"The roses are dead,
The violets are too,
Don't mention romance,
You'll make me spew."
Francesca Burton knows all there is to know about love and romance. She knows that love is for the naïve and romance is for the delusional. Her parents taught her...
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Have you ever tried to talk a banana out of something? They might look all mellow yellow and accommodating, but it turns out that they're stubbornly stubborn when they want to be.
After my slightly out of character (disgraceful, humiliating, incomprehensible, never-to-be-spoken-of-again) reaction to Trav in the library and my run in with Bethany in the bathroom, I do everything I can to put Trav off the idea of taking me on a platonic date.
But the boy will not be dissuaded.
Cass is over the moon and reads way more into it than there are chapters to the book.
"I'm telling you he likes you," she says, bouncing up and down on my bed like an over-eager puppy.
It's Saturday morning. I'm meeting Trav in the city in two hours. I'm stomping on all the feelings. I have no feelings. Cold as stone. That's me.
"Of course, he likes me, we're friends."
"No, he 'likes' likes you."
"Cassie, stop it, he has a girlfriend."
"Not any more he doesn't," she says in an annoying sing-song voice. She's grinning from ear to ear and practically bursting with excitement. "They broke up last night."
"What? How do you know?"
"Hello? My boyfriend's his best friend." She emphasises the word boyfriend like she still can't quite believe she has one.
"Who ended it?" I ask, while telling myself that I don't care either way. Nope. Don't care. Couldn't care less. Absolutely zero cares.
"He did. Apparently, Bethany gave him some sort of ultimatum about who he hangs out with and he called her bluff."
Whoops.
"Right, well, I better ring Trav and cancel then." Is it getting hot in here? It feels hot in here. I am definitely sweating. Why am I sweating? Maybe I'm getting the flu? I start to pace back and forth.
"Franks, stop. You're not cancelling." Cass grabs my arm to stop me from pacing and shoves her glasses up her nose with her other hand. Oh dear, I'm in trouble. Cass only fiddles with her glasses when she means business.
"Francesca Burton, I want you to listen to me very carefully," she says. "Trav is not your Dad. You are not your Mum. You can go on one date with a nice boy without risking life or limb or your heart. Just don't overthink it."
Cass is the one person I've told about my Dad's affair. I didn't intend to (blame the vodka) but most of the time I'm glad that I did. Today is not one of those times.
"It's not about that Cass. Not everything comes back to my relationship with my Dad."
"Not everything, no. But this certainly does." Cass is wearing her determined face. It's the same one she puts on to solve hard maths problems or hit particularly high notes. It makes her look more than a little scary.
