Chapter 13
Chapter
Thirteen
FRANKIE
The final bell rang overhead, but I barely saw the hallway or the students who poured into the hallway rushing to clubs, buses, the parking lot, and friends.
Blinking rapidly, I fought to keep the tears in check.
All I wanted was a place to hide and for this horrible day to just be over.
I didn’t want anyone to see me like this—messy, trembling, undone.
I ducked into the nearest bathroom, slammed the door, and pressed my forehead against the cool wood. Hot tears streaked my cheeks as I tried to swallow back the sobs. Get it together, Frankie. Just… get it together.
A soft knock made me flinch. “Frankie?” The voice was calm, steady. Patient. Familiar.
Straightening, I sniffled and wiped at my face.
The hope whoever it was would go away died swiftly as Rachel pushed the door inward.
She looked great—light, effortless, almost bohemian in a way that made it hard to breathe.
Her khaki capris were relaxed but flattering, and her top had that floaty, textured drape that managed to look both cool and casually sophisticated, perfect for an October afternoon still holding onto summer.
Her hair was swept up in a loose pony tail, a few strands escaping in deliberate chaos, giving her an easy, creative edge that I found myself envying right now, even as I blinked rapidly. I did not want to keep crying in front of her.
Not that she seemed remotely fooled. She closed the door behind her and set her back to it. She didn’t say a word at first.
Head tilted, she gave me a once over without a hint of judgment in her hazel eyes. “You okay?”
The answer was obvious, Rachel missed very little. Yet, she still let me decide how I wanted to handle this latest meltdown. It might be easier to hate her for telling me what she had last spring. Everything that had happened since then…
No sooner had that uncharitable thought tried to dig in that I ripped it out by the roots. Rachel wasn’t responsible for anyone’s choices but her own. She told me the truth. What I did or didn’t do after, well that was on me.
I shook my head, letting a shaky breath escape. “No. I—It’s just… Monday.” My laugh was bitter and short, like the kind you give when the day’s been one long avalanche you couldn’t stop.
Rachel pushed off the door without a word and wrapped her arms around me. Much to my dismay, I found myself dissolving into full blown tears against her shoulder. The soft hand she rubbed against my back helped me to get my breathing under control, bit by bit.
I had no idea how long we stood like that, it could have been a minute or an hour. When I pulled back, she gave me a firm look. “Go wash your face.”
Not bothering to argue, I let my bag slide down my arm and she caught it before I dropped it.
“Go,” she repeated when I would have taken it back.
I made a face at her, and her rather bland yet amused smile told me that it didn’t work in the slightest. I’d just cupped my hands under the water when the door began to creak open.
“Get out,” Rachel snapped at whoever was trying to shoulder their way in.
I couldn’t see past her. The door was only cracked, but that also meant they couldn’t see inside, which was exactly the point.
“The bathroom's occupied,” she added, crisp as a slap.
A muffled voice on the other side tried to argue.
Rachel didn’t even blink. “Did I stutter?”
They tried again, this time it was a little whiny, defensive, and completely unpersuasive.
Rachel sighed, long-suffering and lethal. “Sunshine, take the L and walk away before this gets embarrassing for both of us.”
Silence. Then the unmistakable sound of retreating footsteps as the door shut fully once more. The door stayed shut. Rachel gave a tiny, victorious smirk and leaned back like the battle had been hers all along.
I splashed more water against my face, the tepid tap water helped to cool my flushed cheeks. My throat ached from the suppressed tears and my stomach hurt. I didn’t dare wonder if the day could get any worse, because I personally did not want it to feel like a damn challenge.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Rachel asked as I pulled paper towels out of the dispenser and used them to dry my face. The absorption of these was a joke, but it was better than nothing.
“Not really,” I admitted. “I think…” I blew out a breath, trying to untangle my brain. The weight of it all pressed against my chest, tied my stomach in knots. “Just… not really.”
“Come with me,” Rachel said, voice deceptively soft. “The others are setting up banners. You don’t have to do anything—just exist around people for a bit. Might help.”
Banners?
“Homecoming.” One word. Enough.
The thought of the gym, paint, glitter, chaos, and actual humans made me want to sink into the floor.
“I’ll be with you,” Rachel said, hoisting my backpack like it weighed nothing. She didn’t even have one herself—probably locked it somewhere. She held out her hand, eyebrows lifted. “C’mon. It’ll be fun.”
“You have… an optimistic way of looking at it,” I muttered.
“Optimistic?” She snorted. “Sweetheart, we’re about to turn the gym into a glitter apocalypse.
Giant purple banners? Check. Obnoxious sparkles everywhere?
Double check. Anyone who dares walk past?
They get a free glitter facial. And you—you get to hang out with me while I do it.
Fun, chaos, and style points all in one. You’re welcome.”
I blinked. Blinked again. And then—against every instinct to recoil—I laughed. The knot in my stomach loosened a little. Rachel grinned, clearly thrilled with her own flair. Her presence was steady, unflinching, and truth be told, funny as fuck. Somehow that made the decision easier.
“Okay, yeah. Let’s go.” I clasped her offered hand.
“Excellent,” Rachel declared, opening the door and tugging me out.
Rachel tugged me along, weaving through the hall like she had a personal vendetta against straight lines.
“Okay, first off, banners are sacred territory,” she began, voice rising over the distant clang of gym equipment.
“Do not—do not—under any circumstances touch the glitter. The glitter is basically alive. It has feelings. And also vengeance. It will find you in your sleep if you even look at it funny.”
I blinked.
“Second,” she continued, “anyone who tries to correct my color palette? They die. Figuratively. Mostly. But we are not here for correction. Purple. Glitter. Large banners. Sacrilegious amounts of hot glue. Got it?”
A muffled voice came from a corner.
“Sharon,” Rachel said, without missing a step. “Yes, you with the helmet hair and the ongoing obsession with other people’s lives. No, you do not get to comment on my sparkle placement. That’s a power reserved for trained professionals—and I am a professional, obviously.”
Sharon muttered something that might have been a protest, but Rachel waved her off like she was swatting a fly.
“Keep moving,” Rachel said, tugging me faster. “Yes, Cheryl, I know your hair is amazing today. No, you may not touch the glitter. Yes, Patty, you may look, but only with your eyes, not your hands, unless you want to be banished to the corner with the sad, empty paint buckets.”
By the time we reached the gym, I was slightly winded from trying not to laugh. The doors swung open, and the chaos inside hit me like a wave.
Maria was there, quietly fussing over a banner, her movements precise and calm.
The others—pep squad members I vaguely recognized, a scattering of football players, and faces I hadn’t seen in ages—were already spread across the gym.
A little part of me panicked. I wasn’t supposed to do school spirit.
I was supposed to work, tutor, finish homework.
The thought of standing here, painting banners surrounded by all these people, was borderline terrifying.
Rachel, of course, noticed. She leaned in and whispered, conspiratorially, “Relax. None of the guys are here. Lucky us. We’ll survive this.”
“And if Sharon tries anything,” she added, loud enough for the blonde to hear, “I will personally enforce a glitter exile. Consider that fair warning.”
I blinked at her, half impressed, half exhausted.
“And now,” Rachel announced, throwing her arms wide, “let’s make some banners so obnoxious that anyone walking by the gym will have no choice but to bow down before our glitter supremacy.
Step one: claim your territory. Step two: paint like your life depends on it.
Step three: make me laugh, because honestly, this is going to be the weirdest, sparkliest, most fun chaos this gym has seen since… well, since ever.”
I followed her, trying to keep pace, and somehow—somehow—felt a little of my anxiety ease. Between Rachel’s constant commentary, her absurd confidence, and the glitter-threats aimed at Sharon, it was impossible not to get sucked into her orbit.
Rachel twirled toward a pile of banners like she owned the place, tugging me along. “Okay, rule one: glitter is sacred. I mean literally alive. Do not—under any circumstances—question its placement. The glitter knows. It judges. And yes, Sharon, I see you looking.”
Sharon opened her mouth, maybe to argue, but Rachel’s eyes narrowed in that exact way that made you instantly stop breathing. “Nope. Didn’t think so. Step back before I personally enforce a banishment. Glitter exile is real. Don’t test me.”
I barely had time to breathe before Rachel was off again. I tracked her motion as I shoved my fingers into my hair and pulled it all back to loop through itself into a makeshift ponytail. It would keep it back and out of the way.
When Rachel marched back toward me, she gave me a nod of a once over. “I like it, the secret weapon is really working for you.”
Secret weapon?
Oh, hell. I’d already half forgotten I’d dyed my hair. Before I could do much, she held up the pair of caddies she’d claimed loaded with brushes, paints and glitter galore.