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Authors: Shivaun Plozza

Frankie (4 page)

BOOK: Frankie
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Just enough.

I swallow. But I don't open my mouth because I haven't got anything to say. For once.

‘I'm so sorry,' says Vinnie, shifting back to face Vukovic. ‘She's been seeing that psychologist like you wanted. She's really trying, I swear –'

Fred Sparrow stands, his chair screeching along the floor. ‘This has been a complete waste of time.' He grabs Steve by the arm and hauls him up. ‘You'll be hearing from our lawyers.'

Steve shuffles behind my chair, dragging his plimsolls, screamo buzzing from his earphones. I wait for the door to close, seconds that seem to drag on and on and . . .

Slam.

The whole room breathes again.

Vukovic leans back in her chair, shaking her head. ‘That was pretty stupid. Even for you, Frankie.'

‘Stupid and selfish, downright idiotic,' says Vinnie. I rub the red marks on my thigh as soon as she removes her hand. ‘Why can't you just tell us what happened?' She turns to Vukovic. ‘She won't even tell Cara.'

‘Listen.' Vukovic brushes non-existent dust from the surface of her desk. ‘I'll speak to Fred. When he's calm I should be able to talk him out of legal action. You'll need to pay for the medical bills, but maybe I can keep the police out of it.'

‘What about finishing school?' Vinnie glances at me. ‘She was supposed to go to uni.'

‘I wonder if you could wait outside for a minute, Frankie,' says Vukovic. ‘Your aunt and I have a few things to discuss.'

My chair screeches but not as loudly as Fred Sparrow's. It teeters and then bumps against the back of my knees. Vinnie clicks her tongue. Who knows what at – there's a pretty long list.

I open my mouth but Vukovic beats me to it.

‘You had your chance to speak, Frankie. That moment has passed.'

All I see of Vinnie is the dark roots of her hair and the nibs of her shoulder blades jutting out as she hunches forward.

‘I'll wait outside,' I say.

Vukovic nods. ‘And tuck your shirt in.'

I'm waiting outside the office. Two magpies are clashing over bin scraps. They've pulled out chip packets and mandarin peels and are squawking like a couple having an argument out the front of Centrelink.

One magpie charges the other.
Squawk, squawk.
The other beats his wings and lifts off, settling on the ground a foot away, picking at a stolen apple core. I shove my earphones in and crank up The Horrors.

I'm pretty sure when Vukovic told me to wait outside she didn't mean
outside
outside. But I don't care.

I check the time but drop my phone as I'm wrapped in a hug from behind. Cara squeals into my ear, her turquoise-dyed hair falls across my arm and tickles my skin. I yank out my earphones.

‘Why didn't you message me?' she says. ‘I saw you from the library. Told Dunbar I've got period pain to get out of class.'

Cara gives the best hugs if you're not into breathing.

I untangle myself but she won't let go of my hands. She swings them, side to side. ‘So, what happened?'

I pull a hand free to pick up my phone. It's hard to tell if I've done more damage. ‘Ouch,' I say when Cara pokes me in the gut.

‘Open your mouth and speak to me, minion,' she says.

I wipe the screen clear of grit. ‘Steve was there.'

‘Was he messed up? I heard he was back today but I haven't seen him. Speak!'

‘I broke his nose. His dad reckons he's got post-traumatic stress or whatever.'

‘You broke his ego. His nose, you probably improved.'

Cara's got this way of jutting out her chin. It makes her look aggressive – like you'd want to keep the collected works of Shakespeare out of her reach too – but really it's because she's five foot nothing and has to look up at everyone.

She's been my best friend since the start of high school. The first week of Year Seven she stapled this other kid's hand when he tried to copy her answers. She got in shitloads of trouble, but no one ever copied off her again. We met in the office, both of us waiting to be told off by Vukovic. The name Sponge-Bum Square-Tits was born that day and so was our friendship – how could I not fall in love with a girl who thinks stapling is a martial art?

She's got flowers and hearts drawn in blue ink all over the back of her hand. She does it when she's bored. I used to come home with vines growing halfway up my arm.

‘Did you tell them that Steve asked for it? Cos he did, right?'

‘When's the bell gonna go?'

‘About five minutes. Are you allowed to stick around for lunch?'

‘Doubt it.'

My phone beeps and I pull it out. One new message from Xavier:
I'm starved. Craving a kebab ;)

I grin. Longer than twelve hours, less than three days. We have a winner. I text back:
No can do little bro. Stuck at school. Rain check.

Cara peers over my shoulder. ‘Updating your profile? Emo4life #yolo?'

‘I'm texting, nosy cow.' She knows I shut down my entire online life after the whole #FrankieVegaIsAFuglySlut thing. And the rest.

She nudges me. ‘Then who's your boyfriend?'

‘No one. Don't make me hurt you. It's Xavier.'

‘Yuck. Still can't believe you went through with that. If I had a chance not to know my brothers I'd take it.'

Cara's got four brothers – Will, Paul, Aaron and Lawrence. She calls them: ‘nine-mill', ‘machete', ‘gas leak' and ‘dagger'. ‘Cos that's how I'm going to kill them,' she says.

My phone beeps again:
Cool. But now you owe me two. And chips.

I wipe the grin from my face when I catch Cara watching me.

‘You know it's not normal to like your brother, don't you?' she says.

I pocket my phone. ‘I just met him – I'm not sure if I like him or not.'

‘Let's just hide on the oval.' Cara spins me around. ‘I'll split my bagel with you and by the time they find us lunch'll be over.'

She gives me puppy-eyes, but I shake my head.

Then, from behind Cara's head, I spot the Greek version of Ryan Gosling sauntering toward us. Three skinny boys are circling him like dogs waiting to be fed. ‘Shit,' I say.

At the exact moment I tell Cara not to look she does.

She pinches my side. ‘Ex-boyfriend alert.'

‘That's kind of what I meant when I said “shit”.'

I look around for somewhere to hide. Behind the bin? Pretend I'm a magpie? I grip hold of Cara, tugging her jumper. ‘Let's –'

‘What's up?' calls Mark.

Hey, that's cheating! He's well out of the conversation zone. I totally had time to run. But once a cheater, always a cheater, right?

I pull Cara close. ‘Keep all sharp objects out of my reach.'

Mark Argyros always smells of chlorine. If you opened his pencil case you'd find a secret stash of moisturiser because the pool water dries his skin out. Everybody says he's going to the Olympics. Everybody except Mark. ‘I just want to be someone who doesn't get up at four am,' he told me. He did have his hand up my top at the time, though, so maybe he wasn't thinking straight.

‘Who let you out?' Cara juts out her chin.

‘Alveraz dismissed us early,' says Mark. ‘What's your excuse?'

‘Period pain,' says Cara, loud enough for the whole school to hear.

The boys all groan. ‘Rank,' says one. I don't know his name – he's a PopAsia boy-band wannabe. But he gives Cara an approving once-over. I catch her giving him the same. Please god, not another one.

Mark is working overtime to catch my eye. ‘Hey, Frankie.'

‘It's Paul, right?'

He smiles. He's got perfect teeth. ‘Nah, it's Mark.'

I give myself a face-palm. ‘Right, knew it was an apostle. So, which one of these dudes is Jesus?'

I look from one scrawny sidekick to another, but all I get back from them is a collective ‘huh?'

‘Hey, aren't you that chick who beat up Steve-o?' says boy-band dude.

‘Is your brain constipated, dumb arse?' Marks snaps. He steps up to me and chlorine fills my nostrils. It brings on a brain full of
hey, remember that time you and Mark (censored)
. He's changed a bit since we dated – taller, black hair clipped short, jawline sharper. I usually make it a point
not
to look at the guy, so I haven't been keeping tabs on the good things puberty's been doing for him. But he's also kind of the same. He's Mark. And for some reason we're talking again.

‘I wanted to call,' he says. ‘When I heard about Steve. You okay?'

I meet his eyes for zero point three seconds. I haven't been this close to him in approximately one year, two months, five weeks, four days, three hours and thirty-seven minutes. Approximately.

I drop my gaze to my boots, frowning. ‘Well, this has been an awesome reunion but I really need to get to my AA meeting.'

Cara swots my shoulder. ‘You know that'll be around school by period five.'

‘Fran-chess-caaaaar?'

Everyone spins round: a Year-Sevens-caught-behind-the-shelter-sheds-smoking spin. Square-Tits is poking her head out the glass doors. She crooks a finger. ‘Inside, please.'

I wonder if the adults think I'm contagious.

‘Now,' she adds, ducking back in. Presumably for another hit of white-out.

‘Stay,' says Mark. He grins, lightly tapping his folder to my arm. ‘Stay and tell me what Collingwood's Most Notorious has been up to.'

I thought I'd trained Mark not to talk to me, not to look at me, not to be nice and trick me into forgetting why we broke up. But no, looks like someone needs a refresher course in Stay Out of My Life 101.

I step out of his reach. ‘I've mainly been killing. Mostly I do it to appease His Dark Lord – he's such a demanding master, it's all blood and gore and sacrifices and orgies – but sometimes I do it just for funsies.'

Only Mark laughs. Cara rolls her eyes.

‘Sounds cool,' says Mark. ‘Maybe you can invite me along some time.'

Vinnie reads these romance novels and the guys in them are always ‘smouldering' – their eyes burning into any unsuspecting girl, like they're fitted with lasers or something. Obviously Mark's been reading the same books as Vinnie because he shoots me his best smouldering gaze. Maybe his current girlfriend, Ava, is into the laser eyes but it does nothing for me. It makes me think about Year Eleven and what happened behind the science block. And Ava's online hate campaign.

‘Well, I'm sure your girlfriend would love that,' I say. My voice is extra perky, like I have a cheerleader stuck in my throat. ‘Maybe Ava can come too and we'll just take turns basking in your glorious company. Apparently I'm okay with sharing.'

It could be the cold or maybe it's a wayward spark from his smouldering eyes; either way, Mark's cheeks flush red.

Yeah, that's right, jerk. I haven't forgotten.

‘She's not my girlfriend,' he says, an out-of-control inferno raging in his cheeks.

‘Does she know that?'

He opens his stupid gob to stutter a response but doesn't get the chance.

Steve Sparrow comes flying toward us, jumping onto Mark's back. ‘Speckie!'

‘Piss off, Spazzo,' says Mark, shrugging him off.

‘Sorry, mate,' says Steve. ‘Hope I haven't wrecked your shot at Olympic glory.'

Cara leans into me. ‘Oh yeah,' she says. ‘I can see how traumatised he is.'

‘Dude, check out your nose,' says one of Mark's sidekicks. He tries to jab it, but Steve dodges him.

‘Yeah,' says Steve, ‘some bitch broke it.'

‘Oh, I'm sorry, was that a dig at me? It was so subtle I almost missed it.'

Cara grips my arm, but she's overreacting. There aren't any heavy objects around. Not a Shakespearean tome to be found.

I give Cara a reassuring smile and mouth, ‘It's fine.'

Apparently Mark is not as Zen as me, though. He steps up to Steve. ‘You call her a bitch again and I'll break your nose a second time.'

Mark's mates ‘oooh' and ‘ahh' and backhand each other across their chests. ‘Dude, it's on,' says one of them.

Steve holds up both hands. ‘Settle down, Swim-boy. Didn't know you and Freakie were still a thing.'

My Zen smile is fading fast.

Mark digs the corner of his folder into Steve's chest. ‘I just don't like you calling her a bitch, okay.'

‘Not my fault, mate,' says Steve, grinning. ‘It's scientific. It's what you call a girl dog. Look it up in the fucking dictionary.'

Clearly Mark's mates aren't as dumb as they look. It takes them a split second to grab Mark by the shoulders, a split second quicker than it takes Mark to swing at Steve. Steve snorts as Mark's fist connects with air.

‘Why don't you look up the definition for “prick”?' says Mark, struggling in his mates' grip.

Steve laughs. ‘Why? Am I gonna find a picture of you?' And that's when he pulls the most dickhead move imaginable.

He punches Mark in the guts while Mark's arms are pinned behind him.

I don't owe Mark anything. Really, I don't. But I figure I owe Steve. And that's why I grab hold of his shirt and thrust him against the office wall.

He tries shrugging free, reeling off insults at me – inventive stuff like ‘stupid bitch'.

I tighten my grip. ‘Oh please,
please
give me a reason to remove your balls and bequeath them to the Museum of Really Tiny Things.'

Someone grabs me around the waist and yanks me back. I kick out, my feet pedalling air – I lose my grip on Steve. I'm wriggling and yelling and digging my nails into whoever's got me wrapped up. There's a lot of noise and movement I can't make out.

Except for Vinnie.

I can see her.

Watching me with an open mouth.

Turns out Red Bloody Murder was an appropriate choice of lipstick today.

‘Get her off school grounds,' shouts Vukovic. ‘Now!'

Vinnie grabs me by the arm and wrenches. I think it was Mr Tran who had me by the waist because I glimpse corduroy as Vinnie yanks me toward the school gates.

Steve points at me. ‘She just attacked me for no reason. Psycho bitch.'

Cara's yelling but I can't make her words out.

Vinnie yanks me along, my wrist burning under her grip.

‘I'm sorry,' I say, but I don't think she hears me. Maybe I only say it in my head.

BOOK: Frankie
7.3Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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