“I live on Dulwich Road,” she said, breaking the silence. “Where d’you live?”
I knew she lived on Dulwich Road, her stop was three stops before Cumberland Road.
“Uh, on Trinity Street.”
Frankie nodded and turned and began walking away from Cumberland Road in a direction that would cut through a few streets and eventually lead to Dulwich Road. I snapped out of whatever the hell was wrong with me and hurried to catch up with her. When I reached her side, I had to take much smaller strides because hers were half what mine were. I glanced down at her and saw she was wearing a necklace with a pendant I had never seen before.
“I’ve never seen a necklace like that.”
She lifted her hand to the pendant and brushed her thumb over it before dropping her arm back to her side. “It’s a medical I.D.,” she explained. “I have severe asthma so I have to wear one for medical purposes.”
Right. Duh. I knew she had asthma. At the start of every school year for as long as I could remember we were reminded of her illness as well as a kid who had a peanut allergy. We knew what we had to do if either of them had one of their respective attacks. Get help immediately.
“So,” I said, shoving my hands into my pocket. “Why’d you want me to walk you home?”
“So I could talk to you.”
“Right.”
Talk to me about bloody what? My head was about to explode with the confusion of what was happening. Frankie looked as cool as a cucumber while I was as jittery as a squirrel.
“I’m going to talk,” Frankie began. “And you’re going to listen, okay?”
I was going to shit myself is what I was going to do.
“Okay.”
“Right,” she said. “So, I know you’re lying about how you got that bruise on your face.”
Of all the things I expected her to say, that was not it.
“What d’you mean?” I looked down at her, feeling my body tense as I walked. “I’m not lying.”
“Yeah, you are.”
I stopped walking and so did Frankie, she turned to face me. She looked up at me with her big green eyes and she almost narrowed them as if to challenge me. I shifted, looking down at my feet.
“I’m not lying, Frankie.”
“It’s okay,” she comforted. “You don’t have to be scared.”
I felt like I was suddenly in a tiny, dark, confined room.
“I . . . Look, I don’t think I can walk you home.” I blurted, taking a step back. “I forgot I have something to—”
“Risk, I’m going to tell Mr Jones what I think is happening to you.”
I felt my jaw drop as surprise, and anger, filled me when she brought the school’s counsellor into the conversation.
“What the hell are you talking about?” I said, dumbfounded. “Nothing is happening to me.”
“Yes, it is,” she pressed. “You come into school with more bruises and injuries than anyone I know. At first, I thought you were clumsy, but no one is this clumsy. Also, don’t insult me. I’m not stupid, no poxy frying pan left your face that bruised and swollen.”
I shifted my gaze and stared down at this girl who I had known since reception, but never really knew. I couldn’t believe how she could see through the cloud of lies that not even my best mates questioned. I suddenly felt panicked. She said she was going to tell Mr Jones. He was probably the nicest man to walk the earth and he was the obvious choice for a student to go to when they needed help.
“Frankie.” I wiped my forehead. “Listen to me—”
“Don’t lie to me and I will.”
I couldn’t believe she was talking to me like this when we had never really talked before. Didn’t she realise how out of order she was?
“You’ve got some neck, y’know?” I frowned. “You can’t just go and say shit like this to people.”
“Shit like what?”
“Like saying I’m being abused!”
“But I didn’t say that.” She raised a brow. “I said I was going to tell Mr Jones what I thought was happening to you. You said the word abuse, not me.”
She was confusing me.
“Stop.” I scowled. “I knew what you meant and you did too.”
“Well, answer me this. Are you being abused?”
My heart hurt with how blunt her question was.
“I . . . I . . . No, I’m not!” I lied. “It’s fucking creepy of you to think you know me when you fucking don’t. I thought you were cool, but you’re clearly a psycho bitch who—”
“You’re not hurting my feelings.” She interrupted as she folded her arms across her flat chest. “You’re lashing out because you’re scared and upset and I get it.”
“What is your problem?” I snapped. “Why’re you acting like you’re an adult? You’re no older than thirteen!”
“I’m actually twelve, thirteen next week, but just because I’m not older I’m supposed to not see what’s right in front of me?” she demanded. “I can’t just pretend I don’t see that you’re hurting, Risk.”
“Why not?” I shouted at her. “Why the fuck not? Nobody else sees what they do to me, why do you? Why d’you even care?”
“Because I’m not heartless, wazzock. That’s why!”
I couldn’t believe she called me an idiot, I couldn’t believe she was doing this to me at all. I was breathing heavily and I stumbled back when I realised I just confirmed her suspicions. I imagined her telling Mr Jones everything and then the police coming and taking me away. Everything flashed before my eyes and it prompted me to say what I’d been holding on
