Edenham Comprehensive

It's late Saturday morning and Casey's lying in bed, clutching her blanket around her chest, staring up at the ceiling. She turns her head, sees Tyler's invitation on her bedside table, and turns back again. Yawning, she slides out of bed and stumbles into the bathroom. She emerges a few minutes later, showered and refreshed, and makes to return to her room.

“Casey, that you?” Ian calls, and she halts in the middle of the hall. Her mum's working today so she thought she was going to be alone, but apparently not.

“Of course it’s me. Who else would it be?” she retorts, rolling her eyes.

He pokes his head out of her mum's room, looking pensive. “The computer's broke and I wondered if you knew how to fix it,” he informs her.

“Let me have a look,” she replies, approaching the desk tentatively. “Why's it not working?”

“It just refuses to turn on,” he grumbles, glaring at the computer. Casey has to stifle a laugh; his eyes are screwed up into slits and mouth is pressed into a thin line, but his face is too soft to look even remotely angry. He just looks ridiculous. “Every time it gets close, it tells me a system file is corrupted and turns off again.”

“Ah. Right. Sorry Ian, but I think you've got a virus,” she says apologetically. “You'll have to format the disk or something.”

“Well that's just bloody fantastic,” he snaps. Sighing, he rubs a hand over his face, stroking the patch of stubble dotted on his chin. “I'm sorry, it's just I've been up all night trying to get it to work 'cause if I've lost all my files my boss will actually kill me.”

Casey's eyes widen as the metaphorical light bulb pings above her head. “Oh. Right. Well, I hope you manage to get it working,” she says, working as much sympathy into her words as she can manage, but inside she's beaming. She might just have an idea.

After a quick breakfast, she brushes her teeth and heads back to her room. Fumbling for her phone, she calls up a number and puts it to her ear as it rings.

“Reuben?” she says when he’s answered. “You doing anything today?”

“Give me a second to check my hecticsocial calender,” he replies. “You know what, I'm completely free. What a surprise.”

Her grin widens. His tendency to sarcasm is always more pronounced in the mornings. “You're not any more. Tyler's having a party and we're going to it.”

“Wait, wait. I must have heard you wrong. I think I heard you say you wanted us to go to Tyler Westwood's party.” He gives a faint, decidedly nervous chuckle. “I'm hearing things in my old age, aren't I? Aren't I?”

“Come on, Rubes, it'll be fun,” she cajoles him.

“I can think of a lot of things it would be, but strangely enough, 'fun' isn't one of them. Why do you want to go, anyway?” he asks grudgingly.

“Because,” she grins, “I've had an idea. All Tyler's files are on his computer, right?”

“Yeah, and?”

“And if he was to lose all that it would be very, very bad, wouldn't it?”

“Where are you going with this?” he demands, clearly confused.

“We could give his computer a virus,” she says, grinning with the simplicity of it. “If we can get a virus into Tyler's computer that'll corrupt all his files and give us his passwords, we can gain access to his bank account. We could wire all his money out of it to somewhere else, some account somewhere that's untraceable so he can't get it back in a hurry. At the same time, we could email his supplier to cancel his orders for the next few weeks so he hasn't got anything for the stall. And just for good measure, we screw up his computer so he loses all his files.”

“You know,” he says slowly, “that just might work. Lenny's got friends who're good with all that techy stuff, so I could ask him to ask them if they can give us something that'll do it.”

“Tell them it's urgent. We might not get an opportunity like this again,” she reminds him. “It's probably best if you get the virus into his computer, and I distract him. You'd probably just end up punching him or something, and that wouldn't help at all.”

“I suppose,” he says reluctantly, but then something occurs to you. “Hey, how'd you find out about his party?”

Her heart starts pounding, but she tries her best to feign nonchalance. “He sort of... mentioned it to me the other day. Besides, everyone knows about it.”

“Except me, apparently,” he mutters. “Are we actually invited or are we gatecrashing?”

“Sort of,” she says vaguely. “Tyler gave me an invite and told me I could bring anyone I wanted." She neglects to mention the fact that he specifically excluded Reuben from 'anyone'.

“Shame. I'd like to see the look on his face if we just turned up out of the blue,” he chuckles.

Well, you might just get your wish. “It's at seven, so come over to mine at about half six and we'll get the bus together,” she instructs him.

“Hey, I'm not sure if I want to go yet,” he protests.

“Reuben, you have to,” she wheedles. “I can't do this on my own. I need you.”

“But it's Tyler. He hates me,” he reminds her. “He might be all right with you but he's not going to take kindly to me just showing up on his doorstep, is he?”

“I'll handle it,” she promises. “So, are you with me?”

“Of course I am,” he mutters. “When have I ever said no to you?”

“Great. See you later, Reuben.”

“Bye,” he says quickly, but she's already hung up on him.

***

Casey's grappling with a mascara wand when the doorbell rings some time later. Startled, she accidentally pokes herself in the eye with it and winces, swearing loudly. She grabs a face wipe and starts dabbing at her eye with it, but she only succeeds in smearing the blackness further around her face.

“Ian, can you get that?” she hollers. Hearing him yell something back in acknowledgement, she turns back to the mirror and resumes her battle with the stick of mascara.

There's a knock at her door a few seconds later, sharp and abrupt and distinctively Reuben's. She grunts something unintelligible, which in all likelihood translates to 'just open the damn door and get in'.

“Are you okay?” he asks cautiously as he pokes his head around the door.

“The stupid stuff keeps getting all over my face,” she grumbles, putting back the mascara to grab the eye-liner pencil. It's been too long since she tried doing this for herself. Putting on make-up requires a certain amount of skill and perseverance that she just not possess. Not any more.

“Why are you even bothering with all that, seriously?” he reasons, perching on the end of her bed. “You don't need it.”

She shrugs, and starts pencilling on the eye-liner. “I want to look nice. Is that such a crime?”

“Suppose not.” Swinging his legs backwards and forwards, he eyes her outfit. “Like the skirt,” he comments. “Don't think I've seen you in one outside of school.”

“Like I said,” she says evenly, looking straight at his reflection in the mirror, “I want to look nice.”

Well, you've achieved that, he thinks to himself. The tiny strip of fabric is accompanied by black leggings, a brightly coloured t-shirt and a long cardigan which just about grazes the middle of her thigh. Yeah, she looks nice. Better than that, even. But she doesn't look like the Casey Rutherford he knows and loves and for some inexplicable reason, that bothers him.

It doesn't help that he's still wearing his traditional scruffy hoodie with his favourite trackies. He was never one for fashion or style and he'll be damned if he's going to change that for Tyler bloody Westwood. But dressed like this, next to her, he feels like... like... like he's not quite good enough for her, somehow.

“I'm done,” Casey announces, and he nods before getting to his feet. Now her make-up is done, her transformation is complete; she could easily be just another Edenham clone. “Where's the virus?” He pats the pocket of his shirt, where the memory stick which holds the virus is. “But are you sure you know how to get it to work?” she asks anxiously.

“Yep, they explained it to me in a ridiculous amount of detail,” he assures her. “Basically, I just copy it to the hard disk and let it do its work. It'll corrupt the files and transmit the passwords to my computer in, oh, about twenty four hours. Got them to program it specifically.”

She still doesn't look convinced. “And it'll definitely work? You're sure?”

“Yes,” he says patiently. “Don't worry, Case. It's all going to be fine.”

She squeezes her eyes shut and exhales slowly, taking deep breaths to calm herself down. When she opens her eyes, she's smiling at him. “We better go. Come on.”

As they head out of the room, Casey grabs the plastic bag sitting on the floor by the door and bundles it under her arm as if trying to hide it from view. It doesn't work; Reuben notices anyway, a frown set in the middle of his brow.

“What's in the bag?” he asks curiously, nodding to it.

She holds open the front door for him before slipping through herself and shutting it gently. “Tyler's present. I figured I ought to get him something.”

Reuben chuckles to himself. “You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you actually wanted to go to this party. You're good, Case.”

The guilt churns her stomach, and she has to force herself to smile. “Yeah, I suppose I am.”

***

They walk to the bus stop in heavy silence, Reuben whistling a tune she doesn't recognise. The bus arrives a few minutes later, mostly empty except for an old lady on the bottom, so they head for the top and settle into seats halfway down the bus.

“So this party, it's for Tyler's birthday?” Reuben asks, turning to face her. “Hmm. Wouldn't have pegged him for a Scorpio.”

She gives him an incredulous look. “Don't tell me you believe all that astrology crap.”

“Yeah. I check my astrological chart every week,” he replies seriously, but seeing her horrified face, he grins at her. “'Course I don't. It's a laugh, though. So when's your birthday?”

“First of December,” she informs him, grimacing a little. “I'm a New Year's baby. It sucks. But hey, at least it's memorable. I think that makes me an Aries or something?”

“No, you're a Capricorn,” he corrects her. “I'm an Aries. Twenty third of March.”

“Wait, so I'm older than you?” A grin appeared on her lips. “Cool.”

“Only by about two and a half months,” he reminds her, looking disgruntled as he leans back in his chair, stretching out his beanpole legs. “So, this party. Is it going to be a cupcakes-and-pass-the-parcel kind of party or a wooh-alcohol-let's-get-pissed kind of party?”

“Well last year, he had a bouncy castle and a clown, so I'm not really sure,” Casey replies sarcastically. “But I'm betting there'll be cupcakes involved.”

“Can't wait,” he grins. “I do love a good ol' cupcake.”

She shakes her head at him. “You're just trying to be childish.”

He pokes his tongue out at her in response. “It's one of my better qualities.”

“Only because you have so very few,” she retorts, folding her arms across her chest.

“Oi, I will have you know I have lots of good qualities,” he protests, pretending to be offended.

“Oh yeah?” she challenges. “Name one.”

He flounders for a bit, his eyes screwed up in concentration. “Um... I'm funny?”

“Please. You only try to be funny but you fail miserably,” she corrects him with a cruel smile.

“Thanks,” he mutters. “I'm... nice?”

She gives him a look. “That is so lame.”

“Come on, help me out here,” he implores her. “I must have some redeeming qualities, surely!”

Folding her arms, she narrows her eyes at him. “You're just fishing for compliments now, aren't you?” He bats his eyelashes at her, the picture of innocence, and she can't help but laugh. “Fine. You are funny, on occasion, and you can be nice, but those aren't your better qualities. You're brave and loyal and you don't let people treat you like shit. You're proud... but not arrogant. You're kind and sweet but you're not condescending. You're stubborn but it means you don't give in and you don't give up on people.” She glances away, embarrassed. “You didn't give up on me.”

“Well,” he says eventually, “thanks. I didn't know- thanks.”

Biting back a smile, she shakes her head at him. “Don't get all mushy on me now. I could list plenty of your worse qualities. You have a foul temper, you can go into moods about nothing at all, you have loads of really irritating habits-”

“Okay, I get the point,” he interrupts, rolling his eyes. But she's smiling and he's smiling and the tension has all but evaporated, so he doesn't really mind.