‘Ugh, no, I hate raisins,’ I said. ‘What do you think, Alice?’
‘Hmm, I don’t know,’ said Alice. ‘Maybe we should perfect the vanilla sort first.’
‘I think it’s perfect already!’ said Cass, and we did a special triumphal dance around the kitchen, which Alice eventually joined in.
Poor Cass is missing Liz, though. Even our dancing (and our delicious creations) weren’t enough to make her forget her sorrow for the whole afternoon. Liz’s phone was confiscated at the Irish college, and she has only been able to ring Cass once when she was meant to be ringing her parents. In their very brief conversation, she told Cass that when they arrived it was like one of those films where someone goes to prison and has to hand over all their possessions. And then they get them back, like, ten years later and everything’s out of date. Anyway, it sounds pretty tough, though apparently the actual Irish college is quite fun apart from the lack of phones and internet access, and she has learned how to do lots of set dances. Not that this is any consolation for poor Cass.
‘I feel like she’s been gone forever,’ said Cass. ‘And it’s only been two weeks!’
I know how she feels, of course. I too have known the anguish of long-distance love. Although a part of me thinks Cass is making a fuss out of not very much. I mean, Liz will be back in two weeks. Paperboy went to Canada forever! That is true misery. But I didn’t say that to Cass. I don’t think it would have cheered her up.
It did all remind me, yet again, of my lonely single state. I had such a fun afternoon, but when I got home I felt a bit sad. I don’t even know why I feel so bad. It’s not like the others would make me feel left out. It’s just that I can’t help feeling I’ll never meet anyone again. I mean, like I said before, I am surrounded by boys at the camp, and I still don’t fancy any of them. And it’s not like I fancy any of the girls either. I’ve wondered about whether I ever could, especially since Cass came out, but I haven’t so far. Though surely any girl would be preferable to, say, Charlie. Except, you know, Vanessa or someone. Anyway, I don’t fancy any girls or boys on the camp. And I know it shouldn’t be a big deal. But when I think about Cass and Alice being all loved up, it feels like it is. And then I feel guilty for feeling bad about my friends being happy. Life is very complicated sometimes.
To distract myself from my own self-pity, I have done some more work on those song lyrics about John Kowalski. It is still quite tricky. I tried putting in ‘I met you at a musical’ instead of ‘rehearsal’ but not much rhymes with ‘musical’ either. Still, I gave it a try.
I met you at a musical
You got there on a bicycle
Though that doesn’t totally work either. Also, he didn’t get there on a bicycle. I don’t know if he even owned one. The only time I ever saw him near any bikes was when he was smoking by the bike racks.
Oh my God, I have found the most amazing thing ever to help me in my song writing! It is a rhyming dictionary, and you can look up any word and see what rhymes with it. I can’t believe it was in my house all the time and I didn’t know about it. I took a break after writing that last bit about John and went down to get a glass of juice. And when I was there I happened to mention to my mum that it was hard finding words to rhyme when we were writing songs.
‘Why don’t you use a rhyming dictionary?’ she said. ‘I’m sure I’ve got one somewhere in my study.’
And she did! And it is like magic! There are loads of words that rhyme with ‘musical’ that I never even thought of! In fact, I have never even heard of lots of them. Like ‘caulicle’, which is apparently a ‘small plant stalk’. Not that I can compare John to a small plant stalk. But it just shows how many interesting words are out there. There is also ‘ossicle’, which is a bone in the ear. Of course, I can’t use that either. But there are so many words on the list I must be able to use some of them. There are loads of words that rhyme with ‘rehearsal’ too. It’s brilliant.
I think I have the perfect rhyme!
I met him at rehearsal
He looked just like a tercel
A tercel is a ‘male falcon or hawk’. I didn’t know that until I saw it the rhyming dictionary. But actually, it describes John Kowalski well because there is something haughty and bird-of-prey-esque about him. This book’s brilliant. I don’t know how I ever wrote songs without it! I am going to go and write some more lyrics now.
Today we realised we have actually started calling Small Paula ‘Small Paula’, like it’s her actual name. A bunch of us were sitting around having lunch after our excellent morning’s workshop with Kitty when Alice opened a packet of sweets and offered them to everyone. Paula was sitting at the far end of the table, and Alice waved the packet in her direction.
‘Do you want one, Small Paula?’ she said, in a friendly way. Then she looked horrified when she realised what she’d said.
Small Paula looked a bit surprised, then she said, ‘Yes please’, and took one.
‘Alice!’ said Cass. ‘You can’t call Paula Small Paula!’
‘Oh dear,’ said Alice miserably. ‘Sorry, Paula.’
‘But it’s not meant in a mean way. It’s a nice name,’ I said. ‘And it’s just to distinguish Sma… that Paula from the other Paula. Um, Tall Paula, from Exquisite Corpse.’
‘That’s as may be,’ said Cass, sounding like a wise old lady, ‘but it’s not up to us to decide whether what we call other people is nice or not. It’s up to them. I might think calling you … I dunno, Small-ish Rebecca is nice, but you still might find it really annoying.’
‘That’s true, I suppose,’ I admitted. ‘You don’t ever call me that, do you?’
‘No,’ said Cass. ‘Not yet, anyway.’
‘Do you mind being called Small Paula, Paula?’ said Alice. ‘I’m very sorry.’
‘No,’ said Small Paula from beneath her fringe. ‘I like it.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Cass.
‘It’s quite a good stage name, actually,’ I said. ‘What do you think, Paula?’
But Small Paula clearly felt she’d talked enough for one day, so she just nodded her fringe at us in a friendly fashion (it was like a small pony shaking its mane) and scuttled off carrying her giant box of leads.
‘Bye, Small Paula,’ said Cass.
‘I wonder what sort of music she’s making?’ I said. ‘I bet it’s all ethereal and mysterious.’
‘I bet it’s sort of folky,’ said Cass. ‘Maybe with some electronic beats.’
‘I wonder will we ever get to find out?’ I said. ‘I mean, it’s not like doing a gig is compulsory.’
‘I think Small Paula might be just making music for herself,’ said Alice. ‘Which adds to her mystery.’
And we all thought for a minute about what an enigma Small Paula is. I wish I was a bit more enigmatic. I asked Cass and Alice if I was mysterious at all, and they laughed and laughed. When they’d recovered, Alice said, ‘Maybe if someone didn’t know you they might think you were mysterious.’
‘That doesn’t count!’ I said. ‘Everyone’s mysterious if you don’t know them. I want people who do know me to wonder what I’m thinking.’
‘You generally show what you’re thinking,’ said Cass. ‘It’s usually pretty obvious.’
‘No it isn’t!’ I said.
‘Yes it is,’ said Cass. ‘I mean, you’re feeling quite cross right now, aren’t you?’
Gah, she was right. I am going to try and be more mysterious. After all, most of the people here don’t know me very well. I bet I can cultivate an air of mystery if I try.
I am not sure my plan to cultivate an air of mystery is going very well. I ended up chatting to Sam for a while at lunch today, and at first I thought it was a good opportunity to try being all enigmatic.
‘So,’ said Sam, ‘how is it going with your mentor? Richard was saying his guy is great.’
‘Ah yes,’ I said. ‘Ian Cliff.’ Then I paused in what I hoped was an enigmatic sort of way. Sam looked at me in an expectant fa
shion.
‘What about him?’ he said.
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Um, just that he’s Richard’s mentor. Ours is … well, she’s beyond words, really. I mean, you can’t describe her.’ And I looked into the distance, mysteriously.
‘Yes, that’s usually what beyond words means,’ said Sam, which could have sounded like a dig but didn’t. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m fine,’ I said. And then I couldn’t think of anything mysterious to say. It seems that there is a very fine line between being mysterious and being, well, a bit rude and unfriendly. And it turns out I am more worried about being rude than about being mysterious, so I said, ‘So, how are the comics going?’ in a normal voice.
‘Really good,’ said Sam. ‘The facilitator is great. Yesterday she told us to bring in a book we’ve always loved, and today we had to, like, adapt a page or a scene from it in comic form.’
‘Wow, that’s a cool idea!’ I said. ‘What book did you bring in?’
Sam looked a bit embarrassed. ‘Um, you probably haven’t read it,’ he said. ‘It’s called My Family and Other Animals, it’s a true story about a boy who moves to a Greek island and has loads of animals …’
‘By Gerald Durrell! I love that book!’ I said.
Sam looked surprised. ‘Seriously?’
‘Yeah, of course!’ I said. ‘It’s really funny, and I like the animal stuff. Also, I share the hero’s pain because he has very annoying siblings, and I have a very annoying big sister.’
‘Heh, so do I,’ said Sam. ‘She’s even worse than Gerald’s brother Larry. I love the bit when …’ And we talked about our favourite bits of the book for a while. It wasn’t like talking about books with John Kowalski. John was very good at talking passionately about something he loved, and it was sometimes very exciting, but now I have to admit that it was more like being at a lecture than, like, having a conversation. Talking to Sam was much more ordinary − we kept interrupting each other and laughing. It wasn’t intense and exciting, like with John. It was fun though.
‘So what other authors do you really like?’ said Sam.
‘Oh God, too many to list,’ I said. But I mentioned a few of my favourites, like Nancy Mitford and Rachel Caine’s vampire books. I have very broad tastes, if I say so myself.
‘Have you ever read Sandman?’ said Sam. ‘It’s a graphic novel series, and it’s really great. A bit scary, but brilliant.’
‘How scary?’ I said. ‘I like fantasy stuff, but nothing too, like, gross or disturbing. And I don’t like stuff where all the characters are, you know, elves and stuff. I like books where magic stuff happens to realistic people.’
‘Um, it’s medium scary,’ said Sam. ‘And it’s set in our world, mostly. The guy who wrote it also wrote Coraline, the kids’ book. Have you read that?’
‘Ooh, yes!’ I said. ‘I loved it. It was creepy though. But in a good way.’
‘He did a book with Terry Pratchett called Good Omens which is brilliant too,’ said Sam. ‘Kind of scary, but mostly funny. I can lend it to you if you like.’
‘Yes, please,’ I said. And then the bell rang for the afternoon workshops.
‘See you later,’ said Sam. ‘And I’ll bring in Good Omens tomorrow!’
‘Cool, thanks!’ I said, and then I realised I was on the other side of the building to the Orchestra Room, so I had to run off. It wasn’t until I was sitting there in a big circle with all the other bands listening to Eli Gavroche, Positive Trigger’s mentor, talk to us about mixing tracks that I realised I had ended up not being very mysterious at all. I have a horrible feeling you’re either enigmatic or you’re not. And I’m probably not.
It was nice talking to Sam, though. He has very good taste in books. I sort of wish I fancied him, but I don’t really think I do. It’s not that he’s ugly, it’s just that … I dunno. There is no magic spark there like there was with Paperboy. Or even John Kowalski. Actually, with John it was basically all spark and nothing else. But just a bit of spark with someone would be good.
Oh no, my parents are back from their Oliver! rehearsal. I can hear them singing ‘Who Will Buy This Wonderful Morning?’ I certainly won’t. Why is this house always so noisy? There’s no peace around here! I will practise my drumming to drown out their caterwauling. Good thing I brought my snare drum home from our last band practice.
Everyone is better at being mysterious than me! Cass was acting a bit oddly this afternoon. She said she wouldn’t be walking home with us because she had to go into town, but when I asked why, she got all cagey.
‘It’s no big deal,’ she said. ‘I just have something to do.’ And she sounded so awkward I just left it. But what can it be? Surely if it was something to do with her family she’d tell us. And she didn’t seem really upset or anything. It can’t be anything romantic because she certainly hasn’t forgotten about Liz. Unless she has decided to run away to visit Liz in Connemara. Although I can’t imagine how she’d get down there. She only has about five euro until Saturday, and that wouldn’t get her very far by public transport. And how else could she get there? I know she really likes Liz and everything, but I can’t imagine she’d actually walk all the way across the country to see her.
Anyway, Small Paula is definitely more mysterious than all of us. We still have no idea what her music sounds like. Today we had a recording workshop led by Dave, Paula’s mentor, who was very good. We are all going to get some studio time over the next week or so to try and record a few tracks, which is cool. Paula was in the workshop too, but she didn’t really need to be there because, as Dave mentioned, she has already recorded quite a bit of stuff on her computer at home. She is a technical master.
‘Can we hear some of your stuff, Paula?’ asked Cass.
‘Sorry, but no,’ said Small Paula, shaking her fringe firmly. ‘It’s all top secret.’
‘Just one song?’ said Alice hopefully.
‘All will be revealed,’ said Paula, and then she scuttled off. So now we are even more intrigued.
Speaking of secret songwriting, I think I have completed my lyrics for the song about John. I told the others I was working on some words and I’d show them when I was ready, so I will reveal all tomorrow. I wonder if anyone will be able to tell that I got lots of words from my rhyming dictionary? I really think it has enhanced my writing, because I’d never have thought of using lots of these words if I hadn’t seen them in the book. Anyway, here are the lyrics:
I met you at rehearsal
You looked just like a tercel
Oh-oh, oh-oh
You went out for a smoke break
And I felt my heart quake
Oh-oh, oh-oh
CHORUS
But now it’s hard to know
What I ever saw in you
And when I think about you
I feel like I have the flu
It makes me want to run away
To Machu Picchu
We walked down Griffith Avenue
We didn’t have a retinue
Oh-oh, oh-oh
Kissing at the corner
Not feeling like a mourner
Oh-oh, oh-oh
CHORUS
But now it’s hard to know
What I ever saw in you
And when I think about you
I feel like I have the flu
It makes me want to run away
To Machu Picchu
Then I saw you were a snob
My heart it did not throb
Oh-oh, oh-oh
You left us in the lurch
Our show’s name you did besmirch
Oh-oh, oh-oh
CHORUS
But now it’s hard to know
What I ever saw in you
And when I think about you
I feel like I have the flu
It makes me want to run away
To Machu Picchu
REPEAT CHORUS ONCE MORE.
I am pretty pleased with it, though there were a few problems even wit
h the rhyming dictionary. Not many words rhyme with ‘avenue’, for example. In fact, I’m not totally sure that ‘retinue’ does rhyme with it, even though it was on the list in the dictionary. And it was particularly tricky finding a match for ‘corner’ because the dictionary is British and assumes you have the sort of English accent that makes ‘corner’ rhyme with ‘sauna’ and ‘fauna’. In fact, ‘mourner’ was the only word on that list that would work for Dublin people. But I think it goes in the song quite well.
Anyway, I will show it to the others tomorrow. I bet they’ll be impressed at how my songwriting has developed. Unless, of course, Cass really has run away (literally, considering her financial situation) to Connemara. But she probably hasn’t.
The mystery of Cass’s behaviour has been revealed! When I met her this morning, there was definitely something different about her.
‘Why are you staring at me?’ said Cass nervously.
‘No reason,’ I said. Then it struck me. ‘Aha!’ I said.
‘What?’ said Cass.
‘You got your hair cut!’ I said. ‘Was that where you were going yesterday?’
‘Um, yeah,’ said Cass, guiltily. ‘I needed to get my fringe cut. But I didn’t want to mention that I was going in to see Cliona in case it brought back terrible memories of your fringe experience.’
Cass can be surprisingly thoughtful sometimes. Of course I told her she didn’t have to feel bad about going back to Cliona.
‘I mean, she does a very good job on your fringe,’ I said. ‘I think it’s more my hair’s fault than hers. And I think I’ve mastered the whole pinning it back thing.’
‘It looks pretty good,’ said Cass. ‘You can’t even see all the pins from the front.’
Cass is truly a noble friend. And she is rocking her newly shorn look. Ever since she has embraced the fringe her hair has looked great (unlike me. But I don’t want to think about my fringe today).