Page 35 of Such a Sweet Girl

Only one week left. One week before she moves on with her life. Until she goes back to college and forgets all about me. Will I even become a memory? A hazy ghost of that one hot summer by the lake.

I had a feeling that Frankie wouldn’t be a spectre to me. She’d be an all-consuming hurricane, my heart left in pieces whenever I thought of her. How had I fallen so hard, so fast?

I couldn’t voice it to her. I didn’t want guilt following her after summer died. She needs to finish school. To find a guy her own age. Hopefully, with a bit more mettle behind her where she won’t take shit like she did with Nick.

‘It’ll all be okay, baby.’

I don’t know if the words comforted either of us.

SEVENTEEN

FRANCESCA

Laying on the sofa, I revelled in the quiet.

The lazy hum of the air-con was my sole companion, and I’d lolled in its company for the afternoon. Stuck in limbo between the glorious week I’d had with Alex, and the trepidation of my parents' return.

A bug landed on the back of the sofa, meandering over the aged leather without a care. I supposed, perhaps, it would care about baser things - food, reproduction. It didn’t need to worry about work, expectations or proving to be a disappointment.

Being jealous of an insect was a new low.

I jolted upright as a car pulled onto the drive, the crunch of tires hitting me with a wave of stomach clenching foreboding.

Still, I brushed off my t-shirt, smoothing the wrinkles from where laying had squashed it as the door opened, the afternoon heat following them inside.

‘Hey,’ I said, painting on a smile.

Mom gave me a stilted hug, passing me a small pin badge with a horse on it. ‘Have a fun week?’

‘Yeah, it was good.’

Dad trailed behind her, arms full of bags, and laid a hurried kiss on my cheek. ‘Looks like you kept the place in one piece.’

I shut the door behind him, freezing when I turned to see my mom staring at the kitchen counter.

Shit.

The phone tripod stood next to the sink where the dishes drained.

‘What’s this?’ she asked.

‘Just something to hold my phone.’ I packed it up, folding the black plastic legs up onto the central frame.

‘It’s a tripod.’ My father walked past us, dumping the bags onto a seat and shaking out his arms.

‘For filming?’ Mom’s brows furrowed. ‘What are you filming?’

As if people don’t film themselves all the time...

Straightening my shoulders, I found myself at the precipice of a choice. Act as though it’s nothing, or tell them about my new channel. The channel that was growing fast, my excitement about it ballooning with each passing day.

Even a nod of understanding from them would make my month. Just something that told me they thought I was worthwhile. Not their fictionalised, hope-based version of Francesca, but the real one. I wanted to exist in their world without being a shadowed fragment of myself.

Taking a deep breath, I smiled, hoping that my excitement might pave the way for theirs.

‘Well, you know I enjoy cooking and watching baking videos online? I decided instead of just posting some videos on my profile, I’d create one especially for it. It’s going really well. I’ve posted my first five videos and people are liking and commenting on them, even sharing them. Someone tried one of my recipes and sent me a picture.’

The longer I spoke, the more my mom’s face drew into a pinched stare.

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