— AUSTIN —
2. WEATHERING THE STORM
12 YEARS AGO — SUMMER 2005
“Who are you?” she asked, taking her helmet off and resting it on her hip as she stared at me. She let go of the handle, and her bike toppled over into the grass. Dirt smudged her face, her pony tail was a tangled mess, and her knees were a mix of half-peeling Band-Aids and barely healed wounds. I’d been watching her through the window for hours, and I was intrigued.
“Austin,” I told her, holding out my hand. “Austin Stone.”
She frowned at my outstretched arm for a moment before taking my hand in hers and giving it a vigorous shake like she was half-tempted to arm wrestle me.
“Frankie,” she said.
“Frankie?” A girl? Named Frankie? My mom would hate that. Mom always said, “Girls should be ladies and boys should be gentleman.” Frankie apparently hadn’t gotten the memo. Not only was she a girl with a boy’s name, but it looked like she hadn’t seen a bathtub or hairbrush in days. There wasn’t much that was girly about her, and I had a feeling that there was absolutely nothing that was ladylike.
She snapped her gum and then moved her helmet to the other hip, throwing me a challenging look. Her gray eyes narrowed at me. “My name is Francesca, but everyone calls me Frankie.”
“Francesca?” I asked stupidly. She didn’t look like a Francesca. I had to admit Frankie fit her better.
She took a step toward me and even though she had to look up to meet my eyes, her gaze held a threat. “Don’t call me that and I just might let you be my friend.”
I reached up to push my glasses further up my nose. “Yeah, okay.”
“So, you just moved in?” she asked, her gum snapping through a half-blown bubble as she inspected me.
I nodded. “My dad got a new job.”
She bent down to grab the handle of her bike and slung the strap of the helmet over it. “Do you ride?” she asked.
I cleared my throat. “I can ride.”
I glanced toward the mounds of dirt and rickety wooden contraptions behind her house. I’d watched her launch herself over the ramps and jumps all day long. She crashed about as often as she didn’t. And yet she got back up every single time and did it again. “But not like you.”
“I can teach you,” she said, shrugging as if it was as easy as learning to read.
She started walking toward the covered porch that ran along the rear of her house and I followed, watching as she leaned the bike against the steps. “Maybe,” I said, noncommittally. “You know. After practice. If I have time.”
Her eyebrows lifted in excitement. “Practice? What do you play?”
Her smile and interest were genuine, and for once, I didn’t hesitate before answering.
“Cello.” I was used to kids in my old school teasing me, but somehow, I knew this strange, messy girl wouldn’t care.
She chuckled. “Oh. I thought you meant like swimming or something. You look like a swimmer. I like to swim. But we don’t have a pool.”
There was a pool in my new back yard next door, but honestly, I was more interested in this girl’s chaotic yard. Our pool was nice, and there were brand-new lounge chairs around it and fluffy new towels, but these mounds of dirt and death trap ramps looked dangerous. Fun. Something my mother would never approve of.
“So, a cello is like one of those big violin things, right?” she asked, miming like she had a bow in her hand and was playing. “I heard the music earlier, but I thought it was just a CD. You’re good.”
“Thanks.” I grinned at her. “My brother and I both play. Our mom thinks we’re musical prodigies or something.”
“You have a brother?” she asked, interested.
I lifted my shoulder in a shrug, almost not wanting to tell her. Dallas and I shared everything, and for a few moments, this strange girl was all mine. I wasn’t used to having something that belonged only to me. “Dallas is my twin brother. And Abby is my sister, but she’s a lot younger than us.”
I expected her to jump at the mention of my sister, but she merely said, “That’s cool. I have three older brothers—Jimmy, Tommy, and Pauly. They’re all jackholes.”
“Jackholes?” I had no idea what a jackhole was.
She snapped her gum again and walked up the steps of her back porch, motioning for me to follow her. “Yeah. Nana says I shouldn’t say that word, but I told her there was no sense in denying the truth. Once you meet them, you’ll see what I mean. Want a popsicle?” she asked, as she reached for the door to pull it open.
“Yeah, sure.” I knew my mom wouldn’t like the idea of me following Frankie into her house. I knew that she expected me to be home practicing. But I also knew she wasn’t going to be home for several hours.
“Awesome. My brother Jimmy just bought a copy of the new Saw movie. Nana says I can’t watch it, but she’s at Mrs. McKee’s house playing Canasta, and my brothers are all out. We should watch it.” The grin she gave me was wicked and should have scared me off. It didn’t.
Dad was at work, Mom had taken Dallas downtown for a doctor’s appointment, and Abby was spending the weekend with my aunt.
“Sounds good.” At that moment I knew that I would probably never be able to tell this girl no.
***
I stood on the other side of the curtain and watched through the sheer fabric as she looked up at my window in surprise. I hadn’t expected to see her. I guess I knew there was a chance that she might eventually return to that house, but I hadn’t been ready for her today.
No one could ever be ready for the storm that was Francesca Alessandra DiGorgio. She hit you unexpectedly, and the only thing you could do was weather her chaos.
Where had she been all this time? Why had she disappeared? And why was she back?
I turned away from the window and promised myself that I didn’t care.
I didn’t care at all about Francesca DiGorgio.
She had made her choice, and it wasn’t me.