Frankly in Love (Frankly in Love, #1)(87)

Being busy and in constant motion means my fartphone goes unanswered for longer stretches of time. Joy buzzes and buzzes, wondering if I’m okay. If Dad’s okay.

“Your phone’s blowing up, holmes,” says Luis. “You got a girl or something?”

I like Luis. But it wouldn’t be very cool to just openly blablabla about Joy right in front of Mom, so I tell him no, there’s no girl, it’s just friends calling about graduation parties.

For four weeks I barely go to school, because I work basically nonstop at The Store. It’s the opposite of senioritis. I don’t see Joy. I live with a weight belt strapped around my waist. Q drives all the way to visit one time, and makes a comedic attempt to help mop the floor. Out of mercy Mom sends him out to get tacos instead.

Within those four weeks Luis has mastered The Store, and has even brought in his shy, ever-smiling teenaged cousin to lend a hand. And finally, one time as I’m closing up, I notice that me and Mom have barely lifted a finger all day.

Hey yubs, says Joy. How’s The Store? Wannaseeya wannaseeya.

I want to see Joy too. I need to get this summer of love going, stat.

“I have an idea,” I tell Mom. “I’ll be right back.”

“Luis doing everything so good,” says Mom. “Don’t tell Daddy.”

“That’s why I have my idea,” I say.

I take Mom’s bank card, drive out to Tweeters & More, and buy a dozen drop cameras. When I get back to The Store, I explain the situation to Luis before installing them.

“Listen, I trust you and your cousin completely,” I say. “This is not about you. This is Dad management.”

Luis clocks each of the cameras with a wary eye but readily understands why they’re a good idea. Still, he tweaks the angles when I’m finished.

“I need some kind of dead zone for breaks,” he says.

“You got it, Luis,” I say.

We craft a nice dead zone by the paper products.

“Just remember to call and ask how to do things now and then,” I say.

“Uh, okay,” says Luis.

“Even though you already know how to do everything, just call.”

Luis stretches his eyebrows. “Ah, I get it.”

My idea is perfect because I know Dad would never let someone work at The Store without him present. He’s too paranoid, too proud of what he’s built. But without him there’s only Mom, and no way am I going to let Mom work all day by herself.

So when me and Mom approach his bedside to break the news that Luis and his cousin will be operating The Store full-time, I make sure I have a brand-new tablet all set up and ready for him.

“No,” says Dad. “I never allowing full-time employee without I’m being there.”

That’s when I shove the screen in his face. “This lets you switch cameras. Here’s a tile view of all twelve. Full-color HD, Dad.”

“Frankie, no,” says Dad. “Luis stacking wrong way this one. He—”

On screen, the much younger, much stronger Luis reorders and stacks three hundred cans of beer in under a minute.

“Oh, he doing good,” says Dad, mesmerized.

“I told you,” says Mom. “That’s Luis.”

“Gimme one ice water,” says Dad, his eyes fixed to the screen.

“You got it, Dad,” I say.

Ring-ring. It’s Luis, calling Dad’s phone.

“You doing good job,” says Dad.

“Thanks, boss,” says Luis. “So quick question, boss: when does the ice delivery come in again?”

“Thursday ten a.m.,” says Dad. “You write down, remembering.”

“Will do,” says Luis. “Thanks, boss.”

I bring Dad his ice water, and he barely notices me. I squeeze Mom’s shoulder. She nods at me: go.

So I go to the bathroom, lock the door, and turn on the shower. As it warms up, I finally indulge myself in a little fartphone time.

New exhibit at the Henry Gallery, says Joy. You free?

I smile. I’m free, I say.

Really? says Joy.

Yes.

Heart smileys fill my screen.

The shower’s hot now, but before I get in, I send a quick message to Q. It’s been a while since I set up a fake date. It’s high time for some Joy in my life.

My dear old bean, I say. Your assistance is crucially needed tonight for an impromptu rendezvous.

Confound it, says Q. For I am encircled by familial interlopers visiting with the irritating pretense of endless pre-graduation formalities.

Huh?

Got a bunch of relatives in town from DC using me and Evon’s graduation as an excuse for a California vacation with free lodging.

Crap, I say. So you’re busy?

I’m never too busy for you, mate. Give me a sec.

By the time I’m out of the shower, Q has responded.

Full steam ahead, my boy. The three of us are “watching” Dwarven Wars: Song of Torment.

I pump a fist. I have my in-car alibi for when I pull up to Joy’s house and the watchful eyes of her dad waiting there. Thank you, Q.

I get dressed, leap down the stairs, and lean from a doorjamb to inform Mom-n-Dad, who are still huddled over the drop cam tablet.

“I’m going out to see a movie with Q,” I say. I of course don’t mention Joy, for the same reason I of course don’t smack away ice cream from a child.