Cassie and the Woolf

by Olivia Snowe

  You know the story.

  You’ve heard it before.

  Everyone has.

  Now, read it again.

  A new twist. A new gasp.

  The story is told again.

  TWICETOLD.

  Table of Contents

  ~ 1 ~

  ~ 2 ~

  ~ 3 ~

  ~ 4 ~

  ~ 5 ~

  ~ 6 ~

  ~ 7 ~

  ~ 8 ~

  ~ 9 ~

  ~ 10 ~

  ~ 11 ~

  ~ 12 ~

  ~ 13 ~

  ~ 14 ~

  ~ 15 ~

  ~ 16 ~

  ~ 17 ~

  ~ 18 ~

  ~ 19 ~

  ~ 20 ~

  ~ 21 ~

  ~ 22 ~

  ~ 23 ~

  ~ 24 ~

  ~ 25 ~

  ~ 26 ~

  ~ 27 ~

  Little Red Riding Hood

  Tell Your Own Twicetold Tale

  ~1~

  Cassie Cloak held her red raincoat closed at the neck. Thunder clapped and the rain fell hard in big, swollen drops. The corners and curbs vanished under deepening puddles as piles of snow—still sitting where they’d been pushed aside during winter—melted, joining the torrents of rain.

  Before long, downtown Forestville was half flooded.

  Cassie jumped from bit of sidewalk to bit of curb, avoiding the deeper puddles. Still, the water sloshed up and into her rubber boots, soaking her favorite rainbow socks. By the time she reached Maurice’s Deli, she could hardly keep her footing.

  The bell dinged as she pushed through the heavy glass door. She shook off as best she could and dragged her feet along the long black mat toward the counter.

  Maurice himself stood behind the high counter, his hands folded on the glass, with his red and white paper hat just a little crooked on his bald head.

  “Hello, little Cassie,” he said. He always called her that: “little Cassie.”

  Cassie used to like that nickname. She wasn’t little anymore, though. She’d turn thirteen next month. She was out here—in the rain, right in downtown Forestville—all by herself.

  Do little kids turn thirteen and go downtown all by themselves? No.

  “Hi,” Cassie said. “Um, I’m picking up the order for my grandma.”

  Maurice frowned at the girl and shook his head. “Yes, little Cassie,” he said. “I know this. You’ve been in here to pick up your grandma’s Sunday dinner order for as long as I can remember.”

  Even when she’d make the trip with her mom, Cassie had always been there to pick up the meal.

  The meal was always the same. It came in a box, holding two plastic shopping bags. In each plastic bag, there’d be two paper bags. And the paper bags would be filled to bursting with soups and noodle casseroles and sandwiches and pickles.

  Every once in a while, Grandma would add some treat to the order: a couple of slices of honey cake or a big square of halvah.

  “It’s heavy today,” Maurice said with a wink. He came around the counter in that uneven shuffle he had, like one of his knees refused to bend.

  “It smells delicious,” Cassie told him. “I can’t wait.”

  With both arms, Cassie took the cardboard box. The wonderful smells wafted up into her face and the steam fogged her glasses. “Thanks,” she said.

  “I’ll get the door for you,” Maurice said. He shuffled past her and she heard the ding-a-ling of the bell over the door.

  She thanked him again and stepped back out into the rain.

  Once outside, she had to adjust her bags. Maurice had tied the plastic grocery bags tight, but Cassie didn’t think they’d hold for long. The cardboard box would probably disintegrate before she made it three blocks to her grandma’s apartment building.

  Instead of walking on, she hurried under the awning of the office next door. There, she leaned against the big plate window to wait for the rain to slow down, even a little bit.

  ~2~

  Caleb Woolf didn’t care. The rain poured over him in sheets. It collected in his matted hair—too long and ragged, like it had been shorn with a pair of a lawn shears—and ran down the back of his neck and the bridge of his nose.

  He grinned. He always grinned. His teeth were too big and too white, and even most of his friends thought he might lunge for them and take a bite.

  With his back to the basket, Caleb dribbled the ball in front of him, using his legs and back as a shield, protecting it from his defender. It was a game of two-on-two half-court basketball.

  “Hit me!” called out Caleb’s teammate, Finn Transom.

  But Caleb wouldn’t pass. The score was ten up, and the next two-point basket would win the game. He wasn’t about to hand off that glory to anyone. He’d get those two points himself.

  “Come on, Woolf,” said Andrew Hunter, the defender. Caleb could feel Andrew’s big hand on his back. “Make a move.”

  Caleb’s smile widened. He jerked his head one way, then stepped the other. He dribbled far out in front of him, where Andrew had no chance to steal. Then Caleb pulled up, stopping suddenly. Andrew slipped on the wet cement, and Caleb lifted the basketball and shot.

  Two points. Caleb clapped once. “Nice try, boys,” he said, grinning at Andrew and Andrew’s teammate, Otto Blank.

  Caleb’s teammate—who’d scored a couple of baskets himself—rolled his eyes and checked his phone for the time. “I better get home,” he said. “I’m late for supper.”

  “Yeah, me too,” said Andrew. “Not to mention I’m soaked to the bone. My mom’s going to skin me alive for staying out in this hurricane.”

  Caleb cackled. “Hurricane?” he said. “It’s a spring shower.”

  He turned to Otto. “How about you, Otto?” he said. He fired the basketball at him. Otto caught it before it collided with his face—but only just. “Quick game of one-on-one?” Caleb asked. “Come on. I’ll give you a five-point lead to start.”

  “Can’t,” Otto said. “Homework. Supper.” He tossed the ball back to Caleb, who caught it, dribbled it twice, and shot a perfect three-pointer.

  “Swish!” he said.

  The other three boys gathered their bags and jackets and headed off.

  “Honestly,” Caleb called after them through the driving rain. “I’ve never met three bigger babies and mama’s boys.”

  He watched them, calling out insults and taunts, until they turned the corner and disappeared into downtown. He was alone in Forestville Park now, the only one brave or foolish enough to stand in the downpour.

  Caleb sat on the metal bench on the edge of the basketball court and took a long swig from his bottle of water. Soon it was empty and his stomach roared.

  “Man, I’m hungry,” he said. He could have gone home for supper, but with his older brother home from college and his mom’s boyfriend over . . .

  “I’d rather sit in the rain and starve,” he muttered to himself. Then he happened to look up. He happened to glance toward the corner of Fifth Avenue and Eighth Street as a bolt of lightning struck the metal rod at the top of Forestville Tower, blanketing all of downtown with an eerie, pale-blue light, just for that instant.

  He happened to spot Cassie Cloak, huddled out of sight under an awning, and clutching a big, heavy-looking box.

  A heavy-looking box of food.

  ~3~

  Cassie hadn’t been standing under the awning long. Or she didn’t think she had, anyway. But her mind liked to wander.

  She’d been staring out into the rain, letting the sound of the heavy drops and the thunder wash over her. She let i
t take her mind into the fairy tales of her childhood. She remembered Mr. Jenkins’s kindergarten class.

  It was a rainy afternoon like this one—when it got as dark at one in the afternoon as it ought to get at one in the morning. Mr. Jenkins turned off all but one light in the classroom, and Cassie and the rest of the class sat cross-legged around his chair, eager for a story.

  He told them about the Frog Prince, and about Snow White and her dwarfs, and about Red Riding Hood. She’d been Cassie’s favorite, of course, because Cassie’s raincoat was red.

  She always bought red raincoats, ever since then.

  Before long it must have been six. The sound of Maurice’s shop door slamming shook her from her daydreaming.

  “I’m closing up, little Cassie,” said the old deli man. “Hadn’t you better hurry along? You shouldn’t dally around downtown when all the shops are closed. It’s not safe.”

  “I will, Maurice,” Cassie replied. She peeked out from under the awning, up at the dark and heavy sky. “Just waiting for this rain to let up a little.”

  Maurice jogged through the rain, holding his jacket over his head. When he got to Cassie, he stooped and smiled at her, and he wiped the rain from his face. “I can give you a ride,” he said. “Grandma’s over at the Tall Pines Apartments, right?”

  Cassie nodded. “Yes,” she said. “But I’m fine. I’m sure this won’t last.”

  Maurice frowned at her. “Are you sure?” he said. “It’s no bother.”

  Under the dim street lamps, with the rainwater still on his beaklike nose and dripping from his big hairy ears, Maurice didn’t look like himself. In some ways he did—he was obviously Maurice—but it was like Cassie was seeing him for the first time.

  She took a step back and tried to smile. “No, really,” she said. “I’m fine. Have a good night.”

  So the old man shrugged, and when he did his mouth twisted a little. Lightning cracked behind him, casting flickering, harsh shadows across his bent face. To Cassie, he was a monster. A troll. A hungry demon.

  “Suit yourself,” Maurice said. “Say hello to Grandma Helen for me.” Then he finally retreated to his van and climbed in.

  ~4~

  Caleb leaned against a cold, black post inside the bus shelter at the corner of Fifth Avenue and Eighth Street.

  He held his basketball with a limp hand against his hip and drummed on its surface with his fingertips.

  He was hidden in shadows.

  From where he stood, he watched the old man from the deli climb into his van. He watched the van roar to life and slowly roll off. The old man tooted the horn twice, saying goodbye to the girl he’d left behind.

  Cassie waved awkwardly at the van as it drove off. Both of her arms were still wrapped around the box of food.

  Caleb could almost smell it. No, he really could smell it. He could smell chicken soup. He could smell corned beef. It made his mouth water, and he smiled and licked his lips.

  He stared at the slicked streets of downtown Forestville. The streetlights reflected in the puddles. They splattered and spit with the rainfall. Then they went still.

  He shook and looked up. There was Cassie Cloak. Slowly, she stepped out from under the awning. The rain had stopped, and she started to walk.

  Caleb stayed close to the buildings on his side of Fifth Avenue. As he walked, he started to dribble. The sound of his basketball striking the sidewalk echoed through the canyon of buildings.

  He watched Cassie, too, as he walked. As he strutted along the sidewalk, he took long strides—one long stride for each of her three little steps. They reached the corner of Eleventh Street at the same time.

  Caleb knew where the girl was headed. He’d heard Maurice say the name: Tall Pines, the apartment building right on the edge of the city, and on the edge of the woods beyond. It wasn’t far.

  ~5~

  Cassie tried so hard not to look. She knew he was there. That sound—his basketball thumping against the cement over and over, echoing through downtown. It seemed louder to Cassie than the thunder had.

  But that was impossible.

  It was just that in the eerie quiet right after the storm, the boom boom boom made her whole body quiver.

  Don’t be afraid, she told herself. He’s just a boy. He’s been playing ball, and now he’s walking home.

  She tried so hard not to look. But she couldn’t help it. She stole a glance.

  He’s tall, she thought. He’s tall and he’s watching me.

  He’d been staring right at her. When she looked—just for an instant—he was staring right at her. His big eyes shone in the dark, stormy evening like a raccoon’s behind the trash cans.

  And he grinned. The moment she stole a look, he grinned at her. His teeth were as big and bright as the moon on a clear night.

  Then the boom boom boom stopped. Cassie stopped too; the light ahead said DON’T WALK.

  And the boy called out to her.

  “Hey,” he called, and she looked again.

  He was crossing. He was jogging across the street toward her. He didn’t care about the puddles and the rainwater splattering up his legs, soaking his basketball shoes, soaking his socks.

  She could have run. She could have at least kept walking. There was no traffic downtown at this hour on a Sunday. Why did she stop? Why did she stand there, watching him?

  “You’re Cassie Cloak, right?” he said as he got closer.

  She didn’t say anything. She might have nodded.

  He reached her and stopped. He cradled his basketball under one arm and smiled down at her. He stood tall and straight. He was lean and strong. He was good-looking, too, Cassie thought. He’s also a little mean-looking, she decided.

  “I go to Perrault Middle School too,” the boy said. “I’m in eighth grade.”

  “Oh,” Cassie said. She checked the light. WALK.

  “Come on,” he said, and he patted her shoulder. She flinched, but she followed as he started across the street.

  She knew him now, she realized, from school. She’d seen him and his big eighth-grade friends. They were rough kids. They galloped and shouted in the halls. They goofed off in front of the school before boarding their buses for home. The aides and drivers had to practically shove and drag them onto the buses most days.

  Cassie would climb right on, though. She’s take her seat near the middle. She’d pull out a book and open it on her lap, and then she’d stare out the window, watching the eighth-grade boys as her mind wandered.

  “That sure smells good,” the boy said.

  Cassie didn’t ask his name. She didn’t know if she should. Or maybe that wasn’t true.

  Maybe she knew she should, but she didn’t know how to do it.

  “It’s dinner for me and my grandma,” she said instead.

  “I know,” Caleb said. “I heard you talking to the old guy from the deli.”

  “Oh,” she said, but the very idea—of this boy standing near enough to hear, listening to her conversation with Maurice—sent a chill wiggling up her back and across her shoulder. She shook.

  “Hey, you cold?” the boy asked.

  She shook her head quickly.

  “Me either,” Caleb said. “I’m hungry, though. Boy, that smells good.” When they reached the other corner, he started dribbling again. The ball sent a spray of water up from the sidewalk. When it bounced in a big puddle, a wave splashed up and fell onto Cassie’s shoes.

  “Do you mind?” she snapped.

  She didn’t mean to snap. She hardly meant to say anything. But that’s how it came out.

  The boy shot her an angry look. His smile dropped away for a moment, then came back twice as big. He grabbed his basketball with both hands, jumped ahead a couple of steps, and slammed the ball down, right into the biggest puddle on the block.

  Cassie shrieked.

/>   ~6~

  Caleb laughed.

  He caught the basketball as it bounced back toward him, and then he bent over, slapped his thigh, and laughed.

  “You should see your face!” he said. He pointed at Cassie and laughed some more.

  She was drenched head to toe, and the box in her arms was splattered and stained, dark here and there from the wet.

  “What’s the matter with you?!” Cassie shrieked. She stomped her foot, splashing in the same puddle again.

  “Whoa, watch it!” Caleb said through more laughter.

  Cassie grunted and shoved past him. “Just leave me alone, you hyena!” she snapped.

  Caleb chuckled one more time and stopped laughing. “Hey, don’t freak out. I was just kidding around,” he said. “I didn’t mean to make you mad.”

  Cassie didn’t reply. She just stomped on, farther along Fifth Avenue, as the rain started again, this time just a drizzle.

  “Wait up!” Caleb called after her. He started heading in her direction.

  He didn’t hurry, though. He just loped along ten feet behind her, dribbling his basketball in a high, exaggerated bounce.

  “Why should I wait?” Cassie snapped without even turning around. “I don’t even know you!”

  “Sure you do,” he said through a smile. “We go to school together.”

  “I’m not in a single one of your classes,” she said.

  “You know what I mean,” Caleb said. He watched her ahead of him, her bright red slicker squeaking and swishing back and forth as she walked.

  Cassie wasn’t taking short strides anymore. She was stomping and hurrying along the avenue. Still, as tall as he was, he didn’t have to try too hard to keep up.

  “It sure is nice of you to visit your grandma,” he said, trying to figure out what to say. He really hadn’t meant to make her mad. “Is she sick or something?”

  Cassie stomped her foot and stopped. Caleb stopped too, still behind her.

  “Yes!” she said. “She is, actually!” It was the maddest she’d been so far. Obviously Caleb had asked the wrong question.