Finding Cassie Crazy (32 page)

But then, a few weeks later, she was acting like everything was fine, except she was quieter than before, and sometimes you'd be talking for a while and then realise she hadn't been listening to you. And Em's mother said what Cass needed was for Em and me to just be ourselves. Em says she stamped her feet on her bedroom floor each morning for a while, trying to stamp herself back into herself.

And what I was thinking, while I ate the lamingtons with my mum, was that I don't understand what it's like to be properly sad—nothing nearly as bad as losing a father has ever happened to me. Which means I can't really understand how Cass is feeling. I can't get inside her sadness.

I kind of wish something terrible had happened to me before, so I could know how to help.

Anyway, I decided I should talk to Cass right then, and
Mum agreed that it was a good idea and she drove me over.

So, Cass was home by herself and we made ourselves cold Milo and hung around in the kitchen eating the Milo straight out of the tin with dessert spoons, the way we used to when we were kids. So then, we're standing in the kitchen and I said, ‘Do you prefer not to talk about your dad?'

And she just blows me away. She says, like she rehearsed it: ‘A year is a long time, Lyd. And besides which, it wasn't a shock.' And she explains, in this practical voice: ‘I looked up some stuff on the internet one time. I read these stories about teenagers who lost their parents suddenly, like unexpectedly in car accidents. They were all talking about how it would have been better if they could prepare themselves, and say goodbye and everything. So, see, look at me.'

Then she put the lid back on the Milo tin and put it away in the cupboard.

I was standing there, staring at her, figuring out something to say which would break through that crap. ‘Cass,' I said, ‘you know there aren't rules for being sad, don't you?'

‘But I had a whole year to prepare,' she said again. ‘It was pretty clear he wasn't going to get better this time.'

‘Well,
I
thought he was going to get better.'

I started getting a thumping heart then. Like I had said something too harsh to be said. But it was true. Even with all the medical facts in the world, I never thought he'd actually
die.
How could he stop existing?

Cass gave one breath of laughter and said in an ordinary voice, ‘So did I.'

Anyway, I won't go into more details, except she started
crying and then she said more stuff, and I was trying so hard not to start crying too, because I couldn't believe the things that had been happening inside her head.

All I can say is, I feel like killing Paul Wilson, like breaking his arms or crushing his bare feet under my mother's sharpest stilettos. He has to be punished, Seb, and I can't stand how powerless I am. I mean, I seriously think he could have killed Cass—if you're that cruel to a person who's trying to pretend she's strong you could push them over the edge.

Long letter, eh.

Sorry Seb.

Love
Lydia

Dear Lydia
Thanks for your letter—it took me most of the afternoon to read it and then I had to re-read it because there were a lot of issues there. I will have to hand in your letter as an explanation for why I didn't do my French assignment.

Just kidding, Lyd, I would never hand in your letters. They're precious to me. I would never show another human being a single word.

There are a couple of issues I would like to focus on in this letter. The rest we should talk about in person because, Lyd, you are beautiful and I would like to help if I can.

Issue number 1 is about Paul Wilson. Can you not talk too much about what a prick he is, please? Because it makes me feel like beating him up and I have to clench my fists to prevent that happening. I've got a confession to make, which
is that I've had a bit of trouble at school in the last few years. The trouble is my tendency to beat people up when they're being arseholes.

So, I was on the verge of getting thrown out of school earlier this year, which was breaking my mother's heart, which was not good as she was fairly pregnant at that time. But I got put on probation and I've controlled this temper of mine ever since, which has been hard labour, I tell you.

Plus, I started tae kwon do. That might seem like a strange way to stop yourself beating people up but the point of tae kwon do is NOT to beat people up. Which is why I did it.

So, in relation to Paul Wilson, I know exactly what you mean when you say you feel like breaking his face, but you're lucky in a way because you're a girl and you can't do that. It must be a relief.

Issue number 2 is about how you wish something bad had happened to you in your past. You don't really wish that, Lyd. You don't want to wish tragic events on anyone and that includes yourself. As the Mighty Mighty Bosstones like to say, it's bad to have tragedies happen. Knock on wood.

Or words nothing like that, but which mean the same thing.

Issue number 3 is about how people can be so cruel that they cause another person to do themselves in. In actual fact, I heard of some girls in Canada who bullied another girl so much that she killed herself. And I think the bullies got done for it. As in convicted of manslaughter. So, you're right about that possibility. The principal told me this story because she thought I was beating people up like a bully. But that's not what it was: it was just people who deserved it. She didn't get the distinction.

Anyhow, maybe your friend Cass is not as weak as you think—I have this feeling, from what you've said, that Cass has a fair bit of strength of character. Plus, she's got you and Em.

So I don't think that the risk was all that real.

Issue number 4, and the final issue, is about feeling powerless. You seem like a girl who likes a lot of power. My suggestion is to think of ways of feeling powerful that also make you feel good. Example: I am excellent at burping my baby brother. This is a powerful yet good thing to be able to do: MAKE HIM BURP. It means he doesn't have a pain in his little baby tummy.

You come over to my place and I'll teach you how to do it.

Yours sincerely
Seb

Dear Seb
You put a lot of thought into that letter. Thanks. You're a good guy.

And Em says Charlie's going to steal Christina any minute. So he's a good guy too.

I'm sitting in the lower courtyard, leaning against the brick wall. That's why the handwriting is wobbly. It's freezing. Is it freezing at Brookfield too or do you have different weather there? This is the only place in our whole school where there's any sun at lunchtime. But the sun moves so we have to follow it along the wall.

Em just gave me her woollen gloves because she's worried about me getting too cold while I'm writing, and I said I couldn't write wearing gloves so she took them back and cut
off the fingers. Which seems excessive. Sorry, I mean which shows how nice Em is, and I'm just going to write about what a wonderful, beautiful, amazing, smart, generous, compassionate person Em is, as she is reading over my shoulder and dictating to me.

Okay, she seemed satisfied.

Now Cass is trying to give me her scarf so she can get the same kind of praise. TOO LATE, CASSIE.

Hey Seb, I've been thinking about a new assignment and it can take place Saturday week if you're available. We have to pretend we don't know each other again and it goes like this:

Somewhere between items 2 and 3, I have to get a message to you, without anybody seeing it, and you have to tell me what it is in your next letter. Somewhere between 4 and 5, you have to get a message to me.

I see you shaking your head, a frown slowly creasing your forehead. Smooth the frown away, Seb, you look like a turtle.

Thanks again for your nice letter.

See you
Lyd
PS Except for one thing—it's not a ‘relief ' not to be able to beat someone up, Seb. That's wrong right there.

Dear Lydia
Okay. See you at Balmoral Beach on Saturday week. Why so far away? I'm ready to do an assignment today. It seems like a well-thought-out program, Lyd, and I'm proud of you. You forgot to give it a name though.

You know what I remembered the other day, which might make you feel a bit better? I once beat up Paul Wilson. It was in Year 7, and the early days of my beating people up. He deserved it, because he was being a prick to my Art teacher (the one I told you about—I loved her a lot in those days, whereas now she's my buddy).

This was in the days before Paul Wilson developed his smarmy personality and started getting teachers into bed with him.

So, anyway, when we left the art room, I started a fight with him. Actually, I think I even knocked him unconscious.

No, I didn't. Now I remember. He took a dive. I hardly touched him and he threw himself down writhing, like the snake that he is. I got two weeks detention on account of that little piece of performance art of his.

I shouldn't have remembered that story. I'm starting to lose my temper again. The little arsehole.

See you
Seb

Dear Seb
I was just peeling some potatoes for dinner and they all looked like crisp white potatoes until I cut them in half.
Every single one had a rotten, grey core. Like a circle of grey reaching almost to the edge of the potato.

So I came up to my room to write to you.

You know what I feel like? I feel like the whole world is black, rotting and evil. Even when it looks crisp on the outside, that's a lie, because you can't trust anything—on the inside it's nothing but mould.

Like that Paul Wilson—acting like a good guy so all the teachers love him.