Playing With My Heartstrings

by Chloe Brewster

  An irresistible, hard-to-fight smile burst onto my lips and I attempted to gracefully leap out of my chair like a swift ballerina, but ended up landing straight on my face, neatly smudging my fading lip gloss.

  "Or maybe not," Tara muttered under her breath as she forcefully lifted me from the floor, which her mother would unfortunately have to clean fairly soon - crumbs of pastry and tiny splashes of orange juice were splattered all over the cool cream tiles, complimented by a Lulu Guinness-inspired lip mark in the midst of the spectacular mess.

  "Besides, I don't fancy seeing myself on TV - Cassie would only send in rude texts about my hair being untidy or a visible Galaxy-chocolate stain on an angel-white dress," I said, whilst Tara nodded in agreement.

  "And YouTube would have a field day if you fell off a chair live on air - or perhaps I would!" Tears of laughter rolled down Tara's glowing and lit-up face - she only needed a golden halo to perfect the Angel look for Halloween - whilst I secretly smiled to myself. Of course, famed for being the 'clumsy one' at home (Chelsea-mad Dad always preferred the term 'The Special One' for himself, which was rather beyond me), falling flat on my face on live television wouldn't be a fantasy deemed too unrealistic - though I could think of worse.

  Having only turned up at Tara's immaculate, stunning and breath-taking mini mansion (all courtesy to her father's job in the city) a little over an hour ago, it was a wonder that all of my nerves, worry and sick feelings in the pit of my pastry-filled stomach had mysteriously disappeared, as if Tara had cast a magical spell - one that she'd have to give me later - and was replaced with some kind of happiness which I only gained whilst hanging out with my closest friends.

  If only Tara attended Applebury High with everybody else and she definitely would've known about my feelings sooner; shortly before she was about to start secondary school, her mother - apparently appalled by Applebury High's test results, which only counted for a small amount of students - dramatically sent her off to a nearby boarding school, though only for daytime. Even four years on, I can still remember how beside I was when red-nosed Tara - clearly having just cried her eyes out - broke the news to me during lunch break and after school finished I raced back home to plead to Mum to allow me to attend Tara's new school, which was obviously beyond our drastically-tight budget.

  Eventually, I managed to get over my grief - I really did feel like I was losing a friend - and cheered up to enjoy the last few weeks of my time with Tara together. Even Mum, who was distraught by my being upset and desperate to put a smile back on my sullen lips, unsuccessfully attempted to persuade Tara's mother, who only just launched her baking company, to come around to the idea of Tara attending Applebury High alongside all her childhood friends, but she remained stubborn in her decision and wouldn't hear any more of it.

  Once the bittersweet summer holidays came to an abrupt end. Tara and I made a solemn pact to always remain friends, no matter what happened. We didn't care whether we didn't attend the same school or made new friends - we'd stick together, forever. And she would always be the one friend I could rely on, even if my life depended on it.

  As I suddenly caught sight of the wooden antique clock on the window ledge, a gasp escaped my wide-open mouth.

  "Sadie, what's the matter?" Tara worryingly asked, alarmed by my shocked expression.

  I shook my head and remembered to close my mouth - a sign of rude manners at the dinner table, as Mum once remarked. "No, nothing." I quickly took a huge gulp of orange juice, which may have been a little too quick as I then got an uncontrollable case of hiccups a few seconds later.

  "Are you sure?" Tara didn't seem too convinced by my weak response.

  After holding my breath for a couple of seconds, I replied, "Well, I just hadn't realised about t-the time and...", trailing my sentence into nowhere.

  Realisation hit Tara's face and she suddenly understood my hidden meaning. "You didn't leave a note or anything for your parents, did you?" she asked, her tone around fifty decibels lower than before.

  I nodded, making a mental note to drink orange juice at 5mph next time. "Usually, writing a note is at the top of my mind for priorities, but I just wasn't thinking straight when I woke up this morning - I guess that I should send them a text."

  "Yeah, I think you should."

  I picked up my bag sitting in the chair beside me and pulled out my leopard print-covered phone, switching the screen to screen. "Uh-oh," I mumbled, panic beginning to settle in.

  "What?" If I carried on like this, kind, but sensitive Tara would end up having a panic attack - just like she did when she went on a school trip to an animal rescue center in Year 3 and collapsed because she couldn't bear to see the poor, depressed pets locked in tiny cages. I'd have to control my expressions better in future.

  "It seems as though my mum and dad have been awake for ages, judging by the amount of texts and voicemail on my phone." I bit my lip. Although I truly appreciated my parents' looking out for me, especially over the past few days, it was nearly impossible not to get slightly annoyed by the excessive amounts of messages, all of which said nearly the same thing:

  Where are you? Why didn't you leave a note? Have you met Joel? Don't do anything stupid!

  And so on; if the situation hadn't been bound to land myself into more trouble, I would've rolled up laughing because all of the messages seemed pretty ironic considering they were the questions that I would've asked had I been in a different position. At this rate, I'd be becoming Mum's clone by the age of 20 - a possibility I didn't want to think about.

  Tara rested her head on my shoulder and looked at the screen, her face turning into a massive gawp. She nervously gulped and then breathlessly rushed, "If you tell your parents that you came here, they would tell mine and then I would be grounded for like the whole summer, even though I haven't got anything planned and -"

  "Look, I'm not going to land yourself in it, OK?" I firmly assured her. Relief washed over Tara and she sat down, her emerald green eyes staring ahead. I sighed. "The best thing to do before my mum and dad call the police is to text Cassie and say that I'm heading home, which I'll obviously do."

  "Hopefully without being seduced by the smell of black coffee at the Rollers Cafe on the way," Tara cheerily muttered.

  "Then I'll take a different route," I grunted, and added, "I'll have a talk with my parents once I get home and hopefully everything will go back to normal."

  "But will it, though?" Tara wondered. "How can you exactly go back to normal everyday life when there are unsaid words between you and Joel? You need to be able to clear the air with him before you can even think of moving on - wouldn't he be all you think about when you're going out with another guy?"

  Whether or not Tara had secretly gained the influential power of mind-reading since I'd last met up with her, Tara somehow broke through my steel barriers and got into the centre of my heart, unleashing my deepest fears which I would have to someday face up to.

  Thank God I wasn't the only one who knew.

  Fiddling with the phone cover, I whispered, the movement of my lips barely making a sound in the hushed house, "I don't know where to begin,", pity playing on my weaknesses.

  Tara nodded, as if she truly knew how I felt. She didn't. No agony aunt could dare to comprehend the meaning of loss and heartbreak without experiencing it themselves, not even my very best friend who sometimes knew more about me than I could possibly imagine.

  "Have you sent Joel any texts?" I shook my head. "Good - I was hoping you wouldn't," Tara said, evidently pleased. Well, pleased may have been a word too strong for a friend not getting in touch with a backstabber, but nevertheless relief flooded through Tara and myself, whose lucky stars seemed to be working for once. Getting in touch with Joel had first crossed my mind the day after getting back home, but I smartly decided against it because the thought of what he might have said in response made me feel physically sick. Still, it wouldn't dispel any other feelings - sick ones or not - if I had to speak to Joel sometime soo
n.

  "Perhaps you ought to suggest meeting up with him at that café where he asked you on a date" - nausea nearly suffocated my throat when Tara said 'date' in her usual no-nonsense, matter-of-fact tone - "so nothing upsetting happens in private."

  Despite wishing that it would never have to happen, I couldn't resist my agreement with Tara's logical and reasonable idea, which, in time, would make me feel happier and destroy my current state of sadness and loss. Nothing at the moment made the slightest bit of sense to me except Tara's wise advice - a short burst of appreciation flooded through me as I realised I was probably one of the few luckiest girls in town to have a strong and caring friend like Tara - and in certain ways, I was relieved that I would finally be facing up to someone I should've hated, yet was still madly in love with.

  Those emotions had to die, whether I liked it or not.

  I got up from the table, my legs lazy and half-asleep from the comforting rest, and thanked Tara for all of her help, speaking straight from the bottom of my heart.

  "Hey, no big deal," Tara winked, a twinkle playing in her Irish-green eyes. "I know you'd help me out in an instant if the same thing happened to me - that's what friends are for, right?"

  "Right," I repeated, giving Tara a mighty bear hug. We walked over the door, Tara hastily opening the various locks (one of the many rules enlisted by her protective parents was to use all of the 13 locks - as Tara once counted a few years ago - whenever she was staying at home alone), and I headed into the sunshine, a cooling breeze brushing my skin.

  "See you soon," I waved, turning my head around to see Tara's in return. She leaned against the door, a frown threatening to take away her put-on smile, and shouted with a hint of plead, "Come back soon!"

  Poor Tara. None of her so-called friends at the boarding school were bothered to make the effort to visit her at home for the duration of the summer holidays and she only had visits for relations to look forward to. Of course I'd be willing to do whatever I could to see her as often as possible - we may not have exactly realised it, but we needed each more than ever before.

  I turned left on the path leading onto the bustling, lively street - hits of choking fuel hitting my nose every time a car speeded past - and I waved last goodbye to Tara, whose slender build was visible at the living room window.

  Even in the midst of self-wonder and pity, a hop gradually built in my more upbeat step, plastering an irresistible smile on my face.

  Elderly floral dress-clad ladies walking their lively Yorkshire Terriers warmly said 'Hello' to me and several younger students from school motioned their hands in my direction, offering friendly waves.

  OK, I had parents worried out of their wits and a boy I hated to love to contend with later, but in the meantime I was enjoying my independence, appreciating each minute of freedom - one of the last meaningful gifts I had left.

  Chapter 5

  "How dare you scare us like that!"

  "What were you thinking?"

  "We were about to call the police when you arrived - just about time!"

  "And you didn't even reply to any of our messages!"

  I yawned, lazily listening to Mum and Dad's rant about my forgetting to tell them where I went this morning. Cassie was sitting beside me on the sofa, a smirk playing on her plump, buxom-doll, glossy lips. Apparently she found this as boring as I did; a wave of guilt turned in my stomach as I dared to imagine how many questions she'd been asked at home earlier. Now I could see her logical point about getting a lock for her birthday soon - maybe she could share hers with me sometimes?

  "Are you even listening to me, Sadie Marie Thompson?" Mum snapped, hot steam literally bursting out of her inflamed ears. "After all you've put your father and I through over the last couple of days, you really ought to -"

  "Mum!" I cut in, a burst of fury dangerously boiling inside. "I've already told you this - I only went to see one of my old friends across town for an hour. No big deal. Honestly, I would've got home earlier had I not been given dodgy directions by -"

  "By who?" Dad demanded.

  I nervously bit my lip, which then started to bleed uncontrollably. Oops - like I needed another bloodbath in my hands.

  "Your lip," Mum murmured, pointing her ironically blood-red nails towards me, "is bleeding..."

  "I know," I muttered, turning my face away.

  "Who spoke to you, Sadie?" Dad asked with such an authority that not even the most hormonal teenager in the world (a.k.a me) could ignore.

  I threw up my hands in exasperation, allowing myself to lose my well-controlled temper - it was a wonder that I'd managed to restrain it for so long. "Does it matter about every little thing that I do?" I asked, my tone hard and ice-cold.

  Dad seemed taken-aback; he clearly hadn't expected such a demanding question in return. "No, n-no," he stammered, his mind scrambling for words to say. "We're just concerned about you, that's all..."

  "Look," I sighed, exhaustion threatening to knock me off my worn-out and white kitten slipper-clad feet. "I want to let you and Mum know that I appreciate your looking out for me. In case you didn't realise, I never asked to be an emotional, crazy teenage mess - all I wish is for things to go back to normal."

  "And they can, honey," Mum interjected, a warmth that only loving mothers could muster spreading across her face.

  I nodded. "But not until I reach some sort of closure with Joel, who I've been meaning to talk to for days."

  Mum and Dad, holding each others' tightly grasped hands, shared a quizzical look, one which was as foreign to me as a page in Latin; it was a complex task to translate their thoughts into words, perhaps a logical reason why I'd never particularly excelled in languages at school.

  "Darling," Dad started to say, embarrassment displayed on his ruddy-red cheeks, "that's a good idea and..." He trailed off, left speechless and stared at the chocolate stain on the plush, cream carpet. A chocolate bar that I'd sneakily failed to mention was mine.

  Mum, made awkward by Dad's reluctance to pull down his hard, strong barrier to express his concern for me, rolled her eyes at the ceiling, which gave me the sudden urge to laugh. That was exactly what I dreamt of doing, but as all eyes - Dad's earthy forest green, Cassie's seawater blue and Mum's hot chocolate brown - were placed upon me, it was the very worst I could do at such a crucially important moment.

  But it didn't stop me from bursting into an irresistible fit of giggles in the bathroom later on, though.

  "Sadie, all we want for you is to be happy," Mum finally said, bringing Dad's endless humming to an abrupt end, "and that's our top priority. If it makes you feel better by talking to Joel, go ahead - we'll do anything for you."

  "Yeah," I sniffed, giving away any little control I had left, "I know you would." Cassie, a figure of calm on the scratched leather sofa, stopped stroking Tinker, who was madly purring away beside her bare, silky-smooth thigh, and got up to embrace me in a hug only caring and non-argumentive sisters could share; one that was utterly priceless.

  "And you too stick together," Dad wisely advised once Cassie and I pulled away from one another, panting from our bodies sticking together.

  "Of course we will," Cassie promised whole-heartedly, her petite hand tightly clenched in mine.

  "Me too," I murmured.

  Mum, having been an unpleasant picture of panic and sickening worry for the past few days, magically lost ten years' off her well looked-after, typically ageless face as she breathed a long-needed sigh of relief. Usually, she was yelling at Cassie and I for shouting and arguing for illogical reasons - as if fighting over whose hairbrush to borrow was an issue anymore. We'd stopped wishing for football-obsessed, biscuit-munching, rudely-joking brothers in place of bracelet-borrowing, Charmed-hogging and hormonal sisters - just the way we naturally were.

  "Welcome to the sisterhood, little sis," I whispered, creating a wave of laughter from Cassandra, which hawk-eyed Dad picked up on.

  "Got a language of your own, huh?" he smirked, but in a happy and pleased w
ay. For possibly the second time in my life, I pitied Dad for having to live with three emotional, erratically-behaving and TV-hogging women. Then I needlessly smiled; hadn't I won the jackpot for not having to put up with brothers or, my very worst nightmare, being a boy? That thought made the teeth-chattering alien in a film Cassie accidently switched on Sky Movies a few summers back seem like the fluffy, playful and adorable kitten that Tinker used to be. Until he started bringing back half-alive mice from his spectacular adventures down the street into the infested garden.

  Mum and Dad, having completed their 'Help Our Daughter' mission without any earth-shaking blasts or jaw-punching fights, headed into the boiling kitchen, which was literally baking in the unbearable heat. But instead of getting myself into a heart-hammering panic about being unable to cool down, I took my time to thank my lucky stars or guardian angel - or if I was truly rolling in pots of valuable gold, maybe I had both?