Page 3 of A Slice of Love

Instead I hear myself say, “So, Frank, you gonna make me do our project from the porch?”

Her brown eyes widen, and she lets out a tiny squeak. “Right, right.” She pulls the door open wider. “Come in, please.”

Frankie moves aside and I squeeze past. I’m dying to touch her, even in the smallest way, but I’m careful not to brush against her.

My chest tightens when I step across the threshold and into the dark, quiet home.

It’s cold in here, and I don’t mean temperature-wise.

You canfeelthe lack of love in this place.

Because of the notebooks we’ve been passing back and forth all year long, I know that’s because of Frankie’s parents.

They’re not exactly…welcoming.

They’re not awful, but they don’t allow her to be…well,her.

It’s their way. Always.

They love her on some level, but at the same time, they don’tknowher.

Not like I do.

They don’t know that she loves to draw because she has to hide her notebooks. They have no clue that her favorite kind of candy is chocolate-covered raisins because she’s not allowed to have candy. And they would be lost if they ever had to pick her favorite musical artist out of a lineup because they don’t know it’s the Rolling Stones and not the worship music they constantly play.

They might actually talk to her, but sometimes written words speak a whole hell of a lot louder than spoken ones.

“Your house is…”

“Cold? Lonely? Empty? Draining?” she says with a lifted brow.

I laugh lightly. “I was going to say lovely, but you took a more honest approach.”

She lifts a shoulder. “It’s true. It’s why I don’t ever invite anyone over.” She purses her lips. “Well, that and I don’t have any friends.”

Her big eyes fill to the brim with sadness, and I hate that the tightness in my chest is no longer because of the cold but because of the loneliness in her gaze—and because of the realization that she doesn’t considerusfriends.

Though I suppose that’s fair.

“You have friends, Frank,” I say anyway, trying to get her to see that, even though I can’t show it, I do care about her.

“Yeah? You see me sit with them often in the cafeteria?”

I shove my hands in my pockets to keep from reaching out and pulling her into my arms where I can wrap her up tightly and protect her from everything and everyone. “I’d sit with you.”

“But you can’t.”

My shoulders droop and I nod. “Right. I can’t.”

She doesn’t say anything, just looks up at me with that same lonely stare.

“But I want to.”

Her breath stutters just a bit, and she darts her tongue out to wet her lips as they drop open.

She looks like she wants to say something else, but she doesn’t. Instead her full lips curve into a smile. “Want a snack?”

God, she sounds like an after-school special right now.

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