The place smelled like burgers, fries, and the shakes I was constantly making, the kind of sensory overload that forced my brain to stay in the present instead of spiraling. Orders came in. Drinks went out. I smiled on autopilot, wiped counters, counted change. Muscle memory took over in a way that felt almost merciful.
For a few hours, I was just Frankie. Not a headline. Not a complication. Not a potential family tree disaster.
Archie had dropped me off earlier, because my car had been “sent in for service.”
Courtesy of Eddie and Maddy.
No warning. No discussion. Just a cheerful text from my mother that morning letting me know Edward had insisted it be looked over “for safety,” followed by a promise that it would be returned better than new.
I hadn’t argued—mostly because I didn’t have the energy—but the loss of that small, stubborn piece of independence had lodged under my skin anyway.
Archie hadn’t commented when I told him. He’d just taken the keys, opened the passenger door for me, and said, “I’ve got you,” like it was the most natural thing in the world.
That, somehow, made it worse and better all at once.
My phone stayed tucked in my apron pocket, but I could feel it there—like a pulse.
It buzzed during my break.
Group chat: The Idiots™(Archie, Jake, Bubba, Coop… and me)—I’d renamed it two days earlier and really liked it.
Jake:
so just to be clear
Jake:
Frankie ditches school = iconic
Jake:
me ditching school = “irresponsible”
Bubba:
u ditching school = u would get arrested somehow
Coop:
facts
Me:
I skipped responsibly
Jake:
haha
A smile tugged at my mouth. Even here, even now, they were just… them. No sharp edges. No tension leaking through the screen.
Then another buzz came in. Not the group chat.
Archie.
Archie:
Hey. You busy?
