Francesca

1 ryan

“The bus is late,” I say, watching the corner like a hawk.

Jamie steps up beside me, pulling his phone from his pocket and swiping across the cracked screen. “Need to get to practice?” he asks. I know he’s offering to take over, but I’m not ready to leave. Not yet. Not until I see her for myself.

“I’m good.”

We fall into silence, standing there as cars pass.

“Did you see her this morning?” I ask after a minute.

Jamie shakes his head. “You?”

I exhale. “No.”

“It’s fucking bullshit,” he mutters, kicking a piece of trash across the sidewalk.

I don’t respond. There’s nothing to say that we haven’t already said a hundred times, nothing that changes anything.

The sound of grinding brakes cuts through the quiet as the bus rounds the corner. We both step back as it pulls up, the doors folding open with a sharp hiss. Kids start filing off and they stare at us with wide eyes, as we stand there, looming on the sidewalk.

I hear her before I see her. Her voice cuts through everything- clear, steady, impossible to miss.

“I promise, it’ll be okay. I can fix it.”

A little kid steps down, and then she’s right behind him.

Her light brown hair falls in untamed, wild curls, covering part of her face.

She glances up and the second she spots us, she smiles- bright and easy, like nothing in the world is wrong.

She hops off the last step and immediately crouches beside the kid in front of her, her attention already fixed on him.

“Listen, I’ll take it home and fix it, okay?” Frankie says.

“Then I won’t have it tomorrow. Mom’ll be fucking pissed.”

She winces slightly at his language. “Here, you can borrow mine. Just tell her you swapped with a friend for fun, okay?”

She pulls her backpack around and digs inside, coming up with a plain black lunchbox. The kid hands his over in exchange, a bright green one with the handle torn halfway off, some video game character on the front.

“Go on,” she says, nudging him gently. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He starts to run off, but I reach out and catch his shoulder, stopping him.

“You forgetting something?”

He stiffens, eyes darting between me and Jamie.

“Thank her,” Jamie says, his voice flat. “Don’t be a little shit.”

“Jamie,” Frankie says, a warning threaded through her tone.

“Thanks, Frankie,” the kid blurts, already backing away.

“What happened?” Jamie asks, nodding toward the lunchbox in her hands as she stands up.

“Oh, kids were picking on him,” she says with a small shrug. “Throwing it around on the bus. He grabbed it, but another kid had it too and they pulled hard enough to rip the handle. It’s an easy fix.”

Jamie glances down the street where the kid disappeared. “Why?”

She blinks at him. “Because I can fix it easily? And he was obviously upset about it?” she says, like the answer is painfully obvious.

“No,” Jamie says, turning back to her. “Why were they picking on him?”

Her smile falters, confusion flickering across her face. “Uh. Because kids are mean? Do you not remember being eleven?”

“Yeah, no one picked on Jamie when he was eleven. Or ever,” I say.

She hums, glancing at him like she’s evaluating something. “So, you really have always been a big, scary menace?” He grunts at her in response and she pokes him in his ribs. He’s ticklish- something he hates that she knows- and jerks at the contact.

“You’re the menace,” he practically growls, grabbing her hands to stop further assault as she laughs. He doesn’t let go until she turns away from him and starts walking towards our houses.

Anyway,” she says, “thanks for meeting me. What’s the occasion?”

“Nothing,” I say at the same time Jamie says, “Christian told us about last night.”

Her steps falter slightly and then stop. We both turn toward her as her gaze drops, her hair slipping further across her face like a shield.

“Oh,” she says quietly. “It’s fine. He’s gone.”

“Frankie,” I say, stepping closer and tipping her chin up before she can turn away. “Show me.”

“It’s not that bad,” she insists, letting out a small, strained laugh. “It probably looks worse than it is.”

I tilt her face up toward me and brush her hair aside. Her eyes go a little wide, nerves flickering through them.

They’re beautiful. Hazel, technically- but not the flat, forgettable kind. Her eyes shift as you look at them with swirls of green and warm brown ringed with amber- almost gold at the edges when the light catches them.

For a second, all I can see are those eyes. Then my gaze lifts, taking in the rest of her face, and my stomach drops at the sight.

It isn’t a black eye. Somehow, that would’ve been easier. Almost familiar- as fucked up as that is.

Instead, there’s a swollen welt at her temple, dark bruising spreading across her cheek and into her forehead, angry and unmistakable.

“Motherfucker,” Jamie says under his breath.

I keep my voice even, though it takes effort. “What happened?”

She pushes my hand away and starts walking again.

“He came home. There was no money. He got mad. Then he left.”

“That doesn’t look like a fist,” I say, trying to get another look, but her hair has already fallen back into place.

“It wasn’t.” She exhales. “It was my phone. I tried to show him where the money went- bills and stuff. He didn’t believe me and grabbed it and threw it at me.” She shrugs, like she’s talking about something minor. “Broke my phone.”

She says it like that’s the worst part.

“Anyway, he’s gone now. Hopefully he won’t be back for a while.”

She keeps moving, walking home like nothing’s happened, like it’s no big deal.

All the things you’re supposed to say- call the cops, get out, this can’t keep happening- they don’t mean anything. We’ve said them before. They don’t change anything.

Jamie doesn’t say a word, but the anger coming off him is barely contained. I’m not sure if he thinks he’s hiding it well, but he’s not. I swear you can almost see steam rising off him.

I’m not angry. I mean, I am, but my primary emotion is sadness. I just want to pull her into me and not let go.

We turn onto our street, and her house comes into view. The neighborhood isn’t much, but her side of the duplex feels different- brighter. Flowers line the porch in hand painted boxes, a welcome mat sits crooked in front of the door, a bright wreath hanging from it.

Like she can cover up the darkness inside with something soft and pretty. Like a completely ordinary seventeen-year-old girl lives there- one thinking about prom, or spring break. Not one hiding awful secrets while carrying weight of the world on her shoulders.

She turns to us with another smile. “Thanks for the walk. You heading to practice?”

I nod.

“Well, don’t work too hard,” she says, then wraps one arm around me and gives me a squeeze.

She glances at Jamie. “You want to come in for a bit? Gram would love to see you.”

Jamie shakes his head. “Not today,” he says. He’s too angry right now to socialize, but she doesn’t see it as that. She just sees a little rejection.

Her smile dips, just for a second, before she catches it and lifts it back into place. “Okay. I’ll see you guys later.”

She heads up the steps and disappears inside.

I pull out my phone and fire off a text while Jamie and I stand there in tense silence for a moment. Then he turns and storms up to the other side of the duplex, shoving the door open without knocking.