Seriously Sassy: Crazy Days

by Maggi Gibson

  ‘But I’m a changed person,’ I explain patiently as I continue to shred. ‘I am practising positive thinking. I want to be kind. I want to help people. There might be an old person I could take out for a spin in their wheelchair or something.’

  ‘I think that’s a great idea,’ Digby’s face lights up. ‘Having a lovely bright young person like Sassy along will do the residents no end of good. It would be an excellent PR move.’

  Dad looks doubtful, but Digby – bless his little cotton socks – overrules him. I finish shredding the papers and pile all the spaghetti strips into the recycling bin.

  ‘All done,’ I say proudly. ‘And don’t worry about tomorrow, Dad. You’ll be glad you let me come along.’

  Maybe if I can’t be a singer, I should be a politician like my dad. I quite fancy persuading people to stop using so much electricity and buying so many cars and totally overheating the planet.

  Which reminds me! I started a letter of complaint months ago, but what with all my excitement over that silly being-a-star stuff, I never got it finished.

  In my room I rummage in my desk drawers looking for the letter. It’s buried under tons of half-finished song lyrics. I get a momentary pang when I see how many songs I’ve started. For a split second I think I should maybe have a ceremonial fire out in the garden and burn all the song stuff. After all, I don’t have any use for it now, do I? But I worry about the polluting effects of the smoke and how it might contribute to global warming, so I just cram all the bits back in the drawer and force it shut.

  Then I stretch out on my rainbow rug and quickly finish my letter to the prime minister of Australia.

  33 Anton Drive

  Strathcarron

  Dear Prime Minister of Australia

  Toxic Sheep

  It has come to my attention that Australia is full of sheep. As you are no doubt aware, sheep have weird digestive systems that cause them to burp and … err … release from their bottoms … huge amounts of methane into the earth’s atmosphere – 90 million tonnes a year, in fact. Methane, in case you did not know, is a pretty awful stinky gas. It contributes hugely to global warming and puts the future of the planet at risk.

  No doubt you are elderly yourself and will die soon anyway, so this may not seem like a great big problem to you. But I am still young (see below), and I and my generation would like to have a lovely safe planet to live on once you’ve popped your clogs.

  May I suggest that you tell your Australian farmers they should breed less sheep? In any case they only breed them to kill them. So what is the point?!

  Should you insist on keeping your sheep, I think you should seriously consider investing in new technology to catch the sheep … err … emissions and stop them escaping into the air and killing the rest of us. Scientists in New Zealand have already invented a sheep-emissions-catching device, so maybe you could get in touch with them and find out more?

  Please raise this matter as soon as possible in the Australian Parliament. Oh, and please get back to me and let me know what you and your government decide.

  Yours sincerely

  Sassy Wilde

  Aged 13

  I borrow a couple of stamps and an envelope from the piles of stuff in the dining room, copy the address down from the Internet, then wander out to the post box at the end of the road.

  That’s it. Three good deeds completed already!

  By teatime I’m feeling miles better. It’s amazing how doing things to help others makes you feel so good! I cleaned out Pip’s hamster cage while she was out playing and she was incredibly grateful. I couldn’t find any old newspapers for the bottom cos Mum had just taken them all to the community recycling bin, but I found some stuff on Digby’s to-be-shredded pile. They were a great fit too. I didn’t even have to fold them like I do with Dad’s big newspapers. And Pip was delighted cos they were a particularly pretty shade of pink. ‘Pink,’ she gushed, ‘is Houdini’s fave colour. It’s excellent rodent feng shui. It creates happy hamster vibes.’

  After tea I insist on loading the dishwasher – without anyone telling me to. (Good Deed Number 5!)

  ‘You know, Sassy,’ Mum says as she puts her feet up while I clean the cooker, ‘I rather like this new version of you.’

  I have just had the most fantastic insight! When you’re cleaning a cooker your brain can work out all sorts of other things. I am elbow-deep in soapy suds, scrubbing the hob rings, when I realize what I have to do to sort out my love life. Instead of splitting up with Twig – that AWFUL thought I had last night when I was stuck right in the middle of my BIG LIFE CRISIS – I will forget about Phoenix, calm my hair down, maybe even put on a smidgeon of make-up, and go round to see Twig to say a big romantic thank you for being so sweet. Who knows, I think mischievously as I take off Mum’s rubber gloves and stick them on top of the taps to dry, he might even get round to kissing me!

  It’s almost eight by the time I’m ready. ‘Whooty-whoo!’ Pip goes when I pop into the living room to ask if it’s OK if I go round to Twig’s for an hour. ‘Are you going on a date?’

  Mum looks up from the telly and smiles. She’s got a glass of wine – and has downed at least three sips – which is most prob why she says it’s fine, as long as I’m back by half nine.

  When I get round to Twig’s, Sindi-Sue’s there, helping Megan do a big clothes clear-out. It’s really cool that they seem to have hit it off recently. Truth is, even though we’ve made up, I still find Megan a bit difficult to get on with sometimes. But I’m really glad that she and Sindi-Sue are getting to be mates – and she’s definitely been acting less weird since we all started hanging out …

  Twig and me are about to go out for a walk when Megan insists on dragging me upstairs to choose something from her cast-offs before she packs them up for the charity shop. It’s obvious that Megan doesn’t know yet about the Y-Generation disaster, so I don’t mention it.

  When I step through her bedroom door my heart double flips. Phoenix Macleod is staring at me from every wall! I’d totally forgotten how crazy Megan is about him. She’s even got a huge poster on the ceiling above her bed.

  ‘I go to sleep every night gazing into his eyes,’ Megan giggles, and a little voice inside me whispers, Actually, I don’t blame you! (Out of loyalty to Twig, I ignore it, of course.)

  ‘Anyway, the reason I’m giving all this stuff to charity,’ Megan continues as she tips one of her drawers out on to the bed, ‘is cos I figure you and Twig have the right attitude. You know, being green and everything. I got caught up in the whole buy-buy-buy thing. Like I thought it would make me happy, having tons of stuff, especially after Mum and Dad split up. But it doesn’t help, not really …’ She sighs heavily as she chucks a shimmery lemon sweatshirt on to her ‘rejects’ pile. ‘In fact, Sindi-Sue and me were just saying it’s like eating junk food. You eat and eat and eat and ten minutes later you’re hungry again, and you can’t work out why.’

  ‘Yeah,’ says Sindi-Sue, holding up a pair of orange leggings. ‘I am so tired of my room being like TOTALLY clogged up with stuff. Sometimes I can hardly open the door. So once we’ve cleaned out Megan’s, we’re going round to do mine.’

  Quickly – cos I really do want to be alone with Twig! – I settle on a lilac vest top. Then I hug Megan and Sindi-Sue and, relieved to get away from all those posters of Phoenix, I rush downstairs.

  ‘I thought you’d still be wrecked from the Y-Generation thing,’ Twig says as we wander aimlessly along the street.

  ‘I was,’ I explain, ‘until Tas told me about the earthquake. That put it all in perspective. I realized it was totally silly getting so hung up on singing. There are tons of other things I can
do.’

  ‘But you’re still gonna sing, surely?’ Twig asks as we take the path that leads up to the swing park.

  ‘Nope,’ I reply, tossing my curls a bit, hoping he’ll notice I’ve got mascara on. ‘That’s my past. I’d rather do something else now.’

  ‘What? You’re really going to give up singing, just cos Paradiso’s are putting a block on you?’ Twig exclaims, his eyes widening. ‘That doesn’t make sense, Sassy! Surely you should fight them, show them you can –’

  ‘Look, I don’t want to talk about it, OK?’ I snap as I plonk on to a swing. Any thoughts I had of getting romantic have disappeared as fast as dirty dishwater down a plughole.

  ‘So what do you want to talk about?’ Twig shrugs. ‘Global warming? The destruction of the rainforests? The melting ice caps? The droughts in Africa?’

  I take a deep breath. ‘Actually, I did see this programme on telly about how these lovely islands in the South Pacific are sinking into the sea,’ My voice sounds lighter than my heart feels.

  ‘Yeah, I saw that too,’ Twig says, clambering up one of the swing support poles. ‘Course they’re not actually sinking; it’s the level of the sea that’s rising as the polar ice caps melt. Just like the world’s top scientists have been predicting. The sea water’s bubbling up through their farmland and the salt’s killing their crops.’

  He swings for a moment like a monkey, then jumps back to the ground.

  ‘Look, I didn’t mean to snap at you just then,’ I say with a rueful smile.

  ‘I know,’ Twig looks at me through his flop of hair, and for a split second my heart does that fluttery thing and I think maybe, just maybe, he’s gonna take my hands and pull me up off the swing and –

  ‘I didn’t take it personally,’ Twig jumps on the swing next to me, then shouts, ‘See who can go highest!’ Next minute he’s pushing off with his feet and swinging past me.

  Honestly! I came out for a romantic reunion and Twig wants me to race him on the swings! Trying to hide my disappointment I watch as Twig sails higher and higher, hanging his head back so the wind rushes through his hair. And after a minute’s sulking, I get a grip on myself. It looks like such fun, I think, so what the heck! Why not?

  So I stand up on the seat and grab the chains and push off hard. Soon I catch up with him and for a few seconds we’re swinging in perfect unison, the darkening sky rushing past above us, till finally we swing so high the chains lose their tension and clunk dangerously …

  ‘OK, OK! I give in!’ I scream.

  Breathless, laughing, pink-cheeked, we let the swings slow to a gentle sway.

  ‘I’d better get back home,’ I say when I get my breath back. ‘Mum will be wondering where I am.’

  Wandering slowly across the park, it occurs to me how much I like Twig. How easy it is to be with him. We have so many things in common, like being passionate about the environment and wanting a fairer world and not liking uniforms and hating being ordered about by power-tripping adults, and all forms of violence.

  But I can’t help thinking that the more I get to know him, the more comfortable we get around each other, the less he seems like a boyfriend, the more he seems like a best bud. A very special best bud, but a best bud just the same.

  I don’t think that’s how you’re meant to feel about your boyfriend. Is it …?

  11

  It’s Monday morning now and I can’t say I’m looking forward to going into school.

  I didn’t see Cordelia over the weekend cos she was away with her mum at the Dark Arts Fair in Newcastle, but we had a long chat on the phone when she got back. At school on Friday she withheld the AWFUL TRUTH about Y-Generation pulling out of the record deal cos she thought I might want to keep it secret for a while. Instead she told everyone I was off with a tummy bug.

  Eventually, of course, people will start to realize that my so-called singing career’s going nowhere. But Cordelia figures that if it’s a gradual process it will be easier for me to deal with. And I think she’s right. I absolutely do not want to have a big dramatic meltdown in front of everyone at school.

  As soon as I appear in Registration, Megan comes running over, wraps me in a bear hug in front of the whole class and wails, ‘I am SO sorry you didn’t get the record deal! Twig told me everything last night. You must be TOTALLY devastated. It’s SO unfair!’

  I stand there IN TOTAL SHOCK with everyone staring, like I’m the most pathetic, most-to-be-pitied creature on the planet!

  When Megan releases me from her hug I make my way to my seat. People smile sadly. They murmur things like, ‘Sorry Sass, better luck next time.’ They throw me sympathetic looks like I’ve just been diagnosed with terminal diarrhoea. And I want to scream, PLEASE STOP! I CAN’T HANDLE PITY! YOU’RE MAKING ME FEEL LIKE A VICTIM!!!

  But I don’t. Cos it wouldn’t be fair. No one means to be horrible to me. So instead I put on a professional smile, say ‘No worries. I’m fine, actually.’ And slide into my chair.

  At last Miss Peabody comes in and takes the register and Sindi-Sue goes back to combing her hair; Karim Malik starts hiccupping cos he’s accidentally swallowed a polo mint; Midge fools around trying to give him a fright to make him stop and Miss Peabody shouts ‘Settle down, will you! This is a school, not a lunatic asylum!’ And for the first time ever I’m glad to sit really quietly with my head stuck in a book, not talking to anyone.

  ‘You handled that really well,’ Cordelia says as we trail along the corridor to the library. ‘Megan shouldn’t have put you in the spotlight like that.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I shrug. ‘But that’s Megan for you.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d blown up at her.’ Cordelia adjusts the scarlet ribbons on her long black bunches.

  ‘Well, I kinda wanted to. But like I said last night, I did a lot of thinking over the weekend. And I thought, actually, on the grand scale of things, not getting a recording deal isn’t such a massive thing.11 Not compared to an earthquake. So I made a decision. While I work out what I’m really gonna do with my life, I’m simply gonna be a better person and do five good deeds every day. I guess not blowing up at Megan was my first for today.’

  Cordelia’s face brightens. ‘Hey! That’s like that karma thing, isn’t it?’

  ‘Is it?’ I ask as a posse of Fourth-Year boys push past, almost flattening us against the wall.

  ‘Yeah. Karma. It’s a Buddhist way of looking at life. If you do good things for other people, then good things will eventually come back to you. It might take a while. Like you might need to wait till your next life, you know, when you’re reincarnated. As a donkey or a dolphin or something.’

  ‘No chance of getting my karma a bit earlier? Like before I’m dead?’ I ask as we wander into the library and find a couple of quiet seats near the manga comic books.

  ‘Sure,’ Cordelia dumps her scary cat tote bag on the floor and smiles. ‘That’s the thing about karma. It works in a mysterious way. You have to do the right thing even if you think there’s nothing in it for yourself.’ She narrows her green eyes at me. ‘And who knows, just when you don’t expect it, you might get everything you ever hoped for.’

  12

  Phew! Cordelia got a text from Taslima last night. It simply said, ARRIVED SAFELY. But that’s better than nothing, isn’t it?

  On the downside there were more reports from Pakistan on telly yesterday, and it’s not looking good. Dad’s newspaper this morning had a huge headline: MORE DEVASTATION AS AFTERSHOCKS CONTINUE.

  I had a quick read and Dad explained how after an earthquake, smaller earthquakes called aftershocks can continue for days and cause even more deaths and damage.

  So Tas may have arr
ived safely, but we don’t know how long ago her text was sent, and we don’t actually know if she’s still safe now.

  We try texting back on Sindi-Sue’s phone while we wait for Smollett to arrive for morning assembly. (Sindi-Sue’s the only person with credit.) HOPE U R SAFE. MISSING YOU. LOL CORDELIA, SINDI-SUE, MEGAN & SASSY :o) xxx COME HOME SOON!

  The text has just pinged off to Pakistan when Smollett sweeps on to the stage in his long black gown. He scowls until the hall falls silent. Then he cranks up his usual ‘You-all-must-try-harder’ motivational speech. Soon he’s in full flow, waxing lyrical about lateness and poor attendance.

  ‘Why’s he going on at us?’ Sindi-Sue whispers petulantly as she picks at the split ends in her hair. ‘We’re the ones who’re here.’

  ‘Yeah, and we’ve turned up on time,’ Megan adds.

  ‘Much more of this and next time I won’t bother.’ Cordelia mutters darkly.

  As Smollett drones on, I zone out. Tas has a theory about school assemblies. She says they’re nothing more than cheap therapy sessions for head teachers. Assemblies, according to Taslima, let them get things off their chests, and that stops them from having so many mental breakdowns.

  ‘And now for some good news about a Strathcarron High student,’ Smollett booms, and my brain zones back in. ‘Magnus Menzies won three gold medals earlier this week at the Scottish Swimming Finals.’ Smollett’s face splits into a smile. ‘I would like Magnus to come up on stage and collect a Student of Honour award.’

  Grinning broadly, Magnus springs to his feet and bounces up the steps. A girl at the back of the hall wolf-whistles and Smollett’s smile fades. Lovelace, the PE teacher, swoops and removes her with the swiftness and efficiency of a velociraptor.

  Up on stage, Smollett beams as he hands Magnus a tube of rolled-up paper tied with a black ribbon. ‘Keep up the good work, Magnus. You’re a credit to the school. Thank goodness Strathcarron High has one star student.’