183 Times a Year by Eva Jordan

remember which play though. Your Mum would know of course; she was brilliant at English at school. Well, she was brilliant at most things but she loved English. And reading; always had her head in a bloody book.’
    â€˜She still does,’ I reply.
    I look at Ruby’s older, slightly plump face and find it hard to imagine her and Mum ever being young. The waiter swings back towards us carrying a tray with two glasses of wine.
    â€˜But I’m not old enough,’ I mumble to Ruby through gritted teeth, squirming uncomfortably on my chair. The waiter plonks a glass of cold, crisp wine in front of me.
    â€˜Course you are. You’re old enough to do all sorts of things at 16 and if you can smoke weed you can certainly have a small glass of wine with me, just don’t tell your Mum for god’s sake.’ Ruby laughs.
    â€˜I don’t … didn’t,’ I start to protest.
    â€˜Oh chill Cassie, for god’s sake. Let’s have some fun eh?’
    I smile and take a sip of wine from what seems like a very large glass to me. It feels deliciously wrong but right at the same time. The wine is cold and sort of fruity but tart at the same time. I can feel it going down as it hits my empty stomach. I didn’t eat any breakfast this morning coz I want to look slim for the party. Not that I’ll ever have a figure like Chelsea of course.
    We nibble on Pintxo and wait for our Pringa and salad to arrive. I’m not really sure what any of the food is that Ruby has ordered but as long as it’s nothing rank, like snails or something, I don’t really care.
    I watch Ruby and notice her eyes following the waiter. As if Ruby. You’re like waaaaay too old for him. He’d like never look at you in that way. Oh my actual god I don’t believe it. It’s like well minging but he’s actually smiling at her, and I’m pretty sure it is in that
way
. Urrggghh! That’s just rank. I feel a bit embarrassed and look away for a minute. Why is there a painting of a cow above our table?
    The waiter leaves again and Ruby looks at me, grinning. ‘What?’ I ask.
    â€˜C’mon then Cas, spill the beans, who are you really getting dressed up for? Who’s going to be at this party that you’re so desperate to notice you?’
    Desperate. I’m not bloody desperate. ‘What’d ya mean? I told you, I just wanna look nice for the party.’
    â€˜Hmmmmm likely story,’ Ruby continues. ‘You have plenty of nice outfits hanging up in your wardrobe that would do. You’re trying to dress to impress someone. I was 16 too you know.’
    Arrggghh! Why are adults always so annoyingly right? I shift uncomfortably on my chair and look up sheepishly from my wine glass.
    â€˜Joe,’ I finally admit, ‘his name is Joe.’
    â€˜I knew it,’ Ruby replies, triumphantly clapping her hands together. ‘And what does Joe look like?’
    â€˜Hey Cassie.’
    Someone’s calling me, and her voice sounds terrifyingly familiar. I look around the restaurant and am absolutely mortified. Pheebs has just sat down at a table nearby. With Joe. My Joe! And just to add insult to injury, Chelsea’s with them too. I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it. Is it possible to die of embarrassment because I think that’s what’s happening to me right now? The three, well two at least, most perfect people on the whole entire planet – well, except for Ed Sheeran, Kurt Cobain (but he’s dead so I guess he doesn’t count) and of course Alex Turner – are sitting together and who am I stuck with? Some old woman. This has to be one of
the
worst moments of my whole entire life. It really couldn’t get much worse.
    â€˜S’up Cassie?’
    â€˜Oh, err, hiya.’
    Oh shit, thankyou god of chaos. Did you just wake up this morning and decide to piss all over my parade? Now Chelsea’s brother, Ollie, the