Finding Cassie Crazy Page 19
If you do, you’re cheating on him by spending so much time inside my head.
And I guess that was technically cheating, all that messing around at Balmoral. I wouldn’t tell your boyfriend about that.
Love
Seb
Dear Seb
Okay, I’ll tell you what I like and what I don’t like.
I don’t like sultanas in cakes, especially in a cake that seems to be sultana-free. I don’t like mornings, especially cold mornings, and I don’t like stockings, shoes, shoelaces, shoe polish, hair scrunchies, hair dryers and train passes.
I like socks, pens, nail polish, detective novels and spy movies.
I like fairy penguins, whales, huskies and pelicans. I like looking for four-leaf clovers and locket shells. Also looking for Santa Claus and his sleigh in the night sky. I never liked the Easter Bunny though.
I kept believing in Santa Claus for years after I knew he didn’t exist.
I like Bacardi Breezers, Kahlua and milk, sangria and tequila shots.
And I’d like a tattoo of a lizard on my ankle.
And now I’ll tell you some things that I liked about last weekend.
I liked the way you took that whole journey to Balmoral without looking at me once. But all the time I felt like you were crinkling the corners of your eyes for me.
I liked the way you ordered fish and chips and a can of Coke, and said no thanks to the special seafood sauce, and then the way you said ‘hup!’ at the last minute, and changed your mind and got the seafood sauce. The girl at the register smiled at you when you said ‘hup!’, but you didn’t notice because you were getting out your wallet.
I liked the way one windsurfer was out on the cold grey water at Balmoral and, when he fell, he’d stay there patiently in the water and let the wind pick him up again with the sail.
I liked the way you ate your fish and chips, looking out at the sea, with a big smile like you’d given up trying not to smile.
I liked how you cleared the smile away with the napkin, wiped your hands and took out a drawing pad and pencil, and started sketching, without looking back at me once. I liked how you seemed to be sketching the windsurfer or the sea, because you were frowning into the distance.
I especially liked it when you shifted so I could see what you were drawing, and it was actually a portrait of me, and I liked how you smiled when you heard my reaction. And I liked how you wrote a message on the corner of the page: ‘There’s a whale on the horizon—can you see the spout?’
I don’t think there was actually a whale there. But maybe.
And I liked it a lot when you put the picture away, slid over to where I was sitting and kissed me. I liked how you did that fast as if it was kind of inevitable.
I haven’t got a boyfriend at the moment. If I did, I wouldn’t have let you kiss me, Seb.
I don’t think I want a boyfriend. I’ve had three boyfriends from this school and it never works out. I always feel like I disappear; I always feel like it’s just physical and like they never really hear me when I speak.
Last year I was with a guy called Sergio for three months. I thought he was sexy as hell. He’s got a burn scar on his face and people stared at him wherever we went, which he said he liked, but I was always so pissed off at them. Sergio called me his ‘wild-eyed girl’ and the more he said it the more wild I got.
In the end I broke up with him because I was turning into this angry person all the time—like I knew that was what he liked about me, and I couldn’t ever smile and be stupid, which is also what I like to be.
Plus I started thinking that ‘wild-eyed girl’ made me sound like a horse.
So, see, I always start to act like someone I’m not.
That’s why I want to keep writing letters, okay? And maybe meeting up sometimes if our letters say we can. It’s the only way I can stay honest to myself.
Love
Lydia
Lydia
I don’t really want to hear about Sergio being sexy as hell. But okay, thanks for the news.
Do you really turn into someone else when you’re with guys? I find that difficult to get my head around because you seem like a fairly strong person, Lyd.
Also, do you really think you are ‘yourself ’ in your letters? I remember your first letter to me, you told me you were a fish and your mother was a pinball machine. I don’t want my hand to be holding this pen, I want it to be holding your hand.
Can I phone you some time?
Love
Seb
Hey Seb
If we’re not writing to each other—if we’re just kissing and stuff—then why should it be me? Why shouldn’t it be any other girl?
Lyd
Lyd
You’re not making sense.
I love your letters and I want you to keep writing them, if you want to. But you can’t kiss a girl made out of ink and paper. Let’s hang out together. Let’s talk on the phone.
You have to realise that boys don’t write. Girls write. Boys don’t.
Seb
Hey Seb
Boys don’t write, eh? You might want to mention that to William Shakespeare, Charles Dickens etc. I get the feeling they’re boys.
Wait a minute, I get it. Boys don’t write unless they can show that they’re better at it than girls are.
Is that what you mean?
Can you tell me something? Did you see a photo of me before we ever saw each other? Is that how you knew it was me in the Blue Danish?
Lyd
Lydia
You keep asking me that. I didn’t cheat on the task, Lyd.
But I looked up your phone number yesterday. Maybe I’ll call you tonight. You want to kick a soccer ball around on the weekend? This letter can give us permission.
Love
Seb
Seb
Em told me yesterday that you and Charlie found a photo of me in a magazine when you first got my letter last term.
So I guess you knew what I looked like before you saw me.
So I guess you’ve been lying to me every time I’ve asked about that. I thought I’d just give you one last chance. But you lied to me again.
I guess I know what kind of a guy you are—the kind who’s only interested in what a girl looks like. Not in what she says.
Lydia
Dear Lydia
Okay, I get where you’re coming from. I get it: you hate lies and you think the world is evil like a rotten potato, and now you think I’m part of the evil. I see how you might think that.
But listen, Lydia, you’re thinking wrong. I’m not part of the evil: everything else I’ve said to you is true. You were the one who suggested the competition where we had to recognise the other one first—how could I not use my advantage? And then I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to be mad. But trust me, it was just messing around.
No offence, but it’s not like you’re full of the truth yourself. You go on about your parents fighting in the Breakfast Pyramid and then we hear that your dad’s getting your room painted for you, and your mum’s kicking back with you and a couple of lamingtons, not to mention driving you around the neighbourhood. (And now I’ve had about three conversations with your mum trying to call you and she seems like a good person, by the way.)
Anyhow, why did Emily have to tell you about it? There are too many words coming out of girls’ mouths. Why do girls have to talk so much?
Love
Seb
Seb
No, you’re right, this is all Emily’s fault. All the words coming out of her mouth.
Just for your information, she found out about this a few weeks ago and only told me now because she’s got a broken heart and isn’t thinking clearly.
And don’t suggest that I’m as deceptive as you. Maybe I tell stories about my parents in a dramatic way, but that’s poetic licence. You lied to me.
Lydia
Lyd
Poetic licence, was it? Guess what, I’ve got one of th
em too. I picked one up when I was down at the RTA getting my learner’s permit. So we’re both allowed to exaggerate.
Come on, Lyd. Get over it. You’re so into game playing you forget what real life is. Get some perspective.
Love
Seb
Seb
In relation to ‘game playing’, could I just remind you that you started the games? Remember last term when you needed me to prove I could be trusted by passing your tests, which meant doing things to get you out of exams?
I think we should stop writing, okay?
Lydia
Lydia
Please stop calling yourself ‘Lydia’. What happened to Lyd? PLEASE DON’T STOP writing to me. I’m SORRY SORRY SORRY. Charlie tells me he and Em have stopped writing now, so I can’t even get him to lobby her on my behalf. It’s all falling apart. Are you mad at me because I keep ringing? I’ll stop, if you promise to write back to me.
I’ll write ten-page letters if you like. I’ll keep doing assignments. I’ll do anything you want. I just want to touch your face again, I just want to see you chalking a cue and narrowing your eyes at the pool table.
Love
Seb
Lyd
I can’t stand your silence. What can I do to make it up to you?
Dear Seb
You can’t.
Yours sincerely
Lydia Jaackson-Oberman
PART 29
WINTER TERM
CASSIE
Thursday, 4.30 am, Half a Moon in the Sky
Hello there, Diary
I guess you’ve been missing me.
Also, I guess you’re supposed to write more frequently than this in a diary, like say, every day? As opposed to when you can’t sleep. And you’re supposed to talk about what’s going on in your life and what the weather’s like and who you’ve got a crush on, and how many pimples on your face etc, etc, but you know what I think? I think it’s all just:
words
words
words
so why don’t you write them yourself?
Friday, 7.30 am, Cloudy
I wonder if Claire, the counsellor, knows that I’m crazy.
I guess my mum keeps her distracted most of the time by giving her imaginary legal advice.
And Lyd and Em are also distracted these days, seeing as they want to get revenge on the perfect stranger, even though I keep telling them not to. They know who he is, even. Lydia tracked him down. From the glitter in an envelope I sent him.
I didn’t want to know his name.
But you want to know something? I’ve been secretly checking the mail box at school, in case Matthew Dunlop (or whoever he is) replied to my glitter letter. Which he hasn’t, of course.
Wednesday, Night Time, Raining
It’s cold outside, but we have gas heating. One small gas heater is making this whole studio toasty warm.
Here is my attempt to write a diary like a normal girl who goes to school.
Well, you’re not going to believe this, but Mr Pappo has not been turning up to any classes for the last three days! Everyone is trying to keep this quiet so the school doesn’t notice and send in substitute teachers. Mrs Lawrence broke her collarbone trying out a dance step on top of her desk! Damien Carrol and Helena Wong broke up on Wednesday because Damien needed more space but then they got back together on Thursday, and then they broke up this morning because Helena wanted to consider her options.
Also, a bird flew into the classroom in my History class, but why would you care about that?
Later on Wednesday, Also Night Time
Sometimes, bits of craziness escape into the outside me. Like, I get addicted to writing a letter to a boy who hates my guts.
Plus I forget a lot of stuff. I forget to do homework or to meet up with friends or to finish sentences when I’m talking. I’ll go into the bathroom to clean my teeth but won’t even get out the toothpaste. I’ll just stare at my fingernails for half an hour and then come back out again. Once, I came to school without my socks on. Just my shoes. I pretended I did that on purpose.
Tuesday, Afternoon, Blue Sky Outside
Today, Em and Lyd were arguing about a story Lyd wrote for English. Mr Botherit read it out to the class and everyone was practically crying at the end because she’d killed off all her characters. She always does that.
So, at lunchtime, Em said that Lydia should have let the characters get married and move to a mansion by the sea. But Lydia said that’s dishonest because a week later they’d be divorced and the house would be knocked over by a tidal wave. Em said Lydia just had to keep writing until the characters fell in love again and built a cottage in the mountains. Lyd said that was impossible because the man would be dead, drowned in the tidal wave and the woman would have been left destitute etc, etc, etc.
Claire can’t say the word ‘dead’.
She keeps saying we lost Dad, which is stupid because, if you lose something, you can usually find it if you make enough effort and phone up all the lost property offices and taxi companies. Unless maybe someone stole it, in which case it isn’t really lost.
Sunday, Maybe Lunchtime, Some Sun Around
Sometimes when Claire uses the word ‘lost’ I think she’s trying to point out that we didn’t put in as much effort as we should have. Like, if we’d just tried another herbal remedy or started eating zucchini all the time, then we might have found a cure for Dad.
I don’t really think that.
Just like I don’t really think that I’m crazy. I know that it’s common to forget stuff and be absent-minded, and it’s just called SADNESS.
I know for a fact that it’s not our fault that Dad died and I know Claire is not trying to say that.
But it’s a lot easier to be crazy or mad than to just get on with living.
Tuesday, Raining Quietly
Imagine if my dad was downstairs right now, calling me to come and have breakfast.
Hey, Diary, it’s two o’clock in the morning and you know what? That would be a weird time to have breakfast.
And you know what else? I hate myself. Because in actual fact, I’m lying to Lydia and Emily. They’re being so nice, like, they came over for dinner last week, and stayed really late talking to us, even though I’m sure they were bored out of their minds hearing my mother lecture them about life and careers etc.
And they don’t even know that the whole thing with Matthew Dunlop was all my fault.
Because I kept writing.
Okay, let’s think about what a NORMAL person would have done when they got that first letter from Matthew Dunlop. A normal person would have said, ‘Jesus, Brooker kids are psychopaths’ and chucked the letter away.
So what did I think I was doing, eh Diary?
Every day, I try to make myself tell Lydia the truth and every day I can’t because I don’t want her to know that I’m deranged in the head.
Tuesday After School, Eating Ginger Biscuits
Actually, writing here in Dad’s studio, feel like I should just talk about my dad, really.
It’s like when I first came back to school, and it seemed strange that anyone could talk about anything other than my dad. Like we shouldn’t have been analysing My Brilliant Career in English, we should have been sitting around chatting about Dad’s favourite books. And getting mad about how unfair it was that the leukaemia came back after four years. The doctors had said that if it stayed away for more than five years, then it probably wouldn’t come back. But it just made the deadline.
After a while I stopped wanting to talk about Dad at school. I just wanted to keep it all in my bedroom and in this studio, because I didn’t think I could carry it outside.
Remember when Dad was feeling bad, and he’d lie on the couch over there and sometimes I read stories to him? His favourite books were Roald Dahl’s Tales of the Unexpected. When there were bits about sex, he’d tell me to keep reading but cover my ears.
Hey, guess what, I just looked out the window and
Lydia’s standing at the front door.
Wednesday, Early Morning, Frost on Lawn
I’ve noticed that in movies there’s always just one reason for everything.
Like, it turns out that the guy’s a murderer because of this one time when his mother made him wear a pink hat to school and all the kids teased him.
That’s it: bang. He’s a murderer.
It would be good if it was as simple as that.
Or maybe not: there’d be too many murderers.
So, anyway, Diary, last time I spoke to you it was yesterday afternoon and Lydia was standing outside my front door.
And you know what happened? I told her about how it was all my fault with Matthew Dunlop. How I kept writing to Matthew Dunlop even when he threatened to break my fingers.
She just blinked once when I told her and said, ‘I wonder why you kept writing back.’
Not like it was a question that I had to answer, but like an unexplained event in a movie we just saw. Like we could figure it out if we talked long enough.
We couldn’t figure it out though.
I said, ‘Do you think I’m crazy?’
She looked at me and said: ‘Hmm.’
To: Cassie.Aganovic@ashburyhigh.com.au
From: Emily.Thompson@ashburyhigh.com.au
Subject: Is Cassie crazy?!
Dear Cassie
Well! Lydia has given me a secret assignment, which is to send you an email explaining that you are not crazy. She has given herself the same assignment, so expect an email from her too.
Her assignments have really changed lately, haven’t they? There is almost no shoplifting or ‘prank calling’ or cake baking. It is all about writing things down, and I have to say I’m a fairly different person when I write things down. So, that’s interesting.