Cassie's Crush (9 page)

No shampoo in the shower. Beth must have finished it off (her showers take about three and a half years so she can be fresh and fragrant for toilet-stink Henry). I searched the whole bathroom but found nothing. In desperation I used soap, but it went all frothy and matted, like Sam's dog Billy before his wash, when I tried to rinse it out. Now I
really
needed shampoo. I threw on Ned's thick dressing gown, ran downstairs with Mum yelling that I was dripping everywhere and darted outside to the van, hoping my wet hair didn't freeze in the bitter cold.

Just as I thought, there was a bottle of Poochie Conditioning Shampoo for a Glossy Topcoat. I grabbed it and ran out of the van, then cocked my leg against its back tyre and had a wee. No I didn't. But I was worried that it was slightly unnatural for a human to use dog shampoo. And I knew the Leech would broadcast it all over Tarmouth if she ever found out.

I also noticed that the shampoo is deodourizing and “helps to repel fleas”. I hope I don't start exhibiting other doggie behaviour, like chasing sticks or sniffing people's bums.

After all that shampoo hassle, I was running late for school, so Dad said he'd give me a lift on his way to work. I told him not to, and that they
encourage
lateness at school, but he insisted. He parked right in front of the main gate even though I said it'd be fine to drop me off a few streets away.

As I opened the car door, the Leech and Jade strutted past and burst out giggling. “Eww,” the Leech yelled, “can you smell something disgusting?”

“Yeah,” Jade sniggered. “It stinks of cheese around here!” Dad looked a bit sheepish and said he hoped I had a good day, obviously not realizing that our car is wrecking my life.

Of course, it took about 3.2 seconds for word to spread that our car stinks. I've
got
to force Dad to do something about it. Maybe he could scrub its insides with that deodourizing doggie shampoo?

 

If that wasn't bad enough, I also had to put up with the Leech discussing her forthcoming Easter holiday in great detail to anyone who'd listen. OK, I could have left her to it, but she was telling Ollie and Sam as they walked down the high street together at lunchtime, and I'd been hanging around, plucking up the courage to join them. “We're booked in at this
amazing
resort,” she was boasting, loud enough for me to hear every word across the busy street. “It's
amazing
. We went there last year. You can have anything you want for free and there are these
amazing
boats with glass bottoms where you can see all the tropical fish in the water.”

Yeah, I thought darkly. That's where fish tend to hang out. And how many times was she planning to say “amazing”?

“Sounds great,” Ollie said.

“Where are you going this summer?” she asked.

“Butlins,” said Sam.

“Oh, ha ha!” she shrieked, obviously thinking that was tragic. I noticed Sam going red as I crossed the road and strolled past them, on my way to the newsagent's for sweets. He's probably madly in lust with the Leech as well.

 

After school I asked Mum where we're going for our hols this year. “We can't afford a holiday, Cassie,” she said with a sigh.

“What, you mean we're not going anywhere?” I exclaimed.

She frowned and said, “We've just been away, don't you remember?”

I racked my brain. Maybe we'd been to Morocco where I'd had some terrible head injury and forgotten all about it. For one moment I thought she was talking about our thrilling trip to the garden centre.

“France!” Mum exclaimed. “Don't say you've forgotten our holiday to France?”

“Oh yeah,” I said, although it's not what I'd call a holiday. Not the Leeches-off-to-the-West-Indies kind of holiday. There was no beach, no swaying palm trees, no glass-bottomed boats. Just a sick-making ferry crossing to Calais where we stayed in a damp hotel with somebody else's toenails in the shower for one hellish night. The four of us had to share one room – naturally, Princess Beth got to stay home – so I lay awake all night listening to Dad snoring. The only reason we went was to fill up the car with cheap drink and food for Christmas.

So, Leech goes to the Dominican Republic. And we go to a gigantic warehouse called Wine's World.

I'm worried about Ned. He's hardly speaking and just walks around the house like he's in a dream, constantly checking his phone. When I saw him hanging out with his mates outside school, they were all nodding and muttering and looking horribly serious. “Are you OK, Ned?” I asked him over dinner.

“Why wouldn't I be?” he barked, before stomping upstairs with his fish pie half finished (I didn't blame him – don't think even a cat would eat it).

I've been desperately trying to think of costume ideas for the party, and went to ask Ned to help me. “I'm a bit busy right now, Cass,” he muttered, even though he was doing nothing but sitting all gloomy on his bed.

I frowned at him. The pale, miserable face wasn't like him at all, and I wondered if he was ill or that red-headed girl had dumped him. The inflatable mallet was propped up in a corner of his room, and I thought of giving him a bop on the head to perk him up, but decided it probably wasn't the right moment.

“What's wrong, Ned?” I asked, plonking myself on the bed beside him.

“Nothing.”

“Is it that girl with the red hair?”

He looked irritated and said, “
What
girl with the red hair? What are you on about?” Like there'd been hundreds of red-headed girls in his bedroom lately and I wasn't being specific enough.

“You know,” I said. “The one you were, um …
you
know…”

Ned frowned and squinted back at his phone. “I'm really busy,” he said. “Could you please leave me alone?”

“Did she dump you?” I asked.

“Jesus, Cass! What business is it of yours?” His eyes went all watery and I tried to hug him but he shook me off.

“Sorry,” I murmured. “I just thought, if she has, you might want to talk about it…”

“Why would I want to do that?” he snapped. I left his room with my lip wobbling. He didn't have to be so horrible. Ned probably thinks I wouldn't understand, being thirteen, but I've had a crush on Ollie for nearly a month, so I probably know just as much about love as he does.

Another Henry visit. He and Beth were all over each other in the kitchen and poor Ned was mooching around, looking terrible. I'm worried that he's dying of a broken heart, and whispered to Beth that perhaps it wasn't terribly sensitive to snog Henry in front of him. I won't repeat what she said to me here.

To make the day even worse, Henry stank out our toilet again. I think he needs to see a doctor about his insides.

Marcia told her mum she was going swimming with Evie and came to see me instead. Her party's only two weeks away and we need to get the invitations out early so everyone can organize costumes and look incredible. We used the spare card left over from the babysitting adverts I haven't got around to handing out yet, and Marcia took ages deciding what to put. This is what she finally came up with:

 

MARCIA WOULD LIKE TO INVITE YOU TO HER VALENTINE'S PARTY

Date: Saturday, February 13

7 p.m. till late

14 Chinkly Gardens, Tarmouth

Fancy dress optional

 

How boring was that? It sounded like a party for old people. I came up with a much more exciting version:

 

DON'T MISS THE UNMISSABLE EVENT OF THE YEAR!!!!

MARCIA'S GORGEOUS AND GLAMOROUS VALENTINE'S PARTY

A-LIST ONLY (Yes, that means you!!)

The time: 7 p.m. to ALL NIGHT

The place:
14 Chinkly Gardens (Marcia's house)

Fancy dress ESSENTIAL

Fantastic prize for the most incredible costume!

 

How could Ollie resist that? I mean, seriously?

“I don't know about ‘all night',” Marcia said, looking worried.

“Well, just see what happens,” I told her. “Your mum will probably go to bed, then we can just, er…” I went quiet. We both knew it was unlikely that she'd go anywhere. She'll probably watch us all night in case anyone stains her precious cream carpet or tries to steal “expensive sportswear”.

“I don't have a prize either,” Marcia added.

“Stop being so negative,” I sighed. “I'm sure we'll think of something.”

Once she'd agreed that my version was best, we typed it up on Ned's laptop and badgered him to attach it to his printer and run off loads of copies. I suspect he only agreed so we'd leave him alone to brood in his room. Although Marcia's planning to give out some of the invitations at school, I know what boys' schoolbags are like – crammed with crumpled books and mouldy old chocolate (Ned's is like a horror film). I'll deliver Ollie's to his house personally so nothing can possibly go wrong.

P.S. Marcia wet her swimming costume in our bathroom and squeezed it out so her mum would think she'd really been swimming and not (shock horror) at my house.