Finding Cassie Crazy (31 page)

On the other hand, Charlie does have a way with the women.

The last few years, he just seemed to be in the background, and usually a long way back because he wasn't into the school concept. He didn't come to many classes and nobody wondered where he was, or if they did they thought he was probably just smoking up somewhere.

Then they found out where he was. He was taking teachers' cars for a spin.

It turned out he'd been doing this since age thirteen. And he wasn't just taking them for a spin, he was working on them. His older brothers had taught him about engines.

Don't look at me like that, Lyd. This is a true story.

He was so interested in cars, he'd drive them out to Kenthurst, give them a tune-up and bring them back in time for the end of the school day.

I think the only reason he got caught was that some girl realised what he was doing, and talked him into taking her for a ride in the Rattler's Audi. She was so turned on by the experience that she told everyone, and it got back to the Rattler, and it all came crashing down on Charlie's head.

So, Charlie's spent a lot of time doing time in the principal's office this year. Which is kind of how he and I have become buddies, as I myself have spent some time there.

But the point is that Charlie's now a bit of a legend and he doesn't even realise it, which makes him even more alluring to the ladies.

See you Wednesday arvo I hope.

Seb

Hey Seb
Sorry I didn't get back to you before Wednesday. I suddenly had a lot of homework.

I couldn't have met you yesterday anyway because we went to Cass's—her mum wanted us to come over like in the old days. It was kind of a tradition. We'd watch TV and eat pasta while Patricia (Cass's mum) worked out on the treadmill and gave us advice for life. And then Cass's dad would sometimes come downstairs from his studio and make microwave puddings for dessert.

Em adores Patricia. I don't know about Patricia's philosophies, but it's true that she's smart, and she's so nice to Em and me, and at the end of the night she got off the treadmill and started talking to us about what we wanted to do for careers. We got so into career talk that we hardly even noticed there was no dessert.

I know exactly what I want to do with my life. I want to be a writer. But you can't just decide that. They keep telling us we have to have a back-up career and maybe I'll never become a writer, so I have to choose the back-up carefully but the fact is, I haven't got a clue.

Only that I don't want to be a lawyer.

See you
Lydia

Lydia
Why don't you want to be a lawyer? I hear they're good in emergencies.

I know what you mean about back-up careers. Paul
Wilson has been going on about how he has one career goal only, which is to go to NIDA and from there to international stardom. The teachers are praising him for his ‘determined attitude' which is like praising someone for being determined to win the lottery.

Paul Wilson is not a smart guy. You've got to have options.

Personally, I plan to play for Man United as my career, but I know that's not necessarily possible. Example: I might get a hamstring injury just before the try-outs.

So I have a back-up career choice which is: artist/graphic designer.

I'm fairly confident about that career at the moment, for a reason which I have not told you yet, on account of not wanting to sound as arrogant as a striker. A painting of mine got selected to go in some competition in Newcastle.

I get to take a train trip with my Art teacher, who's a buddy of mine, carrying the painting in a canvas bag. And they'll give us these small delicious food items known as canapés.

Please see the below assignment.

SPECIAL COVERT OPERATION ASSIGNMENT

WHEN:
Friday night
WHAT:
Both agents go to the Voodoo Lounge at Surry Hills, 10 pm. The agents have to pretend they don't know each other. Agent AKA has to choose a pool table and rack up, and then turn around and
at that moment
Agent Lyd has to step up and ask if he wants a game. They have to play five games of pool. They're allowed to buy drinks and have conversations. After the fifth game, they both have to leave.
SPECIAL NOTE:
The bouncer who works there on Fridays is as
stupid as a goalie, so it's fairly easy to get in. But let me know if you need help getting ID.

Seb

Hey Seb
Congratulations on the art show. We heard about that competition here and I think the people in our Art classes are pissed off that your school got to represent the district. But I think it's fantastic.

On the other foot, I don't think you put much effort into that pool-playing assignment. You forgot to give it a name.

Don't worry about ID for me.

Lydia

Dear Lydia
See you tonight at Operation Chalking-the-Cue.
Love

Seb

Dear Lyd
Hello, it's Monday. Welcome to the new week.

You are a beautiful pool player. Who taught you how to win every game? Also, to do it so fast.

You are beautiful at most things, but you still take the assignments too literally. Example: I was kind of gutted when
you picked up your bag and walked right out of the place, without even looking back, at the end of the fifth game. As sexy as it was, it kind of hurt, Lyd.

I'm seriously ready to stop playing games and start being humans.

Also, it hurts my hand, all this writing. I could be getting repetitive strain injury. I've heard of that. It could affect my football.

These letters to you add up to more writing than I've done my whole school life.

Do you want to come over to my place some time and meet my mum and my kid brother? Do you want to maybe go into the city with me one day?

Thanks
Seb

Hey Seb
I like the games.

Yesterday, I got home from school and I was just hanging around with my mum eating lamingtons and drinking tea, and we both knew Dad was up in his study working on a judgment, and I started thinking about Cass. How it must have been for her when we were over the other day, watching TV, with Patricia on the treadmill, how she must have felt the absence of her dad.

Because in the old days he used to be up in his studio working on his furniture. He liked to make furniture that had secret compartments and Cass always put tiny locks in for him. Anyway, you could hear his footsteps on creaking
floorboards sometimes, and you could hear tins being opened and closed, and you knew he'd come down any moment. Or even if he was too tired to do anything, you would hear his sofa creaking as he turned around on it.

And the other day, when we were over there, Cass must have heard that silence all night. I sure did, anyway. Maybe after we left she went up to the studio and looked around the empty room, the desk in the corner where he used to draw designs, and the old pool table where he taught us all to play.

And I was thinking how, right after he died, it was almost easier for Em and me because Cass just collapsed and we took care of her. She sat beside me in the car on the way home from the hospital with her head on my shoulder. On the day of the funeral, her hands trembled so much she could hardly get dressed, and Em and I helped her to do up the buttons of her shirt.