Playing With My Heartstrings (7 page)

Shifting my legs into a more comfortable position - I hadn't crossed my legs on carpet since I was around seven - an idea popped into my head. "What about if you teach me French - last year, I failed it with flying colours and I'd love to improve - and I can offer some pointers about life experiences?" I suggested, my confidence regarding the idea growing stronger as each word spilled out.

Cassie clasped her hands in delight. "Yeah, that'd be great! There is so much that I can teach you about la langue d'amour -" I asked Cassie to repeat the phrase twice before comprehension overcame my initial confusion - "- and you'll fill me in about whatever I want to know."

"Then you have a deal," I agreed, shaking Cassie's hand in a formal, business-like manner. Negotiating deals with siblings was a piece of cake compared to pleading to high-nosed, ignorant teachers for a pass in French at school, whose bitter expressions on their wrinkly, sun-aged faces reminded me of sour lemons.

"Sadie," Cassie breathed, leaping from her pile of Pink Panther cushions to sit closer to me, "did I ever tell you how much you meant to me?"

I sat up, shrugging myself out my previous sluggish position, and pretended to think. "Hmm, I can't exactly remember when you last said that to me - maybe when I was eight?" I wondered, a playful twinkle visible in the corner of my midnight blue eyes.

"No, no, no," Cassie giggled, covering her smirking mouth, "I'm sure I've said a thousand times since then."

"Really? I've lost count."

"Like duh? Which sibling wouldn't let their elder sister know how much they love them?"

Had I been blind or what from the moment Cassie arrived home from the hospital, a little bundle of joy, her constant shrieks forcing me to cover my hands over my near-deaf ears, yet having the amazing ability to make the cutest laughs, whilst wrapped in a carnation-pink blanket? In the midst of our petty arguments and minor spats, I'd never taken the time to appreciate the fact that Cassie cared about me and deserved to win the 'Best Little Sister' award every time.

And I desperately wanted her to know that I cared, too.

Without any warning, I playfully grabbed Cassie's cherry blossom-pink t-shirt, encouraging her to giggle as though she was being manically ticked on her feet, and for a few joyful minutes, we forgot that we were fifteen and thirteen years old - we didn't care about whether we weren't behaving like drop-dead cool teenagers or acting superiorly. As far as I dared to imagine, we gone ten years back in time and were fun-loving five and three year olds again. It had taken me ages to realise that I still longed for enjoy playtime - an aspect of my innocent childhood that had disappeared long ago.

After tiring ourselves out to an extent that we could play no more, Cassie and I lied down on the soft mocha chocolate carpet, staring at the star-decorated ceiling, which Dad had painted around nine years ago.

"Do you still want to get rid of the stars?" I asked, an uncovered softness breaking through in my tone.

Cassie turned her locked gaze from the moon bright stars to me and answered, "Maybe, I don't know. I've had it for so long that... it would seem weird if I didn't have it."

"Keep it then," I advised. "Stars are cool, whatever your age."

Then we looked back at the ceiling, which strongly reminded me of that perfect, mind-blowing night with Joel. A lot of pain was still lying ahead - I'd have to open up to Joel about how made me feel, the good and definitely the super-bad - but the ache which should've hit me like an angst-filled punch left me numb, as if I was invincible to its feeling.

However, I stored those thoughts into a large, locked cardboard box at the back of my mind, and mentally returned to the wonderful moment I was sharing with my sister. Her tiny, slender fingers curled into mine, whose vast length reminded me of a gentle giant; as of yet, I would remain as the family 'supermodel', a nickname that Dad had light-heartedly suggested.

"Cassie?"

"Yeah?" Her voice groggy and drowsy, Cassie sounded as though she was halfway into a deep, nourishing sleep.

"I love you," I said, my entire feelings for her expressed in three simple, meaningful words.

Cassie sleepily smiled. "Me too," she responded, then closed her taupe eye shadowed eyes.

This, I instinctively knew, was happiness. In its purest form.

Chapter 6

The days following passed as rapidly as a swift summer breeze; I slowly shifted back into my what was once normal routine, which typically consisted of travelling into town - sometimes alone, if I was in the mood, or with Cassie, whose company brightened up any shopping trip - or communicating with my holidaying friends, to whom I still hadn't found the vital courage to admit the recent events.

Besides, none of my friends - all of whom I'd made during my attendance at Applebury High - didn't have the same
amiable aura unlike Tara, who I regularly called or text every so often. It was a huge shame that my memorable friendships that I'd formed whilst at primary hadn't lasted during secondary; one of the hardest, most painful lessons I'd had to learn about life was that friends couldn't always stick together as promised and that drifting apart was sometimes inevitable. I reckoned that if Tara managed to attend the same school as me, our whole gang of reliable pals would have still been going strong - though she gave off the impression of being oblivious to the fact, Tara had been the glue of the group and all of us fell apart once she left.

So much for not making regrets, huh?

When I was ready to drop from spending money that my pocket money (yes, really, Mum and Dad still insisted on a basic allowance once a week - and I was old enough to get a basic job!) could barely afford on lavish clothes that I couldn't imagine myself wearing until I was at least 20 (one of my hopes was that irresistibly adorable panda brooches - ones that would define me as a laughing stock at school - would be making spectacular waves in Vogue by then) or staying up extra late chatting to Cassie, I would stay in my bedroom, the windows wide open to let in some much-wanted air, and just write about how I feel deep down.

Having been a prisoner to my erratic emotions for way too long, one day I threw up my hands in frustration - also at the aspect of being forced to complete my homework, whose papers were starting to turn a rustic yellow - and decided to put all of my thoughts, good and bad, down onto a nice lilac-shaded piece of paper.

And to my utter surprise, I was intrigued by the way expressing my feelings onto paper felt. Everything, from unquenchable horror to hard-to-fight sadness to generally being lost in my own mind, made sense in a, if not a little cluttered, way.

Maybe then I could genuinely believe that my English teacher, Mr Norris, thought that I had a spontaneous talent in writing, instead of previously regarding him as a loony nutcase who had nothing better to do than boring-as-hell books as a part-time job. Maybe.

One cool-as-a-crisp morning, I escaped the house, mostly due to the tropical fruit-smelling candle that Mum had lit in the onion-stinking kitchen, which, according to my sensitive nose, smelt a whole lot worse, and took a peaceful walk into the city park, sombrely alone in my thoughts.

Until Tara's high-pitched voice awakened me from my vegetative state - and almost deafened my ear muff-free ears.

"Ow, Tara, you don't have to talk so loudly!" I exclaimed, her words still ringing through my mind.

"Sorry," Tara sheepishly replied. "I called your name at least three times, but you didn't respond at all."

A playful smirk offering a subtle hint on my coral-glossed lips, I said, "Never mind. Anyway, what are you doing here?"

"Me? What am I doing in this lovely park on a gloriously bright summer day?" Tara mockingly fluttered her hands for air, a Hollywood-perfected expression of horror portrayed on her pretty, breath-taking face. "Oh, nothing," she said, returning back to her usual cool-as-a-fridgerated-cucumber attitude. "I got sick of waiting for replies from my friends on Facebook, so I decided to make the most of the nice weather whilst it lasts.

"Me too. I've mostly been hanging out with Cassie at home or writing if I haven't got anything else to do."

"Really?" Tara questioned, her noticeably pencilled-in eyebrows raised in unexpected surprise. "I thought you told me that you'd never dream of writing another word again because of your oh-so-boring English teacher."

I shrugged. "It doesn't matter anymore, I suppose. Writing has somehow made me feel a bit... better than before."

"So, are you writing about what, um, happened?"

I nodded, noticing Tara's awkwardness. "Yeah, call it therapy of some sort - it definitely works!"

Tara smiled. "That's great," she said. "Have you spoken to Joel yet?"

"No, not yet," I replied, ignoring the pang of pain which slyly aroused in my heart. "I'm not sure when I can speak to him - who knows, he may have forgotten about me by now."

"I doubt it."

Suspicion slowly
crept upon me, questioning Tara's indiscreet words, which I tried to overlook, until the curiosity became too much to ignore. "Have you been in contact with Joel, Tara?" I asked, without a quaver or hint of emotion in my hard-as-stone voice.

Tara looked down at the emerald-green grass, twisting her fingers through her tousled, loose mane of blonde hair, and clearly attempting to buy any length of time before responding to my direct-to-the-point question.

"Tell me, please," I pleaded.

"I'm sorry," Tara spat out, her eyes still staring at the grass. "I couldn't just stand there and allow Joel to get away with what happened."

"What did you do?"

Nervously gulping, Tara raised her head and responded, "I phoned Joel a few days ago and told him to apologize for his actions."

Out of nowhere, an irrepressible, manic fit of laughter burst from my mouth, leaving me unable to say what I truly wanted to admit. The situation - all of it - just seemed so amusing, as if it had featured on a comedy sketch and I was the main star of the show, whom the endearing audience couldn't get enough of. But it was near impossible to find it funny...

"Are you alright, Sadie?" Tara asked, offering me a gulp of water from her bottle.

I shook my head, a fever spreading all over my body, and laughed a bit more before replying, "I'm fine," then returning to the final cycle of laughter, which suddenly stopped.

In the distance, I could hear Tara mutter, "I never thought she'd react like that," and a wave of sadness washed over me, destroying all previous perceptions of hilarity like it never existed.

Standing up straighter, I mumbled, "Sorry about that," as embarrassment made its shaming mark in the form of a heated red blush on my cheek, unexpectedly awakening my awareness of the people passing through the park, who must've thought I was a complete nutter.

That was one valid logic why I should add it to my 'Reasons For Staying At Home' list; which I'd probably ignore, anyway.

Tara waved her hand, clearly glad that she'd managed to avoid talking about Joel just yet. As if I was gullible enough to completely let her off the hook.

"What did Joel say?" I asked.

Tara fidgeted with anything she could get her cocoa butter-smooth hands on - her golden moon pendant, a wild, untameable mane of luxuriously looked-after hair and neon bright coral cardigan - then responded, "He didn't really say much."

My eyes almost popped out. "Like what?"

"Um, he hung up before I allowed him to talk," Tara said.