Frankly in Love (Frankly in Love, #1)(47)

“If that suspect had been black, he’d be too shot-dead to question,” says Q.

“Right?” I scoff, and shake my head.

“Typical,” spits Q.

“I’m gonna wash my face.”

“Wait,” cries Joy. “Let me take a picture of it first.”

As she does, I say, “Just please don’t—”

“I won’t,” she says, meaning I won’t Snapstory this. She tucks her phone into her back pocket for no one else to see.



* * *



? ? ?

When Mom appears pushing Dad in a wheelchair, I hurry to hug them both.

“Okay, okay, okay,” says Dad, as if warding off a slobbering puppy.

“Okay, okay, okay,” says Mom, same.

We don’t hug much in House Li. For Mom-n-Dad, hugging must feel like When Animals Attack.

“They writing whole your face,” says Mom, covering her laugh. “I signing for Daddy.”

“Mom!”

“Joy start it,” says Mom. “She so funny. Especially for girl.”

“Oh, for a girl,” says Joy, laughing. She and I share an eyeroll—but a happy one.

“Girl normally should be smart and quiet and calm,” says Mom. “But Joy so crazy.”

That’s what makes her so badass, I think. And fuck it, it’s true. So I say it: “That’s what makes her so badass.”

Dad’s take-home bag drops to the floor, and Q swoops to retrieve it.

“Thanks, Q,” says Dad.

“But of course, Mr. Li.”

“Q is funny name,” says Dad. “Thank you, thank-q, thank-kew, ha.”

“Glad you’re enjoying it as much as I do, Mr. Li.”

We wheel Dad out into the early morning sun. Mom holds my hand like when I was a little kid. I can feel Joy next to me. Q’s got one hand on my shoulder.

Weirdly, I feel like today is one of the best days of my life. It’s a wonderful feeling. We survived something together, we five.

Then my pocket buzzes.

Where are you?

Is Q with you?

It’s Brit. It’s early Monday morning. Time for Calculus.

“Right,” I say. “Today is school.”

“And tomorrow’s SAT round two,” says Joy. “I’m taking the day off to catch up on sleep. You should, too. Sleep is just as important as study when it comes to taking tests.”

My score for SAT round one, by the way, wound up being 1310, which is good but not The-Harvard-good. Joy got a disappointing 1280. Freakin’ Q got 1590—ten points away from perfection, to Q’s endless irritation.

“You can’t just take the day off from school to study for the test,” says Q.

“Pretty sure I just did,” says Joy.

“She is crazy,” says Q.

We laugh, but I stop short. Because I can picture Brit in class staring at my empty seat, without a clue about what kind of night I’ve just been through. Because of me. Because I didn’t let her in.

But really, isn’t it my parents who aren’t letting her in?

I look at the five of us again, walking free in the fresh dewy air. We seem so happy and light and open to all the possibilities the world has to offer. How can it be, then, that Mom-n-Dad see Brit as white and nothing else? How can that possibly be, now that the world has just shown us we are all human, and mortal, and fragile?

They see Joy as some ideal girl, when in fact she isn’t. They see Q as a school buddy, when in fact he is my brother. How do they see me?

And who are Mom-n-Dad, really? What I see—the little I’m able to see—can’t be the whole picture. There are depths to them I can’t fathom yet. I probably never will.

I realize there’s only a tiny handful of people I really, really know who really, really know me back. Q is one. After tonight, Joy is officially another. I know Brit, but Brit doesn’t know the me of last night. And that’s my fault.

The morning suddenly turns and becomes dry and hot and blinding.

“I think I’m gonna go in to school,” I say. “Right after I drop Mom-n-Dad home.”

“No, we go to Store,” says Dad.

“You’re insane.”

“Customer waiting,” says Mom. “And police coming today. They taking picture and testimony for report.”

“You could take one day off, you know,” I say. “Just a couple stupid days would be okay after freaking getting shot in the chest.”

Q puts a hand on my arm. “Hey. Just let them go be them. Let you go do you.”

“I say that,” cries Joy.

Joy gives Q a high five so robust he must nurse his palm afterward.



* * *



? ? ?

Mom drives Dad to The Store, to my unending flabbergast. Q drives Dad’s QL5, first dropping Joy off at her house and then taking us to Palomino High School, home of the Conquistadores.

It’s lunch when we get there. I’m not even hungry—I barely know what time it is—but I head to the cafeteria anyway.

“We should split up,” I say.

Q thinks about that for a moment, then says, “Good thinking,” because he gets it. He knows if Brit saw us together, she’d know something happened last night. And I don’t want her to find out that way. The reason I wanted to come to school was not to maintain my flawless attendance record, but to fill her in myself. Honorably. In person.