Cassie's Crush (10 page)

“It should be about love,” Marcia said when I called her to discuss costume ideas. “Like a gigantic red heart or something.”

“That's far too obvious,” I said.

“Yeah,” she insisted, “but if you dressed up as a huge red heart and positioned yourself right in front of Ollie, at least he'd know how you feel about him.”

“I don't
want
him to know!” I shrieked, stressing at the very thought of it. “Anyway, even if I did, I'd want to do it in a completely un-obvious way.”

“Well,” Marcia added, “you could wear normal clothes with a little heart sewn on to your sleeve…”

Ah – wearing my heart on my sleeve. Clever. “But then your mum would recognize me,” I pointed out.

“Oh yeah,” she said glumly.

“So what are you wearing?” I asked her.

“Um, I've still got birthday money, so I'll probably buy something this weekend,” she said, sounding slightly embarrassed.

“Great.” I was trying to be positive and not the least bit envious.

“It'll be all right, Cassie,” Marcia added. “I'm sure you'll come up with something. You always do.”

I hoped she was right, but right now I'm no closer to coming up with an idea for a genius costume for the party I'm not even supposed to be going to. But at least I have an invitation to hand deliver to Ollie tomorrow…

As soon as I'd showered and dressed, I grabbed my bike from the shed and cycled over to Lilac Hill. It felt good, doing this on my own. Like a sort of secret assignment.

I knew Lilac Hill was steep, but it seemed even steeper to cycle up, and by the time I got to Ollie's I was puffing madly and sweating loads. I propped my bike against the low garden wall and fished his invitation out of my pocket.

I glanced at the house, into the posh living room with the grand curtains tied back with bows. No sign of anyone in there. I waited a while, trying to pluck up courage, and hoped that no one would look out from any of the houses and think I was acting suspiciously.

The iron gate creaked as I opened it. I crept along the gravel path, my heart banging against my ribs. The letter box was at the bottom of the door, and I bent down to post the invitation. But just as I was about to push it through, the door swung open – it can't have been been shut properly – and a dog started barking madly inside the house. With all my doggie experience I can pretty much tell a breed from its bark, and I knew this one was massive. It was probably a guard dog, bred to kill. I bolted away from the door and back down the path, but not quick enough because the dog – this huge, snarling, barking Alsatian – came bounding out after me. “Whoa, boy!” I said, whirling round to face him as he charged up to me.

I did all the things you're meant to do with fierce dogs, like stand still and wait – the theory is they'll get bored and wander away. But this one didn't. He wasn't barking
quite
as madly, but he still wasn't in the best of moods. Every time I dared to move a teeny bit, he let out this low, menacing growl. I could hardly breathe through fear.

There was no sign of anyone coming out. I could have been savaged to bits by this hound, and not a single person seemed to care. The door hadn't been shut, so someone had to be in there, right? Maybe even Ollie. The dog glared at me and drooled on to the path.

“Hello?” A woman's voice came from inside the house. I stood dead still as the dog padded closer and started to poke its wet nose around my trainers.

“Yes,” the woman said, “just hang on a minute, would you? Someone's at the door and Monty's gone out, that ridiculous dog…” She appeared in the doorway, clutching a phone to her cheek. “Monty,” she snapped, as if I wasn't there. “Stop that, boy. Yes, don't worry, he's here, it's fine…” The woman was tall and skinny and wearing a tight black dress and loads of bright red lipstick. She blinked at me as if she'd only just noticed me. “Call you back,” she continued briskly. “There's some girl here. Probably a friend of Ollie's.” She laughed and added, “Yeah, that's right. Another one.”

Another
what
? I thought as she finished her call and pulled a wide glossy smile. “Monty won't hurt you,” she said.

“Oh,” I said in a tiny voice.

“His bark's worse than his bite.”

I managed the feeblest smile.

“Anyway,” she added, “can I help you?”

“Er, is Ollie in?” I gripped his invitation tightly.

“Not at the moment, sorry. Want to leave a message or something?” She smiled again, and I got the feeling I knew her from somewhere but couldn't figure out how. She looked like she was dressed for a posh night out, not an ordinary Sunday.

I held out the invitation. “My friend's having a party and we, er … wondered if Ollie would like to come.”

“Great, I'm sure he will.” She took the invitation from me. Monty was now sniffing around my bum. I
wished
she'd call him off me. “Delivery girl, are you?” she asked in a teasing voice.

“Er, yeah,” I said, glancing over at my bike. “Anyway, I'd better go. Got loads more to deliver…”

“D'you go to school with Ollie?”

“Yeah.”

“Couldn't you just email the invitations or hand them out at school? Save yourself all this trouble?” Her red mouth twitched, and I wondered if she could read my mind and knew all about Operation SOOP.

“I … I just like to keep fit,” I said quickly. “It's good exercise, cycling.” She laughed and snapped her fingers, bringing Monty to heel.

“Good for you, love. Anyway, thanks for dropping it off. I'll make sure Ollie gets it.”

I cycled home fast as my legs would go, my head full of Ollie's mum and whether she's a high-flying boss in charge of a company and, more importantly, if she'll remember to pass on the invitation when she obviously has far more important things on her mind.

Ollie thanked Marcia for dropping off his invitation. She looked a bit shocked and said, “Oh, er, that's all right. I was just, um, passing…”

“How did you know where I live?” he asked her as we headed into registration.

“Erm, I, er…” She threw me a panicky look. “Cassie told me,” she blurted out.

He turned to me and grinned, causing my insides to go swishy like soup. “How did
you
know?” he asked.

“I, er … saw you one day, going into your house…” I frowned. “Lilac something, isn't it? Up by the golf course?”

“Yeah.” He looked like he was trying not to smirk. “I live on Lilac Hill.”

“Oh. Right.” Now I felt completely idiotic. I mean, I'd been to his house and met his mum and nearly been savaged by Monty, and now I was having to act as if it had never happened.

“Anyway, can you come?” Marcia asked quickly.

“Yeah, sure. That'd be great.”

He'd said yes! He was COMING!!! I floated to my seat on a cloud of happiness.

“Come to what?” I heard the Leech calling over to Marcia. “What's happening?”

“Just a little thing,” Marcia murmured.

Don't tell her. Don't tell her.

“What,” the Leech went on, “like a
party
kind of little thing?” Marcia went quiet and fiddled with the key chain on her bag.

“What's the party for?” the Leech demanded as Mr Fielding strode in.

“Oh,” he said, smiling, “is someone having a party?”

“Um … I am,” Marcia muttered.

“Any special occasion?” he asked.

“It's, er … a Valentine's party.” Poor Marcia. She looked totally depressed. Now everyone knew and they'd all expect an invitation.

“Is it fancy dress?” the Leech squawked across the room. Marcia nodded miserably.

“Great,” the Leech sniggered, and I knew she was already planning some skimpy boy-magnet costume that'd make the rest of us instantly invisible. It didn't seem to have occurred to her that she wasn't even invited.

This is a disaster. The party's
our
thing – an offshoot of Operation SOOP – and now the Leech will make a grand entrance and ruin it all. So what am I going to do – stand back and let her?

No, I'm not. I'll just have to make sure
my
costume's completely amazing.

 

When I came home from school, Beth was out at the cinema with stinking Henry, so I had a little prowl around her room for ideas. A postcard of a giant slab of chocolate cake was stuck to her dressing-table mirror, and the caption read:
Men are from Mars, women are from Venus, chocolate is from heaven.

Chocolate? Hmmm. It's
kind
of Valentiney, and isn't it meant to have some kind of hormonal, love-inducing effect? Somehow, though, I don't think going as a gigantic bar of Galaxy will impress Ollie. What about a Creme Egg? How would I make one big enough to fit my whole body inside?

I kept thinking and thinking until it hit me. I'll be Venus – Roman goddess of love! Then I remembered from school that she was meant to have
two
boyfriends, Vulcan and Mars. Ollie might assume I'm a two-timing type, especially as Stalking Paul yelled over in science today, “Still got that boyfriend, Cassie?” Also, Venus is meant to be naked. I could make some kind of all-over body stocking so I'd
look
naked, but would that be any less embarrassing than actually
being
naked? Plus, my lopsided boob situation would be obvious to all, and Marcia's mum would recognize me.

Also, I think that making a body stocking might stretch even my creative abilities too far.

I KNOW!!! I'm not going to be Venus. I'm going to be a Venus flytrap, the flesh-eating plant that snaps shut and devours insects. We did a detailed diagram of one at school. Genius, huh? All I need to do is make a giant papier mâché, er …
thing
that fits over my face, so Ollie'll lean in to see who it is, and at that point the flower will snap shut and … well, I don't know what'll happen then, but can hardly breathe for thinking about all the snapping and devouring.

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.