“It’s not that,” she says quickly. “I just—I don’t want to upset her.”
“That’s a rubbish excuse,” I say before I think better of it. “She doesn’t care.”
She flinches like I’ve raised my voice, even though I haven’t.
“She does.”
“If you don’t like it, Francine just say it.”
“I did like it,” she says quietly. “I just can’t.”
The counting outside the door gets louder. Someone bangs on it.
“TIME’S UP!”
I feel stupid.
So when the door opens, when the light floods in and everyone leans forward waiting for a reaction, I beat her to it.
I laugh.
“Dead,” I say loudly. “Worst kiss of my life.”
The room erupts again.
Groans.
Teasing.
Someone makes gagging noises. I exaggerate it, waving my hand like I need air, playing it up until everyone’s laughing with me.
“Girl’s got witchcraft!”
It feels safer that way.
But then I look at Frankie.
She’s not laughing.
She’s standing there, arms crossed tight, eyes shining in a way that makes my chest drop.
She doesn’t look angry. Or annoyed.
She just looks hurt.
Our eyes meet for half a second.
Then she looks away.
Retreating into Za’s arms as my sister gives me a disgusted look.
“Hello!” Mum calls from the kitchen and the laughter dies. “What kind of X-rated games are you people playing in my house? Have you all gone mad?”
The dream cracks there.
“Ooo!Mr. Todd! I’m so happy! I could eat you up, I really could!”
I wake up to music and singing. Full-volume theatre music blasting through the flat. I groan and turn my head into the pillow. My brain feels like it’s buffering. For half a second, I think I’m still dreaming, then a high note hits and I’m wide awake.
