Star Reporter

by Tamsyn Murray

  About this book

  Latest news from Cassidy Bond, Star Reporter!

  So I started this petition to let girls wear trousers at St Jude’s, and everybody’s talking about it – including Kelly, Year Ten editor of the school magazine. And now she’s asked me to be her new star reporter – yay!

  Even better, I’ve already sniffed out a *big* exclusive. Because someone’s set up a nasty gossip website about people at school – and if I can identify the mystery blogger, it’ll be the scoop of the century!

  Contents

  About this book

  Dedication

  Page torn out of “Spice Up Your Life!”

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Torn from “The Thrifty Gal’s Guide to Gorgeousness”

  Chapter Three

  E-Petition

  Chapter Four

  Email to BabyBaby

  Chapter Five

  Email to Happy Sands Holiday Villages

  Chapter Six

  Possible Articles for the School Paper

  Chapter Seven

  Email to the Windsor Recorder

  Chapter Eight

  Juice on Jude’s

  Chapter Nine

  Sample Article for Hey Jude’s!

  Chapter Ten

  Wails in Wales

  Chapter Eleven

  Letter from The Golden Nib

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Reasons To Be Cheerful

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Last Will and Testament of Cassidy Bond

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Email from Chelsea

  Chapter Eighteen

  Sneak Preview of Completely Cassidy – Drama Queen

  Completely Cassidy – Accidental Genius

  Meet Tamsyn Murray

  More Usborne Fiction

  Copyright

  For Tania, the original Cassidy.

  Chapter One

  “Once upon a time there was a girl called Cassidy. She was gentle and kind, in spite of being poor and having a cruel older brother. Everyone loved her, especially her faithful dog, Rolo, and her besties, Molly and Shenice. She lived in a rose-covered cottage in the middle of the woods and every morning, she sang so sweetly that even the birds stopped to listen—”

  WHAT IS THAT SMELL?

  What IS it? Seriously, it is like something has died in my room. The twins are asleep in Mum and Dad’s room – surely it can’t be them? Then again, nothing would surprise me where Joshua and Ethel’s bottoms are concerned. Having lived through some of their nappies in the last five months, I am amazed our house hasn’t been declared a biological hazard. I know they can’t help it but I am pretty sure I didn’t do that when I was a baby.

  I SUPPOSE it could always be Liam – he is almost fifteen and smells worse than our wheelie bin. But I think he is round at a mate’s house and even he does not stink that much. Whatever the cause, it is making my eyes water. How am I supposed to turn my life into a fairy tale using less than five hundred words for double English tomorrow when the atmosphere around me is more poisonous than Saturn’s? Some people might say it is my own fault for leaving my homework until eight o’clock on a Sunday evening but that hardly helps me now, does it? There isn’t even any way I can use the pong as an excuse for not doing my essay – ever since we came back after the Easter holidays, the teachers at St Jude’s have been drumming into us that the end-of-year exams are just around the corner. Never mind that it is only the end of April and the exams are not until June – apparently, even physical evidence that the dog has eaten your homework is Not Good Enough.

  Which brings me to the only other stinky suspect – my dog, Rolo. When I asked for a puppy for my tenth birthday, I didn’t know we would somehow end up with one who was part chocolate Labrador, part T. rex. NOTHING is safe around him, as my dad found to his cost when he left one of his Elvis Presley wigs lying on the sofa and came down the next morning to find only the tufty black quiff left. And as the old saying goes, what goes in, must come out – pretty sure I don’t need to draw you a picture. But as disgusting as Rolo is, he doesn’t usually do his business in the house. And this smell is so bad, it can only be an inside job. I wonder if I can work it into my fairy tale somehow – CINDERSMELLA, maybe. Urgh. I will have to turn one of Mum’s bras into a gas mask at this rate.

  It’s no good, I am going to have to investigate. Hey, maybe that could be my talent – I could be a great detective and solve crimes. One mystery…three suspects…a dangerous mission to uncover the truth…

  Alright, it’s not exactly Sherlock Holmes but even he had to start somewhere.

  Mum and Dad were slumped on the sofa when I went downstairs. Mum was gently snoring and Dad was so engrossed in an ELVIS documentary that he hadn’t noticed the smell.

  “Although now you come to mention it, there is a hint of Brussels sprouts in the air,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “Is Liam home?”

  I shook my head. “It’s either the babies or Rolo.”

  “Or both,” Dad suggested, pulling a face. He glanced at Mum, who chose that moment to let out an especially unladylike snort. “Shall we investigate? I’ll be Doctor Who and you can be my assistant.”

  “No, thanks,” I said, following Dad up the stairs. “I’ll be the Doctor and you can be the sidekick.”

  The stink that greeted us when we opened the door was unbelievable. And we soon realized why – Joshua had had the kind of nappy malfunction they don’t show you on the adverts. I’m not joking, his vest was basically an enormous brown stain, starting at his bottom and stretching all the way up to his neck. It looked like someone had spray-painted him while he slept.

  Dad clamped his hand over his mouth. “Ah fink ee ave fan ver cubrit.”

  I pinched my nose. “Whad?”

  He removed his hand and winced. “I said, I think we’ve found the culprit.”

  I couldn’t argue with that – the evidence was pretty overwhelming. What I couldn’t get over was the way that Ethel was sleeping soundly next to him, completely unaware that WORLD WAR POO had begun beside her. Backing away from the horror, I left Dad to it and went to get the changing stuff.

  Half an hour later the smell was STILL lingering, even though Dad had sorted Joshua out and opened a window to let some air in. I was back in my room and doing my best to concentrate on my homework, but the stink seemed to be getting worse.

  After several hard sniffs, I decided that after all that the pong might actually be coming from under my bed, which kind of ruled out the twins. I thought about calling Dad again, but then I remembered that a good investigator does her own dirty work, so I took a deep breath and peered under the bed. And there, staring up at me, was a very embarrassed-looking Rolo. Holding a cushion over my nose, I leaned closer and saw he was encrusted from head to toe in something brown and smelly. The parts that weren’t crusty seemed to be oozing. I have no idea what he’d rolled in – have the neighbours upgraded their tabby to a pet elephant or something? And it was just typical that he’d hidden in my room instead of Liam’s. There’s all kinds of rubbish and fluff under my bed, which probably explains why he had a Starburst wrapper stuck over one eye and – URGH – the pong! Let’s just say it made Joshua’s little accident seem like a walk in the rose gardens.

  I have texted Molly and Shenice, letting them know that POOMAGEDDON has struck and that I might not survive the clean-up operation.

  It’s at times like this I wish we’d got a cat.

  Chapter Two

  AAARGH! There is only one thing worse than being woken up at three-thirty in the morning by a screaming baby. And that’s being woken up by two screaming babies. Espe
cially when it’s a school night and you’ve only just nodded off after the last time they broke the sound barrier.

  Joshua and Ethel have the kind of cries that pierce pillows and it’s turning us into sleep-deprived wrecks. Sometimes I think they wait until we’ve all drifted off and then they attack, like tiny scratch-mittened ninjas. Shenice says that sleep deprivation is an actual torture method used by the CIA and I can totally believe it; seriously, just brushing my hair has become a task worthy of THE CUBE and my eyes have more bags than Asda. Molly reckons that in the zombie apocalypse, our house will be the safest place in Windsor, because our brains have already been mushified by the twins’ supersonic screaming. And if the sleep deprivation doesn’t get us, the bad smells will.

  My dad is being ridiculously cheerful about everything, despite the fact that he’s up at four-thirty most mornings and actually fell asleep in his Weetabix today. Maybe that’s why he’s so keen to get to his deathly-dull day job – to get some rest. I don’t expect anyone poos on him there, either.

  “We have to try to enjoy them while they’re little,” he babbled this morning, cradling Joshua into his shoulder, unaware that a dribble of milky sick was trickling down the back of his shirt. “It won’t be long before they’re toddling around, causing chaos, and we’ll wonder where the time went.”

  I tore a savage strip off my toast. I’d enjoy being a big sister a lot more if I didn’t feel like my eyeballs had been pickled in nail varnish remover. Even Liam stopped shovelling cereal into his mouth long enough to give me a we’re-in-this-together look. That’s when I knew things were really bad; Liam really puts the ugh into ugly and we never agree on anything. Maybe the lack of sleep is dragging me down to his level.

  Mum seems to have lost the power of speech. She just grunts whenever I ask her anything, unless it involves money and then she glares and launches into a rant. I know that money is tight at the moment but it doesn’t mean that I don’t have needs. And, according to Mum’s GLITZ magazine, what I need right now is some Starshine fake tan to put the spring into my spring. Sadly, Mum didn’t agree when I showed her the article at breakfast.

  “I’ve told you before not to read my magazines, Cassidy,” she said, before I’d even got to number three of TEN TAN-TASTIC REASONS TO FAKE IT. “You’re too young to be worrying about fake tan, anyway. You’ll just have to put up with being pale.”

  Huh. It’s alright for her, she hardly ever leaves the house and when she does, people are so busy cooing over the twins that they barely even notice she’s there. Actually, that’s probably a good thing since next to her, even vampires look tanned. I, on the other hand, have less than five weeks until the St Jude’s Secondary School May Ball and I refuse to go to it looking like Draco Malfoy’s paler sister.

  “But—”

  “Forget it, Cassie,” she snapped, laying a snoozing Ethel down in the Moses basket and picking up her long-cold cup of tea. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten the HIGHLIGHTS FROM HELL incident.”

  And that was typical too. I mean, we all make mistakes, right? Some people might encounter more than their fair share of little hiccups (like – I don’t know – leaving a home highlighter kit on for a teensy bit too long and turning their hair a bright, brassy orange, maybe) but that doesn’t mean they need to be reminded of them ALL THE TIME. Especially when one little trip to the hairdresser sorted everything out and didn’t cost THAT much. But my mum doesn’t believe in letting bygones be bygones. Oh no, she never forgets ANYTHING.

  Summoning my inner goddess of calm, I dropped my crusts under the table for Rolo (AKA Destructo-Puppy), and got up. “I have to go.”

  Dad raised an eyebrow as he swayed. “Don’t you want a lift?”

  I shook my head. “I’m meeting Molly and Shenice. See you later.”

  I almost left the kitchen without giving the babies a goodbye kiss, but I caught a glimpse of Joshua’s slumbering face snuffling over Dad’s shoulder and, just like that, my annoyance evaporated. I dashed back and dropped a gentle kiss on each of their foreheads. While I was still feeling affectionate, I dipped my head to peck Mum’s cheek too.

  “Have a good day,” I whispered.

  She smiled, and her eyes lit up in a tired sort of way that made me feel a bit guilty. At least we get to escape the madhouse each day; she is trapped here in a never-ending nightmare of nuclear nappies and a mountain of baby wipes, with only CBeebies for company. For the gazillionth time since the twins arrived, I resolved to be more helpful. Or at the very least, less fake-tan obsessed.

  “Thanks, Cass,” Mum said, as Ethel scrunched up her nose and started to cry. “You too.”

  I’m not ashamed to admit that I ducked out then. I love Joshua and Ethel to bits, I really do, but they’re SO high maintenance. What I need is a door to another world in the back of my wardrobe, a place where the animals talk and don’t mistake your shoes for pudding.

  The cool thing about having BFFs you’ve known since you were four years old is that you can rely on them to make you feel better. Like when Molly used her dad’s nose hair trimmer to give her teddy bear a Mohican and we shaved the fur off ours to stop her crying. Or when Shenice’s half-brother downloaded a virus onto their mum’s laptop and blamed it on her – we were totally there for her and even offered to write to the European Court of Human Rights to complain about the injustice. So I was pretty confident that Molly and Shenice were going to be one hundred per cent sympathetic when I mentioned my state of extreme exhaustion on the way to school.

  “Babies cry, Cassie,” Molly sighed, rolling her eyes as though she’d heard it all before. “I’m surprised you’re not used to it by now.”

  I screwed my face up in a sarky smile. For a so-called BFF, she wasn’t being very understanding. Then I remembered she was an only child and had never suffered the delights of an infant alarm clock. “I notice you haven’t been for a sleepover since the twins arrived,” I replied. “Maybe you should try it and see how you get on with a sleep debt the size of Everest!”

  We carried on squabbling all the way to the school gates. At least, me and Molly did. Shenice didn’t say much, she just sort of trailed along next to us as we argued. And after a little while, it sank into my frazzled brain that something was wrong.

  I nudged Molly. “What’s up, Shen? Don’t tell me you’re sleep deprived as well?”

  She shrugged. “No.”

  “So what’s going on?” Molly asked.

  Shenice looked around the playground, as though checking no one was close enough to overhear. “Pinky promise you’ll keep this between us, right?” she whispered. We nodded and she went on. “You know when you think you know someone but it turns out you don’t really know them at all?”

  “You mean like that time when we thought we saw Ziggy from The Droids and begged him to sign our faces but it turned out not to be him and then we couldn’t get the ink off?” Molly said, frowning.

  Shenice scowled. “No, not like that. I – look, just forget it.”

  I stopped walking. There’s this unwritten friendship law between the three of us which means we share EVERYTHING. It had to be something serious if Shenice didn’t want to talk about it. “No, we won’t forget it,” I said. “Something is obviously wrong and we want to help.”

  She didn’t speak for a minute. Then, to my horror, her big brown eyes filled with tears. “It’s nothing really. Just that my mum has gone out every Thursday evening for the last five weeks.”

  Molly looked blank and even I was having trouble working out why Shenice was so upset – her older brother was usually around when her mum wasn’t so she didn’t have to fend for herself.

  “So what?” Molly said. “Maybe she’s a Bingo Babe. My aunt got really into it when they went on holiday to Brighton last year and my uncle had to ban her from going to the arcade on the pier.”

  Shenice shook her head. “It’s worse than that. I – I think she might have started dating again.”

  My mouth fell open in an O of understa
nding. Shenice’s parents had split up years ago and her dad had moved in with a woman called Gloria almost immediately. Shenice didn’t really like her but as she only saw her dad once a month, it wasn’t much of an issue. Her mum, on the other hand, had been single ever since. The thought of her going on dates and possibly meeting someone who might become part of Shenice’s future was officially scary biscuits.

  Molly looked unconvinced. “Are you sure she isn’t playing bingo? Auntie Eleni told Uncle Dimitri that she was going jogging but really she was at the pier the whole time. My dad said it was the only way she’d ever lose twenty pounds, and Auntie Eleni didn’t speak to him for a week.”

  “I might have checked Mum's phone,” Shenice admitted, going a bit red. “She’s been texting this Julio about meeting up and I’m sure that’s where she’s been sneaking off to.”

  Eep. We had a waiter called Julio on our family holiday to Tenerife last year but it wasn’t the kind of name I’d heard a lot in Windsor, apart from when I got caught up in a Spanish tour group outside the castle and nearly ended up on their coach back to Barcelona.

  “There could be an innocent explanation,” I said, trying to make her feel better. “I’m sure it’s all a big misunderstanding.”

  “I found this letter she’d written in her notebook,” Shenice went on. “In a language that definitely wasn’t English and looked a lot like Spanish.”

  That sounded bad. As far as I knew, Shen’s mum didn’t even speak Spanish.

  “She must really like him if she’s learning a whole new language,” Molly said quietly.

  “But that’s just it,” Shenice cried. “What if Julio and Mum like each other so much that they get married and I have to move to Spain or something?”

  I didn’t know what to say and from the look on Molly’s face, neither did she. It was a horrible prospect. “At least you like paella,” I managed.

  The bell rang, and for the first time ever, we walked to our class in silence. Poor Shenice – Spain is nice to visit but I’m not sure I’d want to live there. And my parents can be awful and embarrassing and totally uncool but at least neither of them is secretly dating someone called Julio.