“Two,” I smirk.
“Not that it’s any of your business. Just stay in your PTO lane,” Emmanuel fires back. He turns to me. “Anyway, darling, don’t you have to head out?”
“Why?”
“Don’t you have a date with that hot as fuck man who owns that restaurant around the block?” Emmanuel says, because he is nasty and also one of my very best friends—a promotion I’ve just given him this very moment.
I glance at Dom. There’s a flicker of something behind his eyes. His jaw clenches. I see the muscle pop in his temple. It’s faint, but it’s there.
“It’s next Tuesday,” I admit, because it is. Idon’tadd that it’s purely for work, so his restaurant can cater an event the school is having, because I, too, am nasty and want to have this tiny crumb of Dom’s jealousy as a light afternoon snack.
“Want me to do your makeup?” Emmanuel continues. “You’re gonna wear the new set you got, right? The tiny slip of lace we got you from Agent Provocateur?” I might have to give Emmanuel a raise after seeing the tips of Dom’s ears grow red.
“Get out,” I say instead. “I’m going to report you to HR,” I tell Emmanuel.
“Honey, I am HR,” he says on his way out, his job done, with a finger wave over his shoulder.
“Dom—” I begin, because it actually doesn’t feel so good. I’m not fourteen anymore and I’m over playing these sorts of games. “That wasn’t… I’m not…”
“Thanks again. For Frankie,” Dom cuts in, unaffected now. His face has returned to its calm, gentle norm. Cool as a cucumber. “Have a great Thanksgiving.” He turns and leaves.
I think it’s time to pick off the scab.
TWENTY-FOUR
Dominic
As with all days lately,I wake up the morning of Thanksgiving looking forward to the nighttime, when I can sleep again.
Just sick and tired of the mundane boredom hell, with too much time and yet not enough sleep.
This morning, however, is the morning Frankie finally decides to talk to me, sliding it into our regular morning conversation, likeoh, by the way, we need more milk. She does it so seamlessly that it takes me several seconds to realize that she’s said something of more importance than the items we need to add to our grocery list.
“What?” I ask, my skin prickling with that weird protective mode activation thing that parents sometime experience.
“By Ramona and Evie,” she continues.
“Back up, please. What about Ramona and Evie?”
“They’ve been bullying me,” she repeats.
I blink. “Your best friends Ramona and Evie?”
“They’re not my best friends anymore,” she says, likeduh.
A million different questions pop into my head. Something my parents would do is rapid-fire all of them, like it was an interrogation and my fault that the bad thing was happening to me. So I force all the questions all down before blurting them all out and upsetting her. Questions like,why are they bullying you, what are they bullying you about, do their parents know, are you okay, what can I do about it, can I beat up their parents?—
“Anyway, it’s getting better now, and I have a new best friend. His name is Mateo, and he likes the MTA as much as I like pirates.”
I pause, rolling some words around in my mouth, testing them. “I have a lot of questions,” I finally say. “Can I ask you some of them?”
She shrugs.
“The first one is—can I beat up their parents?”
Frankie giggles. “Lina says violence is never the answer.”
My heart sinks when I remember Lina’s been helping her through this. “Are you okay?” I decide to start with.
