Saving Francesca

“No. I kissed him.”

We grin at each other.

The taxi driver pulls into Tara’s street.

“Oh God,” Tara says, quickly yanking off her seat belt. “There’s a police car outside my house.” She’s almost in tears. “Oh God. Something’s happened to my parents.”

Siobhan grabs her arm. “It’s my father,” she says flatly. “We’re in for it.”

The taxi stops and none of us move.

“You have no idea how much trouble I’m going to be in,” Justine says.

“What’s the worst-case scenario?” Tara asks.

“Try no weekends for about a month, which means I don’t get to go to Canberra with the orchestra.”

“Canberra’s not that exciting,” Tara says.

“Tuba Guy,” I explain.

She nods, understanding, and we get out of the cab.

“I’ll tell them it’s my fault,” I say. “I’ll tell them the truth. That this morning I felt like crap, like I could have just walked in front of a bus… .”

“Don’t say that!” Justine says, and under the streetlight, I see tears in her eyes. “Don’t ever think that, Francesca.”

“Promise,” Tara orders me.

“Cross your heart,” Siobhan pushes.

I put my hand on my heart. “I swear on the Holy Bible.”

They still look tense, and I smile.

“Chill. You chicks get hot and bothered about anything.”

I get dropped off home in a police car. Siobhan’s father lectures us all the way about drinking. The epiphany is wearing off and is replaced by a blinder of a headache. I walk into the house and my father is sitting in the kitchen, in the dark. I don’t switch on the light because I don’t want to see the look on his face.

“You got a card in the mail,” he says. “It’s in your room.”

I don’t say anything.

“For your birthday.”

That’s all he says and I figure it out. Realizing that they missed my birthday, he would have rung me at Justine’s, and that’s how they would have worked out our ploy.

He doesn’t shout, he doesn’t say anything. It’s as if we’ve got nothing left to say to each other. So I go to bed and I feel so sad that I have to psych myself out of crying. Think happy thoughts, I tell myself. Think happy thoughts.

I think of Sophia Loren.

chapter 31

THE STELLA GIRLS are on the bus the next morning, and they do the same thing they always do when they see me. They’re theatrical and affectionate and excited for approximately fifty seconds, and then their attention is diverted. I don’t feel like being cheerful or upbeat with them because Justine is so down about her parents’ punishment and I feel guilty.

“Where have you been?” they ask. “We haven’t seen you for ages.”

I shrug.

“What did you do to your hair?”

That means they don’t like it. People who ask that question make it obvious how they feel. Fu

“Remember in Year Seven when it was cut really short and everyone called you Frank?”

No. I remember Year Seven when my mother would grab my face between her two hands and say, “I love this little face that I now can see.” Or how No

Why do they always have to remember the pathetic stuff? Why can’t they ever remember something positive being said about me? I remember Jimmy saying that me being pathetic makes him feel good about himself. From him it’s a joke, but for the Stella girls, it’s true.

“Did we ever play basketball with the Burwood boys?” I ask them.

They look confused.

“Remember? In Year Ten we were going to play at the Police Boys’ Club after school.”

“Why do you ask?”

It’s not that I think they’re mean. I just don’t think they notice when I’m not around.

“Oh my God,” Michaela says, clutching my hand. “Your birthday!”

I shrug.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing,” I say.

I don’t want to share it with them. I realize at this very moment that if I never see these girls again, I wouldn’t care.

I glance at Justine and she looks hurt, and I’m confused until it hits me that she misinterpreted my answer. It’s our stop and she gets off the bus without a word.

“Wait,” I call out to her, but she’s already gone.

The Stella girls are looking at me, surprised.

“Do you hang out with Justine Kalinsky?”

I nod. “Worse. She has to hang out with me. Poor thing .”

I decide to go and see Will before school starts. I’ve had it with this waiting business. I can cope with another woman, but I can’t cope with being ignored when there’s nothing in his way.

I knock at the prefects’ office door and one of the others answers.

“Will, it’s for you,” the guy says, smirking. I stare him out and he stops smirking and excuses himself.

“Are you okay?” Will asks, standing up.

I nod.

We stand facing each other and that stupid, looking-at-Will heart-thumping starts. Get over it, I want to tell myself. He’s just a gawky guy with a cowlick, not some stud.

“Don’t even think about it, Will.”

“Think about what?”

“Think about what you’re thinking about.”

“Why do you have to do that?” he explodes. “Why do you have to take a perfectly logical mind, with a touch of so-called intelligence, and turn it into mush?”

“You’re about to kiss me, Will. I can tell because I’ve been kissed by you enough times to see the signs. Your face goes all pinched, as if you’re in battle, and you almost grit your teeth. What am I? A nightmare for you?”

He resigns himself to the fact that I’m not going away too soon and sits down.

“You’re like these trays,” he says. “In-tray, out-tray. Unexplainable. You’re unexplainable.”

“You’re comparing me to stationery?”

“I’m comparing you to … rugby and … my voice breaking … and everything I love but don’t understand.”

“To the failures in your life.”

“No. I’m comparing you to all the things I love doing best and I just can’t have when I want them.”

I pull up a chair and sit down in front of him, our knees touching. I take his hands, squeezing them.

“Ask me out, Will. Because if you don’t, I’ll have to ask you out, and I have a feeling that you’re going to analyze why you can’t go out with me and it’ll make you feel like crap to say no.”

He leans forward to kiss me, but I shake my head.

“It’ll be easy,” I tell him. “Next year I’ll be here, you’ll be at college… .”

“I’m not going to be here next year,” he says, sounding frustrated. “I told you that at camp.”

“But you had to sort out the plan priority.”

As usual, I get the full impact of his stare, and it’s all there in his eyes. The whole truth.

“So the plan without me won?”

He shakes his head. “It’s not about you … actually it is about you, but for all the right reasons,” he says.

“You go out with some girl and you’re so torn about going overseas, but the moment I’m interested, it becomes so clear to you that going overseas is a fantastic idea. Thank you very much, Will. Welcome to the people who have made my week such a great one.”

“It’ll only be a year.”

“How can it be so easy for you to decide?” I cry.

“I can’t believe you think that!” he shouts.

“What am I supposed to think? You spend all your time trying to stick your tongue down my throat, and the moment I want something more, you decide you need to go away.”

“This isn’t about you. It’s not personal,” he says.

A cold fury grips me, but my heart’s already sunk before I can save it.

“Everything to do with me is personal,” I say, hardly able to get the words out.

I walk out.

I need voices of reason and of hysteria and of empathy. I need to have an Alanis moment. I need advice from Elizabeth Be