A perfect excuse for gaining the title of Miss Popular at school next term.
I turned my gaze to an ecstatic Cassie, whose smile was infectious to everyone it greeted. Currently enjoying my gleeful mood, I asked whether there was anything she wanted to do with me; just thinking of completing my bursting-to-the-brim pile of homework in the breezeless heat sent an agonizing throb of pain through my head.
"Wanna hang out in my bedroom?" she eagerly suggested, thrilled at being offered such a rare opportunity.
"Sure, why not?"
And my sister, wiser and bolder than I'd previously believed, had me in her clutches for the remainder of the sluggishly slow day, whilst I was powerless to resisting.
***********
"You still like Hello Kitty, don't you?" Cassie asked, longing to hear my answer.
"Uh-huh," I mumbled, nodding my head in agreement.
Cassie smiled and picked up a Hello Kitty plush toy, which looked as though it'd had a major punk makeover; a red and blue tartan bow accentuated its fluffy, anime face and its cute, black vest and tartan skirt paired with jazzy dotty tights screamed 90s grunge. And it even looked like it was wearing a pair of Converse specially for the nightmare. Wherever I went, I could never escape my regret about not purchasing a pair of super-duper-cool Converse, not even with a teenage angst toy.
"Here, you can have it - I'm not really keen on Punky Kitty anymore," she said, handing over the cute plush toy to my awaiting hands.
Wow, ever since Cassie had given me special permission into her lockout bedroom after lunch this afternoon, she had been offering me several of her once-loved possessions - from her bobbly pink feather pencil to an ancient, sturdy music player to a Learn French book in order to teach me how to speak a second language at long last - and I hadn't given her a thing in return.
Baking a batch of gooey, rich, melt-in-your-mouth dark chocolate chip brownies didn't seem to make the cut on this occasion.
"Thanks," I replied, a grin spreading across my face. I added the toy, whose black beady eyes scarily bored into mine, into my ever-increasing pile of gifts and goodies beside my awkwardly crossed legs - a goodie bag, filled with puzzles, impossible-to-win games and perhaps a slice of cake, was the only thing left to be offered.
"So, are you moving out or something? At this rate, half your bedroom will disappear!"
Cassie joined in with my laughter, genuinely finding my half-joke amusing. "No, I'm not preparing to leave home yet - I haven't even learnt how to boil an egg, so I won't be going any time soon," she said. Then she added kindly, "I only want to spend time with you because you have so much to teach me."
"Like what?" I asked, mockingly rolling my eyes.
"You know," Cassie moved her arms in an unfathomable gesture, "life, love and growing up, that sort of thing. You've been through it," she carefully said, beware of her next few words, "and I have plenty to learn from your experiences."
I nodded, completely understanding Cassie's true meaning. She may not have been aware of it, but she was lucky to be the youngest of the two. Of course, she couldn't have been given certain opportunities as she was a few years younger - one of the few benefits of being born first - but as I entered puberty with no knowledge whatsoever of the long, difficult road ahead and having no wise elder sister to look up to, I couldn't help but envy Cassie. A lot.
Shifting my legs into a more comfortable position - I hadn't crossed my legs on carpet since I was around seven - an idea popped into my head. "What about if you teach me French - last year, I failed it with flying colours and I'd love to improve - and I can offer some pointers about life experiences?" I suggested, my confidence regarding the idea growing stronger as each word spilled out.
Cassie clasped her hands in delight. "Yeah, that'd be great! There is so much that I can teach you about la langue d'amour -" I asked Cassie to repeat the phrase twice before comprehension overcame my initial confusion - "- and you'll fill me in about whatever I want to know."
"Then you have a deal," I agreed, shaking Cassie's hand in a formal, business-like manner. Negotiating deals with siblings was a piece of cake compared to pleading to high-nosed, ignorant teachers for a pass in French at school, whose bitter expressions on their wrinkly, sun-aged faces reminded me of sour lemons.
"Sadie," Cassie breathed, leaping from her pile of Pink Panther cushions to sit closer to me, "did I ever tell you how much you meant to me?"
I sat up, shrugging myself out my previous sluggish position, and pretended to think. "Hmm, I can't exactly remember when you last said that to me - maybe when I was eight?" I wondered, a playful twinkle visible in the corner of my midnight blue eyes.
"No, no, no," Cassie giggled, covering her smirking mouth, "I'm sure I've said a thousand times since then."
"Really? I've lost count."
"Like duh? Which sibling wouldn't let their elder sister know how much they love them?"
Had I been blind or what from the moment Cassie arrived home from the hospital, a little bundle of joy, her constant shrieks forcing me to cover my hands over my near-deaf ears, yet having the amazing ability to make the cutest laughs, whilst wrapped in a carnation-pink blanket? In the midst of our petty arguments and minor spats, I'd never taken the time to appreciate the fact that Cassie cared about me and deserved to win the 'Best Little Sister' award every time.
And I desperately wanted her to know that I cared, too.
Without any warning, I playfully grabbed Cassie's cherry blossom-pink t-shirt, encouraging her to giggle as though she was being manically ticked on her feet, and for a few joyful minutes, we forgot that we were fifteen and thirteen years old - we didn't care about whether we weren't behaving like drop-dead cool teenagers or acting superiorly. As far as I dared to imagine, we gone ten years back in time and were fun-loving five and three year olds again. It had taken me ages to realise that I still longed for enjoy playtime - an aspect of my innocent childhood that had disappeared long ago.
After tiring ourselves out to an extent that we could play no more, Cassie and I lied down on the soft mocha chocolate carpet, staring at the star-decorated ceiling, which Dad had painted around nine years ago.
"Do you still want to get rid of the stars?" I asked, an uncovered softness breaking through in my tone.
Cassie turned her locked gaze from the moon bright stars to me and answered, "Maybe, I don't know. I've had it for so long that... it would seem weird if I didn't have it."
"Keep it then," I advised. "Stars are cool, whatever your age."
Then we looked back at the ceiling, which strongly reminded me of that perfect, mind-blowing night with Joel. A lot of pain was still lying ahead - I'd have to open up to Joel about how made me feel, the good and definitely the super-bad - but the ache which should've hit me like an angst-filled punch left me numb, as if I was invincible to its feeling.
However, I stored those thoughts into a large, locked cardboard box at the back of my mind, and mentally returned to the wonderful moment I was sharing with my sister. Her tiny, slender fingers curled into mine, whose vast length reminded me of a gentle giant; as of yet, I would remain as the family 'supermodel', a nickname that Dad had light-heartedly suggested.
"Cassie?"
"Yeah?" Her voice groggy and drowsy, Cassie sounded as though she was halfway into a deep, nourishing sleep.
"I love you," I said, my entire feelings for her expressed in three simple, meaningful words.
Cassie sleepily smiled. "Me too," she responded, then closed her taupe eye shadowed eyes.
This, I instinctively knew, was happiness. In its purest form.
Chapter 6
The days following passed as rapidly as a swift summer breeze; I slowly shifted back into my what was once normal routine, which typically consisted of travelling into town - sometimes alone, if I was in the mood, or with Cassie, whose company brightened up any shopping trip - or communicating with my holidaying friends, to whom I still hadn't found the vital courage to admit the recen
t events.
Besides, none of my friends - all of whom I'd made during my attendance at Applebury High - didn't have the same amiable aura unlike Tara, who I regularly called or text every so often. It was a huge shame that my memorable friendships that I'd formed whilst at primary hadn't lasted during secondary; one of the hardest, most painful lessons I'd had to learn about life was that friends couldn't always stick together as promised and that drifting apart was sometimes inevitable. I reckoned that if Tara managed to attend the same school as me, our whole gang of reliable pals would have still been going strong - though she gave off the impression of being oblivious to the fact, Tara had been the glue of the group and all of us fell apart once she left.
So much for not making regrets, huh?
When I was ready to drop from spending money that my pocket money (yes, really, Mum and Dad still insisted on a basic allowance once a week - and I was old enough to get a basic job!) could barely afford on lavish clothes that I couldn't imagine myself wearing until I was at least 20 (one of my hopes was that irresistibly adorable panda brooches - ones that would define me as a laughing stock at school - would be making spectacular waves in Vogue by then) or staying up extra late chatting to Cassie, I would stay in my bedroom, the windows wide open to let in some much-wanted air, and just write about how I feel deep down.
Having been a prisoner to my erratic emotions for way too long, one day I threw up my hands in frustration - also at the aspect of being forced to complete my homework, whose papers were starting to turn a rustic yellow - and decided to put all of my thoughts, good and bad, down onto a nice lilac-shaded piece of paper.
And to my utter surprise, I was intrigued by the way expressing my feelings onto paper felt. Everything, from unquenchable horror to hard-to-fight sadness to generally being lost in my own mind, made sense in a, if not a little cluttered, way.
Maybe then I could genuinely believe that my English teacher, Mr Norris, thought that I had a spontaneous talent in writing, instead of previously regarding him as a loony nutcase who had nothing better to do than boring-as-hell books as a part-time job. Maybe.
One cool-as-a-crisp morning, I escaped the house, mostly due to the tropical fruit-smelling candle that Mum had lit in the onion-stinking kitchen, which, according to my sensitive nose, smelt a whole lot worse, and took a peaceful walk into the city park, sombrely alone in my thoughts.
Until Tara's high-pitched voice awakened me from my vegetative state - and almost deafened my ear muff-free ears.
"Ow, Tara, you don't have to talk so loudly!" I exclaimed, her words still ringing through my mind.
"Sorry," Tara sheepishly replied. "I called your name at least three times, but you didn't respond at all."
A playful smirk offering a subtle hint on my coral-glossed lips, I said, "Never mind. Anyway, what are you doing here?"
"Me? What am I doing in this lovely park on a gloriously bright summer day?" Tara mockingly fluttered her hands for air, a Hollywood-perfected expression of horror portrayed on her pretty, breath-taking face. "Oh, nothing," she said, returning back to her usual cool-as-a-fridgerated-cucumber attitude. "I got sick of waiting for replies from my friends on Facebook, so I decided to make the most of the nice weather whilst it lasts.
"Me too. I've mostly been hanging out with Cassie at home or writing if I haven't got anything else to do."
"Really?" Tara questioned, her noticeably pencilled-in eyebrows raised in unexpected surprise. "I thought you told me that you'd never dream of writing another word again because of your oh-so-boring English teacher."
I shrugged. "It doesn't matter anymore, I suppose. Writing has somehow made me feel a bit... better than before."
"So, are you writing about what, um, happened?"
I nodded, noticing Tara's awkwardness. "Yeah, call it therapy of some sort - it definitely works!"
Tara smiled. "That's great," she said. "Have you spoken to Joel yet?"
"No, not yet," I replied, ignoring the pang of pain which slyly aroused in my heart. "I'm not sure when I can speak to him - who knows, he may have forgotten about me by now."
"I doubt it."
Suspicion slowly crept upon me, questioning Tara's indiscreet words, which I tried to overlook, until the curiosity became too much to ignore. "Have you been in contact with Joel, Tara?" I asked, without a quaver or hint of emotion in my hard-as-stone voice.
Tara looked down at the emerald-green grass, twisting her fingers through her tousled, loose mane of blonde hair, and clearly attempting to buy any length of time before responding to my direct-to-the-point question.
"Tell me, please," I pleaded.
"I'm sorry," Tara spat out, her eyes still staring at the grass. "I couldn't just stand there and allow Joel to get away with what happened."
"What did you do?"
Nervously gulping, Tara raised her head and responded, "I phoned Joel a few days ago and told him to apologize for his actions."
Out of nowhere, an irrepressible, manic fit of laughter burst from my mouth, leaving me unable to say what I truly wanted to admit. The situation - all of it - just seemed so amusing, as if it had featured on a comedy sketch and I was the main star of the show, whom the endearing audience couldn't get enough of. But it was near impossible to find it funny...
"Are you alright, Sadie?" Tara asked, offering me a gulp of water from her bottle.
I shook my head, a fever spreading all over my body, and laughed a bit more before replying, "I'm fine," then returning to the final cycle of laughter, which suddenly stopped.
In the distance, I could hear Tara mutter, "I never thought she'd react like that," and a wave of sadness washed over me, destroying all previous perceptions of hilarity like it never existed.
Standing up straighter, I mumbled, "Sorry about that," as embarrassment made its shaming mark in the form of a heated red blush on my cheek, unexpectedly awakening my awareness of the people passing through the park, who must've thought I was a complete nutter.
That was one valid logic why I should add it to my 'Reasons For Staying At Home' list; which I'd probably ignore, anyway.
Tara waved her hand, clearly glad that she'd managed to avoid talking about Joel just yet. As if I was gullible enough to completely let her off the hook.
"What did Joel say?" I asked.
Tara fidgeted with anything she could get her cocoa butter-smooth hands on - her golden moon pendant, a wild, untameable mane of luxuriously looked-after hair and neon bright coral cardigan - then responded, "He didn't really say much."
My eyes almost popped out. "Like what?"
"Um, he hung up before I allowed him to talk," Tara said.
There was absolutely nothing I could say to that. Nothing sprang to my arctic-frozen mind and Tara kept opening her mouth - which strongly resembled a sulky model pout - then shut it again, preferring to keep her thoughts to herself. I was glad she did.
As a cooler breeze created goose bumps all over my arms, I finally found the courage to say something, which magically formed in my head as I calmly went along. "Thanks for trying to help" - horrible guilt, due to my initial reaction, established a bitter taste in my mouth that couldn't be easily swallowed - "but it really wasn't necessary," I reassured Tara. "I'm going to talk to Joel soon - I promise. Besides," I morosely sighed, "it's my problem and I've got to sort it out, whether I want to or not."
"Of course you want to sort it out in your own way, I completely understand that," Tara said. "But seeing you in the state you were in a few days ago made me so angry that it would've been a crime not to call him and give him a piece of my mind."
Caring, teenage therapist-in-the-making Tara was coming to my rescue. Again. Although I kept meaning to do it, I'd forgotten the amount of times Tara had helped me in sticky situations that I'd accidently created and just like a super mum, she achieved her targets and saved me from getting into more trouble, for which I was appreciatively grateful. In certain ways, Tara reminded me of my own mother, whose concerning nature
always helped me pull through anything, regardless whether it was good or bad.
This problem, however, was teetering a little too dangerously towards bad and beyond, which was causing me to almost lose what lack of balance I had left.
"But wasn't it a bit risky, Tara? You wouldn't want to get caught up in somebody's problems like that, would you?"
Tara offered a stop-worrying-and-have-some-fun wink, instantly winning the I'm-in-the-right case. If only my winks were able to tell much more than 'I've got an eyelash stuck in my eye'. Hm.
"So," Tara said, her tone immediately marking the end of the most-nail-biting-than-The-X-Factor-final subject. "Are you doing anything else today?"
"Yes," I lied, madly grinning as though I'd just (illegally) won the Lottery, "Cassie and I are going to bake some biscuits this afternoon and I'm heading to the shops to buy some new clothes - most of my tops are falling apart."
Playing With My Heartstrings Page 5