The three dots on the corner start moving and my heart leaps into my throat. Rick is texting me! I hold my breath but a loud pounding on my door scares the life out of me. My phone drops to the floor as I scramble to open it.
Daddy is red-faced. “Downstairs, Francesca your mother needs help to fix the place up.”
“Okay, one minute.” I turn to fetch my phone, desperate to see Rick’s text. “Now.” Daddy growls as he grabs my arm, forcing me along the hallway.
Over the next three hours, I try to sneak back to my room for the phone but every time I get near the staircase, my name is screamed from across the house and I flinch.
I notice I am doing that a lot. When my father comes near me, fear grips my chest and I freeze. My back aches where he hit me and my jeans chafe against the raw skin on the backs of my thighs. I don’t want to know what he might do to me next time.
By mid-afternoon, the house is back in order and I’m finally banished back to my room. Inside, I lean against the door, my heart clattering so loudly it is deafening. The phone is still on the floor and I pray Rick won’t hate me for not replying to his message sooner. Scooping it up, I turn my phone over and open my messages but there is nothing there.
Sinking to the floor I wrap my arms around my knees and bury my face in my arms. I think back to earlier in the week when I was upset because he didn’t text me back. The next day he looked in my eyes and said, “Don’t ever doubt me, Franny. I’ll never let you down.”
But now I know it was a lie.
I should never have listened to a sweet-talking Prank.
Chapter 15
RICK
Open. Close. Open. Close. Open. Close. Open.
I don’t know why I keep doing this—flipping open my phone to check if there are any new texts. I chalk up the fact that I’m repetitively fumbling—opening and closing the lid—due to bad habits. In the time I’d been seeing Franny, I’d been habitually checking my screen—daily. It was the first thing I did in the morning and the last thing I did at night. I never considered quitting smoking, but I recall thinking if there were ever a time to give up on smokes, it would be while I was dating her. Franny consumed me—my every thought always of her to the point I was smoking less and less. Though, I had no idea I was really just replacing one bad habit with another.
Because that’s exactly what she is.
A bad habit.
After everything she said last night, it’s clear she never had any intention of meeting me all the way except on her own terms, which was to flirt with me, get me hooked, and then use me like a ding dong.
Slipping my hand in the front of my pants, I adjust the kink in my junk. Perhaps if I had not been all respectable and shit and actually given her my dick, she’d have thought twice about making me feel like shit last night, because then I’d be the one with the upper hand right now. I’d be her bad habit.
I flip my phone shut. I need to kick her to the curb. I need to stop looking at my phone. But fuck! It’s so hard not to do. I need to replace my bad habit of always thinking about her with a new habit though I have no idea what that should be. Maybe, I need to just quit her cold turkey. I spy my pants in the laundry basket where my cigs are resting in the back pocket. Maybe, I need to light-up more.
I sit up, then fall back on my mattress. My head aches with this hangover and I need a smoke but I don’t want to dig through my pockets. My smokes are not the only thing in my pants. The strip of pictures of the two of us is also in there.
I don’t want to look at those pictures and I certainly don’t want to check my phone again, but...
I realize my fingers are looming against the closed seam where the top piece of my phone folds against the bottom. “Don’t look,” I say to myself, shaking my head. “Don’t look.” My fingers twitch, wanting to flip. I bite my tongue to distract myself and wipe under my nose. Sweat is beading above my upper lip and I take a breath.
This is worse than nicotine addiction!
I’m hooked. I’m so hooked on Franny Hancock and the irony is killing me. I’m the Prank but she’s the one who’s bad for me. I might be bad for her, but she’s just as bad for me and Goddamn! I still want her real bad.
The pang in my chest is evidence I’m praying she still wants me, too. I’m praying that she’ll text me, so I flip open my phone and the pang becomes a boom, like I’ve been knocked in the sternum by some unknown force to land flat, hurled onto my back, except I don’t hit the ground. I just keep falling, being sucked deep into my mattress, which is continuously swallowing me whole.
There’s still nothing.
No text.
Could I have expected anything more?
It’s been maybe twenty seconds since I last checked and there is—again—only an empty screen.
“You’ve been staring at that phone all day. You waitin’ on someone to message you?”
My eyes well up. I don’t know what it is about Teddy lately. His voice has a way of rattling my innards. He makes me second guess myself—my behavior and actions—as if he truly cares.
I hate the guy—sometimes. I often wish he’d get lost. Leave. But deep down, I know I’m glad that he and Zane stick around.
When they first decided to stay, I wanted them to. Ma was always at work. Growing up on the streets, I knew it was dangerous to be alone. It’s the same reason Jimmy the kid is always over. Not just because he’s hungry, but because he’s learned early—we’re safer in numbers.
I was fifteen when they moved in—Zane was sixteen and Teddy, seventeen. They taught me things, so I looked up to them. They also knew the older you were living in this part of the city, the more dangerous it was to fly solo through these streets. They even protected me on occasion. It’s my fault, I guess. Teddy still thinks he has to look out for me and he’s developed this radar for knowing when I’m in trouble or simply upset.
Rubbing my eyes, I suck it up. “Nah, man. I’m fine.”
“Your girl not calling you back?” Teddy grips the overhang above the door and does a pull up.
“She’s not my girl,” I swallow. “Not anymore.”
“Mmm,” Teddy grunts, dropping to to his feet, stirring the whole of the near century-old house.
He’s rubbing his jaw. I can’t tell if it’s because he just trimmed his beard and his jaw itches or if he’s thinking. He comes over to the foot of the bed, planting his ass, dipping the mattress, making the springs creak.
“You guys get into an argument?” he asks. “I couldn’t find you at the party when the cops showed up. I thought for sure I’d wake up this morning to find Fran in your bed.”
Wait. What? I get up on my elbows. “The cops showed up?”
“Yeah.” Teddy quirks a brow in my direction. “You didn’t know?”
“Fuck. No.” I fall flat and rub my head. “I’m sure Franny will blame me for that, too. She was already pissed. Blamed me for ruining her party. Said she had no intention of inviting us Pranks.”
“Ouch,” Teddy purses his lips and scratches his chest. “For the record, her party was doomed to begin with. They were passing pills around before we showed up. It’s why it was so quiet when we got there. They were all trying to keep it a secret from Fran. When Skinny saw the fruit-punch had already been spiked, he figured what-the-heck, and went back for the moonshine.”
“Yeah, well, it doesn’t matter,” I huff. “She hates my guts. I’m sure she hated my guts before the party because I was a Prank and she only just realized how bad she hated Pranks last night.”
Teddy squints. “I didn’t get that impression of her. Truthfully, I think she really liked you. Maybe you should stop staring at your phone and call her. Talk to her.”
I squeeze the phone in my hand and I hear the slightest crack as if it might break so I loosen my grip. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
Why not? Because I don’t just want to make up with her and squeeze and cuddle the shit out of her. But because I also want to make her pay for
making me feel bad. Not to mention, I’m not going to be the Prank that runs crying to a rich bitch. She needs to come to me.
I drop my chin. “Because I just can’t.”
“What’s the matter? You scared?”
What the fuck does he think he’s doing—calling me scared? “No, I’m not scared.”
“Good,” says Teddy, standing up to walk out. “It would be nice to see another girl around more often. I’m sure your mom would love it.”
My ma. That’s all that fucker, Teddy, cares about anymore. My ma.
I sneak another drag of my cig, burning the cherry down to the butt before I toss it, stepping on it, and kicking it into a bed of black mulch where I shuffle my foot to cover the butt.
I hate this school. Even the mulch looks pristine. But underneath, I’ve come to learn that these folks are just as muddy and crummy as the rest of us and I want Franny to hear about it. I want her to know what an asshole her father is, what stupid shit her Prick friends have been up to, and how shitty it is for her to think she’s better than me.
Because she’s not. She’s not better than me, especially when I had every intention of being good to her. I even took up that job with her Prick father, who I hate, so I could afford things for her.
I peep around the corner of the school library and see her coming. She looks different. She’s not as carefree as her friends seem to be. She trails behind them, her hair floating in the wind away from her beautiful face, which stays focused on the cement path under her feet. Her friends talk. She nods now and then, but it’s obvious she’s not listening. She’s in a solemn daze.
I hide with my back flush against the building, waiting for Franny’s friends to pass and the second I see their backs, I leap out from behind the corner. Wrapping my hand around Franny’s mouth, I hook the other around her waist and pull her behind the building. She fights me, elbowing me in the ribs and kicking.
Damn, that hurts.
“Stop it, Franny. It’s me. It’s Rick.” I pull her around the second corner to behind the library where we can be alone under a couple of blush-pink, twenty-foot-tall crepe myrtles that have been shaped to look like fireworks exploding.
The second I let go of Franny, I regret it because I’m seeing fireworks. Franny has just slapped me. “Ugh,” I grunt squinting of my eyes and rubbing my cheek as a few stars twinkle at the corner of my left eye.
“Rick!” She stomps her foot, making two fists with her arms straight. “What are you doing?”
“I had to talk to ya-ah-ooh.” I’m massaging my jaw recognizing that was not so much a slap she gave me but a nice right hook. “Damn, girl. That was a serious punch. I know you’re pissed, but you didn’t have to hit me so hard.”
“Hello!” she snaps. “I thought you were trying to kidnap me. You can’t just show up here and snatch me up. You can’t just wrap your hands around a person and pull them off into some dark corner...”
As Franny talks her lashes are fluttering. She’s so hot with anger her cheeks are blushing as deep a pink as the flowers above us. She flails her hands as she talks, so frustrated as she snaps and scolds me with fire in her breath. She runs her fingers through her golden hair to cool herself down but it’s making me hot. Fuck, she’s so hot. One of her hands finally lands at her hip as her eyes blaze into mine. She shakes her head angrily and she’s cussing now, dropping F-bomb after F-bomb, which is soooo unlike her but it’s sexy as fuck.
Somehow, she realizes she’s not making any headway. She knows I haven’t heard a damn thing she’s said except for the words “fuck,” “fuck,” and “fuck,” which is wearing on me, wearing on my dick. With one sassy roll of her eyes and an inadvertent lip-lick, I’m on her.
Cupping her head between my palms, I pull her to me, pressing my lips to hers and plunging my tongue into her mouth.
I’ve missed this. Her warmth. Her sweetness. Dear God, I’ve missed this.
She pushes against me.
Oh, no. Not again. Don’t push me away. Please!
With a quick suck, I pull back and plant my forehead to hers. “I’m sorry.” I stroke her head. “Franny, I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry?” She shoves again. I have no choice but to step back as she flails her arms trying to free herself from me. “You can’t keep doing this, Rick.”
“Doing what?” I think she’s about to cry, so I try to cup her face again, but she smacks my hand.
“You’re so impulsive. You say things and do things that make me feel like I have to stay on my toes all the time.”
“I’m sorry,” I repeat with utmost sincerity.
“Sorry is not going to cut it. You freaked me out, which I guess I should’ve expected.”
Expected? “Are you scared of me?”
“Yes, a little,” she says, sniffing.
“Well, I’m scared too, Franny. I’m scared of everything when it comes to you.”
“Oh, c’mon.” She gestures at me with an open hand. “You’re a Prank. Pranks aren’t afraid of anything.”
“I don’t want to lose you, Franny.” I step closer. “This Prank is afraid of that. Take me back. I’ll try harder not to freak you out. I’ll do better.”
“Better how?” she glowers, her eyes glazed over with hopelessness. “I can’t take you back.” She rubs the back of her thigh, which is strange. “You can’t change who you are, Rick, and I can’t change who I am. We’re from different sides of the—”
“I can change,” I interrupt.
I can. I’m convinced that I can.
“That’s the thing, though,” her shoulders shudder, “I don’t want you to change. Not for me. I like who you are just maybe not when you’re with me. You’re bad for me.”
“I’m bad for you?” My mind is on the verge of hysteria. “You’re bad for me, too, Francesca.”
Her eyes narrow. “Don’t call me that. Nobody calls me Francesca but my father.”
I’m curious. “That’s what this argument is really about, isn’t it? Your father? I’ve already decided I’m going to quit working for him. I’ll get another job, Franny. Whatever you want. I’ll find a way to support us, I’ll find a way to—”
“Support us?” Her nose crinkles. “I’m going to college in the fall.”
“So, don’t go,” I shrug. “You can move in with me. My Ma would love—”
“Move in with you?” Franny’s face says she’s in complete dismay. “Why would I move to crummy Downtown when I can get my own dorm room?”
I cock my head, “Because you’d be with me. I... I love you.”
Shit. I said it. I hope that’s enough. Please tell me that’s enough.
“Rick, this is what you don’t understand about the differences between us. You can’t expect someone to give up everything they’ve worked their whole life for, for stuff like that.”
“Stuff like that?” I ask. “Stuff like what? I want to hear you say it.”
Franny bites her lip.
“Say it!” I snap, repeating her words: “You can’t expect someone to give up everything they’ve worked their whole life for what?”
“For love.” She swallows and a tear rolls down her cheek, which makes my stomach twist.
“And this is what you don’t understand about what’s different between us. I’d give up everything for you. Problem is I have nothing to give.”
Franny plants her face in her hands. For a moment, I want to reach out. I want to pull her in and tell her everything is going to be okay, but I don’t because I realize there’s an even bigger difference than the ones already mentioned. She’s from Uptown, where my mother was originally from, and no matter what I do or how I try to make things right, Uptowners will never have a problem with throwing people away.
“So, I guess we’re really over?” I ask.
She doesn’t answer and it’s as if I don’t deserve an answer because I’m trash. She just cries.
“I’ll take that as a goodbye.”
Chapter 16
; FRANNY
Two weeks later…
So, what about it, Francesca?”
“Uh, huh?” I’m dragged back to the present, realizing I have no idea what has been going on around me over the last twenty minutes. Rick is across the school yard and he is cutting up branches that came down in the rains last night. His shirt is off, hanging from his back pocket and the muscles on his back ripple as he pushes the saw back and forth.
He hasn’t looked in my direction once and I wonder if he knows that I am here, or if he even cares? It has been over two weeks since we broke up and I’ve thrown myself into my studies to avoid thinking about him. But we are on the home straight now and homework and exams have fizzled out in deference to the graduating rituals that are pending.
“Francesca, will you go the prom with me?”
Lance Gordon is hovering, a dozen red roses held out in front of him. He is shuffling from foot to foot and has an expectant look on his face. Six girls in skin tight shorts wielding pompoms are nervously shaking the tinsel. Bambi kicks me under the table. “Franny,” she hisses.
The cheerleaders and his teammates are poised to spring into action, just waiting for my acceptance. Scenes like this have been taking place around Saint Mary’s campus all week because the only thing that seniors can think about is prom.
“Y-yes, of course, I will.”
Loud music explodes out of someone’s iPhone and the cheerleaders are spelling my name while Lance hauls me to my feet. He holds my hand and raises it like I am a prize fighter as he presents me to his buddies. My cheeks are burning as a flash dance erupts around us. Jeez. I’m regretting my answer, but there is no backing out now because the whole school is looking at me.
No, not the whole school. I glance back at Rick and his back is still turned towards me. He doesn’t even flinch and I wonder how he cannot hear the commotion going on. It is ten minutes before Lance and his entourage leave me in peace and Bambi and Krystal are besides themselves with excitement.
Heart Broke (Broken Home Book 1) Page 12
