This Is All Your Fault, Cassie Parker

by Terra Elan McVoy

  Dedication

  To everyone who’s ever been a good friend to someone else,

  but especially one to me

  Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Acknowledgments

  Back Ad

  About the Author

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Chapter One

  Cassie is positive we’ve been spotted, and slows down as though suddenly fascinated by the Hallway Etiquette poster over the water fountain. But this is the longest stretch we’ve ever walked undetected behind her crush, Cory Baxter (and the most conversation we’ve overheard between him and his friends), so I’m not letting her break this streak just because she’s a little nervous. I tug a strand of her long, glossy black hair and make a “keep going” face without worrying whether or not she’ll follow. I know she’ll follow. Because Cassie loves the thrill of this game, too, and because she’s more than a little obsessed with Cory.

  She’s back by my side in not even two steps, raising her eyebrows in silent “I can’t believe this” excitement. We’ve been tracking Cory Baxter—code name: Lagoon—since we got back from spring break, when Cassie suddenly went googly-eyed in the cafeteria over him. Just like one of those old cartoons where someone gets hit in the chest by a Cupid arrow, or sniffs a love potion. It even caught her off guard.

  But I’d had a similar feeling right before spring break myself, when Tyrick Nevin—code name: Pencil—and I were assigned to the same group for our vocabulary project. Tyrick had been in my English class all year, and was always thoughtful and quiet, but I had never considered him more than a nice classmate. Not until I was sitting across from him and realized that his eyes are a hypnotically golden color: light brown with a dark brown ring around the edge. I had never seen eyes such a color, and I found it hard to look at them and talk at the same time.

  So I came up with a plan. Or rather, Cassie and I did, which is the way we always do things, ever since summer before fifth grade when we ended up in the same week of Girls Up camp and discovered the power of our collaborations. (For one: we are great at creating obstacle courses. Two: by harnessing my problem-solving skills and Cassie’s competitive streak, we can get through everyone else’s the fastest too.) There have been several more revelations like this since then, all demonstrating that we are meant to be best friends. She has good ideas—I have good ideas—but somehow when we share them we both get even better ones.

  Like this Cory/Tyrick thing. My original thought was that we should learn as much about both of them as we could by observation—likes, dislikes, general interests—so that when we eventually talked to either one of them, we would have something clever and pertinent to say. This was admittedly easier for me, since Tyrick is in my class. All period I would take careful mental notes about the things he said, the way he tapped his pen on the desk when he was trying to come up with a word—whatever details I could grab on to—and then record them all in my diary. But Cassie didn’t have as much luck, since Cory is an eighth grader. He has online accounts in the usual places, which was exciting to discover at first, but then we realized Cassie would have to follow him to see any of his posts, which would obliterate the secret element. Nobody really puts much in the school’s web roster, so that wasn’t any help, either.

  Which is when she decided we needed to start spying on them both.

  “This is it, this is it,” Cassie whispers beside me, making sure to keep her lips from moving. We’re rounding the corner from the long stretch of the research wing (where Cory and his friends hang out before school) to the high-trafficked main corridor. This is when we change directions and weave our way through the crowd to the seventh grade hall, where, if there’s time, we can catch a glimpse of Tyrick by his locker before the homeroom bell rings.

  Now, rather than moving into the backpack-and-braces crowd toward our own hallway, Cassie links her arm through mine, hooking me tight. Her nervousness from a few minutes ago seems to have disappeared, and the determined expression on her face is the only cue I need. We plunge across the hallway traffic and keep following Cory and his friends into the eighth grade wing. As soon as we cross the threshold into the newer, smoother hall, we swap glances, reflecting to each other the same thrill: we’ve never gone this far before.

  For the briefest moment, I’m disappointed I won’t get an early peek at Pencil today—I like to know what he’s wearing, in case it’s one of the outfits he looks the best in, so I can prepare my face before I get to English class—but when Cassie gets that mischievous glint in her eye (the one that reminds me so much of her feisty grandmother, Tess), something fun is always going to follow.

  Ahead of us, Cory waves bye to his friends—Jeannette (not his girlfriend, we were happy to discover), and Hopper (we don’t know much about him other than he is Cory’s favorite partner for some magic game that involves a lot of trading cards)—as they both enter the first classroom on our left. Now Cory is completely alone, and as far as we can tell, has no idea we’re following him. Our arms are still linked, and Cassie squeezes mine between her jabby elbow and her rib cage. I can feel the vibrations of adrenaline rising in us both. There are still plenty of older kids out in the hall, so if Cory turned around he wouldn’t exactly spot us, but the homeroom bell will be ringing in only a couple more minutes. We also have no idea where he’s going, or how far.

  But Cassie isn’t slowing down, so I’m dying to see what she’s going to do. From the way she’s nibbling the edge of her lower lip, I can tell she is too.

  Two doors farther, Cory ducks into his homeroom class: Ms. Cruik, History, the sign outside the door says. To my surprise and shock, Cassie follows him in, slipping her arm out from mine and sweeping her hair in one smooth, confident gesture over her shoulder. Cassie marches straight to Ms. Cruik’s desk at the front of the room, and I have no choice but to follow, mainly because I have to hear what she’s going to say.

  It takes Ms. Cruik a moment to look up from her desk computer, but when she does, Cassie lights up her best, most teacher-charming smile.

  “Hi, Ms. Cruik.”

  “It’s ‘cruck,’ actually,” the teacher says. “Like ‘cluck’ with an r instead of an l.”

  “Oh. Well, I’m sorry, Ms. Cruik”—she mimics the teacher’s pronouncement perfectly, including the note of suspicion—“but learning more about upper-grade teachers is actually why we’re here. My name’s Cassie Parker, and my friend Fiona and I are having a hard time deciding which, um”—she glances at the whiteboard, obviously trying to remember what classroom we’re in—“history class would be best for us next year. We know we don’t have much control, but we’d like to know what to hope for.”

  Ms. Cruik is still doubtful, but she does straighten up a little.

  “We’re just wondering what you intend for students to gain by taking this class,” Cassie continues.

  Now Ms. Cruik’s face transforms from distrustful to impressed.

  “Well, Cassie, I’m happy to help. I hope that when they leave my class my student
s have a better understanding of the complex tapestry of American history, and become more intellectually enriched citizens because of it.”

  Cassie smiles. “Thank you, Ms. Cruik. Fiona, you’ve got that?”

  “Um. Of course.” I slide a notepad out of my book bag and dig for a pen. Over our heads, the homeroom bell chimes its ugly digital tone.

  “Oh gosh,” Cassie says, looking at the clock in mock horror. “I didn’t realize we were going to be late. Ms. Cruik, I hate to impose, but do you mind giving us a pass? We have to get back to the seventh grade wing.”

  It’s clear Ms. Cruik doesn’t quite think our little poll is worthy of a hall pass. She glances at her still-chattering homeroom, though, and makes the decision that it’s better to get us out of here and begin announcements rather than lecture us on time management.

  The second her door shuts behind us, Cassie and I speed-walk down the now-empty eighth grade hallway, hands clamped over our mouths to keep our giggles from bursting out. The moment we’re in the main hall, safely far away from Ms. Cruik’s room or Cory’s ears, we both jump up and down, squealing and talking over each other.

  “I can’t believe you did that!”

  “I can’t believe I just did that!”

  “She had no idea you were faking.”

  “Do you think he was watching? I was too nervous to look around. But we were there! In his homeroom class!”

  “You were so calm! I had no idea what you were going to say.”

  “I know! Me neither!”

  We straighten and quiet down when one of the secretaries comes out of the staff bathroom farther down the hall. Both of us make sure to clutch our hall passes in clear sight as we start walking again.

  “It’s not a bad idea, though,” I consider.

  “What?”

  “Polling more eighth grade teachers. I thought her answer was pretty good.”

  “Ugh.” Cassie flicks her fingers in the air, dismissing it. “Her class sounds so boring. Besides, we already know whatever teachers Kendra Mack and Izzy Gathing sign up for next year are the ones we really want. And anyway, now we don’t need to poll anybody else because we know Lagoon’s homeroom!”

  We’re almost to our own homerooms ourselves, so I decide not to tell Cassie that I’m probably interested in the exact opposite classes that Kendra or her friends will be taking. For now, I don’t want to ruin this fun.

  “It still might be useful for future spy tactics,” I say instead.

  “True,” she agrees. “Talk about it at lunch?”

  I nod. She waves her pass at me with a sneaky wink, and I can’t help grinning back.

  Dear Diary:

  What an up-and-down roller coaster of a day. I’m eager to slip into bed and get on my way to a new morning, but so much happened that I need to get it all straight in my head. Things started out fun this morning, with stalking Lagoon and getting into his homeroom (!!!). Cassie was brilliant as usual. It almost makes me sad that school’s over soon and there’ll be no more Pencil or Lagoon for a while, but at least we’ll have the super-amazing Disneyland trip with Dad and Leelu to look forward to. (Which reminds me, Cassie and I need to look at the website and see what new rides there are since the last time both our families went.)

  But anyway, then in third period—you won’t believe it—Pencil turned right around in his seat to talk to me before English class! In that dreamy, Michael Bublé voice of his (extra low because he was trying not to be too loud, but still had to be heard over everyone getting out their books), he said, “Hey, Fiona. Are you okay?” My first instinct was to check my shirt to see if there were leftover breakfast bits on me, or if my arms had exploded in dripping pustules, but then he said, “I just didn’t see you this morning like usual, so I wondered if you had an appointment.” He wondered! If I had an appointment! Because he didn’t see me before school. Which means he has been noticing me in the morning as much as I am noticing him!!! Diary, it was ten thousand vocabulary words at once: exalting, electrifying, astonishing, breathtaking, wondrous, and addictive. I could hardly concentrate on our out-loud reading in class, but when it got to my turn I read each word aiming my voice at the back of Pencil’s head, hoping it might make him turn around again and look at me with those eyes.

  So, of course I was dying to see Cassie at lunch, and when I told her my news, her mouth dropped open in a satisfyingly shocked smile. We bounced in our chairs about a zillion times—I’m surprised we didn’t knock something over with how hard the table was vibrating.

  But then her voice dropped and her expression changed. She said she needed good news, because her morning had been so depressing. I went straight into listening mode, thinking maybe it was about a grade, but instead she narrated this long thing about Neftali (in case you need a reminder: the prettiest one in Kendra’s clan), some eighth grade boy named Carter, and him standing her up. Cassie seemed so serious about it, but by the time she finished, really it just sounded like Neftali misinterpreted some texts. When I asked her why she cared so much about a girl who didn’t even know we existed, Cassie got that haughty, dismissive look on her face and muttered something about how we could be as popular next year and she’s just trying to do research. And get this, Diary—the way she found out the whole Neftali thing? She followed the two of them down the hall just like we do with Pencil and Lagoon! She said since it worked so well this morning, she wanted to try it again.

  Which—I have a lot to say about, including how disappointed I was that she used something of ours to get information about them. I knew, though, if I said anything else, she’d give me the snotty silent treatment through science class, and I didn’t want to ruin the good parts of the morning, but I just don’t understand Cassie’s fixation on those girls. Like the thing she said this morning about taking whatever classes they were signing up for. The last thing I want is to be anywhere near those spoiled show-offs. Yes, Cassie’s always been interested in clothes and having a good reputation, but that’s what I like about her—her emphasis on good reputation, not popular reputation. And she’s never been so focused on her looks that she can barely think about anything else. At the end of lunch I swear she checked her lip gloss five times before we got up from the table. I tell you, I would rather listen to my uncles talking about yard work, watch Frozen with Leelu for the 7,321st time, do an entire worksheet of multiplying by fractions, or have to sit through an embarrassing biology video more than talk about Neftali or Kendra. And definitely more than watching Cassie adjust her makeup.

  We turned it around like we always do (on the way to science I asked her how our morning discoveries will change our spying, and she had lots to say about that), but it left a sour feeling in my heart.

  Which (sorry for the long entry) made it even harder than usual to fake excitement when Jennifer came over again tonight. As if she hadn’t already dominated this weekend, which, as you know, was supposed to be just us and Dad. She’d bought me and Leelu our own copy of Inside Out (the DVD has extra stuff on it you can’t get from a download), and I admit it was super nice of her to remember how much Leelu and I loved it in the theater, but when it got to the part where the first island starts collapsing, instead of grabbing for my hand, Leelu crawled right up into Jennifer’s lap. Jennifer slid her hand along the sofa cushions to try and hold mine as well, but I pretended I was too wrapped up in the movie to notice, mainly because some kind of island was crumbling inside of me at the same time. How could I hold hands with her? During a movie that’s Leelu’s and mine? Especially when we only met her four months ago? And suddenly my sister is all cuddly with her instead of me? I wanted to text Mom about it, but around the subject of Jennifer she stiffly says Dad has every right to be happy. She’s not the one who’s getting this total stranger forced on her all the time, though. She doesn’t have to pretend to be excited about a person she barely knows or likes, just because her dad (and now her sister) is all gaga.

  It feels a lot better to tell you that, at least. Dad and Mo
m are so civil all the time, it’s like I’m not allowed to have bad feelings. Luckily, I have Cassie, who’s pretty much the only one who understands me. For now, thanks for being there, Diary. Hope it’s a better report tomorrow.

  Yours,

  Fiona

  Chapter Two

  Cassie does help make things better in the morning. Before I’ve even washed my face, my phone is lit up with a bunch of emojis and Cassie’s new plans for our stalking route. Now that we know Tyrick really is looking for me, she decides we need to start our morning patrol in our own hall, going first to her locker (because she has a mirror we can angle so that we spot Tyrick before he sees us) and then to mine (for which we have to walk past his), even if we don’t need anything out of them.

  Then to the library to stare at Lagoon, she messages.

  Okay meet you at the bus drop-off, I tell her, hurrying down to get breakfast. Weeks when we stay at Mom’s, she takes both Leelu and me to school, but at Dad’s we have to ride the bus. It isn’t the worst thing on the planet, but I don’t think anyone in the history of middle school has ever enjoyed it.

  Did things go okay last night? Cassie messages when I get to my bus stop.

  Leelu likes Jennifer a lot more than I do, I admit.

  Well she does bring you guys a lot of presents. Brainwashing, you know.

  I smile a little at that. Cassie was the greatest friend ever last year when Mom and Dad told us they couldn’t live together anymore. She helped me pack when Mom moved into the condo and we sold our house (Dad and Mom explained it would be better for Leelu and me to live somewhere that wasn’t full of old memories), and helped me decorate my room in Dad’s new place. If it hadn’t been for her, Leelu, and the elaborate Nicholas Sparks–inspired story I wrote in my diary about my parents getting back together (even though they said it would never happen), I don’t think I’d have survived. That Cassie isn’t immediately trying to make me adore Jennifer like everyone else is exactly the kind of comforting that makes her the best friend in the whole world.