Every time she’d believed that things would get better, she’d been proven wrong. She’d found reasons to hope and always ended up feeling worse when the disappointment crashed down on her. But maybe if there was one more sign that she should reconsider what she came here to do today, she would. She would walk away from her decision. She’d try to change things another way.
She played the piece again. Louder. The notes cracked under the pressure. Or maybe it was her soul that cracked each time the tone broke.
She played louder still, no longer caring what the music sounded like. Only caring about the volume. She wanted someone else to hear. To know that she was in this room. To care that she was . . . that she just was.
After the fourth time through, Cas lowered the instrument onto her lap. No one had heard. There was no other sign.
Cas wiped the tears from her cheeks and sat there for several heartbeats as the hope she’d felt faded, leaving the familiar hollowness of disappointment behind. Carefully she took the clarinet apart, removed the reed from the mouthpiece, and put everything back in the blue-lined case. Cas unzipped the side pocket of her bag and pulled out the note she’d written dozens of times over the last few months before tearing each of those earlier versions into little shreds. She placed the envelope on top of the clarinet before closing the lid and running her hand over the outside of the sleek black case. The clarinet was one of the only things she truly loved. It was always there. It never judged.
Taking a deep breath, Cas picked up her bag with one hand and the clarinet case with the other, then headed out of the practice room.
The band room was empty. Open instrument cases sat on chairs and were strewn across the floor, along with dozens of backpacks. The music-office windows were dark. Everyone must still be at marching-band practice. Would Frankie laugh when he saw them stumbling around in the heat and think of her?
Probably not.
Frankie had asked if she thought she was too good to be a part of marching band. He’d said those words without sarcasm or a snide tone, and she wished he’d been right.
She waited for several minutes, thinking that if the band finished practice and came back in—if someone said hello—she’d change her mind. Last year, when she’d first stepped into this room, she’d been certain her family was correct. That everything from before wouldn’t matter. That things would be different here, because this place was different.
They’d lied.
Nothing was different. And at some point, it would get worse, just as it had before. She wanted to blame her mom for saying it would be okay if she dressed differently and her father for saying she just had to act as if she belonged and she would. They didn’t understand, and they refused to listen when she tried to tell them. They didn’t get that she didn’t fit in.
She wasn’t skinny like the popular girls. She used to always say the wrong thing, so now she just said nothing. Frizzy hair. Stupid laugh. Pimples on her forehead that no cream could make go away.
This summer she finally realized it wasn’t the other kids that were the problem or her father or mother or her annoying shrink. There was only one constant in all of it.
Her.
11:19 a.m.
Frankie
— Chapter 9 —
FRANKIE WATCHED VINCE CARTER throw an unsteady spiral to a talented running back who didn’t have a chance in hell of catching the crappy toss. Vince still had a hell of a lot to learn.
Of course, the trick there was that Vince had to be willing to learn. Frankie’s father had suggested Frankie work with Vince, since their families went to the same church. Okay, it was less of a suggestion and more of an order, but Frankie had gone along with it because Vince did have talent, and Frankie liked the idea of training the guy who would eventually replace him once he graduated. It was just too bad Vince was a pain in the ass and believed that he was better than everyone else—including Frankie—and had no problems telling people so. The kid didn’t think he had to put in the work to reap success. Not like that girl, Cassandra. Even if she had a stick up her butt about talking to him, Frankie admired her sitting alone in that claustrophobically small room, practicing her ass off to be better than everyone else at the one thing she was passionate about.
Vince didn’t think he had to earn jack. He just wanted Frankie to get out of the way so he could have his position.
Yeah—not if Frankie had anything to say about it.
Frankie stepped away from the building and waved at Ian Morgan, then slipped back into the shadows as Ian grabbed a ball and trotted over to one of the receivers watching the first-string squad run plays. The second-string receiver ran down the sidelines as Ian cocked his arm back and let the football fly.
The spiral was tight. Just the way the two of them had practiced this summer. Frankie had been surprised the day the sophomore rang Frankie’s doorbell to ask for help with his form. But Frankie had been impressed on that first practice session. Ian never once said the words “I can’t,” no matter how hard the challenge Frankie gave him.
That’s what Frankie’s father always told him that winners did. They kept their eye on the prize and did whatever it took to reach it.
Ian’s throw was a perfect bull’s-eye—hit the receiver chest-level.
And Coach Anderson noticed.
Frankie leaned back against the wall and watched as Coach blew his whistle and started screaming about teamwork and keeping focused on the drills. He shook his finger at Ian and stalked around in a way that was probably supposed to be menacing but, in Frankie’s opinion, made the coach look as if he needed to pee.
Finally, Ian jogged back to the sidelines, his eyes firmly on the ground in front of him. The kid must have really gotten his ass well and thoroughly chewed. He’d have to get used to it, because winners never just got patted on the back. Once they cleared the bar set for them, the bar was always raised and people screamed until you got over that one too. Once you were a winner, you had to stay the winner they expected you to be.
Frankie waited for Coach to blow the whistle. When it came, he wasn’t surprised to hear Coach yell for Vince to get some water and for Ian to run the next play.
Frankie watched Ian take the field. Ian struggled to get his helmet on. It wasn’t easy to act cool when you knew every eye was on you . . . counting on you . . . waiting for you alone to give them something to cheer about. Frankie had had to learn to be calm under pressure—even when he felt like he was about to blow.
Ian called for the snap. Despite how nervous he was, their hours of practice this summer paid off. Ian backpedaled and waited before launching the ball downfield.
Touchdown city, baby.
With a smile, Frankie got up and walked back toward the locker room.
“Frankie.”
Everything inside him tensed as he spotted Tad coming toward him. The eyes that Frankie had found mysterious and intriguing were narrowed as Tad zeroed in on him.
Frankie glanced behind him toward the JV practice. Coach was still barking out plays. Ian and the rest of the guys were sweating in the sun, but Vince seemed to be looking this way. Damn it.
“You’re not supposed to be here, Tad,” Frankie said. “Didn’t you get the text telling you not to come to school?”
Tad stopped walking. He folded his arms over his deep blue T-shirt and studied Frankie. “As captain, you get to tell the team what to do to get ready for the game and you can push us on the field. But if you want to tell me how you think I should live my life, you’ll have to do it yourself. Not through Jimmy.”
“It’s the same text everyone got,” Frankie said, taking another look over his shoulder. “We shouldn’t talk about this here.”
Frankie started to move toward the door, but Tad stepped into his path. There was a reason the guy was one of the best receivers around. He was fast and could usually shake the guy defending him. Great on the field. Not so great when Frankie was the one trying to do the shaking.
“Then where?�
� Tad asked. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
“I’ve been busy. And I’m sorry if you’re upset, but I don’t want to have this conversation here. If Coach sees—”
“I don’t care what Coach sees. I—”
“You should.” Frankie grabbed Tad’s arm. “If you don’t want Coach benching you, you should go to the lake with the others. You shouldn’t be here.”
“Because you’re here?” Tad yanked his arm out of Frankie’s grip. “And you don’t want people to see us together.”
“No.” Maybe. Hell. “This isn’t me talking as your friend. My dad says a good captain has to have his teammates’ back. Well, this is me, your captain, watching your back. I’m paying a visit to the JV’s locker room, and I don’t want you here, or people will think you’re involved.” When Tad cocked his head to the side, Frankie added, “Meet the team at Jimmy’s. Go to the lake and get the hell away from here before you ruin everything.”
“How do I know these top-secret plans aren’t just your way of getting rid of me?”
“You don’t.”
Tad smiled. “Fine. You want me to go hang out at the lake. Sure. I’ll do that.”
Frankie let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Good. Jimmy will—”
“I’ll do it, but only if you meet me in Mr. Lott’s room in ten minutes.”
Tad wanted to meet him alone in a physics teacher’s classroom? The school was mostly empty and the second floor would be even emptier, but hell, no. “I get that you’re pissed at me, but you can’t stay here. Look, I’ll—”
“Ten minutes.” Tad’s deep brown eyes met Frankie’s. “Don’t ignore me this time.”
With that, Tad turned and walked back into the building, leaving Frankie to stare after him for a second before finally following him inside. Frankie squinted when he stepped into the hallway. The lights were on, but after being in the sunlight, he found the hallway dim . . . and empty. Tad wasn’t there, and he wasn’t in the locker room, either, as Frankie discovered upon entering it. The locker room smelled of new white paint that couldn’t completely mask the odor of sweat that was so much a part of this place. Frankie checked his phone, then grabbed the bag he’d stashed there when he’d first arrived. Less than ten minutes until Tad wanted him to be upstairs. Twenty minutes until the team left for the lake. He wanted Tad to be with them. The two of them might not be on the same page right now, but he didn’t want Tad to get caught in what Frankie had planned.
He texted Jimmy to let him know Tad was running late.
WAIT FOR TAD AND WHOEVER ELSE IS RUNNING LATE. DON’T WAIT FOR ME. I GOT HUNG UP AND I’LL MEET YOU THERE.
Jimmy’s response beeped a few seconds later as Frankie was headed up to the second floor.
TELL MINDY I SAY HEY. WE’LL GET THE PARTY GOING FOR YOU.
SURE THING, Frankie texted back.
He was glad that Jimmy thought he’d ferreted out the reason Frankie was late. By the time Frankie arrived at the lake, the rumor that he and Mindy had been hooking up would be spreading like a wildfire, because it was what people expected from Frankie. It’s what he expected from himself.
Tad needed to back off. Frankie had to make his own choices, and he had decided he didn’t want to go down Tad’s path. He shouldn’t have even set foot down it in the first place. It was a mistake that no one ever needed to know about. If they ever did . . . if his father and Coach ever found out . . .
Frankie shook his head and ignored the way everything inside him churned as he made his way down the hall that led to the main section of the school. Tad could hang out in Mr. Lott’s room. Frankie had come to the school today with a mission, and he wasn’t going to let Tad distract him from it.
The second-floor hall was empty. Most kids and teachers had gone home by now to enjoy one of the last days of summer.
Steering clear of Mr. Lott’s room, Frankie hurried around the floor, getting things organized, then went back up the back staircase to the next level. Just two more things to do, and he was out of here. If Tad wanted to hang around—Frankie shook his head as he made his way to the front of the school. He’d warned him. If the guy didn’t listen, it wasn’t his fault. Right?
Crap. The place wasn’t completely empty yet. Diana Sanford stepped out of the girls’ bathroom, and Frankie ducked back around the corner as she turned his way. He hadn’t seen her since the Fourth of July. The night he had stopped by her father’s party and spotted her in the shadows with one of her father’s younger, but still way older than her, staff members. And the way she was looking at the guy . . . Yeah, was it any wonder that he decided it was best to cut and run? She might be the kind of girl his family thought he should date, but Frankie had never really been interested. If he hadn’t ditched that party, maybe things would be easier now. But there was no changing the past.
He peered around the corner in time to see Diana step into the yearbook office in the middle of the hallway. Damn. That meant Mrs. Kennedy was lurking somewhere nearby. The yearbook adviser had a thing about no one being allowed to work in the yearbook office if she wasn’t in the building—something Frankie learned last year when he had dropped by after one of the yearbook meetings and tried to see if he could get some sparks going with Diana once all the other students on the staff had gone home.
Now he had a decision to make. Wait for them to leave, or just get on with it.
He heard two voices shouting in a classroom near the staircase—Great . . . more people were up here—as his phone buzzed.
Tad was threatening him. Either come now, or he’d be sorry.
No can do, Tad, he thought. I told you that you should just leave.
Frankie adjusted the bag on his arm and pushed all thoughts of Tad to the side. It was time to finish what he’d started.
11:43 a.m.
Tad
— Chapter 10 —
TAD REFUSED TO LOOK OUT the door to see if Frankie was coming. If Frankie had taught him anything, it was to feign confidence, even if you didn’t feel it.
Fake it till you make it, baby.
Frankie was king at showing the world what it wanted to see. Tad had believed the all-American straight-boy persona. He would never have questioned it, had it not been for Frankie letting down his guard and allowing Tad to glimpse inside.
And then he shut him out.
Tad’s phone chimed.
TAD, WHERE ARE YOU? JASMINE IS HURT BY YOUR LACK OF RESPONSE, AND SO AM I.
Guilt kicked him in the gut. He’d forgotten to answer his mother’s text about Jasmine wanting to go to a movie.
He shook off the guilt and shoved his phone back into his pocket without answering. If Jasmine’s feelings were hurt, it had nothing to do with him. He was gay. Saying those words out loud to his parents and his brother had been the hardest thing he’d ever had to do until today. Some guys he’d talked to said their families knew they were gay before they did. Tad’s family certainly hadn’t.
“But you play football,” was his mother’s first comment. Like that had anything to do with anything.
His brother might have known. There was resignation, not surprise, on his face as he said, “It’s your life, and you have to be who you are.” But Tad, as their mother started gushing about loving him no matter what and wanting him to give everyone time to adjust to it and to really be sure how he feels before saying anything to anyone about it, heard his brother quietly ask, “Do you really want to single yourself out even more?”
No. He didn’t. But he didn’t have a choice. Just as he didn’t have a choice that their father was white and their mother was black and that because he was both, he often felt he wasn’t allowed to be either one.
Too dark for anyone to ever consider him white, and how many times did he say something to his black friends, only to hear someone quip, “Yeah, but it’s different for you.”
Yeah, it was, but not like any of his friends meant. Nothing was made easier in his life because his dad wasn’t black. It
was just . . . different.
He was tired of feeling different, and he got that his mother was worried and probably was hoping that one day he’d look at Jasmine or some other girl and suddenly yell, What the hell was I thinking? But her pretending to accept his choices wasn’t making this any easier. He was tired of pretending to be what everyone else needed him to be. He was tired of having everyone else’s needs come before his.
He was done, and if someone else got hurt—too damn bad.
He spotted a guy walking past the door and stepped back so he wouldn’t be seen. The last thing he wanted was someone besides Frankie coming in here.
Tad pulled his phone out of his pocket. Where the hell was Frankie? He was through with feeling as if he was never going to be good enough. He was going to make sure people finally noticed how he felt. Frankie, his mother, Sam, and everyone else—all of them were going to see that things didn’t vanish just because you ignored them.
Although it looked as if Frankie hadn’t gotten that message quite yet. It was long past the deadline Tad had given, and still Frankie hadn’t shown up or sent a message.
Tad walked to one of the narrow windows and studied the parking lot below, looking for Frankie’s white Mustang. It was parked in the teachers’ lot closest to the school—exactly where no student was allowed to park.
Figures.
But that meant he was still here, and Tad wasn’t about to let him get out of this. It was time for Frankie to face him.
Tad pulled out his phone. A message from Jimmy had arrived, telling him to hurry up. They were all waiting around for him—captain’s orders.
Sorry, Jimmy. You’re going to be waiting a long time, because today, Frankie isn’t the one giving orders.
EITHER YOU TALK TO ME NOW OR I START SENDING MESSAGES ABOUT US TO EVERYONE ON THE TEAM, he typed to Frankie, then paused.
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