Frannie and Tru (5 page)

“Cool?” Sparrow asked him, indicating Tru and me.

He shrugged and nodded, but I could tell by the way he was shifting around that it wasn't cool at all. I knew, too, that he couldn't say no to this girl.

“We'll stand in the back,” she promised, gliding past him. “No booze.”

“Actually, I would like booze,” Tru said, but she yanked on his arm, whispering to sad-mustache man that her friend was only joking.

I ducked my head as I walked by, letting my hair shield my face.

And that was it. Like a miracle, we were inside.

For some reason I'd expected punk music, maybe because of
the purple hair, but this was nothing like that. This was dreamy water music, the girl's voice the voice of a fairy, light and tender over the waving, bubbling sound of the keyboard. Still, though, it was loud, loud, loud. Fifty people or so were gathered around the stage, swaying and clinging to cocktails and wineglasses and pints of beer, plus some college-age-looking kids with sodas and these cones full of fries. Sparrow herded us to the back where we leaned against the wall, and I knew it would be almost impossible to talk, which was perfect, because I had nothing interesting or smart or relevant to say. I wanted only to stand against this wall with Truman and Sparrow, drowning in the sound of the music.

I got my wish. Soon after we settled in, Tru rolled his eyes toward the stage and I knew that he hated the band. He leaned over toward Sparrow, speaking directly into her ear, which was the only way they could possibly have a conversation. She was doing lots of head shaking and eye widening and kept mouthing,
Oh my god
. More than once she looked at him with disapproval.

I tried not to watch too closely, not wanting to seem like a spy. A new fantasy formed in my mind. Sparrow would drop me off on my first day of school and everyone would see me get out of her car. She would yell,
Bye, Frannie, you be good now
, and we would laugh and wink at each other and everyone would love me because everyone would love her because how could you not?

With this beautiful, completely illogical picture in my head, I watched the purple-haired singer. Her voice swallowed me whole, but I couldn't hear the actual words—it was all just a sweet, pretty mumble run together with the underwater melody.
At the end of the song she began to chant, and finally I caught something she was saying.

“I am here now, waiting.”

She sang that line again and again.

“Hey there, Ginger.”

I looked up and felt sick, physically sick. The man was gross, and he was ancient. Ten years older than me at least. The beginnings of a beer belly pushed against his thin T-shirt, and his dirty hair was shoved into a ponytail. An unidentifiable tattoo crept from his collar up his neck.

In a single instant I was filled with regret, deep and paralyzing. I shouldn't be here. I'd done something very bad by coming to this place, and now I was paying for it.

It was intermission and the room was quieter, music from the radio playing faintly out of a distant speaker. Tru had wandered off. Sparrow was talking to her coworker, some guy who was messing with the sound equipment. I was parked against the back wall, alone.

The man tried again.

“You look awfully young to be in here, but I won't tell anybody.”

I refused to look at him. I was sure if I said nothing, he would creep away, go back to whatever hole he'd crawled out of.

“I love redheads, you know. Always have.”

He leaned against the wall next to me
and lifted a strand of my hair
. My face and palms got hot and sweaty. I thought the word
help
, over and over again, but couldn't say it. I couldn't say a
thing, my voice paralyzed. The strand of hair was still in his grip, and he started to wind it around his finger, tighter and tighter.

“You live around here, right? I feel like I've seen you. Walking around. Maybe by the park?”

And then Tru was there, suddenly, fiercely. He put his hand against the wall, so that his arm was between me and the man, who dropped my hair. A beer sloshed in Tru's other hand, and anger radiated from his whole body. I sensed it from the strain in his neck, the thrust of his chin.

“Seriously?” he asked, and I flinched at how loud his voice was. “Thanks but no thanks, pervert.”

The guy put his hands in the air like Tru had waved a gun, then slowly backed away. Tru held his position, and I held mine, tucked behind him, Tru's eyes trailing the man as he snaked away through the crowd. He seemed ready to yell something after him, but then Sparrow was there, looking angry and grabbing us each by a wrist. She pulled us toward the back door.

“That's it for tonight. No scenes allowed. I do work here, you know.”

As we hurried toward the exit, she let go of us and plucked the beer from Tru's hand. None of us had the little plastic bracelets for people over twenty-one, of course, so where and how he'd gotten the drink I had no idea, but now Sparrow left it on the bar as we hustled out the back entrance and into the alley.

The door shut with a slam, and the three of us were left in the stagnant summer air, the streetlamp giving off a dim light. We stood in a circle and looked at one another.

“I'm sorry,” Tru said to Sparrow. “Seriously, I am. But some old guy was hitting on Frannie. He was touching her fucking hair.”

“Oh god,” Sparrow said. “I didn't see! Are you okay?”

I wasn't sure how to answer, because I wasn't sure if I was okay. I didn't want to overreact, but my hands were a little shaky. Everything had happened so fast. I hadn't had time to think.

I almost told them all of it, but then I couldn't imagine standing there and repeating the words he'd said. About how I looked young, how he liked redheads. There was a lump in my throat, but I forced it down.

“It's fine,” I finally said, and my voice came out steady. I even managed a casual shrug.

“Are you sure?” Sparrow asked.

I nodded, and she patted me on the shoulder, mumbled something about how men were repulsive.

“Hey, hey,” Tru said with a grin. “Not all men. But I am sorry, Frannie. I shouldn't have left you alone.”

He turned ever so slightly away from us, and I heard a click and an inhale. The lighter was gone before I even saw it.

Sparrow smiled and motioned for us to walk down the dark alley. I stayed two steps behind, watching the two of them pass the joint back and forth as Sparrow told Tru and me about her summer plans.

She was staying with her aunt Regina and her cousin Devon, working at Siren for spending money and taking graphic design
courses at MICA, prepping for when she'd start her undergrad at Carnegie Mellon in the fall. She said that Baltimore was smaller than she'd expected and so
pedestrian
, and I knew she was using that word in a way that I didn't understand.

Sparrow sucked deeply on the joint and told Tru that despite it all she didn't miss home, not one little bit. She was ready for something new.

Tru turned, walking backward to look at me.

“Sparrow's mother is an ex–ballet dancer and her dad is a big shot at a credit card company,” he said. “That's why she's the perfect woman. Beautiful and rich.”

She shoved him again and he spun back around, kept sauntering along. She dropped back to walk beside me.

“Tru said you're at a magnet school—is it the one for the arts? Devon's at the one for the arts.”

I told her no, I was at the math and science one. She just smiled, so I stuttered out a little more. “I'm . . . I don't know, into science I guess. I like science.”

Tru called to us over his shoulder. “Way to make her feel like a dork.”

Sparrow ignored him and told me that her aunt was a scientist of sorts, and that we should meet. Then she went on and on about Devon and how he played the violin all day and all night. She said I should meet him and his friends, too—she was pretty sure one of them went to my new school.

Sparrow handed the joint back to Tru, and asked for a piggyback
ride. She was taller than him by about an inch, and the two of them arranged their bodies awkwardly, almost falling, laughing, then righting themselves at the last moment. He carried her for a couple of blocks, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck. I trailed behind them quietly, wishing that someday I might have that kind of easy affection.

We dropped Sparrow at her car, which was sporty and red. Tru made promises to see her soon, and we headed for home.

I convinced Tru that we should stray at least to the outer edge of the lacrosse field, as if giving it a passing glance would somehow lend truth to our lie. We moved toward the lights and came just close enough to see the impression of the girls on the field. From where we stood, they were blurs of colors, nothing more than birds swooping and tittering in the distance. I said that was good enough and we turned around.

We walked quietly for a while side by side. As we came to the edge of the park by my house, Tru stopped and turned to me.

“I was trying to be good, Frannie. I was trying really hard. But if you want . . .”

He was extending the end of the joint in my direction.

I had tried a cigarette before. Three times. No—maybe four? But as I took this from him I felt right away that it was different. The paper was delicate. I handled it like a buttercup, the kind we used to hold under our chins to look for the yellow shadow. I did a quick scan and we were alone, still a couple of minutes' walk from home. I stared at the nub and couldn't quite bring it to
my lips—it didn't seem right. Not yet, at least. I'd been trying so hard to be cool, but there in the dark, I said the only thing I could think of. The truth.

“I haven't even had a drink,” I said. “It seems wrong to do this first. Like I should do things in order?”

He laughed, and I tried to laugh, too.

“Must be the scientist in you,” Tru said, and I was more embarrassed than ever, because I wasn't a scientist. I just liked nature. I knew the names of trees and plants, and I'd aced freshman biology, winning a prize for my poster about photosynthesis. I guess it looked nice—a maze of green and brown, showing all the structures and systems, the parts that had to teem and whirl just to keep things alive. But it was a dumb science fair project that somehow became this thing that defined me, made me into someone in people's minds. A science girl. I tried to find a way to say all that to Tru, but ended up keeping my mouth shut.

I waited for him to keep walking, but he was staring at the moon. I squinted into the darkness of the park and thought of my trip to the safe, imagining that one night we might drink the vodka with Sparrow and her cousin and his friends. I could tell Tru about it now, but I was worried it might seem weird and silly that I'd buried it in the woods. Instead, I kept quiet, thinking again that I would save it for something special, some big moment when I could produce it like magic. . . .

“Frannie?” He said my name cautiously. “Do you know why I'm here?”

Cicadas chirped. A distant roar came from the lacrosse field.
I tried to gather myself, searching for the little speeches I'd been writing in my head all day, but I couldn't remember the words that had seemed so right at the time. I wished I could just tell him in some simple, graceful way that I didn't care, of course I didn't care. I didn't think it was wrong or weird and I wanted to him to know that, but I didn't know how to say it.
I managed to mumble something about having overheard my parents in the yard.

“I'm not supposed to know, I guess, but I do. I know that you're . . . um . . .”

The rest got caught in my throat.

“You know that I'm . . . ?” Tru let the sentence trail off, just as I had. When I still said nothing, he saved me by filling in the blank.

“You know that I like boys?”

At first I opened and closed my mouth like a fish. Finally, I found some words.

“And I heard them say that your parents sent you here, because they needed some time—because they found out? And I think that it's awful. Your mom and dad, I mean. I just think it's awful. They shouldn't care. No one should care.”

I'd said it all with my head down, but now I looked up and saw him hesitate. There was a flash of darkness that came over his face, quickly replaced by a smirk.

“So you're one of the more progressive Catholic schoolgirls, huh?”

I was afraid for a moment that I'd lost him for good, that I'd become a kid to him, like I'd been at the train station when he
first saw me. But then his face resettled into a friendly look. I was still holding the end of the joint, and he motioned to me that I should drop it in the grass. I did, and he stepped on it, put an arm around me.

“Sorry, Frannie. Only kidding. I'm glad you said that. I really am. Now let's go home.”

There was a loud snap, and I flinched awake.

Mom had opened the blinds and was hovering over my bed. As I blinked her into focus, the entirety of last night returned to me in a flash.

She's here because of what you did. She knows everything.

Panic rang through me like an alarm. I squirmed and kicked the sheets, trying to sit up. Already, half-formed lies were perched and waiting on my lips. My eyes met hers.

“We're going to the beach,” she said. “Be ready in twenty.”

Moments later she was down the hall, fist pounding against Jimmy and Kieran's door as she told them what she'd just told me. I looked at the clock—nine thirty a.m.

Voices rose from the dining room below. Tru was talking to my father, and the two of them were laughing. I heard Dad ask Tru
if he wanted the sports section. Creeping out of bed and toward my bedroom door, I hoped I might catch more, but then Mom was yelling from the hallway, telling me to move, move, move. I scrambled, yanking at drawers and digging out my swim clothes and flip-flops. I started to grab my chemistry workbook, which had arrived in the mail yesterday and was supposed to prepare me for next year. But then I thought about how ridiculous that was—what kind of loser brings homework to the beach? I shoved it under the bed and went in search of my sunglasses. Nothing was where I remembered, and I was completely distracted. Scenes from yesterday were looping through my head. The train station. The sculpture. Sparrow. Siren. Coming back home.

It was almost midnight when we'd climbed the porch steps. As I'd fumbled for my key, Tru had told me to wait a second. He'd coached me in a soothing whisper.

“If they have questions about tonight, just roll your eyes and act like whatever they asked is stupid and you don't feel like answering. That's what grown-ups expect from teenagers anyway. And the less you say, the less likely you'll be caught in a lie.”

I'd gone inside and done exactly that. We'd hardly had to say a word to anyone.

Watching Tru get into our rusty old minivan was strange. He was cheerful this morning, popping into one of the middle seats and buckling up with a little too much enthusiasm. He looked like a kid at the fair, amused by a ride he'd grown too big for.

Kieran grabbed the seat next to him, so Jimmy and I took the
back. As the van grumbled to life, Dad told Truman he was in charge of the music. The van was beyond ancient, no hookup for an iPod or phone or whatever, so he gave Tru the only three choices he ever gave anyone, the only CDs he kept in the car: U2, The Rolling Stones, or Bruce Springsteen.

Tru surprised me by picking Bruce.

“Um, have we explained to Tru where we're going?” Jimmy asked, leaning forward to yell over the first strains of “Born in the U.S.A.” “Because if he's expecting, you know, an actual
beach
, he's going to be pretty pissed.”

Kieran snorted. “C'mon, man. A crappy swimming hole in a crappy park is almost like the real beach!”

Jimmy leaned forward farther, straining his seat belt, putting a hand on Tru's shoulder. “Don't worry. The people are cool. It's all, like, rednecks swimming in jean shorts and insane packs of wild children from the nature camp.”

Dad told them to shut up. Mom yelled at them for exaggerating. Angry shouts filled the car until Tru broke in.

“Look, I'm just happy that I'm not in the car with my mother and father, sitting in hours of stop-and-go traffic so we can go to
the Hamptons
along with half the social-climbing assholes in New York City.”

Next to me, Jimmy tried to stifle a laugh and practically choked. Mom turned around and glared at him, which made him explode, setting off Kieran, who set off me. Tru was wearing his best attempt at a sheepish grin, but I was pretty sure he was pleased with himself.

“Uncle Pat, Aunt Barb, I'm sorry. Really I am,” he said, hands clasped in a kind of mock prayer. “But you have to believe me. There's no other way to describe the place. It's just a total asshole convention.”

Mom cried out Truman's name in admonishment, but she didn't really sound that mad, and besides, Dad was giggling now—and Tru was still going.

“I don't know what's worse, the ten-year-old girls texting in their bikinis or the moms all Botoxed to hell. No, wait, scratch that. The dads are the worst by far,” Tru said, and now he adjusted his voice, taking it down a notch, talking in a baritone that was somehow how both peevish and gruff. “Coming here is a privilege, boy! This is what success looks like. These are some of the most expensive residential properties in the nation.”

Jimmy and Kieran kept snickering, but I sensed an undercurrent of nervousness from Mom and Dad. The car grew quiet after that. For most of the remaining ride, we disappeared into our own worlds, watching the landscape rush by, listening to Bruce's rasp.

Huddled in the backseat, I nursed a suspicion. As the houses and strip malls and billboards passed, I became more and more sure of it, for Tru's little bit of showmanship had shaken loose some old, vague memories I had of his family. What he'd just done was not the voice of some random social-climbing jerk. It was a dead-on imitation of his father.

I said little to anyone the whole time we were in the van. Tru said nothing to me.

The parking lot was almost empty. It was supposed to rain today, though right now the sun was blazing. The six of us gathered our things and headed down to the water.

We were the only family I knew who called this place the beach. I liked it here, always had, even if it maybe wasn't much. The water stretched about as far as a neighborhood pool and was edged by the smallest ring of fine white sand. Beyond that was a collection of splintery picnic benches and crusted-over grills. A wooden signpost explained how the swimming hole was once a quarry. They had mined iron ore here for decades, and when the work was done, the hole filled naturally with spring water. The deepest points went fifty feet down.

A few makeshift paper signs warned that the lifeguards weren't on duty for another week. Looking around I saw a mom with her toddler, an elderly couple hiding under an umbrella, a few scattered families like ours. We settled on a picnic bench that was tattooed with pen marks and pockmarked with old gum. Mom and Dad said they were going on a hike, and headed immediately toward one of the paths off in the trees. The four of us watched their retreat.

“So, wait,” Jimmy asked as soon as they were out of earshot. “We came all the way here, and they're not even going to swim in the shitty hole?”

Tru took off for the little pavilion that had the bathrooms and soda machines. The twins stretched out on the benches and put on their sunglasses, looking ready to fall asleep.

With no one paying attention, I stripped down to my suit and
went straight for the quarry. I flew across the grass and through the sand, but came up short as my toes touched water. From there I walked in gently, feet clinging to the gritty land as it sloped away. I hung on until the last moment, standing on the very tips of my toes, chin just above the water line. Then I dove.

The water was fresh, clean, ice-cold. The butterfly was my best stroke, and that's what I practiced, keeping close to the surface and moving in circles. Sucking in my breath, I forced my body to sink down under, but didn't open my eyes. I never opened my eyes here because there were fish and turtles, sometimes snakes. I didn't like to think about them. Still, I used to like hiding down there in the darkness. I liked how alone it made me feel, even if it was a little scary.

Today, though, I couldn't find the magic in it. I only felt chilled, annoyed by this odd little place, which looked dumpier today than ever before. Maybe Jimmy and Kieran were right about it. And even if Tru acted happy to be here, I was sure he probably agreed.

Breaking the surface, I began to tread and turned back to look for everyone.

Jimmy and Kieran hadn't moved. Mom and Dad were nowhere to be seen. And Tru . . . Tru was still at the pavilion. He was leaning against the soda machine, talking to a couple of girls. They looked about my age, maybe older, and were barefoot, wearing loose little dresses over their bikinis. Both of them seemed to be posing, and one kept playing with her hair. Jealousy took over before I could stop it, even though I knew that was ridiculous—if
anything I should be laughing at them, their clueless flirting. I told myself not to be stupid, but I couldn't stop thinking about last night at Siren, hoping that more nights like that were waiting.

I hadn't thought of the possibility that someone else might come along, take my place.

Now Tru was gesturing toward the water, and the three of them turned in my direction. I leaned back, gently floating. I assumed this position would show just how little I cared.

I stayed in until I was cold and wrinkly. When I finally emerged, I came back to our picnic bench to find it empty. Mom and Dad were still hiking. Jimmy and Kieran had been pulled into a volleyball game on the little sand court off by the trees. Tru was still talking to the girls—although now they were leaving the pavilion. For a minute I thought he was bringing them over, but then I realized the girls were just headed for the parking lot.

The three of them looked over at me again as they talked. Annoyed and embarrassed, I pretended not to notice, turning my back to them as I dug through my backpack for a T-shirt.

By the time Tru arrived, I'd managed to hide behind a magazine. He held out a Coke. Gave it a little shake.

“Bought an extra. If you want.”

I took the can from him and it froze my fingers. Tru sat down on the bench and leaned back against the table, so I was left staring at the back of his head.

“Making new friends?” I asked him.

“Oh yes. Have to introduce myself to the Baltimore social scene.”

I almost let it go at that, but I couldn't.

“What were they saying? When you guys were looking over here?”

“They liked your bathing suit. One of them was going to ask where you got it, but they were in a rush to get somewhere. Don't worry, she gave me her number, so I can be sure to text her this vital piece of information.”

“Oh,” I said. “Well, actually I don't even know. My mom bought it.”

I immediately regretted how childish that sounded. At the same time, I was trying to make sense of why Tru would have this girl's number. Was he messing with her? Did she offer it and he took it to be polite? Or was he genuinely looking for some company to fill the coming weeks? That is, company that was more interesting than me.

“Well, your mom knows clothes,” he said, still staring off into the trees. “At least, that's what my mom always says. That Barbie knows clothes.”

That was true. My mother was heavy like half the moms I knew, but she hid it better. Around the house she was a mess, but whenever she went out she looked put-together. She wore skirts and sweaters to work when she could have worn jeans. She had junk jewelry that looked like the real thing.

“Your mom used to make prom dresses for both of them, did you know that?” he asked, still not turning back to look at me.

“No,” I said, shivering. “She doesn't talk about your mom much.”

I sat down and cracked the Coke, hoping that he'd say more, maybe offer some insight, some information, at least a reaction that I could read. But his head didn't move. The breeze ruffled his hair.

I watched Tru watching the distance and tried to think of the last time I'd seen Aunt Deborah. Nothing came to me. What I remembered were her birthday cards. Pink or lavender with flowers or rainbows. She wrote nice notes in careful script, things like
I saw your school photo and you look beautiful. I know you'll have an amazing year
. They always had a crisp fifty-dollar bill inside, which seemed amazing and extravagant. I hated breaking them and would carry them around in my wallet or leave them in my nightstand drawer for weeks.

“I know I haven't seen them in forever,” I said. “But your mom always seemed kinda nice.”

“Kinda nice?” he said, turning finally to look at me. “That's high praise.”

“I just . . . I don't know. Maybe she'll realize she's wrong and apologize. Before you go back home? Are you going to talk to them at all?”

He turned his back on me again. “Yes, I'm going to talk to them. I think we'll avoid deep philosophical debates about the relative wrongness of things that I've done, but we'll need to discuss other items of note. You know, like how much I can put on their credit card while I'm here.”

He turned back to me now, looking serious. “Have you been talking about this with your parents?”

“No!” I said, embarrassed and blushing. “I mean, I don't really talk to them about, you know . . . things like that. I haven't said anything.”

“It's probably better that way.” He relaxed a bit, even started to smile. A smile that made me feel happy and nervous all at once.

“Do you know about Prettyboy?” he asked.

Goose bumps erupted all over my skin. I tried to play it cool.

“Everyone knows about Prettyboy.”

I attempted to sit casually but couldn't find the right way to arrange my body. My elbows and knees bent awkwardly, pointing everywhere.

“You look concerned,” he said.

I wiggled the tab off my can, trying to buy some time.

“Well,” I said finally. “I know what you're thinking.”

He raised his eyebrows and waited.

“You want to go to the jump-off,” I said.

He laughed again. “It sounds like a good time.”

I asked where he'd heard about Prettyboy, and he rolled his eyes.

“My two new lady friends. Did I tell you they were headed to their first day of cheerleading camp? They're captains of their team, even though they're only juniors.” He made his eyes go wide and reached a hand toward me. “Try not to faint from amazement, okay? Though if it's all right with you, I think we'll skip hanging out with them.” Now he went down to a whisper.
“I don't think they're really our type.”