Rebecca Rocks Read Free Page A

have to seeanyone from that ridiculous place (apart from my actual friends) for three months. Today Miss Kelly started grilling us on where we were going on holidays.
    ‘I hope none of you are going to be getting in an aeroplane, girls,’ she said sternly. ‘The more people fly, the quicker all the oil runs out.’
    ‘Where are you going on holiday, Miss Kelly?’ said Cass, who has always been very good at distracting teachers. It is one of her main talents. She has often wondered if she could use this skill in some sort of career.
    ‘I’m cycling to the south of France with a group of friends,’ said Miss Kelly, proudly. ‘One hundred per cent pedal powered!’
    We all stared at her.
    ‘But, um, what about the sea bit?’ said Cass.
    ‘Ah, we have to resort to a ferry from Rosslare to Cherbourg ,’ admitted Miss Kelly. ‘But that’s much less environmentally damaging than getting a plane. And if I didn’t get ferries, I’d never be able to leave the country. I see it as my duty as a geographer to see the world.’
    Which is fair enough, I suppose. But still, I think it’s a bit much of Miss Kelly to be giving out to us about our holidaydestinations as well as giving us horrible geography exams.
    I suppose it wasn’t all bad today, though. My parents deigned to let me go over to Cass’s house after school. I’m still jealous of her bedroom; it’s so much cooler than mine. I am going to have to make my parents let me do mine up this summer, it’s ridiculous having such a babyish room when I’m practically fifteen. I can even do it myself. How hard can it be to paint over some wallpaper? All I need is some paint and a ladder. And a brush, obviously.
    Anyway, Cass and I lay on her bed and ate some Pringles and had deep conversations about LIFE and love.
    ‘You haven’t heard anything from you-know-who, have you?’ said Cass.
    ‘Which you-know-who?’ I said. Because I genuinely didn’t know.
    ‘John,’ said Cass.
    ‘Oh, him,’ I said crossly. Not that I was cross at Cass. Just at the thought of John. ‘No, I’d have told you if I had. I thought I saw him on Griffith Avenue the other day but it was someone else.’
    ‘Someone less of a stinker, probably,’ said Cass. ‘And what about …’
    I knew she meant Paperboy. It doesn’t hurt so much thinking about him anymore, not like after he went to Canada and I was a hollow shell of a girl. I know he isn’t coming back, and I know we’re not getting back together, and I don’t really mind.
    But there is a part of me that feels all sad whenever I think about him. Every so often I hear a song that reminds me of when we were going out or even of the time before that when I really fancied him and got all excited whenever he called to our house to collect the money for the papers. And it’s like something washes right over me and I’m back there for a second. But then I have to go back to the boring old present day. I didn’t want to go on about this too much to Cass. I do remember the days when I kept moping about Paperboy’s disappearance, and it started to drive my friends mad because I didn’t really pay attention to anything either of them said. So I told her that I’d heard from Paperboy last week and he was fine.
    ‘But I still feel weird when I get a mail or a message from him,’ I said. ‘And whenever anything really reminds me of him I feel a bit sad. And I really, really don’t want to know if he’s going out with someone else. Does that mean I’m still moping?’
    ‘I don’t think so,’ said Cass. ‘I think it would be weird if you’d, like, totally forgotten about him. And I think maybe you always feel a bit odd when you hear someone you used to go out with is going out with someone else. It doesn’t mean you’re still madly in love with him or pining after him or anything like that. It’s just normal.’
    Cass may not be personally experienced in the ways of love, but she is certainly full of wisdom. Sometimes,