Fanmail

by Mia Castle

  Then I sauntered casually home, or at least sauntered until I was out of the park and then ran like an Olympic sprinter.

  Mum had gone out again by the time I got back, but she’d left the letter propped up against the clock on the hall shelf. I picked it up, wondering if I dared to be alone when I opened it. It was a big occasion, after all.

  I’d expected something more official-looking, truth be told, but then maybe not many people wanted letters with results these days. Maybe there were so few that they sent them all in ordinary hand-written envelopes that smelt vaguely of some warm, musky scent.

  Then I stared, very hard, at the name on the ordinary, slightly scented envelope.

  It was addressed to Catherine Melissa Andrews, and beside my name in very small letters and enclosed in brackets were the words AKA Melissa Mayhem.

  Melissa Mayhem?

  Much tearing of envelope then manually sticking it back together again in case there was something on it that I would want to keep forever.

  Like the letter.

  The letter was beautiful:

  To Catherine Melissa Andrews (AKA Cat, Melissa Mayhem and my actual friend)

  Dear Cat,

  I don’t have masses to say - I hope the enclosed will say it all. Just … hope you don’t hate me after the ‘not nice’ business in the catering van, because I would not want your last memory of me to be of a muscly idiot telling you you’re not nice. It wasn’t at all what I meant - funny how these things come out, isn’t it?

  Anyway, I’ve written you a song. It will probably never make it to the recording studio, but I wanted you to see it. Here goes.

  I CRY

  You’re not as nice as you think you are

  (Sorry but it’s true)

  You’re complicated, reading you is hard

  (Please don’t be blue)

  You dig so deep, don’t see the same,

  (Like no one else I’ve known)

  Question everything, don’t play the game

  (Hate every seed I’ve sown)

  And yet for you

  For only you

  I CRY

  You know it’s true

  You feel it too

  I CRY

  You doubt yourself, and hide your pain

  (I see it in your eyes)

  You’re scared to take a risk again

  (And laugh so you don’t cry)

  You analyse until it’s clear

  (If only in your head)

  Won’t let your feelings interfere

  (In case it’s what you dread)

  And so for you

  For only you

  I CRY

  You know it’s true

  You feel it too

  I CRY

  Now I’m asking your clever brain to help me

  Cos’ the only one I want is the only girl who doesn’t love me …

  You found me wondering just what I’m for

  (And helped me to decide)

  And suddenly there’s an open door

  (To live and breathe outside)

  I could escape, leave it all behind

  (And be forever free)

  But the only key is in your mind

  (The best version of me)

  And so for you

  For only you

  I CRY

  You know it’s true

  You feel it too

  I CRY

  By Jason Devaney

  Now AKA Jason David (my dad’s name, and my new identity!)

  Jason xxxxxx (not too many kisses. Ever).

  PS If you’d like to hear me sing it, for an audience of one, I will be in the secret venue of The Shed, Bottom of Your Garden, at 4pm today. Yes, I’ve cleared it with your mum, who now thinks I’m actually rather charming.

  I was down that shed pretty sharpish, I can tell you. After I’d batted down my hair wings, checked I wasn’t too sunburnt and made sure my shorts weren’t covered in choc mint chip.

  Somehow Jason had persuaded Mother Dearest to let him commandeer the bean bag from my bedroom (can’t even begin to think how he explained why he knew it was there), and there he was, sitting in my shed on my furniture with his guitar in his lap.

  ‘You’re early,’ he said with a tiny smile.

  Deep breath. Be cool Cat be cool Cat be cool. ‘It’s my shed. I can be in here whenever I like.’

  ‘And is this whenever you like?’

  I swallowed hard because it now appeared that my silly heart was trying to climb out of my throat. ‘Very much so,’ I said.

  Then the Divine Jazzy D looked so relieved and pleased and just stupidly gorgeous at the same time, even without the fake tan and the styled hair etc (no, ESPECIALLY without the fake tan and the styled hair etc) that my heart stopped climbing and pulsated and melted all at the same time.

  He held up the guitar. It was the Ovation I’d noticed him playing a century ago at the Zed. ‘Shall I play you my song? Actually, your song?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ I said, surprised at how tiny my voice was. Must be all that heart in my throat stopping it getting out.

  So he sang those gorgeous words to me to some gorgeous melody he picked out and backed up all at once on his guitar, and I tried to listen without feeling like an idiot. (Actually it’s quite hard to stand there and be sung to, not knowing what to do with your limbs and your face and your ridiculous jumping heart, but I’m willing to work on it).

  And when he’d finished and I thought I might actually CRY myself, I clapped like a Divvy and blew kisses at him. If he’d had a Fred Perry shirt on, I might have ripped the collar off. (He didn’t. He was wearing an ordinary t-shirt and jeans, and couldn’t have looked more fantastic if he’d tried).

  ‘So what do you think?’ said Jason as he unfolded himself from the bean bag, and somehow I knew he didn’t just mean “do you like the song” but “do you agree” and “do you CRY too” and other stuff that seemed too wonderful to even contemplate.

  I put my head on one side. ‘Hmm. I’m not sure. I think you’re wrong.’

  That stopped him in his tracks across the shed, I can tell you. ‘Wrong?’

  ‘Yeah. Love is not a chemical reaction.’ I walked towards him, slowly, hardly daring to inch forward. ‘It’s a feeling. Of knowing you’re safe. Of … coming home. Being surer than you’ve ever been that this person is never going to let you down; never going to leave you alone again.’

  ‘Well, that sounds very wise,’ said Jason Devaney.

  ‘Someone pretty clever told me that,’ I said.

  And then he kissed me, so I couldn’t say any more.

  It was only later, after all the kissing, that I looked again at his guitar. It reminded me of something.

  ‘So what about this solo career?’ I said. ‘Won’t you get recognised?’

  He laughed. ‘I’m just going to write the songs and let other people record them,’ he said. ‘The real Jason Devaney – or Jason David as I will now be called – is going to college to be a horticulturalist.’

  ‘And one day own a chain of nurseries.’

  ‘While you’re doing your science degree.’

  Actually I’d been thinking about that. ‘Well, depending on my results tomorrow, I’m thinking I now know much more about people and feelings and so on, so I might do psychology instead.’

  My once famous boyfriend grinned. ‘Whatever you do, it will be great. The world’s your oyster.’

  He moved close again, and over his shoulder I realised what it was about the Ovation.

  It reminded me of a lute.

  ‘Jason, would you do me a favour?

  ‘Anything,’ he said, which is nice.

  I nodded towards the guitar. ‘Show Me Tomorrow?’

  Then he smiled, and my insides nuclear-reacted. ‘I will,’ he said.

  Jason Devaney

  My Shed

  Bottom of my Garden

  My House

  Dear Jason,

  May I call you Jason? Jazzy? Jase? O
h muscly one? Lord of the Bicep?

  I’m not sure you’ll remember me. I’m the rudest girl you never met in Jersey, who made no impression on you whatsoever until I devised a plan to rip your head off and clone you. Mwah hah hah. Now you’re in my shed some of the time, when you’re not in college disguising yourself and studying how to set up nurseries. I am thinking of writing to Stephen Scowl and holding you for ransom.

  Maybe not. Stupid Other Jazzy would probably give the game away. Maybe I’ll just hold you for … fun!

  Anyway, just wanted to say that I’m a BIG, big fan, and not just because of my height and hair wings (which do seem to be calming down now that my hair’s grown longer). You write really nice music and strum that old Ovation of yours rather perfectly, and you can also sing. Also you look quite nice. In addition, you smell of slugs, which is my favourite perfume (oh hang on, that’s for women, I think). Cologne. No, pheromone (see, can still be sciency when I want!). Oh, and really really thank you for all the kissing. Much appreciated.

  Please do let me know next time you’ll be playing at The Shed, and I’ll be in the front row. Okay, the only row. Okay, on the beanbag.

  I CRY and the other feeling one too

  Cat x

  Aka Catherine Melissa Andrews xxxx

  Aka Melissa Mayhem xxxxxxxx

  Aka your actual friend and not just on FB. Not ever on FB. Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

  AKA your actual girlfriend. Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

  Ps See you in a minute.

  THE END

  Epilogue: Show Me tomorrow

  (Jason Devaney with Double Vision)

  Winner of music awards, Best Song and Band

  In a world where expectations run so high

  When I’m walking when I’m always told to fly

  I could use someone a lot like you

  The clearest eyes, and a point of view

  And a willingness to hold the string real tight

  Show me tomorrow

  Where the grass is green and I

  Know just what you mean and try

  To be exactly who I am

  And show you tomorrow

  As the songs become the poor friend of the face

  When the feelings matter much less than the place

  When I’m staring out at seas of smiles

  But can’t see an honest tear for miles

  And I know how swiftly I could be replaced

  Show me tomorrow

  Where the grass is green and I

  Know just what you mean and try

  To be exactly who I am

  And show you tomorrow

  Don’t believe in all they’re telling you

  Feel my heart beat

  Touch my clay feet

  Quarry deep and find the real man

  And show me tomorrow

  Where our grass is green and I

  Know just what you mean and try

  To stay true to who I am and

  Show you tomorrow

  Repeat to fade ….

  Enjoy this book?

  Go to www.miacastlebooks.com for more about Fanmail, Mia and the books in the YA collection.

  Go to the Miacastlebooks youtube channel to hear SHOW ME TOMORROW and the FANMAIL playlist

  And look out for the next in the collection, coming soon:

  PINEAPPLE