest. ‘It’s been my big dream for as long as I can remember –’

  ‘Actually, that’s not true,’ Mum interrupts. ‘When you were five you wanted to be a starfish.’

  ‘Yeah, until I realized I had the wrong number of legs. Oh, and my head in the wrong place … Anyway,’ I continue, ‘I’m more mature now. I like my life the way it is. I don’t want to change anything.’

  ‘So if Y-Generation gets in touch while you’re at school to offer you a recording deal, we’ll tell them you’re not interested?’ Mum teases.

  ‘No, Mum!’ I squeal. ‘You’ll tell them I’m ready. Any time. Got that?’

  ‘Course I’ve got it,’ Mum beams.

  ‘And I hope they do call, sweetie,’ Dad says, ruffling my hair. ‘You’ve worked hard to get this far. You deserve your big break.’

  I’m not even inside the school grounds when Magnus Menzies homes in on me. Honestly! Can’t he pick up the death rays I’m sending out?

  ‘Hi, Sassy!’ he grins. ‘You look great!’

  I give him a polite thanks-for-the-compliment-now-go-live-on-another-planet smile1. But Magnus does not understand the most basic body language. He just witters on about how wonderful I am. Which would be great if it was coming from the gorgeous Twig, say … or scrumptious Phoenix Macleod … But Magnus?!

  A couple of tiny S1 girls with kohl-rimmed eyes that make them look like ring-tailed lemurs gaze on enviously. Unlike me they have still to learn that Magnus may look as tasty as an ice-cream sundae with a cherry on top, he may have gorgeous blue eyes you could dive into, he may be a champion swimmer, and be pretty good at maths and science, but tragically he has the emotional intelligence of a mentally impaired mollusc.

  ‘I thought you might like to do something after school? There’s no swim practice today …’ Magnus flashes me his perfect white-toothed smile.

  I respond with a Force 12 withering look2 – and what does he do? Only grins back at me with lovesick eyes!

  Just then Cordelia comes drifting into the playground, clocks my predicament, and like a fire-fighter spotting a
blaze, comes rushing to the rescue.

  ‘Sorry, Magnus,’ Cordelia says, her green eyes flashing as she links arms and leads me away. ‘Sassy’s not signing autographs right now. Come back in say … mmm … a hundred years?’

  And with that we go giggling off towards the main entrance.

  On the way to registration tons of people I don’t even know high-five me and ask when my first single’s coming out.

  ‘I don’t know yet,’ I explain. ‘But the recording company are getting in touch this week.’ I’m amazed at how many saw the little clip of me on TV on Saturday night!

  ‘You were only on for a couple of minutes,’ Sindi-Sue gabbles while Miss Peabody marks the register. ‘I was round at my big cousin’s, vegging out on the sofa. The news had been droning on for a while, then all of a sudden there you were, on stage at that Wiccaman festival thing. And I started screaming, “I know her, I know her, she’s in my class!”’

  And that’s pretty much how the whole morning goes, with everyone wanting to know if I’ve got a record deal now, and what was it like meeting Phoenix Macleod, and is he as gorgeous in real life as he is on telly – he is. Oh, and do I have his mobile number.

  ‘Actually I’m sort of surprised he didn’t give you it,’ Cordelia teases as we bundle into Miss Cassidy’s art class before lunch. ‘I mean he was pretty smitten. He even dedicated that song to you, y’know, the one about falling in love with a crazy girl –’

  ‘OMIGAWD!’ Sindi-Sue shrieks like an overexcited parakeet. ‘Did he really? Sassy Wilde, I am SO-O-O jealous!’

  ‘Phoenix just said that to please the crowd,’ I laugh, even as a little voice inside my head surprises me by whispering, What if he didn’t, Sassy? What if he meant it? ‘In any case,’ I add quickly, ‘I’m Twig’s girlfriend now.’

  Then we’re all jostling to grab our half-finished papier-mâché projects from the shelf at the back of the room. Megan grabs clumsily for hers and accidentally knocks Tas’s sculpture over.