Cassie (12 page)

Cassie was almost still in the chair. Almost. Her head shook slightly and there were spasms along her arms and legs. But her face was set, deep brown eyes fixed on the screen. Greg pulled up a chair to watch. He knew the mental discipline required to control that cursor, to position it over an area of the screen and keep it there, even for a second or two. Greg knew about cerebral palsy. About how, in a case as severe as Cassie's, the muscles in the body were dancing to their own tune, divorced from the brain that tried to control them. Simple movements, like lifting a hand or moving a foot, were obstacles as high as Everest for Cass.

Greg knew all this, intellectually.

But he also knew that he didn't truly understand the physical reality of it. Only Cass could. And he suspected it was much harder than he imagined. Probably harder than he could
ever
imagine. He put his hand over hers and watched.

On the screen a heart popped.

Holly

Demi put a finger to the side of her mouth and tilted her head.

‘No,' she said after ten or fifteen seconds. ‘It doesn't work. I was thinking that maybe with her hair up . . . but, no. The cut is wrong. Try this.'

Holly's head was spinning with colours, shapes and designs. She had tried on a bewildering variety of clothes and was still no nearer understanding what worked for her and what didn't. And what did Demi mean by ‘cut'? How could a cut, whatever it is, be wrong? Holly thought some of the pieces she'd tried on were fantastic, but the girls would shudder as if she was modelling a plastic tablecloth from a greasy-spoon cafe.

It was all so confusing.

But the more she thought about it, the more Holly realised she wasn't qualified to make proper judgements about her appearance. It wasn't like she'd done a good job when left to her own devices. And Demi was a guru of fashion, whereas for Holly it was as mysterious as quadratic equations. Trust the expert, she told herself. When your computer crashes you don't seek advice from a pizza delivery driver. So she took the outfit Demi held out and prepared to change again.

Maybe being at the centre of attention had warped her sense of time, but when she glanced at her watch she nearly had a heart attack. It was only five minutes to end of school and she had to meet Aunty Fern for a lift home. Even if she ran all the way, she'd still be ten minutes late. Panic bubbled up inside and she pulled back the curtain of the dressing room.

‘Guys,' she said. ‘I've gotta go. I had no idea of the time. My aunt is expecting to give me a lift home.'

Kari sniffed.

Georgia snorted.

Demi smiled.

‘Oh come on, Hol,' she said. ‘It's Friday. Late night shopping. You can't bail out now we're making progress. There's still so much work to be done. Once we've finished here I want to take you to a couple of other stores. Then there's make-up. And shoes, obviously. Can't you ring your aunt, tell her you're going to make your own way home later?'

Holly had no idea if Fern even owned a mobile phone, let alone the number. Even if she ran back to school, how could she explain why she was coming
in
the school gates, rather than exiting them? And then another thought flared inside her, caught and burned brightly. Holly Holley. Quiet, dependable. Girl least likely to do anything vaguely bad. Predictable. And taken for granted. So maybe it was time to shake up people's views of her. Build on the wagging. If she was getting a fashion makeover, she should also try a personality makeover.

Live dangerously, Holly Holley
, she thought.

‘Yeah, okay.' she said. ‘Good idea. I'll ring her.'

She drew the curtains again, pulled her mobile from her bag and checked it was turned it off. A phrase from a teacher in some sad old movie rang in her head.
Carpe Diem
. Seize the day. Holly had never seized a day in her life. She'd never even taken a firm grip on one. Now seemed a very good time to start.

She slipped out of the dress with the ill-fitting cut.

The top in her hand was bright and fun. She'd never have dared to even try it on if she'd been shopping by herself. And her mum, despite her hair and tattoo, would have hated it. Holly could see her mouth turning down in disapproval. So she smiled, pulled the top on and slipped into the skirt. A different girl looked back from the mirror. She opened the curtains, stepped out and twirled.

‘What do you think?' she said.

‘Perfect,' said Demi.

‘Perfect,' said Kari.

‘Absolutely perfect,' said Georgia.

‘I'm meeting Holly Holley,' said Fern. ‘I can't keep her waiting.'

‘It'll only take ten minutes,' said Greg. ‘Just to show you the equipment and how to access the software on the laptop. There's still five minutes before the bell goes. We can put a message over the PA, to ask Holly to wait in reception.'

It did take only ten minutes. Cassie was where Greg had left her in the computer room. She was working on the hearts again. Her mum sat next to her, just as the last heart popped.

‘Twelve minutes, forty-four seconds, Cass,' said Greg. ‘Well done. That's nearly two minutes better than your previous best. But it's time to call it a day. I'm just going to show your mum how to set up the laptop, so you can practise at home.'

He crouched beside her and fixed her with a gaze. ‘But no overdoing it, okay?'

And when he stood, his knees made no sound. Greg didn't notice. But Cassie did. She smiled.

Holly wasn't at reception. Greg checked with the school secretary that the message had gone out.

‘Maybe she's with a teacher,' said Greg. ‘I'm sure she'll be along in a sec. But I'm afraid I have to rush, Mrs Marshall. Yet another interminable meeting. Bye, Cassie. Have a great weekend.'

‘You too, Mr Adams. And thanks.'

Holly wasn't along in a sec. After five minutes passed, Fern wheeled Cassie outside, but there was no sign of her in the school yard. A few students mingled, some waiting for lifts home, but the groups were thinning out. Fern glanced at her watch. It was fifteen minutes since classes had finished. To pass the time, she loaded the laptop into the boot of her car, then parked Cassie in the shade of a tree. She scanned the school grounds anxiously.

A girl walked towards them. She was vaguely familiar. And then Fern placed her. The girl who had been with Holly on Monday after Cassie's interview.

‘Hello, Cassie.' The girl crouched in front of Cassie's wheelchair. ‘Remember me? Holly's friend, Amy. How are you?' She glanced up at Fern. ‘Hello,' she said.

‘Hi, Amy,' said Fern. ‘Look, have you seen Holly? She's supposed to meet us.'

‘No. I'm sorry. I haven't seen her since this morning.' What she didn't say was that she had searched for Holly at lunchtime without success, nor that she had missed a surprise maths test, sprung on them by Mr Tillyard. Amy was worried. Holly had never wagged before. And a surprise test was not the best place to start. After school finished, Amy had explored some of the dustier recesses of the library, but there had been no sign of her. Not in the library, nor in the toilets, or anywhere else as far as Amy could tell.

‘Strange,' said Fern. ‘Perhaps I should get the secretary to put out another call.'

Amy doubted it would do any good. But she didn't say anything. She had tried at least ten times to ring Holly on her mobile, but it was turned off. And if Holly was outside the school grounds, it was likely she didn't want to be contacted.

‘I'd best be going,' she said. ‘Can you ask Holly to ring me, please? It's urgent. Nice to see you again, Cassie.'

Cassie smiled and twisted in her chair.

‘Thanks, Amy,' said Fern. ‘I'll pass on the message. If she ever bothers to show up.'

Amy walked off into the wintery sunshine. She glanced back once or twice. Fern was scanning the school grounds, but they were deserted. Only a few cars remained in the car park and there was no one else around. The last time Amy looked, she saw Fern heading towards reception.

Trouble was brewing. Amy could feel it.

Holly

My name is Holly Holley and I am happy, despite the fact that a girl who looks twelve years old and has a large metallic spike stuck into her eyebrow, is slashing at my hair like a madwoman.

And I am the proud new owner of a one-hundred-and-fifty-buck pair of killer ankle boots. I'm normally the chain-store-twenty-five-dollars-get-the-second-pair-free sort of shoe shopper. But Demi is right. They are worth the money. Exactly the right colour to go with one of my new dresses. And according to Demi, the entire outfit makes my legs look longer. And longer legs are always an excellent idea.

I am wearing the new boots and dress. My daggy school uniform is rolled up in one of the bags, tucked under exciting new pieces. I especially like one top and matching skirt, both of which are seriously awesome, and can be combined with some of my other clothes. Demi is teaching me that as well. Don't look at clothes in isolation. Think of the effects you can achieve with the whole.

I've spent over five hundred dollars.

But I look a million bucks.

As Mum might say, you don't have to be an Einstein to work out this is good economics.

But I don't want to think about Mum. I force the image of her face from my mind and concentrate instead on my own image, looking back from the hairdresser's mirror.

Demi has pulled a few strings to get me in without an appointment. Now her and Kari and Georgia have gone to do some shopping of their own. They really are sweet. We've been trudging the stores for hours and they haven't even thought about themselves. I glance down at the small sea of bags around my ankles. They are picking up a frosting of hair, but it doesn't matter. I can't bear to have them out of sight. When I look up again, the studded girl is working gel into what's left of my hair. My mouth drops open. That's happening a lot recently. If it continues I'll have to have my jaws wired.

Gone is the mousy hair that hung like a dispirited mat just above my shoulders. Instead I have an urchin cut with burgundy highlights. It's like looking at someone you recognise but can't quite place. It has never occurred to me that a haircut can actually change your features. Now my face looks leaner and my eyes bigger. I also have cheekbones. I never realised I have cheekbones.

Demi is right again. I feel like a different person.

The different person pays the bill of one hundred dollars without the notes having to be forced from her clenched fingers. The different person is confident. The different person is happy.

I
am happy.

Demi and the girls are waiting outside. They have a whole bunch of shopping bags of their own.

‘Wow,' says Demi. ‘That is a serious haircut.'

‘You look fantastic, Hol,' says Georgia.

‘Very pretty,' says Kari.

Tears swell behind my eyes. I swallow a couple of times and keep my head turned to the ground. When I look up again I am not actually crying, but my eyes are swimming.