Free Cassie by Barry Jonsberg Page B

beaming.

    The monitor was filled with lines of hearts in boxes. Each box was outlined in black.
    â€˜It’s simple, Cass,’ said Greg. ‘Position the cursor over the centre of the heart. The heart will disappear when you hold the cursor there for a couple of seconds. Then you move on to the next one. But you must do them in order; top row first, left to right. Once you’ve popped all the hearts, the computer will tell you how long it took you. That way, you can work on beating your personal best. Ready? Go for it.’
    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.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜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