Chapter 4 #2
“Wow,” I shake my head. “Hungover, overslept, and didn’t even take an Uber to get here quickly. Not a good look, Za.”
“I know, I fucked up.”
“Swearing in the house of the Lord, too?”
“Wow,” one of her eyebrows rises over the frames. “You sound like your mother.”
I softly gasp. “Take it back.”
With a playful shove, she chuckles. “How mad do you think she’s gonna be?”
“She’s already pretty ticked off.”
“Of course,” she sighs. “I can’t do anything right, so what’s the point?”
I face forward, thinking of the pastor’s words. “That’s the million-dollar question.”
She scoffs. “Oh please, Jabari. My ‘can’t do anything right,’ and yours are two different things, bruv. Your bare minimum outshines my best efforts by miles.”
I tilt my head to the side before I reply. “What makes you say that?”
I hear Frankie snort next to me, and Za shakes her head in understanding. I’m getting sick of these little inside jokes and conversations.
“Just forget it,” she sighs. “I’m over this conversation already, my head hurts.”
“Come on,” I push louder. “Just spit it out, yeah?”
“Ah, ah!” An auntie in the front pew turns to us. “Why are you talking when the pastor is talking? Disrespectful child.”
“Oi,” Frankie says, sitting straight and lifting her shades to reveal those haunting eyes. “No one’s talking to you, yeah? So turn around and fuck off from other people’s conversations.”
Both my and the poor woman’s jaws drop at her words, but Frankie just stares her down until she turns around.
“That was a bit rude. Even for me,” I reprimand her. “A little overboard, don’t you think?”
These eyes are on me now, and I immediately straighten up as she gives me a look over. My neck heats when her eyes meet. She was so… pretty? It's almost hard to believe. My mind scans memories to recall what she looked like when we were younger, but I come up blank.
Is it possible she was always pretty, and I was too grossed out by her to notice?
Nahhh.
Lowering her glasses to her eyes and facing forward before sinking into the pew again, she finally says, “Believe me, she had it coming.”
And that was that.
She shut me out of her realm of interest again.
I look to Zaza for clarity, and all she offers is a shrug.
“Frankie beefs with most aunties in here,” she says, as if it’s an obvious observation.
Maybe I missed the social cues. Other people’s problems tend to bore me, but not Frankie’s, though. For some reason, I’m automatically on her side, and now I have a problem with the aunties here too, especially Sister Janet.
“Church folks don’t like the odd,” Za mumbles under her breath. “If I were you, I’d run for the hills. Being associated with us is a social death wish in this place.”
Frankie blows out deeply, and it turns a few displeased heads in our direction.
Oh.
I get it now.
The two of them are the cautionary tale. Every church has them—the people elders warn little kids not to turn out like.
The ‘weird ones.’
The delinquents.
With Za’s colorful, outlandish, theater outfits and Frankie’s dark aesthetic, of course, the church people are wary.
“I see.” I turn to Za. “If it’s that terrible, why even come here?”
“Exactly,” Frankie mutters under her breath, again yawning right after, as if the conversation is boring her.
That’s when I notice how close our thighs are and how her perfume clings to the air between us.
It’s distracting yet intoxicating. But a selfish part of me even hopes some of that scent seeps into my clothes and stays with me after she’s gone.
It’s so funny, I hate when people touch me, but Frankie barely brushes me, and I’m gassed.
“Because,” Zaza cuts in, pulling my attention back to her. “Mum insists we come.”
That makes me pause. “I see.”
A groan slips from Frankie, letting me know she’s over this topic. Something tells me this isn’t something to unpack in church.
So I pivot.
“The pastor told me you asked him to pray for me.”
“Yeah. And?” she says flatly.
“What made you do that?”
“’Cause…” she drags. “You need prayers, innit.”
I suck my teeth. “I’m being serious, Za.”
“So am I.” She just shrugs, not offering anything more.
I chuckle to myself. She’s so easy to read, and it makes me smile.
“Well,” I sigh. “In any case, thank you. I appreciate it. Really.”
She shrugged again. “Whatever.”
I swear I see her cheeks heat, but then again, I may be wrong. Because I could also swear I see Frankie’s soft grin next to me.
After an exhaustively long church service, we make our way outside.
Mum marches over to us as soon as she steps out. Her eyes flick between Zaza and Frankie, her lips already pressing tight.
“You two,” she places a hand on her hip. “Late again. And clearly still drunk—” Well, hungover. “—Why can’t you ever take the things of God seriously?”
Frankie rolls her eyes behind her frames, and Zaza opens her mouth, ready with a retort, but I cut in before it gets messy.
“They weren’t late,” I say quickly. “They were here on time. We just didn’t see them ’cause they were in the back.”
Covering your little sister’s mistake is a part of being a big brother, right?
Mum narrows her eyes, suspicious, but I don’t flinch. It’s a challenge I’m willing to take. If she wants to argue, she’ll have to do it in front of the church members, and she won’t risk that.
“Right?” I push the girls to back me up.
“Right,” they both chorus together immediately.
Mum looks between the three of us before she closes her eyes.
“Fine,” she sighs, smoothing invisible wrinkles from her dress. “But next week, I expect better.”
Zaza shoots me a look of relief and a little curiosity.
“Chinaza,” Mum says like a warning. “Sister Janet wants to greet you.”
We all groan collectively.
Fucking Sister Janet.
“Mummy…” Za begs. “Not today.”
Mum grabs her forearm. “Yes, today. And if you act uninterested, there will be hell to pay.”
“There’s always hell to pay,” I muttered, which earned a little giggle from Frankie.
With a cold glare, Mum pulls Zaza away, leaving me stranded with her best friend.
Her very attractive best friend.
Her very attractive best friend, who smells disgustingly good and looks a million times better.
I wonder if she’s still upset about yesterday.
“Francine,” I greet, all polite and prim.
“Fucker,” she returns sweetly.
Ah. Still upset.
Love that for us.
“All this swearin’ in the house of the Lord,” I say, hands clasped dramatically. “So uncouth. Jesus is not pleased, bruv.”
“I don’t know another way to greet you,” she shrugs. “I’m sure the Lord’ll understand as He sees my struggle, Amen?”
She raises her hands as if to give him thanks, and I fight a laugh.
This girl is a character.
“So the act continues, then?”
She blinks. “Act?”
“You pretending you don’t remember me.”
She groans loud enough to turn a few heads. “Fuckin’ hell blud. You act like me not knowing you is gonna kill you.”
“Again with the swearing ” I check to see if anyone’s heard. “It won’t, but your attitude is actually getting to me.”
“Oh please.” She rolls her eyes so hard they turn white. “You disrespected me and my career yesterday. How else am I supposed to address you? I thought fucker was polite enough.”
“I disrespected you?” I gasp—actually gasp. “You called me a dancer. A dancer, Frankie. And you looked at me like I’m nothing.”
She shrugs. “Are you nothing?”
“No!”
“Then get over it!”
More heads turn, this time Mum and Za join the onlookers. A tight-lipped ‘Stop’ from Mum makes me step closer to avoid any more outbursts.
“I might,” I mutter as I close our gap, “if you say you remember me.”
She stares at me like she’s diagnosing a mental illness. “Now you’re Taylor Swift?”
“My God,” I rub my forehead before I embarrass myself.
“What is this, a breakup album?”
“This conversation is going nowhere, so I’m gonna stop before I get heated.”
She tilts her head, lips twitching like she’s trying not to laugh. Then—by miracle of miracles—her shoulders drop, and she softens.
“Thanks for covering for us, though,” she says. “Zaza hates arguing with your mum. Throws her whole spirit off.”
I relax a bit. “Of course. It’s no problem. I know how she can be.”
She nods, fiddling with the frill on her dress while I look out into the crowd, pretending to be casual. Inside, I’m panicking.
I’ve spoken to girls my whole life, easy. Smooth. No problem.
But Frankie’s different. She intimidates me in a way I can’t comprehend. For one, she’s not friendly, or particularly pleasant to be around.
I actually am envious of her ability to say things outright without worrying about the optics.
Another thing that intimidates me is that body of hers she kept secret in those baggy clothes yesterday.
Shockingly, she’s got curves everywhere, and it is very distracting. Today, her hips fill out her dress, and her thighs are slightly exposed as she walks. Her arms are distracting too, tatted up, and exposed to somehow make you notice her more.
And that pretty fucking face.
Makeup dark, lips darker. The dark look suits her so perfectly and makes her stand out in this bland crowd. She has every auntie whispering “God forbid” under their breath as they walk by, and she doesn’t care.
She doesn’t try to hide it either. Doesn’t slouch, doesn’t fold herself up like most bigger girls do. She takes up space, and it suits her.
When did she get so fucking cool?
All I want to do is ask her a million questions, but I’m stalling like a motherfucker.
What does she even like? What does she do for fun? Why does my stomach act like it took up acrobatics when I thought of her?
“So, um,” I try again, desperate. “What’s the plan for the rest of the day?”
I made the mistake of looking over at her, only to find these green eyes already studying me from behind the thick frames that are low on her face. Her head tilts back just to meet my eyes, and it makes me feel bigger than I already am.
“Your mum usually does dinner after service, so… probably that. Depending on how Zaza feels.”
My stomach does a somersault.
She might come over?
“Really?” It comes out way too eager, so I clear my throat and force a shrug. “That’s calm, I guess.”
“Right…” she says, dragging the word out. Then her phone buzzes. She checks it, her face flickering with something I can’t catch before she straightens.
She’s so good at that.
“Well, I’m off. Tell Za I’ll message her.”
“Where you headed?” I press without thinking.
She arches an eyebrow. “Why? So you can follow me?”
My neck heats. “What? No, I just—”
“You sure?”
Fuck me.
“Francine. I only asked because you can ride with us—”
“Oh, relax,” she grins. “I’m just teasing. I’m going to my Mum’s for a bit. I’ll just come around later.”
She swats my arm playfully before walking away, making me feel like an idiot for not seeing through her little act.
“Oh! And by the way, your collar is wrinkled as shit. Just so you know.”
My lips press into a thin line. “I know.”
Her laugh echoes through the parking lot as she makes her way to the bus stop while I stare at her arse. She’s clearly amused by the mental gymnastics she’s been subjecting me to since our reunion.
I, however, am fed up with that green-eyed woman taking the absolute piss.