Hate (10 page)

I COULD
NOT
BELIEVE I was doing this.

Everything about it screamed someone,
anyone
, other than me.

The pigtail-necessitating Pippi Longstocking costume, the happy (slightly fake) party going attitude, and the makeup I’d smeared all over my face.

To top it all off, I was attempting the impossible—rousing a sullen Franny from her melancholy-fueled slumber and convincing her to go with me.

Don’t worry, I wasn’t expecting miracles. As much as I wished I was, I wasn’t that naive. Real problems needed
fixing
, not just a cosmetic cover-up. I wasn’t even expecting her to stay long. Hell, I’d probably be even more ready to bolt than she was. But I wanted her to get out. To have something to look at besides the dark walls of her bedroom. Maybe if she had some people to watch, she’d have a couple of extra voices to listen to other than the demons in her head.

At this point, I was banking on the fact that I didn’t think I could make it much worse.

And Blane, well, for the first day in a long time, he was spending time with just his family. So I knew Franny would be at home by herself.

I hoped that after yesterday, when he finally showed me some of his rare vulnerability, we would be in a better place.

The chime of the doorbell was becoming all too familiar, the frequent visits to Franny’s house without being invited commonplace. It was such a far cry from how it used to be, when Franny would often pop in or give me a call just to say hi or get help with her homework, that I wondered if I’d imagined it or lived it in a completely different lifetime.

Maybe Franny hadn’t been that effervescent life-force that brightened my day every chance she got. Maybe she hadn’t been the kind of girl who looked for the good in everyone.

Maybe she
wasn’t
the friend I thought I knew better than myself.

But deep down I knew that wasn’t right.

She
was
that girl.

And I hoped with everything
I
was that she would be that girl
again
.

For the first time in a couple of months, Franny herself opened the door.

Her brown eyes were haunted—tortured even—but her clothes were clean and her hair was pulled back out of her face.

It might not have seemed like much, but it was progress.

“Hey, Fran-you-la,” I greeted, trying out treating her normally for a change. The kid gloves were a good idea, but it had to get old after a while. For me, the more someone asked me if I was okay, the less okay I was.

And normally, I used any variety of nicknames rather than the one given to her at birth. Fran-you-la. Fran-ken-stein. Little Franny Foo Foo. You get the picture.

“Hey, Pippi,” she responded with a small wave, tucking her hands into the pockets of her loose-fitting jeans afterward.

Ah, so the costume was accurate enough to generate recognition.

I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a really, truly horrible thing considering where I was going—a party with people who were practically programmed to latch onto someone’s weakest characteristic and exploit it. And usually, that effect was only amplified when alcohol was involved.

Luckily, I was dressed as a power female. Pippi held her own. She could lift a horse, for Heaven’s sake. So when I was faced with a taunt or jab of any kind, I’d just shove it right back down their throat.

And when it came to Franny, I’d make sure I shoved it so hard that it came out their ass. Tonight would be a positive experience for her if I had to bleed to make it happen.

“Ah, so you noticed,” I joked.

She couldn’t stop herself from cracking a smile. “Uh, yeah. Just barely, though. It’s pretty close to your normal appearance.”

I let myself chuckle, the release lightening my load instantaneously.

“So…” I started slowly. “Who do you want to be?”

Her smile fled as quick as it came, and her protests didn’t delay. “What? No. Just no.”

“Oh, come on. You would make a kickass Jasmine.” Lifting my hand and the bag it was holding, I continued, “I brought stuff.”

“No,” she declined again, this time more vehemently and with a shake of her head.

I resorted to pouting. For someone who had very little peer association during the early years of my life, I took to manipulation like a natural. I liked to think my Gram had something to do with it.

“Please. Don’t make me go alone.”

Her head tilted to the side in exasperation.

Almost
. I almost had her and that gooey heart cornered.

“Plus,” I added, “I’m going to stand out here until you agree, and it’s cold. And Pippi may be spunky, but she didn’t plan out a good cold weather outfit.”

For a second, she looked surprised. Maybe she’d expected me to give up and let her off of the hook. And frankly, her thinking wasn’t without merit. If it had been any other time in the last two or so months, I would have.

As her expression turned from surprised to desperate, my heart fluttered. I was really freaking nervous that I was making the wrong decision. That pushing her to do something she didn’t want to do was the wrong choice.

But I clenched my lips together to hold in the concession that was fighting to get out, the strength to do it coming solely from the knowledge that pre-pregnancy Franny would have been
begging me
to go. Which meant that post-pregnancy Franny needed to do the same.

God, I hoped.

I was no expert, and I didn’t claim to be.

What I was, was Franny’s friend. A friend who desperately wanted to pull her out of the abyss of her mind’s making.

Franny’s colorful world was coming in black and white, and I sought to revive it. Just like a TV antenna, it might take some wiggling, a little back and forth without knowing what would help the most, but eventually, the signal would be coming in strong.

At least, that was what I had to hope for.

Letting her head fall back, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she tilted it back forward, she asked, “What form of torture did you say that bag held?”

I smiled.

“Jasmine. You know, from Aladdin?”

She inclined her head to indicate that she knew who I meant.

“Come on, that’s cool. She’s, like, got a lion as a pet.”

Her face scrunched up adorably. “I’m pretty sure she doesn’t have a lion.”

“Fine. Lion, tiger, whatever.”

“There’s a big difference,” she argued.

“Not really,” I disagreed with a shrug.

“Whit. A lion has a big, beautiful mane, and a tiger is famous for its stripes. It’s different.”

“I know it’s
different
. I just mean, as far as its cool factor goes, a lion is not so different from a tiger.”

“Cool factor?” she scoffed.

“Are we seriously having this conversation? Let me in your house. I’m frickin’ freezing. Jesus.”

Balking, she argued, “I never agreed to go.”

“Yes, you did.”

“No. I didn’t.”

“Fine. What would you have said if you’d agreed?”

“Yes, Whitney, I’ll go with you.”

“Great. So glad you see it my way. Excuse me.” Shouldering my way past her and into the house, I ignored the disbelieving death glare she was aiming in my direction.

“Hey! You tricked me!” she shouted indignantly. On the outside, I kept my cool. But on the inside, I was jumping up and down like I was on a trampoline. That was the first time I’d heard her raise her voice since that dreadful day.

Turning to face her, I pointed out the obvious. “Yeah, I did. I’m a tricky bitch. You’re the nice one. This can’t be all that surprising to you.”

“I’m just surprised I fell for it,” she conceded.

“I know what will make you feel better,” I suggested.

“What?”

“Your Jasmine costume!”

She was almost as good of an eye roller as I was.

“I’m assuming you mean my mix between a nun and Jasmine costume, right? Because there’s no way you’re getting me into some belly baring, floaty pant number, with just a sports bra as a top. Tiger or no tiger, I draw the line.”

“You don’t have to bare your belly. But, yeah, there’s no tiger. See, I didn’t really plan this in advance. All of this is stuff from my mom’s closet, and she just got rid of her tiger last week.”

“Shame,” she said with a small smirk.

“I know. Total pity.”

We stood there staring at each other for several seconds, the relative silence of the house settling around us like an unavoidable cloud. I wasn’t here enough to know what it was really like, but my house was
never
like this.

No matter the state of our emotional well-being, there was always noise. Someone laughing, someone yelling. Someone singing along to themselves to pass the time. Even our conversations took place at an elevated volume, and our every feeling filled the nooks and crannies of every square inch of our house.

Of course, we’d never been in this place. An abortion. One that neither one of Franny’s parents knew about beforehand. And afterward, the messy emotional consequences. It was possible that Gina and Steven were feeling their own forms of depression. Sadness for a daughter that had lost so much. Envy for the family that they used to be. And helpless for a way to make it any better.

They were talking to Franny, lending an ear—or at least trying to. That I knew. But they weren’t the kind of people that
made
you talk, pulling on your deepest secrets despite the fortress surrounding them.

My Gram was that kind of person. She made me talk all the time. Especially when I didn't want to.

I felt like Franny was lacking that.

But who knew.

Maybe she liked being able to process it herself.

For now, I’d stick with my plan to help how I could. By treating her normally.

“Come on, San-Fran-cisco. I hear a party, and while it’s not calling our names, it’s whispering them. Like a slight suggestion. Maybe, just maybe, it won’t be awful.”

“God. You really know how to sell something, huh?” she asked with a tiny smile.

“I’ve been told I’ve got a gift.”

“A gift for bullshit, maybe.”

“Hey. We all have our talents,” I replied on a smirk, pulling her down the hallway toward her room. As we went, I called out to her parents.

“Hey, DePlunzios! I’m kidnapping your daughter and forcing her to wear a costume. Don’t wait up!”

This way, I figured she would have a harder time backing out.

Franny shot me a look. A look, I thoughtfully ignored.

AS WE PULLED UP TO Grant’s house, the lights blaring only slightly more loudly than the music, I thought for not the first time that this might be a big mistake.

I didn’t come to these parties. Even when things were normal.

What had made me think it would be a good idea now, when everything was anything but?

The streetlight reflected off of Franny’s low, dark ponytail as she sat silent on the passenger side of my Jeep. Her face was in profile, her attention focused on the students milling about Grant’s large front yard.

I gave us both an out.

Clearing my throat slightly, I offered, “We don’t have to go in, you know. I’d never really force you.”

“I know,” she whispered without facing me. What I wouldn’t have given to know what was going on in her head.

“Just because I bullied you into following through with one of my half-baked ideas, doesn’t mean we have to—” I started, only to stop when her chocolate eyes met mine in the darkness of my front seat.

“You didn’t. This is the kind of thing I should be begging you to do.”

“There’s no ‘should be’, Franna-Franna Boo Boo. You don’t have to be anything other than you are. And that includes not having to be who you
were
.”

“But I
want
to be who I was,” she whispered again, turning her head back to the party.

“Okay,” I affirmed. “Then let’s do this. We look ridiculous, but it’s in the best way possible. Let’s go inside and do it.”

Turning immediately to my door handle, I pulled it, forcing the door open with the toe of my shoe. Franny sat there frozen for several seconds after I did, the echoing squeal of my girl’s old hinges ringing loudly between us.

Jumping out, I rounded the car, stepped up onto the curb, and made my way to the door, all while she still sat there, staring at Grant’s house.

I opened her door, and still, she stared through me.

“Franny,” I said softly, hoping not to startle her.

Her eyes jumped to mine, surprise at my location evident within them. “Listen, we don’t have to—”

“Come on,” she talked over me.

“Let’s get inside. Despite your promises to dress me conservatively, I still feel you failed. And I’m hungry. He better have some sort of sustenance besides candy corn and beer.”

“If he doesn’t, I’ll take you to McDonald’s on the way home,” I offered magnanimously.

“Wow. Good thing you’re not a guy. Women really hate to be a cheap date.”

Swallowing hard against the lump in my throat, I forced a joke. “Blane takes you to better places, huh?”

Her answer was downright wistful. “Blane
always
treats me right.”

Looping my arm around her shoulders, I pulled her out of the car and gritted my teeth against more than the cold October wind.