Cassie

Barry Jonsberg

First published in 2008

Copyright © Barry Jonsberg, 2008

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.
The Australian Copyright Act 1968
(the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or ten per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (
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National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry:

Jonsberg, Barry,
Cassie
For secondary school age.
ISBN
: 978 1 74175 347 9 (pbk)
Series: Girlfriend fiction; 8
A
823.4

Cover photo: Katja Zimmermann/Taxi/Getty Images
Cover brush credit: Stephanie Shimerdla,
www.brushes.obsidiandawn.com
Cover design by Tabitha King and Bruno Herfst
Text design by Bruno Herfst
Set in 12.5/15 pt Fournier by Midland Typesetters, Australia
Printed in Australia by McPherson's Printing Group

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

www.allenandunwin.com/girlfriendfiction

For Cece Adams

Contents

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

About the Author

1

Holly

My name is Holly Holley and this is my morning routine.

Six-thirty: fumble for snooze button on alarm clock, curse mother before slipping back into coma.

Six-forty: fumble for snooze button on alarm clock.

Six-fifty: fumble …

Seven o'clock: mother screams into ear. I curse her [silently], sit on edge of bed, wait for brain to make an appearance. Stumble into bathroom, stand on scales, get depressed.

Seven-oh-five: have shower [you weigh more after a shower because of water droplets caught in hair], stand in front of mirror and check for signs of change in manner of ugly duckling-to-swan [magazines say it often happens at fifteen]. Get more depressed because freckles still scattered randomly, snub nose still unchanged, small wart on corner of eyelid still witch-like, dumpy legs still dumpy. Curse mother. Think of Demi Larson, wart-less, freckle-less, snub nose-less and with perfect legs up to her armpits. Try to hate her, but can't. Curse mother instead.

Seven-twenty-five: back to bedroom, extract school uniform from floor wardrobe, drag on over head. Examine self in wardrobe mirror. Pygmy in a sack stares back. Try to imagine sack-draped pygmy on arm of Raphael McDonald, but fail. Take deep breath, curse mother.

Who would
ever
,
ever
,
ever
, think it was a good idea to call your child Holly when your last name's Holley? Who would still think it was funny fifteen years later? Who would be so cruel that she wouldn't even give you a middle name – something like Demi – as a get-out?

I curse my mother as I go downstairs and pray she hasn't cooked me any breakfast.

Holly

‘Please don't do it, Mum. Please.'

Holly fixed her gaze on the windscreen. She knew she would stand more chance if she met her mother's eyes, but she couldn't do it. Somehow, it felt safer not to look.

‘You don't have a sense of humour, chicken,' said her mum, swerving into the outside lane and nearly knocking an old bloke off his bike. ‘That's your problem.'

No
, thought, Holly.
That's
NOT
my problem. Not directly
. How can anyone keep a sense of humour when your mother always embarrasses you in public? How can you laugh when your stomach is rebelling against breakfast? How can you giggle at someone who calls you ‘chicken'? If I haven't got a sense of humour, she thought, it's the fault of the REAL middle-aged problem sitting next to me with a blue flash in her hair, numerous body-piercings and one visible tattoo.

‘Just don't do it.'

‘Why not?'

‘You know why not. It's embarrassing.'

‘You're embarrassed by your mother saying she loves you? How sad is that?'

‘Mum, you yell it out the window after you've dropped me at the bus stop. All the kids from school hear you.' Raph McDonald hears you, she thought. ‘You must really hate me to embarrass me like that.'

‘That's silly,' said her mum, switching lanes again to a blare of horns. ‘You should never be embarrassed by love. There's not enough of it in the world. But …' she glanced in the mirror, indicated and pulled in to the kerb, ‘never let it be said I am insensitive to my daughter's feelings. Though it hurts me, I will not tell you I love you while you are at the bus stop.'

‘Promise?'

‘Cross my heart.'

Holly opened the car door. Her mum leaned across the passenger seat and offered her cheek. Holly glanced around. No one seemed to be watching. She gave her mother a quick peck, gathered up her schoolbag and ducked outside. Mrs Holley wound down the window.

‘I love you,' she whispered.

Holly hung her head to hide a smile. Her mum eased the car into gear and pulled out in front of a motorbike which swerved alarmingly.

‘You're one gorgeous chicken, Holly Holley,' her mum yelled as she went past the queue at the bus stop, one hand waving from the driver's window.

Cassie