Saving Francesca

“They’re still having coffee.”

We stand there nodding at each other.

“Can you tell her I’ll be waiting in the car?”

“I think you should tell her yourself.”

“Maybe I should just wait out here.”

He sits on the front porch, and I have no choice but to sit there with him. No matter who his grandmother is, my no

I’m racking my brains for something to say. He’s tapping his leg, pretending that my no

“It’s good of you to run around after your grandmother,” I tell him.

He nods. He thinks he’s fantastic too.

“I’m her favorite. Youngest grandson and all. You know how Italians are about all that stuff.”

The girls in my family have always been the favorites, so no I don’t, I’d like to say.

“You don’t look Italian,” I tell him.

“Half.”

“Which half?”

He thinks for a moment, and I see a ghost of a smile appear on his face. “The pigheaded side.”

“I thought you said you were only half Italian?”

He bursts out laughing. It’s short, as if he’s regretted allowing me to make him laugh, but the satisfaction’s already mine.

“Do you live around here?”

“Kingsgrove,” he says.

“That’s miles away.”

“She has nine grandchildren. We take turns staying with her and it’s my week. You?”

“A

We nod again, and I suddenly know how teachers feel when they’re trying to get information from us. After a moment he turns to face me, leaning his back against the pillar.

“You don’t seem to like Sebastian’s.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You just seem … down around the place.”

I shrug. “It’s being new and all. You’ve just forgotten what it’s like to be new.”

“No I haven’t. But I kind of know what you’re saying. I’ve been at that place since Year Five, you know. I was a choirboy, like your brother.”

“You don’t sing for the cathedral choir anymore?”

“No. Just the school one. My voice broke and now I do a very average baritone. Very devastating,” he says dramatically, but in a way I can tell he means it.

“So what do you want to do next year?”

“Civil engineering. New South Wales University. No matter how high my marks are.”

It’s strange speaking to someone who is stressed by the idea of getting high High School Certificate marks. But I like the fact that he’s scared that those same high marks may get in the way of something he seems to be passionate about doing.

“You?” he asks.

“I haven’t the faintest clue. I dread next year, when I’ll be asked a thousand times a week.”

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration. You only get asked one hundred times.”

He looks relaxed. As if he’s enjoying himself.

“So about that list,” he says. “I don’t get number nine. What does ‘Stalag 17 is a travesty of co-educational drama’ mean?”

I can’t believe he knows it by heart.

“The girls say they need participation,” I inform him. “It’s not just about sports, either. They didn’t even audition us for drama or debating or anything. They stuck with the preexisting teams.”

“It’s kind of hard to explain, but people didn’t like you girls coming in. Teachers, students, parents. They wanted things to stay the way they were, because the way they were worked. You’ve been here not even two terms. In drama, for example, don’t push for something this year, push for next year’s production.”

“Fair enough. I’ll put it forward to the committee,” I say, pretending that we actually have one.

“How come you always do the asking?” he asks.

“Because they think William Trombal and I are like this,” I say, crossing my fingers.

Before he can respond, we hear a sound behind us and turn just as my no

As they walk away, she clutches on to him, whispering something urgently in his ear. When he reaches the gate, he turns around and there’s this hint of a smile on his face, and he begins to walk back to me. I’m petrified. She’s sending him back to demand the biscuits, and he’s enjoying it like hell.

He stops in front of me, silent for a moment, and I’m trying not to give away my fear.

“It’s Will, by the way,” he says.

I don’t ask what he means.

“Not William.”

“Okay,” I say, relieved.

He goes to walk away but then stops again, and a flash of something comes over his face, like a grimace. “Don’t come and watch rugby this week. Please.”

“Why? Could it get any worse?”

“We’re playing last year’s wi

“Then you’ll need fans.”

“So you’re a fan, are you?”

I think he’s flirting with me and I have this ridiculous grin on my face but I can’t help it.

He goes to leave but then stops again. “And just so you know,” he tells me. “I know you’re behind the disappearance of the biscuits.”

“Biscuits?”

“My no

“Fu

He’s trying not to grin.

And I don’t know why, but I sit on that step until the last person’s gone home and I’m still gri

Like someone who has a bit of a crush.

Angelina takes me bridesmaid-dress shopping. Her mother comes along and so does No

No

I’m a rag doll, pulled at from each side. The moronic shop assistant tells me I look beautiful, and in the distance, I can see that Angelina has had enough. When they make me try on something that’s lilac, with boning in the bodice and something called a sweet-heart neckline, she lifts herself from the chair and makes her way toward us.

“Get dressed, Frankie. I’m making the dresses.”

“You can’t sew,” her mother says.

“I’ll teach myself.”

I put on my jeans and throw the dress at the shop assistant. Angelina takes my hand and we make a run for it.

Later on, we’re sitting in a café. She’s just smoked her fifth cigarette in an hour.

“Those things are going to kill you.”

“My mother will beat them to it, so I may as well enjoy another one.”

I try to smile, but I can’t.

“Luca reckons that everyone’s saying that my mum’s had a nervous breakdown as opposed to a ‘bit of a breakdown.’ ”

She looks at me, and I can see there are tears in her eyes. Mia’s always been her idol. The number of times Angelina ran away from home when she was a teenager and came and stayed with us are countless.

“They’re just words,” she says. “People use them to try to explain things they don’t understand.”

“What would you call it?”

I’m about to hear the truth, because Angelina doesn’t lie, and after I hear this truth I won’t be able to lie either, and that frightens me to death.