Cassie (10 page)

I'm Holly Holley and I don't know who I am anymore.

I see Cassie and Aunty Fern coming out the main entrance, so I keep my head down, and scoop carbonara from the plastic tray. I'm not trying to be rude. I just don't have the energy. As it turns out, it makes no difference. Cassie sees me. There's this high-pitched shrieking and everyone stops. Even Raph stops, mid dribble, and turns towards the source of the noise.

Cassie is thrashing about in her wheelchair and just
yelling
. It's difficult to tell if she is looking at me or not, because her head doesn't stay still for a moment. But apparently she is. Aunty Fern looks over and gives me a big smile. She waves. There's nothing else I can do. I wave back.

As they move towards my bench I can feel the eyes of the school on me. It's embarrassing. It's like she is a spotlight and I am being dragged into the bright circle of her presence. I know how a rabbit feels, frozen by light.

‘Hey, Holly,' says Aunty Fern, giving me a hug and completing the full spectrum of embarrassment. ‘Guess what? Cassie's just enrolled.'

‘Here?' I say. ‘Oh, okay. When does she start?'

‘Thursday.'

‘That's great,' I say.

I introduce Amy, who shakes Aunty Fern's hand and then smiles and gives Cassie this small, apologetic wave.

So much for school being a place I can escape to.

It's so unfair. It's so unfair I want to cry. Tears prick behind my eyes and I have to steel myself to keep them there. I want to shout, shriek and yell. Hey, why not? When Cassie does it, everyone thinks it's sweet.

But I just sit and smile and nod. And inside I am a mess.

Cassie

This place is cold. The sun is diluted, but the cool sucks moisture
from my skin.

Things are dry here. Skin, faces and smiles. Holly smiles, but
it doesn't touch her eyes. It flutters, an injured bird, and dies on her lips. She cannot look at me. Her attention slips and slides.

Suddenly, I feel dry inside as well. It was wrong to come here.
But I can't let Mum read my thoughts, or hear my silent words. I
am responsible for her happiness.

And unhappiness has a sour taste. It coats my mouth.

Holly

‘She seems nice,' said Amy. Fern and Cassie had gone home.

Holly picked at the rest of the carbonara, but she wasn't hungry anymore.

‘Who?' she said.

‘Cassie. Sweet.'

Holly put the plastic container on the bench. She wasn't sure she could control what was bubbling up inside her. She didn't know if she wanted to.

‘And just what do you base that on, Amy? Huh? Come on, you're the scientist. Give me the evidence.'

‘Holly …'

‘No. You say she's sweet. You meet her for about five seconds, she screeches and thrashes around and that's “sweet”. You have no idea what she's like, Amy. You can't see inside her. Neither can I, come to that. But at least you don't have to have her living in your house, messing up your life.'

Amy's eyes were large.

‘Hol,' she said, ‘I think you're overreacting. I only said she seemed nice.'

Holly got to her feet. She wanted to tear something, destroy it. But there was nothing at hand.

‘You know what, Amy?' she yelled. ‘You are so full of it. You are crammed full of it. Miss bloody reasonable. Well, you can shove it, Amy. I'm sick of it.'

Amy bit her lip and turned her eyes back to her book. Holly turned away and stamped off.

5

Holly

It was Friday and Cassie's second day of school.

Holly couldn't avoid travelling to and from school with her. Fern gave them both a lift. But she was relieved when Cassie's ISA met her at the car and wheeled her off to the Special Needs staffroom. After that she didn't see much of her during the day, apart from English lessons. Even then, Cassie and her support worker shared a desk at the back of the class, so there was no pressure to socialise. Holly sat at the front. Other than that, it was a matter of quick glimpses during recess and lunch.

It wasn't hard to avoid a wheelchair.

On Friday lunchtime, when the bell signalling the end of morning lessons rang, Holly hurried to the main girls' toilet block. It was double maths in the afternoon, a class she rarely enjoyed. Mr Tillyard knew his stuff all right. Sometimes she wondered how his head managed to keep his brain crammed in. The trouble was, he didn't understand that not all his students were similarly well-equipped. If you didn't understand a formula, he simply explained it in exactly the same way you hadn't understood in the first place. So you couldn't ask again. Not without feeling like a moron. As a result, a large percentage of the class sat in a fog of incomprehension while Mr Tillyard taught the three or four on his wavelength. It didn't make for a happy prospect on a warm Friday afternoon.

Demi leaned over a washbasin refreshing her make-up. Most of the mirror on the wall was tarnished, but she had found a small, clear space. Kari and Georgia flanked her. Three heads turned as Holly pushed open the door.

‘Hi, Holly,' said Demi, turning back to the mirror and grimacing at her reflection. Holly couldn't imagine what she might see to object to. As far as she could tell, Demi was flawless.

‘Hey, Demi. Kari, Georgia.'

The other two nodded, but didn't smile. Holly tried to examine herself in part of the mirror to the right of Georgia, but the tarnish was so severe she couldn't see a great deal. Not that it mattered, she thought. Probably a blessing in disguise.

‘Maths, eh?' said Holly. It was the only class she shared with Demi who was one of the vast majority who had given up on ever understanding what Mr Tillyard was going on about. Most times Demi flicked through fashion mags under the desk or sketched her own designs on a drawing pad she brought along especially for that purpose. The teacher never noticed, so everyone was happy. Holly often spent her time examining Demi, trying to understand how she achieved the effect she did. Was it just clothes and make-up and jewellery? Or was there something else? Charisma, maybe? It was as big a puzzle as Mr Tillyard's maths.

‘I don't think so,' said Demi. ‘Maths doesn't appeal. It
never
appeals.'

For a moment, Holly was puzzled. It was Friday afternoon. It was double maths. It was always double maths.

‘We've got something better to do,' added Demi.

‘What?'

‘Shopping. To be precise, clothes shopping. There's a new outlet at Westland and we are going to check it out.'

‘What? You are going to wag?'

Demi tutted.

‘Such an ugly word, Holly,' she said. ‘I prefer to think of it as distance learning. Would you like to come along? I guarantee you'll learn more with us than with old Tillyard.'

Holly knew this was a defining moment. She had read about defining moments in novels, so she recognised the signs. She quickly debated the pros and cons. On the one hand, this was an invitation – a second chance – and she hadn't expected to be given another one. Turn this down and that was definitely it. Demi was making every effort. There would be no third chances. This was also the opportunity to pick Demi's brains about fashion. And not in an abstract way. Action Plan 1 was being offered by the fashion queen herself. An image sprang to her mind. Holly emerging from the change room and Demi and the others critically examining her. ‘That colour doesn't really suit you, Hol. With your legs you need something that will enhance your shape, slim your hips and accentuate your waistline. Try this . . .' Maybe there would be the opportunity to impress the girls with her willingness to be moulded to their taste.

Demi was right. It would certainly beat the hell out of going to maths.

On the other hand, there were all the consequences of wagging school. She knew she would never get away with it. True, Mr Tillyard didn't appear to know who she was and never remarked on her presence, let alone her work. But it was Murphy's Law. What
could
go wrong,
would
go wrong. He would notice. He would ring her mother. And then the brown stuff would hit the fan.

‘You're not scared, are you?' said Georgia.

‘Course not,' said Holly.

And the moment became defined. Holly had her ATM card with her. The Plastic Surgery Emergency Fund was ready and waiting. And when she thought about it, that was what the fund was for. To transform her. She could see a new, bright Holly Holley emerging as if from a chrysalis.

Yeah, her mum would be angry. If she found out. But there
was
a possibility she wouldn't. And anyway, even if she did, this was something Holly was owed. She was tired of being good. Giving up her bedroom, giving up her social life. For what? It wasn't even as if she was being treated better. Just good old Holly, you can rely on her to give up everything for nothing in return. Well, not this time.

When Holly spoke again it was a smooth transition from her last words.

‘What are we waiting for?' she said. ‘Let's hit the shops.'

Demi laughed.

‘You're bad,' she said. ‘Meet us in twenty minutes, okay? By the basketball court. It's easy to slip away from there.'

Holly nodded. As she left the girls' toilets, she was conscious of her nerves tingling. She wasn't sure whether this was due to fear or excitement.

Or a combination of both.

Cassie

My nerves tingle.

New school. New patterns.

Lunchtimes are full of fear. I sit in a staffroom, surrounded by
old voices. Someone feeds me. She is kind but doesn't know the
rhythms. A spoon scrapes the side of my mouth, clinks on teeth.
She talks, yet all her words are fillers. They fill the gap of my
silence.

This is the hardest time.

New school. New patterns.

My nerves tingle.