The Spell Book Of Listen Taylor by Jaclyn Moriarty

Sticks:
(a) Yes
    (b) No
    (c) Does not know him
    She leaned forward and circled “Yes” and “Yes.” Warren studied her answers, and then he put a check alongside each “Yes.” Underneath, he wrote the word: Excellent.
    The next day, Tuesday, wandering her classroom aisles like a queen, Cath remembered that she didn’t actually know the Carotid Sticks. She had them mixed up with the Clotted Creams.
    She felt strangely embarrassed, yet also excited, to realize this, as if she had cheated in an exam. Also, she had a heart-pumping moment of terror, remembering how close she had come to getting caught—she had almost mentioned to Warren how much she liked the goldfish in a small glass bowl that the drummer brought along to his shows. (She had seen the Clotted Creams a couple of years back.) She had almost drawn a sketch of the goldfish on her notes, and shown this to Warren! Showing off her knowledge. Imagine if she had! Warren would have frowned in confusion, and she would have tried to explain, and realized her mistake as she did so, and then she would have tried to cover up, and got flustered.
    She must look up the Carotid Sticks at an HMV and listen to a CD, so she could prepare for the Date. Not a Date. You don’t know it’s a Date. Who said it was a Date?
    â€œYeast infection, yeast infection, yeast infection.”
    â€œCassie?”
    Cassie Zing colored by numbers and murmured, “ Yeast infection.”
    â€œCassie? You want to keep quiet for us? Or see if you can find some new words?”
    Cassie looked up and blinked once. She leaned onto her elbow and spoke into her fist.
    I really should mention this habit to her parents. It’s been going on for weeks now. And her mother sends so many notes! Really, an amazing number of notes from that Mrs. Zing. I wouldn’t even notice that Cassie was late if she didn’t bring notes from her mother. Maybe I shouldn’t have written back? Now she thinks we’re pen pals, and she’ll never stop. She may be a loony. Of course, the compliments are nice.
    I hope I’m not late on Friday. I’ll have to go straight from my law class to the Borrowed Cat. I’ll wait until Friday night to ask him what he meant by that comment about his weekend being “kind of a strain.” He will open up to me then, after we’ve had a few drinks, and I will listen sympathetically, and try to make him laugh. Perhaps he’ll even cry on my shoulder!
    Okay, but it’s not a Date.
    What color should I wear? What color is the Borrowed Cat? I should try not to clash with the walls.
    It was a strange week for Cath, waiting for Friday and the Clotted Creams. Then remembering that it was not the Clotted Creams but the Carotid Sticks. (She found them at HMV and they were kind of bluesy. She didn’t like blues, but whatever.) She walked around under a spotlight, but a secret, private spotlight, because she didn’t mention the invitation to anybody.
    Not even Lenny and Suzanne, even when Suzanne suggested the two of them see a movie on Friday night. “I’m busy Friday,” is all she said. “How about Saturday?” Because here it was: the invitation. The first fragile step in the unfurling. She would not even whisper his name.
    But you ARE allowed! He asked you out! He asked you to see a band! And you don’t do that to just anyone, and who knows what will happen AFTER—
    On Wednesday afternoon, Cath and Warren were working on a class plan.
    â€œI am,” said Warren, “ extremely hungry,” and he looked around the room.
    Cath opened the fridge and found her cheese-and-pickles sandwich.She hadn’t eaten it at lunch, on account of buying a cheeseburger instead. “You can have it,” she offered generously.
    Warren was pleased with her, opening up the sandwich from its greaseproof paper, as if it were a birthday present. But then he paused and said, “Imagine if this