Cassandra: And they all fall down

by Julie Hodgson

  “Is there any way you can get out of it?”

  “No, I’m a shit actress. My mom can see right through me.”

  “What if you told her you were having side effects from coming off the tablets?”

  Cassandra turned to see an unusually Machiavellian expression on her peaceful friend’s face.

  “What? Don’t look so shocked. I know how to play parents.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t want to worry her. She’s already freaking out about it.”

  “Are you going to tell her about our new classmate.”

  Cassandra shook her head. “She has enough to worry about.”

  “So, it’s make your mind up time, then.”

  “I guess it is.”

  They met again later that evening after Cassandra had dumped her bag, changed, had a quick bite, and convinced her mom to order her another sundae at iCandy. After Leo, had told her at recess that a load of friends were going, she had drifted in and out of wanting to go and wanting to simply curl up in her room and think things through. Now she wanted nothing more than to be around friends and have a laugh, take her mind off things. Her mom gave her a ride and told her that she would collect her at 9.00 p.m. sharp. She wasn’t happy about her daughter going out considering the latest attacks, but she would be with friends and observing the curfew. She couldn’t just keep her in, as much as she wanted to.

  When Cassandra arrived at the tongue pink, ice-cream diner, she quickly traced a bunch of guys from school in a corner booth. Leo was there, dressed immaculately for a night on the town rather than an ice-cream, along with Bindi, who had grass in her hair from where Cassandra had left her lying in someone else’s front yard, and obviously hadn’t thought to get changed, and a few others.

  “Hey! Cassandra!” a few different people welcomed her, and she slotted herself beside Bindi.

  “Hey! You’ve got …” she started to tell her friend and pulled the grass out of her hair, but Bindi was looking across the room with concern on her face. “What …?”

  Bindi nodded in the direction her eyes were fixed, and Cassandra turned to follow her eye line. Standing at a high table with a bunch of other guys from school was Braydon Taylor. He was smiling and laughing, already well in with his new friends after just one day at school. In fact, he was doing the talking, keeping their attention with some kind of story or joke and when he had finished, they all broke into laughter and slapped him on the back as if he was the funniest guy on earth. If he had noticed her coming in, he showed no reaction to it. He was also extremely well-dressed, in tight-fitting shirt and trousers, and she noticed the dark hair that subtly shadowed the side of his face, making him look a little older than sixteen. She now regretted the decision not to put something nicer on underneath her sweater. She was getting hotter and hotter by the second, and she couldn’t take it off.

  “Stop staring,” Bindi told her, and Cassandra was dragged back into the moment. The big topic of conversation was obviously the attacks and speculation about what could be going on. Everything from escaped prisoners to a group of pervert fathers was thrown into the mix – and then, to lighten the mood, Thomas, Leo’s boyfriend, attempted to eat a whole sundae in one minute, and everyone was banging their encouragement on the table and laughing. Great, Cassandra thought. Braydon was a vision of sophistication, and she was at the Man Vs Food table. And then she mentally reprimanded herself. This was not going to happen. This, whatever this was, was a very bad thing. There was too much history there. She had to forget him.

  “Stop staring,” Bindi urged again, and this time Cassandra turned her attention back to the table and eventually ordered something from the menu. She hadn’t the heart to get excited this time and simply ordered the first thing she saw, which turned out to be purple and covered in popping candy. She tried to join in with the group, all now buzzed-up on sugar, but she was struggling with words again. Not just her own now; other people’s words were making less and less sense, so she was struggling with eight teenagers around a table, all talking loudly at the same time while contradictory and strange thoughts circled her brain. And her hands just would not stop itching. She had applied more of the cream her mom gave her when she got home, but it was just moisturizer with a spot of Aloe Vera dragged through it. This was another reason for her to keep her sweater on. The arms were long enough to cover up the scratches. She wished she could just itch and itch and itch until all the skin had been torn away from her hand and she could scratch her nails on the sheer bone, final soothing herself. She could almost hear the sickening, soothing, scraping claw, but she had to hold it together.

  “Hey, bitches!”

  Cassandra was dragged back to the moment. She hadn’t even noticed that Abby was in iCandy and now she was standing beside the booth, with her hands on her hips, looking down on them all. She was wearing a tight, short, patterned dress that would have looked cute on anyone else, but Abby was not cute. She was also no friend of anyone at the table, so there was no reason for her to be standing there. It didn’t stop Leo from welcoming her with open arms, though.

  “Abster!” he said, literally opening his arms to her in a typically over-the-top gesture, but she barely acknowledged him.

  “Looking forward to seeing you all at my sweet sixteen next month,” she said. There were nods and smiles around the table, and then she looked down to Cassandra. “Especially you, Cassy.”

  Now, Cassandra, had another name to add to the list of people who annoyed her by calling her Cassy.

  “I can’t wait to see you there. And at the track the week before.” She paused only for a moment, to narrow her eyes at Cassandra in a way that should have been too over-stated and comical to pose a threat, but it hit home. She had meant what she said in her messages, and she was making sure Cassandra understood her. She stared at her just long enough to show her seriousness, but not long enough for Cassandra to answer, which was a relief because the girl had nothing to say in return. What was there to say? She was screwed.

  “Laters,” Abby then added and turned on her heels, leaving Leo calling, “Nice dress, Abster,” behind her.

  “You’re such a sycophant,” Bindi told him, pushing him playfully.

  “Hey, mind the shirt,” he said. “What’s a sycophant?”

  “She means your tongue is so far up her ass you can taste tomorrow’s breakfast,” Thomas told him, and now everyone was laughing at Leo, who looked surprisingly calm. Ordinarily, he would have come back with a cutting insult or a quip about tongues and where they’ve been. But he simply said, “Laugh it up, sugar,” as if Thomas and everything he said meant nothing at all to him, and then his eyes drifted determinedly across and passed the table at where Braydon Taylor was sitting and didn’t return until the smile had been restored to his face. Cassandra was sure she was the only one who noticed. He wasn’t just playing earlier. He really had a thing for Braydon. However, he was easily distracted by a growing buzz around the café. Everyone at the table was looking up, and Cassandra and Leo were the last to notice. Now they were wondering what the fuss was about, but they could hear thumping above them and were drawn to the ceiling. Someone was on the roof, running around.

  A couple of hefty-looking guys ran out of the kitchen and began to circle the café, looking up at the skylights as they did so. Then one of the funniest sights Cassandra had ever seen unraveled above her. Their eyes were all drawn to movement in the central skylight. First, they saw feet then they saw an ass moving towards them. Then the pants came down and whoever had climbed up there was mooning them all. The two kitchen guys ran out of iCandy as the place broke into cheer and laughter. Then the pants were pulled up, and a face appeared in the skylight. It was Spike Blue from her literature class, the most un-English English guy in the world, who just couldn’t keep himself out of trouble. It was official now. He had reached legend status. The whole school would be talking about this for months. How the moon landed on the roof of iCandy. Everyone ran to the windows to see what would happen and
all they saw was the little Brit sprinting off down the street. The two staff members half-heartedly trotted in his direction but were soon back inside. Drama over.

  The evening wore on with Leo, back in control, leading a game of Truth, Dare or Swallow! Cassandra tried to let herself go and enjoy the game, she had hoped it would be an evening to take her mind off things, but the atmosphere, the company, the ice-cream, even Spike Blue’s prank had simply stressed her out more. Her mom wouldn’t be picking her up for a few hours, but she had enough after about half an hour. She had the money to get home and decided to call it a night. Before she left, Bindi checked in with her to make sure she was okay, but she could see that Cassandra was determined to go.

  “Wait, and I’ll come with you. We shouldn’t be out and about alone wandering the streets. Just let me finish my ice-cream.”

  “It’s cool, Bindi. The bus pulls up right outside and drops me practically outside my door. And it was you who was saying that we couldn’t be prisoners to this.”

  Bindi frowned, unhappy that her words were being used against her, and finally said, “Well, give me a call when you get in.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Cassandra told her and, leaving the purple popping candy spectacle only half-eaten, she slipped out of the booth and headed to the door. The table where Braydon had been holding court with his new friends was now occupied by a young couple eating pink ice-cream from a heart-shaped glass with two spoons. But Cassandra already knew he’d gone. She’d been turning to look at him every thirty seconds, although she had tried desperately to resist the urge. What is wrong with you? She asked herself over and over again. This was Braydon Taylor, but something not too deep inside of her refused to listen. She was now relieved that he was no longer at the table. Her head was starting to hurt from thinking about him, and everything else, and the noise and the ice-cream. At least with him out of the equation, and getting out into the cool evening breeze, she could start to restore some semblance of calm.

  She would have to wait about ten minutes for her bus, which would then deliver her home in ten. She could have run home, and she had done this many times before, but she wasn’t wearing her sneakers, and she didn’t want Bindi to worry about her. She could probably outrun a bunch of guys trying to attack her, but it wasn’t a risk she really wanted to take. A run would have been just what she needed, though. She could feel the tension gripping her like elastic bands around her wrists and ankles, arms, and legs, heart, stomach, brain. When she felt like this, a run would be the thing that broke the bonds and helped her to breathe again. She would have to suspend any late running now and maybe add an extra run to her daytime schedule, she thought as she dropped herself onto a wall just by the bus stand. She slipped her earphones into her ears and the classical piano filled her mind. Then she closed her eyes and decided to try some of her Bindi breathing, trying to calm her mind and herself, but emptying her mind was impossible. It raged on relentlessly. Even the music, as soothing as it was didn’t help much. Not this time anyway.

  In … two … three … four … Out … two … three … four.

  She was beginning to feel genuinely soothed for a few moments, but then she became aware of a presence, not more than a few feet beside her on the wall. Without opening her eyes, she knew it was him.

  “If you’re sleeping I could come back later,” she heard him say softly, and then she opened her eyes and turned to face him. Those eyes. How could he! Braydon Taylor – the ugly boy who had caused so much destruction and stirred the beast inside of her – have become this guy?

  She smiled. She couldn’t help it. “No, I’m awake,” she told him, and she meant it.

  “Wow!”

  “What?”

  “She speaks.”

  Cassandra smiled. She couldn’t help it.

  “Did you have a good evening?”

  Cassandra thought for a moment then said, “No.”

  “Me neither. Horrible ice-creams and friends and laughing. Hate it all.”

  “Very funny.”

  He was smiling now, and the smile gave him the most enchanting dimples that Cassandra struggled not to stare at. She looked down at her hands and then into the empty street, to the corner from which the bus would eventually emerge.

  “I can go if you like. I’m not really waiting for the bus. My car’s just over there. Maybe I can give you a ride,” he told her.

  Wow! He had a car, barely anyone had a car. None of her friends had one, but Cassandra found herself turning back to him and saying, “No, it’s fine. It’s …” And then she stopped. She had no idea what it was and nothing else to say.

  “I saw you had the Purple Zinger.”

  “What?”

  “Ice-cream.”

  “Oh, yeah …” He had noticed what ice-cream she had been eating. She had thought he didn’t even know she was there. “It was good. What did you have?” As if she didn’t know.

  “The Marshmallow Mountain.”

  “Oh, I had that yesterday.”

  “You were here yesterday? You must really hate ice-cream.”

  They laughed together and carried on in this way, chatting and becoming acquainted with each other’s lives while the minutes ticked away and the bus would very soon be coming round the corner to take Cassandra home. Braydon told her how he lived with his mom and they had moved from town to town every few years. It hadn’t been the most stable upbringing, but he was used to it now. He didn’t even mind starting a new school; it was character building. Cassandra would be horrified by the prospect. She told him this and the conversation continued to flow until Braydon said, “This has been nice,” as if suddenly sensing that it was coming to an end. “Look, I know this is a bit sudden and a bit strange, because of our history, but …” He paused to consider his words, the strain showing on his face as if a wrong move now would crush him. “I didn’t expect to feel like this when I saw you, Cassandra. There’s something … I know you feel it, too. I know we only met this afternoon, properly, but …” Again, he struggled to finish his sentence. “Do you want to do this again?”

  “Wait for a bus together?”

  He smiled and then his face became serious again. “I don’t know. We could go for yet more ice-cream or a movie or …”

  Cassandra looked down at her hands for the hundredth time and then back out into the street and was relieved to see the headlamps of the bus turning into the street. She stood up and double checked the change in her hand then finally replied to her expectant suitor. “I’m sorry, Braydon.” The words were sticking in her throat as she said them, but she pushed them out. She had to. She knew it was the right thing to do. “It wouldn’t be a good idea.” She was going to say more, to explain her reasoning and how she felt, which at that moment was a little like someone had kicked her in the stomach, but the bus was now right in front of her with the door wide open, ready to gobble her up.

  “Here,” Braydon said and pushed a scrap of paper into her palm. “It’s my number, in case you change your mind.”

  “Sorry,” she repeated and stepped aboard without looking back. She sat down and let out a sigh of relief, knowing that, if the bus hadn’t arrived at that moment she could have easily been persuaded to date him, which would either be the best thing in the world or the worst. She turned the scrap of paper over and over in her hand and read the digits over and over again. Did he keep his number written just in case he met a cute girl, and he needed it? Or had he written it down especially for her? Both seemed a little presumptuous, but neither stopped her from taking her cell out of her bag and punching the number into her contacts.

  Chapter Five

  The rest of the week dragged its feet all the way to the weekend, refusing to give Cassandra

  any relief from the swirling vortex of excitement and apprehension inside of her. She ran twice a day, once when the sun was barely up and then again at lunch time, and she did extra training at school with Coach Andrews, to ready herself for the big meet. She would have
run just as hard and fast if there was no race to prepare for, because it was the only thing that made her feel settled, or rather it made her feel nothing. When she ran, her feelings for Braydon dissolved, her anxiety over the girls being attacked in her town subsided, her fears about the race drifted away, and her excitement for her birthday and the party – which she may or may have been able to attend – was neutralized by the buzz of the run. More than this, it settled the uncomfortable feelings in her that had no name at all but had been slowly bubbling up to the surface all week. It made her feel like she was being hijacked in some way, that her body didn’t quite belong to her, that she couldn’t function properly and everything in the world was conspiring to leave her confused and speechless.

  It was Friday night when her mom noticed that something wasn’t quite right.

  “I think we should go back and see Dr. Somner,” she said, bringing three plates of dinner to the table. One for herself, one for Cassandra and one for her dad, who had been completely hidden behind a copy of The Guardian of the City, but lowered it and folded it away as soon as the food arrived. John Jones was a perfect match for Ellen, still a handsome man, now in his forties. He wasn’t losing his hair, and it had only just started graying by the ears. He was also a smiler, but his was less fixed than Ellen’s and could burst forth from his face at any moment and light up the room. He had been a teacher for the last twenty years and still enjoyed it. He taught much younger kids than Cassandra, and always came home with little paintings and drawings they had given him. As cheery as he was, he looked quite concerned at the mention of Dr. Somner.

  “What’s this?” he said when Ellen put the plate in front of him.

  “Meatloaf.”

  “No,” he chuckled. “What’s this talk of the quack? She was just there a few days ago.”