Frankly in Love (Frankly in Love, #1)(23)
love
chapter 10
old new loves
Joy and I spend the next couple of days working out the kinks in our system. First, I set a calendar event titled OLD NEW LOVES MOVIE WITH BRIT. Joy immediately deletes it.
Dumbass, don’t use any names, she writes.
Aha, I write back.
So I make a new event titled simply SATURDAY: F—OLD NEW LOVES MOVIE. The F very cleverly stands for Frank.
A day later I’m in Calculus, and we’re going over test answers together. Q got a perfect 100, for he is Q. Q also scored a perfect 1520 on the PSAT, forever ago.
I got a 97. So did Brit. She reached over and drew a fat heart around my number, which is totally middle school, but I do not care one single bit.
I feel a buzz and dare to take a peek at the screen:
SATURDAY: —TITANFIST 3 RESUSCITATION MOVIE
Titanfist 3 is one long bro-yell of a movie, and I can so clearly picture Wu fist-pumping at the screen while Joy buries herself in her seat that I have to stifle a laugh.
“Mr. Frank, are you seriously looking at a phone in our sanctuary of learning?” says Mr. Berry Soft.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, and put it away. I give Brit a quick grin and her nose crinkles happily: What are you up to? A wave passes through me. A wave of something. Mischief? Thrill? Daring?
Mr. Soft holds his gaze, not mad or anything, just patiently waiting. “Anything you’d like to share?”
I do want to share. I want to stand on my desk and declare, I have my first real date with Brit to the class. But I just offer a contrite smile and shake my head no.
“Next week our SAT boot camp starts,” says Mr. Soft, “so let your brains rest. No homework this weekend.”
“Aw,” says Q with genuine disappointment.
“I am blessed to have you as a student, Mr. Q,” says Mr. Soft. “Pound sign blessed.”
* * *
? ? ?
Later, I gather things from my locker for the weekend. I look at my warped reflection in my cheap stick-on mirror. I’ve never thought of myself as good-looking. But Brit must think so. Wouldn’t that make me officially good-looking? I slam the locker door shut to reveal Q’s face inches from mine.
“Jesus,” I say. “You scared the poop out of my butthole.”
“We’re hitting the Blood Keep bonus level tomorrow,” says Q. “Me, Olmo, you, and the Patel brothers on webcam. Bring your headset, because it’s us versus a friggin’ demigod.”
“Q, Q, Q,” I say. “Listen.”
Q’s face falls. “No.”
“I have a date.”
“Urghhh,” says Q.
“Pull yourself together, old chap,” I say in my best posh lockjaw.
Q closes his eyes. “Deep breath, soft focus.” He opens them again. “Right, then. My boy Frank, I am quite delighted for you. And this date is . . . ?”
“Dinner and that Old New Loves movie.”
“Brilliant.”
Q eyes me, like my face suddenly got different. Maybe it has.
“And your parents are cool with her?” he says.
I inhale sharply and yank my backpack straps. “Mhm,” is all I say. I don’t want to tell him just yet about my covert dating strategy, which probably seems ludicrous if you look at it up close. But ludicrous times, they say, call for ludicrous measures.
“Wow, that was easy,” says Q. “How did things turn around with them? Did something good happen with Hanna?”
“Why?”
“Huh?”
We both stare at each other for a moment, confused. My phone buzzes.
“That’s her, gotta run,” I say.
By her, I mean Joy, saying, Pick me up in 30. But Q doesn’t need to know that right now.
“I’ll just be at the Blood Keep, then,” says Q.
* * *
? ? ?
I drive home in my unenthusiastic Consta as fast as I can and pound up the stairs to my room to get ready. I have just enough time for a five-minute shower, hair gel touch-up, and a fresh shirt: my favorite one with the dog sipping tea in hell saying This is fine.
I’m tipping my head back to clip my nose hairs in the mirror when a voice sings softly at me.
“Where you going tonight?”
It’s Mom, leaning against the doorjamb.
“Dinner,” I say. “Then a movie.”
“Good, good,” says Mom with obvious relish. “What movie?” she asks, as if the film choice will augur my future.
“It’s called Old New Loves.”
“What it’s about?”
“Mommy, you don’t bothering Frank, okay?” calls Dad from the other room. “He must be get ready.”
“Sound like love story,” says Mom. “Joy like it, I bet. Girl like love story.”
“Mom,” I say. “I gotta go.”
Dad appears in the doorway next to Mom, holding keys. “You take my car.”
I look at him. I’ve never driven Dad’s car before. He holds his keys out like a chef would a big pinch of salt.
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Mmm,” says Dad.