Cassie's Crush by Fiona Foden

giggling. I felt totally sick. The thought of my parents doing anything together is puke-making enough, and now I know that they were a happy little foursome until I came along and ruined it all.
    Is it any wonder I have self-esteem problems?

Everyone was leaving English when Miss Rashley called me back and made me stand at her desk. “I don’t know what’s happened to your handwriting,” she said. “Is something wrong with your hand, Cassie?”
    We were both staring down at my jotter, which was filled with the scrawlings of a demented three-year-old. What was I supposed to say? I couldn’t tell her about my lopsided boob situation.
    â€œEr … nothing’s wrong,” I muttered.
    â€œBut your writing used to be … well, not great , certainly not tidy, ever – in fact, I’d say it’s pretty appalling generally…” Brilliant. Carry on and really boost my confidence. “But it’s never been as bad as this,” she concluded with a scowl.
    â€œI was maybe, er, rushing a bit,” I said lamely.
    â€œCould you write something for me now, so I can see if it’s anything obvious?”
    Now I was stuck. I couldn’t do the left-handed thing in front of her because she knows I’m not really left-handed. So I picked up a pen with my right hand and held it over a blank sheet of paper on her desk. “Write something, then,” she barked at me.
    â€œEr, what?” I babbled.
    â€œI don’t care! Anything you like, so we can see what the problem is.” She was breathing heavily through her nose and I could smell her horrible old-lady perfume.
    What the heck should I write? I wasn’t confident that I could do the same kind of wobbly scrawl that covered two pages of my jotter.
    Hello , I wrote in baby writing. Miss Rashley stared at it, then at me. “You’re doing that on purpose!” she snapped. “What are you playing at? If this is one of your games, your silly little japes …”
    â€œIt’s not a jape,” I protested. “I … I can’t help it.”
    â€œIf you can’t stop it,” she said, “you’ll have to get yourself along to a doctor, because something’s obviously not working with your hand. D’you want me to get in touch with your mum?”
    â€œNo!” I cried. “I’m sure it’s … it’s fine, I must have twisted something, a muscle or a vein…”
    â€œA twisted vein?” she said sternly. “I see. Well, if it doesn’t untwist itself and your writing doesn’t become legible next time I see you, I’ll be sending a note home to your parents. This is ridiculous, Cassie. I don’t have time for your nonsense.”
    I nodded, realizing I’d have to resume my normal writing style by tomorrow, which means being stuck with lopsided boobs for ever.

Hand miraculously “cured”.

Started Operation SOOP!!! In history, when Mr Bowman was rambling on about the Second World War, my ears picked up something far more interesting.
    â€œSo we’re gonna do it?” Sam whispered.
    â€œYeah, why not?” Ollie replied. “Should be a laugh. Loads of people are up for it.”
    Up for what??? I desperately needed to know, but Mr Bowman had come over to where Ollie and Sam were sitting and said, “So, you two, would you like to sum up the significance of the fall of the Berlin Wall?”
    Yikes. I’d thought he was talking about the 1940s. What did the Berlin Wall have to do with that? “It’s, er, kinda…” Ollie spoke like he was mulling over the answer but I could tell he was stuck.
    â€œUm, Berlin was divided after the war,” murmured Sam, “and one side of the wall was Communist. When they pulled it down it was the end of communism, sort of, and now…”
    â€œVery good,” Mr Bowman said impatiently.
    â€œSwot,” sniggered the