Chapter 4
Frances
I clutch my books to my chest, keeping my head down as I navigate the busy hallway, feeling the weight of a hundred stares and barely stifled laughter.
Word spread like spilled ink on paper, impossible to contain, and apparently, the headline of the week is that I—Frances O’Malley, resident nobody—socked Lucky Romano in the face.
And just like that, everyone knows my name.
I’ve never been part of the popular crowd, nor have I ever wanted to be, but having my name on their lips wasn’t exactly on my bingo card this year.
Damn you, Lucky Romano.
Because of him, I can’t take three steps without someone pointing, whispering, or throwing some half-assed joke my way.
“Look at the heavyweight champion of Sacred Heart!”
“Remind me never to cross you!”
“I wouldn’t want to meet you in a dark alley.”
“Of course he went down. Look at how big she is!”
Yeah. Real original, guys.
And as if the endless teasing wasn’t enough, now I also have to deal with being tutored by my new arch-nemesis.
I really wish Sister Agnes had kept her bright ideas to herself.
Sure, I’m flunking calculus, but it’s not like I’ll need it in the nunnery.
Unfortunately, if I want to keep a roof over my head at the orphanage, I have no choice but to suck it up and endure him.
Sister Agnes all but guaranteed that if I got at least a C minus, I’d pass her class. That’s all I need.
Sounds easy enough, right?
It’s not. Not when the numbers and equations look like an ancient, cryptic language to me.
And not when I have to trust a dickhead like Lucky to help me make sense of it all.
Ugh.
Why did I have to go and punch that jerk?
Oh, that’s right. Because he was being a douchebag and using me as a prop to stroke his already enlarged ego in front of the whole class.
He got off light with just a punch.
These are my thoughts as I navigate through the taunting crowd, grateful when they finally scatter at the sound of the bell. I step into my last class of the day and make my way to my seat in the back, immediately tuning out the chatter around me. My gaze drifts to the water-speckled window, where heavy storm clouds roll in, casting the sky in deep gray as rain drenches the courtyard outside.
I like the rain.
It’s chaotic. Unpredictable.
It doesn’t pretend to be anything it’s not. It just is.
As I find peace in the storm brewing outside, I absentmindedly run my fingers over the gold bracelet on my wrist, my thumb tracing the small Saint Peter pendant. It’s the only thing of value I own. The only gift my parents ever gave me.
They left it around my neck when they abandoned me at the church.
A part of me wonders why.
Was it guilt? Regret? A last-minute token to ease their conscience before they walked away forever?
I should have sold it years ago. God knows money is always tight. But I never could bring myself to do it.
Because keeping it means there’s a chance, however small, that maybe my parents weren’t as heartless as I think they were.
Maybe they had a reason.
Maybe they wanted to come back, but for some inexplicable reason, they just couldn’t.
But those are just fairy tales orphans tell themselves.
The truth?
No one has come looking for me in eighteen years.
And I doubt they ever will.
The bell rings, yanking me out of my thoughts, and I’m hardly surprised that I’ve spent most of the class lost in my head—again. It happens more often than it should, and it’s one of the many reasons I’ve always gone unnoticed by the rest of the student body at this wretched school.
I’m not the kind of student who raises her hand to answer questions or volunteers for anything that might put her in the spotlight. I’m the one who keeps her head down, lips sealed, silently counting the minutes for the bell to ring.
However, as I watch everyone rush out of their seats, eager to go home, I realize that today I’m not so lucky.
Lucky.
Ugh.
Even the word is ruined for me now.
Not that it ever held any weight in my life.
If there was ever a person born without any luck, so to speak, it’s me.
No.
Don’t go there.
No negative self-talk, remember, Frankie?
You hear enough of that from everyone else. You don’t need to hear it from yourself, too.
I grab my books and head to the locker to get my backpack, ensuring I have my calculus textbook and a fresh notebook for today’s tutoring session. I trudge toward the library at Sacred Heart with a heavy sigh, rolling my eyes when I see a few kids already there, preparing to attend whatever after-school program they’re in.
But no Lucky.
If this asshole stands me up, I swear to God, I’ll break his nose this time.
Breathe, Frankie. Breathe.
I wish my mind didn’t immediately jump to violence all the time. I have no idea who I get it from, but at this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if one of my parents was an MMA fighter or something. Because the moment something rubs me the wrong way, my first instinct is to clench my fists and swing.
After counting to ten, I walk over to an empty table and crack open my textbook. Lucky or not, I need to figure this crap out since it’s not only my diploma on the line but also my housing status.
Five minutes later, I’m scratching my head, completely lost.
Nothing makes sense.
It’s like trying to decipher a foreign language with no translation.
Whoever invented calculus was a sadist.
There, I said it.
Argh!
“I can see the smoke coming out of your ears,” a low, familiar voice taunts, hovering over me.
I don’t need to look up to know who it is.
“You’re late,” I snap, flipping the page a little too hard.
“Or you’re early. Time is a man-made construct. Who’s to say what time it really is?” Lucky muses, the grin in his voice undeniable.
I resist the urge to chuck my textbook at his head.
“I hope you know more about calculus than you do about telling time, or else we’re both fucked.”
Lucky slides into the chair beside me, stretching out as if he owned the place.
“Never heard a nun say ‘fuck’ before.”
“I’m not a nun. Yet,” I retort, pinching my thigh as a reprimand for having cursed.
And I was doing so well today.
I didn’t say one curse word all day, but then again, I didn’t speak much either.
Of course, it had to be Lucky to pull that shit out of me.
Damn it!
There I go again!
“So, the rumors are true.” He chuckles, looking far too amused for my liking. “Man, I really thought they were all bullshit. Color me surprised.”
This time, I finally turn to face him, my frown twitching into a smirk.
“The only colors I see are purple and blue,” I say sweetly. “I definitely think those colors suit you.”
And in a flash, his grin vanishes.
Good.
“Let’s just get this over with,” he grumbles, grabbing my notes. “I’ve got shit to do.”
“Oh yeah?” I challenge, leaning back in my seat and crossing my arms over my chest. “Like what?”
“Maybe you’re not the only orphan I like to give a hard time. Or do you think you’re special?”
Fucker.
God, I hate this asshole.
And yeah, I said asshole.
That’s what he is. Stupid jerk.
“Just teach me,” I snap. “So we can both move on with our lives.”
“Gladly.”
He sets a timer on his phone—because God forbid if he spends one second longer than necessary with me—and starts walking me through today’s homework assignment.
My guard is up as Lucky begins to ask me to walk through the first step, his voice calm, his tone uncharacteristically encouraging. When I hesitate in answering, he doesn’t sigh or roll his eyes. He just breaks it down.
“Look, don’t focus on the whole equation at once,” he says, tapping his pencil against the paper. “Start with the derivative of the outer function first, then work your way in. Chain rule is just a pattern. Once you spot it, it’s easier.”
He walks me through another example, teaching me mnemonics and showing me how to simplify before diving in.
And to my absolute shock, some of it clicks for the first time ever. Not all of it, of course, but enough for me not to feel so inadequate at calculus.
What do you know?
Maybe this jackass does have something useful to offer society after all.
By the time his phone rings, I’m so deep into my notes that I barely notice its sound.
“That’s it for today,” he announces with a clipped tone, pushing back from the table.
“Yeah. Thanks,” I say reluctantly because, annoyingly enough, he did hold up his end of the deal.
Maybe if I apply myself and focus, I’ll no longer need any tutoring in a couple of months. And then I can get Lucky Romano out of my life for good.
Fingers crossed.
I stay seated and flip through my notes, rereading what I’ve written while jotting down questions for tomorrow’s session with the things I still don’t understand. I don’t even notice Lucky lingering until he suddenly plants his palms on the table, staring at me.
“My mom wants you to come to dinner at our house next Friday.”
I don’t think a sentence has ever shocked me more.
“Why?” I blurt out, my voice laced with pure astonishment.
“Who the fuck knows why parents do the shit they do,” he grumbles, not quick to realize that I don’t have parents, so I wouldn’t know. “I mean… fuck… do you want to come to dinner or not?”
“No.”
There. Easy.
But considering the way Lucky’s chestnut eyes expand, I don’t think he’s used to hearing the word.
His spine goes ramrod straight, crossing his arms over his chest to look, what? Intimidating? Please. I was raised by nuns. They wrote the rule book in intimidation.
“So what you’re saying is… no? You don’t want to come to my house for dinner?”
“That’s what I said,” I reply, absentmindedly twirling my pencil as I attempt to read my own messy handwriting.
“Whatever. I didn’t want you to come anyway,” he quips coldly.
“Then we’re both happy.”
“Thrilled.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“Good.”
“Great. You can go now.” I wave him off flippantly, my gaze fixed on my work.
“I was just leaving.”
“And yet… you’re still here.”
“God, you’re insufferable.”
“And you’re repetitive.”
“How the hell am I repetitive?” he barks, offended, forcing me to raise my head to face him.
“Because you literally said the same thing to Sister Margaretta yesterday in her office.”
“That’s because it’s the adjective that describes you best,” he proclaims with a cocky smirk.
“How do you know? You don’t know anything about me.”
“And I don’t want to.”
“Good. Because I don’t want to know you either.”
“Great.”
“Perfect.”
“That’s all I needed to hear.”
“And yet, you’re still fucking here.” I point the end of my pencil in his direction.
“That’s because you’re pushing my buttons again.”
“Trust me, if the words that come out of my mouth offend you this much, just imagine the ones I’m holding back.” I grin.
“Funny. Everyone’s a fucking comedian today.”
“I don’t know about everyone else, but I’m a riot.”
“No, you’re a pain in my ass,” he fumes.
“How can I be a pain if we’ve never spoken before now?” I counter, exasperated.
“I don’t know! You just are!” He throws his hands in the air.
“God, what a frail ego you must have to be this offended by little ol’ me.”
“You’re not old, and you sure as fuck aren’t little.”
I freeze.
This… this… asshole!
“Is that a dig at my weight again?” My voice comes out sharp like a dagger, ready to slice the prick open.
Lucky groans. “What the fuck are you talking about? I meant you’re a teenager, just like me. Why the hell are you so obsessed with weight?”
“I’m not obsessed with weight!” I snap, my tone a little too defensive.
His eyes narrow. “You are. You’ve mentioned it twice already.”
“That’s because you made a joke about it. Twice.”
“I did not.”
“Yeah, you did.”
He stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Are you on your period or something?”
That’s it.
He’s gone ahead and poked the bear now.
“Do you want me to break your nose this time?”
“Come on. I have sisters. They only get this crazy when it’s their time of the month.”
“As opposed to you, who’s irritating twenty-four-seven?”
“I’m not irritating. I’m a fucking genius,” he answers smugly.
“Yeah, sure you are, Einstein.”
“I am.”
“And I agreed with you.”
“No, you were being condescending.”
“Big word for someone who probably doesn’t even own a thesaurus.”
“Argh! God, you’re insuf… annoying,” he corrects himself at the last second.
“And yet you’re still here!”
“I’M LEAVING.”
“Good.”
“Great.”
“Bye-bye, now.”
“Bye.”
This time, he actually leaves, hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders tense, looking like he’s itching to punch something.
I know the feeling.
My heart is racing as I watch him go, my grip so tight on my pencil that it snaps in half.
What the hell was that?
Why do I allow Lucky Romano to get under my skin like this?
Everything about him rubs me the wrong way.
And apparently, I can’t shut up about it.
I’m still tense as hell, so I push back the chair and shove my things into my backpack. But as I do, I realize that my spat with Lucky caught the attention of everyone in the library.
Whispers ripple through the room like a slow-building wave, hushed voices trading speculations just loud enough for me to catch fragments of my own name being uttered. A few students exchange smirks, leaning close to their friends, hands covering their mouths as they murmur in each other’s ears. Others don’t bother hiding their amusement, their snickers breaking the imposed silence, judging gazes darting to me as if we had just put on a show for their entertainment and critique.
My skin prickles with the weight of their stares. The air suddenly becomes too thick and suffocating.
I need to get out of here.
I don’t want to spend another minute in this godforsaken library now that everyone has witnessed yet another showdown between me and Lucky, which will only serve as a catalyst for further gossip about me.
I grab my bag and race out the door, bumping into two girls along the way, causing them to drop their books to the floor.
“Watch it!”
“Look where you’re going, fat ass!”
Instead of an apology, I throw the girls an ‘I’ll fuck you up’ glare before making my not-so-quick getaway.
Lucky said that I’m obsessed with my weight. But I’m not.
I don’t care that I’m a little overweight. As long as I’m healthy, who gives a shit that I have more curves than the average girl?
I am not obsessed.
But when most of the insults I hear at this school revolve around my size, yeah, maybe I get a little prickly.
It’s not that I care what people think.
It’s just fucking annoying that I even have to deal with such prejudiced individuals.
I like how I look.
Sure, I carry most of my weight in my breasts, hips, and thighs, and I highly doubt the Catholic Church will cover a breast reduction when I take my vows. But still, doesn’t the world we live in have bigger problems than my curves?
I know I have bigger problems. Like how the hell am I supposed to pass calculus and graduate when my tutor and I hate each other?
Lucky says I push his buttons…
Well, it’s clear he’s an expert at pushing mine.
‘What if she kills me?’ he said yesterday when Mother Superior ordered him to tutor me.
I took it as another one of his black-humored jokes, but now I’m not so sure.
Because if this is how our first tutoring session went down, then who’s to say that he won’t say something that will irritate me to the point of making me shove a pencil in his eye just to shut him up?
I look up high at the heavens and send a prayer to the big guy upstairs.
Please, God, don’t make me kill Lucky.
It would really mess up my chances of graduating if I did.