Frannie and Tru (16 page)

As I was crawling back out of the flap and rezipping it, I heard the crackle and warble of a speaker. The noise had come from down the path, and we all went and stood at the edge, just as a
pickup truck drove slowly by, blaring a message from the bullhorn on its roof.

“There is a tornado warning in effect. I repeat, there is a tornado warning in effect.”

As it passed us, I caught a glimpse of a bored-looking ranger in the front seat. He repeated the message, then disappeared from view.

P.J. tilted his head sideways, knocking his hand against his ear. “Um, I'm not crazy, right? Did you guys hear that?”

“Were there instructions attached?” Devon asked. “Or was that just a heads-up that we're probably going to die?”

Kieran and Sparrow took a step away and began having a quiet conversation about whether we needed to leave, and Tru slipped over, began talking in his most soothing voice about how that wasn't necessary. Meanwhile P.J. started running around in circles and waving his arms, pretending to lose his mind. I giggled, and that set everyone off, all of us laughing, shirts flapping in the breeze.

“This is fucked-up,” Winston mumbled, one of the only things he'd said all day. We all laughed harder.

“Whatever,” Devon said. “What will be will be. If that thing sucks us up, I guess we just go to Neverland.”

“Yeah,” P.J. said. “Neverland's not so bad. You never grow up and there's, like, pirates.”

“Except the tornado doesn't take you to Neverland,” I said. “It takes you to Oz.”

“I guess that's right,” Devon said. “Good thing we brought the smart girl.”

“Oz,” P.J. added. “That's midgets and flying monkeys. Not as cool.”

Kieran and Sparrow were still a few steps away, having their quiet conversation, but I noticed that Tru had wandered off, back toward the empty campsite. While everybody else continued to debate the merits of Neverland and Oz, I went to stand beside him.

“You keep looking over there. Do you want beer that bad?”

He looked at me in a way that he hadn't for weeks and weeks—the annoyed stare that made me feel like a child.

“You're right, Frannie, I should be entertained solely by your stimulating conversation about Peter Pan and Dorothy.”

I was nursing the sting of that when I saw them coming up the path from the other end of the island, the north side, where we hadn't yet been. It was the drama girls, Kylie and Rachel, and somebody else behind them.

Not just somebody else. Jeremy Bell.

I should have known, should have guessed, but I just hadn't made the connection. Because when Tru had said “drama kids,” I'd never thought of Jeremy, who was not a drama kid exactly. He was just friends with some of the girls and helped them build sets for the plays.

Now I turned to Tru, hands on my hips.

“THAT?” I whispered, low enough that the others wouldn't hear. “That is why you wanted to come? That's what this whole trip was about?”

“Oh, gosh, no, Frannie. I came so you and I could tame a pair of ponies and join the circus!”

He could see my feelings were hurt, and he put an arm around me.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Look, I want to have fun. I want you to have fun. I want your brother to have fun. I just want us all to have fun and live a little. Okay?”

I said okay, but didn't know if he even heard me. He had already taken off, sauntering over to meet the three of them. The girls looked thrilled to see him, jumping up and down and calling his name. Behind them, Jeremy raised his hand in a shy, tentative wave.

I hadn't seen him in months, and I realized he was even better-looking than I'd thought. Details came flashing back to me. His dad was Irish Catholic like my family, his mom from the Philippines. I took in his olive skin, his romantic eyes, the scattering of unexpected freckles on his cheeks, and that's when I remembered the nickname given to him by some of the girls at school.

Jeremy What-a-waste.

In the flurry of hellos, Kieran introduced the St. Sebastian's kids, first to Sparrow, and then to the band. I was mortified by how jealous I felt then, not wanting the boys to meet these other people from my old school, as if it would suddenly reveal that I was in no way cool or special. I hung back, trying to ignore the whole exchange, pretending to be busy with something in my bag, but then Kieran pulled me over.

“You know my sister. She's two years behind us.”

The girls politely pretended that they did, though I could tell they had no clue. Blushing, I tried to move away, but as I did
Jeremy gave me a wink, a wave, and a quick “Hi, Frannie.” He said it warmly, a little aside just between the two of us. He actually remembered me. I managed to mumble a hello, touched to have been recognized, to know that when I disappeared from the halls of St. Sebastian's, there was a chance someone might actually notice. In that moment I adored Jeremy, totally and completely. I wanted him and Tru to get together and be happy forever.

Moments later, we all broke apart, busy getting cleaned up and organized. A few went to shower, though most of us didn't bother. Some went searching for cell phone reception, so they could check in with their parents. Others went down to see the beach one more time, to put their feet in the ocean before the wind got any worse.

With everyone hustling around and getting ready to leave, Tru produced from his pocket the world's smallest, most perfectly rolled joint. He held it out between his finger and thumb like some glittering gem, saying he could share if anyone was interested. Jeremy raised his hand like he was in class. Sparrow, supremely annoyed, ordered them into a little grove just outside of our site, which offered some cover. She threatened that they'd better be quick.

She took off then, too, leaving Kieran and me alone. There was one Coke left, and we decided to split it, trading it back and forth as we rested side by side on a log. From that position, we couldn't help but look directly at Tru and Jeremy. They were just visible through the thin branches of the trees. I could see they were talking, but they were too far away for us to hear. Their chairs were
angled slightly toward each other, and Jeremy was resting his foot on the leg of Tru's chair. They sat very close.

The silence between Kieran and me grew heavy. I searched for something to say.

“So . . . I guess they kind of know each other. From the parties this summer.”

He sighed. “You know, I'd never have gotten into some fancy magnet school, but I'm not as dumb as you think I am.”

I turned and looked at his profile. After a moment he turned, too, and met my eyes. We had one of those silent exchanges that I seemed to be having more and more of lately.

“You and Jimmy know?” I asked.

He let out a singular laugh, a sharp, humorless exhale.

“Well, I figured it out. Not Jimmy. Jimmy actually
is
as dumb as you think.”

A small weight was lifted from my chest, the burden of secrecy, and I wanted to tell Kieran everything. Absolutely everything that had happened all summer. Siren and the tattoo and Mom dating Uncle Richard. But I wasn't quite ready. Instead, I turned back toward Tru and Jeremy. I grabbed a stick and made scratches in the dirt.

“Do you know that's why he's here?” I asked finally. “It's because his parents found out and couldn't deal.”

Kieran straightened up and let out a low whistle. “I didn't know that. Jesus. That's messed up. His dad . . . I don't know if you remember him. He's not a nice guy.”

I wanted to ask more about that, but then Kieran looked at
me, and I saw that his mind was somewhere else. His face was flushed and sad. More than that. Ashamed.

“I'm sorry, Frannie. About next year. About St. Sebastian's. I'm an ass. I should have gone to public school. I can't believe I just sat back and let them do that to you.”

Then his head was in his hands. His ears burned red, and the fire of his emotions passed to me. I knew how hard it would be to admit what he just said, to be vulnerable like this. Most boys his age, I didn't think they'd ever dream of it. But what he was doing right now he was doing for me, and that meant everything.

I felt loved in that moment, deeply loved.

I started to say his name but choked on it. I wanted to reach out and touch him but couldn't figure out how to.

“That wouldn't make sense,” I said finally. “One year of your tuition wouldn't make up for three more years of mine.” My voice was breaking.

“Yeah, but in another year Dad'll find steady work again. At least, I think he will. Everything would have been fine. You could have stayed with your friends.”

Not until he said it did I realize that I no longer wanted to go to St. Sebastian's. Not at all. I looked at Kieran, but his face was still hidden.

“My friends sucked,” I said.

“Frannie!” He laughed and finally looked up.

“Well . . . they kinda did.”

He shrugged. “They were okay. You're cooler than them, for sure. I mean, look at the new friends you made.”

Just then we saw Sparrow, coming back from the showers, now wearing a pair of tiny gym shorts and a tank top, her hair under a bandanna.

Kieran coughed. “A serious improvement.”

When everyone was back, the beer appeared. Kieran managed to get me alone for a moment and ask for a favor. He wanted me to only have one. He told me it was okay with him if I wanted to pretend to have more—he would help me do that, even—but for him, please, I had to be good. I was only fifteen. I was the youngest person here.

“How many are you having?” I asked.

He paused. Smiled. “Four? What if I say four? Frannie, I'm huge. Four is nothing. I'm going to space them out all night.”

“Then how about I get one and a half?”

He shook my hand and divided one between us on the spot. I said that he could have four and a half if he wanted, and he put me in a headlock, which was his way of saying thanks.

Devon and P.J. had brought their acoustic guitars, and they got everyone around the fire pit, which we had not lit because of the wind, instead relying on a pair of electric lanterns. They played Motown and then The Beatles and then terrible pop songs that everyone secretly loved and knew all the words to. Kylie and Rachel jumped in to sing along with their big, beautiful sopranos, and I could see that Devon and P.J. were impressed, which made me proud of where I'd come from. Our little Catholic school had good singers, too.

I kept waiting for Tru to join in with that supposed angel voice of his, but he didn't. He just sat on the ground, in front and to the left of Jeremy's chair, leaning back on his palms. I tried not to look at them too closely, but my eyes kept creeping back in their direction, as I wondered what, if anything, was going to happen. And then I saw Tru shift.

Such a small motion, just a rearranging of weight. Except it wasn't. It was more. His right arm was now touching Jeremy's leg, ever so slightly. Jeremy didn't move.

Goose bumps broke out on my arms. I knew what that touch meant—it was the lightest bit of friction, but it said everything, because they were both letting it happen. I thought about that: how life might come at you and sometimes you could say yes without doing anything at all. All you had to do was not pull away.

I knew I shouldn't watch them, so I turned, only to see that Kieran and Sparrow were now sharing the log, her leg resting against his leg, skin to skin. I felt like there was electricity jumping in little bolts all around us, jolting us, connecting us, and the wind was still screaming, screaming, screaming.

P.J. was sitting across from me, staring.

He and Devon started strumming something new, and Rachel jumped right in, belting the words. Everyone was cheering and clapping and then a bunch of people were shouting along and laughing, but I didn't know what this song was and I wondered how that could be—how everyone could know something except for me.

And Kieran was whispering in Sparrow's ear. And Jeremy's leg
was jiggling nervously against Tru's arm. And P.J. was still looking in my direction.

I closed my eyes and chugged my beer, almost gagging on it. I felt sick. I didn't want any of this. The pairing off, the separation. I could feel everyone's desire to get away, to be alone, to fall on one another and do . . . whatever they would do. I resented how obvious it all seemed. Just put people in the vicinity of one another and they attracted like magnets, no magic at all, no meaning. I hated it, and I hated that we couldn't just sit here and sing and be together. I hated the taste of beer, and I hated the fuzziness taking over my head as I drank it. I felt off-kilter. Everything was in motion and would never, ever stop.

Just then there were giggles from out in the darkness. A girl and a guy, teenagers, stumbled from the path into our campsite, holding hands. He flipped his baseball cap backward, and the girl slipped behind him shyly.

“Oops,” he said. “Not the way to the beach.”

Kieran told him no problem, pointed out the direction they should go. Right as they started to scamper away, the guy pulled back.

“Just a heads-up. They've got patrols coming through. They're definitely poking around if they see a bunch of kids together. You might want to break it up for a little bit. That's why we're on the move.” With a wink, he pulled a flask from his pocket, then slipped it back in. Then the two of them were gone, back into the trees, while all of us went wide-eyed, clutching our beers.

“Oh, shit,” Kieran said. We paused for only a couple of seconds
and then everyone was grabbing flashlights and lanterns and cans, trying to figure out who should go where and for how long. I noticed that there was more excitement than nervousness in people's voices, and I realized that this was it. This was the excuse people needed to pair off and disappear.

I grabbed my flashlight and beer, told Kieran that I was going to the bathroom, escaping during the height of the chaos before anyone could object or try to join me. I hurried down the path into the concrete bunker, rushing to lock myself in the stall at the far end. I huddled there, not caring that the toilet seat was dirty, just sitting and drinking, reading graffiti over and over, saying nothing when I heard Kylie and Rachel come and go. There was writing all over the walls, and I tried to distract myself by taking in all of the love and anger and silliness that were inked there. Who loved who and who was a terrible person and jokes that were fading and not making sense. More than anything, there were just initials—signs that people had been here and wanted to leave some trace of themselves behind. At first I pretended that I'd never have to leave, never have to face whatever was about to come. But as I drank in that grimy stall I grew restless.