Sandra/Cassandra
He was playing the piano, concentrating, looking down at his hands, his dark fringe falling over his forehead. I paused in the doorway, simply taking in the sight of him. He was only playing chopsticks and it made me smile that he still managed to mess it up. I loved him. I had decided I loved him that day out on the ice when he said I was amazing. I had only seen him a few times since then and never on my own. Then I heard Portia say he was coming over on Wednesday after games – he’d wait for her in the common room – and because I had stubbed my toe quite badly on a fence post (the idea just came to me as I was running after the ball) I’d been allowed off the field. But instead of going to the San I had gone straight to the common room, hoping he’d be there already.
Standing there watching him, everything having gone according to plan, I felt like this powerful being, able to arrange the world just as I liked it.
I waited another couple of minutes and then I went up to the piano. My toe was throbbing but it didn’t feel like pain, at least not in a bad way. If there was something like good pain this was it because it had helped me get to where I wanted to be, alone with Julian Dennis.
I leant over his shoulder and put my hands on the lower keys and began playing the other part. Julian muddled up the notes and then he stopped so I stopped too.
‘You’re quite good,’ he said.
‘I’m OK.’
‘What grade are you on?’
‘Oh, I’m not doing any of that. I passed grade eight ages ago. I’m on to the certificates now.’
‘Oh right. Cool.’ His fingers wandered back to the piano keyboard. ‘I’m waiting for Portia Dennis. I’m her brother.’
‘I know who you are.’
It must have come out snappy because he looked up, surprised. ‘Right. Anyway, I was told it was OK for me to wait in here.’
‘Sure.’ I smiled at him. ‘We met skating. You thought I was quite good. At that too.’ I didn’t mind sounding cocky. Boys liked confident girls.
‘Ah right.’ He started jabbing at the keys in a tuneless manner.
‘Shall I play something?’ I asked him.
He stopped his jabbing and got up from the stool. ‘Sure.’
As I took his place I felt the warmth left behind by his body against the back of my thighs. I pressed down further on the threadbare plush seat and struck the opening notes of the Moonlight Sonata. I was bored by that piece myself but everyone always seemed to really like it. As I played I noticed he was wandering round the room, hands in his pockets, looking at the paintings. We had put up a whole load of Eliza’s cartoons on the bit of wall above the lockers. Then he wandered off and looked out of the French windows towards the playing field.
‘It’s pretty pathetic you’ve only got one,’ he said.
I stopped playing. ‘One what?’
‘Playing field. Your fees are just as high as ours.’
‘We have the theatre,’ I said. ‘And more music rooms.’
Julian shrugged. ‘I suppose.’ He seemed bored. He mustn’t be bored. My toe was hurting. ‘Music is really important to me,’ I said. ‘It runs in the family, actually. Music, I mean. My grandmother was a . . .’
‘How long do you reckon they’ll be?’
‘Oh. Not too long, I shouldn’t think.’
I was right because just a few minutes later the door burst open and the princesses exploded into the room, followed by a whole group of other girls. Suddenly everything was chatter and giggles and movement and Julian was encircled and I started banging out Rhapsody in Blue.
‘Jesus, Sandra,’ Portia shouted. ‘What has that poor piano ever done to you?’
Everyone laughed. But he, Julian, said, ‘You’re only jealous because you haven’t got past grade three.’ And then everything changed and now they were laughing at Portia. I didn’t speak or look up, I just stayed where I was, playing, thinking if he told me to jump off a roof I would. I wouldn’t even stop and ask why. I’d just do it.
‘I need a ciggie,’ Portia said, getting up from the saggy armchair. My mother would have a fit if she saw that chair. Its covers were filthy; I mean, you could only guess at some of the stains. The princesses never seemed to worry, though. Actually, they were quite unhygienic.
‘I haven’t got any left,’ Rose said, but she too had got to her feet.
‘Me neither,’ Eliza said.
‘Julian?’
Now I looked round. He shook his head. ‘Nup.’
I swung round completely. ‘I’ve got some. They’re menthols, though.’
‘That’s fine,’ Portia said. ‘Beggars can’t be choosers and all that.’
We went to the back of the tennis courts, behind the changing rooms. I pulled out the packet of cigarettes. As she took one Portia turned to the others and said, ‘Sandra’s the only person I know who has enough money to buy twenty.’ The way she said it made me feel as if I’d stuffed up.
‘I don’t always,’ I said. ‘Anyway, you buy Philip Morris, for Christ’s sake. In fact I clearly remember you buying a pack of twenty Philip Morris.’
Portia shrugged. ‘Like it’s important.’
‘You started it,’ I muttered.
Eliza smiled at me. ‘Either way, thanks for sharing.’
I smiled back at her. We smoked for a while. I kept looking at Julian. I was reading this book where the heroine did that with the hero; just kept looking straight at him, not trying to get his attention in any other way, just this thing of calmly gazing at him until he got completely intrigued by her and asked her out.
Portia had smoked her cigarette right down to the filter and now she stubbed it out on the sole of her shoe before putting it in her pocket. No one was stupid enough to leave cigarette butts lying around to be found by members of staff. She looked at Julian then she looked at Rose. She had this little smile on her face and she said, ‘Damn, I forgot, but I have to finish this essay.’
‘Right, yeah, me too,’ Eliza said. ‘I have to finish a drawing for Grandmother Eva. Are you coming, Cassandra?’
I was still looking at Julian.
‘Cassandra?’
I turned round slowly. ‘No. No, you go.’
‘And off we go,’ Eliza said, and she took me by the arm and pulled me with her.
I looked behind me. Julian was saying something to Rose, who laughed.
‘What about Rose?’ I said to Eliza. ‘Isn’t Rose coming?’
Eliza gave my arm a little squeeze. ‘For someone so bright you can be a bit dense sometimes.’ She said it in a friendly way.
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘I see.’ That’s all I said.
About an hour later, as I lay on my bed, writing my diary, I heard Rose scream.
Miss Philips said it was no laughing matter. It didn’t stop everyone from thinking it was quite funny, though, Rose coming back to her cubicle to find her teddy hanged by her dressing-gown cord, a black plastic bag over his head.