11
Harrison
“Go changeout of your uniform and bring that skirt right back down. That marker needs to be treated, or I will never be able to get that stain out,” I called after Collette as she sprinted up the stairs as soon as we walked in.
“Okay!”
Frankie sat at the counter, a spoonful of marshmallow cereal paused on the way to her mouth.
A yellow moon fell off her spoon and plopped into the bowl. She wore another old band T-shirt that fell off her shoulder, exposing the pale skin of her neck.
“What?” I asked.
She closed her mouth and shook her head. “Nothing.” She blinked again. “Nothing. I’m impressed is all.”
I felt myself preen under her direct praise. It was less than a week into the new routine, and I was bloody killing it. Sure, I flew by the seat of my pants most days and made a pig’s ear of it once or twice, but the thing was working.
“Ah, she’s easy,” I said, leaning on the counter between us. “I hope you didn’t spoil your dinner,” I said teasingly.
“I forgot to eat,” she said but pushed the mostly empty bowl away. “I wanted to thank you, you’ve been doing really good with Collette. I know she can be … combative. Maybe that’s not the right word.”
“She’s confident,” I said.
Frankie blinked up at me. “She really is, isn’t she?”
I nodded. I wanted to tell her because of all that she had done for that little girl. I’d only been here a week, but I could feel the impression of Frankie in so much of her. Frankie spoke to Collette like a person with bodily autonomy and encouraged her without placating her. She took the time to explain why things worked the way they did instead of just saying, “Because I said so.” It was more work, but it was paying off.
“She’s great. I’ve worked with big personalities before. This is nothing.”
Frankie smirked at me. “I don’t doubt that.”
“I have a question,” I said.
Frankie sat up and gave me her focus. “What’s up?”
“Hypothetically, if someone were to tell Collette, that her laugh was gross, a child, let’s say. A classmate. Am I within my rights to absolutely bludgeon them?”
“Oh, no,” Frankie said, her shoulders slumping under the loose shirt. I could just glimpse the hot pink sports bra. I dragged my focus back to her face.
“It’s America, right? I can just hurt someone and that’s within my rights, or something?” I asked.
She winced. “I don’t think that’s quite how it works.” She shrugged. “In theory.”
“Bullocks.”
The anger I felt on the drive home returned. I stepped closer to Frankie and lowered my voice. Frankie met me, glancing toward the door to make sure Collette hadn’t come back. “She told me on the way home that a girl in her class said that to her. I don’t think I have ever felt so mad. Her laugh is amazing. And laughter means she’s happy. I want to find that kid and—” I balled my fists and shook them.
She nodded and scooted closer. “It’s terrible. Kids can be so awful.”
“Is it too much to absolutely never let her leave the house and wrap her in bubble wrap and approve every piece of media that she views?”
Frankie shrugged and smiled softly. “That’s the dream. But I’m also known for being a sort of buzzkill. And apparently, children are meant to thrive and learn.”
I blinked. “Well, that’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard. I want to keep Collette here at the house where things are happy and safe and everybody cares about her.”
“I know.” She had leaned forward, our faces were only a few breaths away from each other. The hint of marshmallow cereal came from her as her gaze moved over my face, eyes wide and almost dreamy, if only for a second, before she swallowed and leaned back.
“What did you tell her?” she asked, putting distance between us.
