Strawberries

Chapter 1 - Strawberries
My Mum had always been into ‘Witchcraft’ and such.
That’s how I got my name, ’Cassandra Zevin’. I loathed it! So most people just call me ’Cassie’. My younger sister was also cursed with a witch-like name, ’Agatha’.
She also prefers her nickname ’Aggie’.
But our Mum isn’t ‘mad’ or ‘potty’, she’s just curious and a little different. She told me to never be scared of being different because it makes you who you are. I’ve never been ‘scared’ of being different, I just have never had to be. I’m pretty normal. Seventeen years old, at ‘Melford College’ studying dramatic arts, with a couple of friends and the occasional hangover, I’m pretty much your average teenager.
But not my Mum, she’s something else.
Some say it’s ‘madness’, others say it’s ‘originality’, Dad calls it ‘special’, I just call it ‘Mum’.
She dresses in long purple and turquoise gypsy skirts, wearing striped, black tights
underneath and tropical coloured tops that have small bobbles hanging off them, along with a variety of velvet scarves wrapped around her neck.
Well me, I just wear jeans and vest tops. I suppose another way of describing my Mum would be ‘creative’.
But thinking about it our whole family is creative. My Dad, Tim Zevin, is a photographer and makes a fair bit of money zapping pictures of people at weddings, at parties and sometimes of artistic objects.
While My Mum, Helen Zevin, is a painter. She paints everything.
From people (some dressed, some not), to objects, to  witches, to crystal balls and other irregular images. That’s why she’s so popular, that’s why people buy her paintings.
Then there’s me, studying dramatic arts in college and currently applying to be involved in a theatre production of ‘Oliver Twist’.
So that leaves Aggie who is only twelve, but is following in Mum’s footsteps and becoming ‘a good little painter in school’ as her teachers put it.
So that kind of points out that our family is on the artistic side of things.

“Cassandra! Wake up or you’ll be late, darling,” came the sound of my Mum’s voice, rattling up the stairs and through my bedroom door.
I hated mornings. I also hated night. So I pretty much hated the whole aspect of sleep.
Most every girl my age loathes mornings I suppose, but I particularly disliked night, because that meant dreams, sometimes nightmares, and I am terrified of having bad dreams.
Call me immature, but I can’t stand them. It’s something I’ve always kept to myself as it’s also something I don’t quite understand. The only person I ever told was Mum. She
suggested sleeping with a night light, but it’s not the dark that bothers me, it’s what I dream after a fall asleep.
Mum always said it was because I had a big imagination, but I was never convinced.
I heard footsteps on the stairs as Aggie bounced into my room.
“Wake up, Cassie! Didn’t you hear Mum?” She grinned. “You haven’t seen my lip gloss by any chance, have you?”
“Get lost, Aggie, I’m not in the mood,” I replied, from deep under my duvet.
“You’ve got it, haven’t you?” Aggie pestered.
“What?” I questioned.
“I told you not to go in my room! You never like it when I come in yours,” she accused.
“Well, sod off out of it now then,” I groaned.
“Not until you give it to me.”
“Give what to you?”
“My lip gloss! You know the red one that you like.”
“I don’t have it OK?”
“You do!”
“I DON’T!”
“Mum!” We both yelled.
The clip-clopping sound of Mum’s high heels sounded on the wooden staircase and my bedroom door flung open.
“Cassandra, will you hurry up, you’re going to miss the bus, and you’ve got your interview today,” she scolded.
“Audition,” I corrected.
“Whatever it is, you won’t have it if you don’t get your arse in gear now, I can’t drive you to college today, my dragon painting has to be done by tomorrow morning,” she fussed.
Mum had painted a picture of two dragons floating in the air above the moon a few weeks ago and it had been spotted and requested to be hung in the local art gallery, and she had been working non-stop on the final piece all week.
“Mum! Cassie took my lip gloss,” Aggie whined.
“Cassandra give Agatha back her lip gloss,” Mum sighed.
“I don’t have it!” I stressed.
“She does. I can’t find it anywhere, and I had it the other day,” Aggie sniffed.
“Are you sure you looked everywhere?” Mum questioned. “Which one was it?”
“Yes, everywhere! It was the red one that tasted like strawberries,” she whinged.
“Well, we’ll look for it tonight, OK kid?” Mum brushed back Aggie’s brunette locks.
“But I need it now!” said miss-I’ll-pull-a-hissy-fit-and-I’ll-get-what-I-want.
“Well, I’m sorry, Agatha, but there’s nothing I can do now, come down and have some breakfast, Dad’s making it in the kitchen, and Cassandra get up and get ready now!” was my Mum’s final word as she marched Aggie downstairs and my room was once again silent.
I slowly dragged my heavy body out of bed. It was true that this audition was my only chance of getting into the production of ‘Oliver Twist’. I was auditioning for Nancy, I had been practising her songs and her accent for months. The bus was coming for me at three o’clock today at college to travel to ‘The Lady’s Lantern’ theatre where the auditions were
being held. I was ever so excited but also unbearably nervous. I wanted this so bad!
I dragged a hairbrush through my long, tangled, blonde hair and straightened it (as much as my wild hair would straighten of course) then pulled on a pair of jeans and a spotty red and white top and slipped on my rocket dogs.
I examined myself in the mirror. I had to look good for today. I slapped on my foundation and powder and wiped off the excess on the side of my mirror, then applied my heavy
eyeliner and mascara. With a few final attempts to straighten my hair, I grabbed my bag and rummaged around in my draw, pulling out a tube of red sparkly liquid.
I smoothed it onto my lips and let myself drift away with the sweet taste of strawberries.