Opposite of Always(45)

“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand what’s happening, Franny.”

“You should’ve been here. That’s what didn’t happen.”

“I know. I know. And I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry,” he says to me, sneering. He turns back toward the car, which is maneuvering around him. “He’s sorry,” he says to the driver of the car, rapping his knuckles on the car’s roof as it crawls by. “Yo, he’s sorry,” he yells toward the sky.

“What happened, Franny?”

“You wanna know? You really wanna know?”

“I do. Please.”

“You were late, and I insisted we wait for you, because after all, my best friend knows how important tonight is, he’s gotta be on his way, right? So, we’re sitting there, Abuela, me, and The Coupon, awkward as hell. He’s all trying to make small talk, only I’m not feeling it. I ask Abuela if she got enough ice cream for the cobbler, offer to run to the corner store. But then he says I’ll go.”

Franny sits on the back bumper of my car. I stand beside him.

“Half hour passes and dude still isn’t back.”

I take a seat beside Franny on the bumper, half expecting him to move away. He doesn’t.

“Abuela’s worried. But he has one of those prepaid phones and we don’t have the number. Go look for him, she says. In my head, I’m figuring this dude ran into some back-in-the-day girl he knows or whatever. But I get to the store and there’s like three or four cop cars. Neighbor’s kid says someone tried to rob the Quickie Mart. And now my head’s spinning, because what if this dude got himself shot or something. I think this might kill Abuela.”

Franny swallows hard. A car zooms by, heavy bass rattling its trunk.

“I try to get closer but an officer grabs me, says back up. But I sidestep him and keep walking. He snatches me from behind, and then I’m being slammed to the sidewalk. Which is when I see him. The Coupon. Sitting in the back of one of the cars. Our eyes meet, and he starts wigging out, mashing his face into the rear window, thumping on the glass, yelling, Yo, yo, that’s my son. Get the hell off my son! And then I hear myself yelling, That’s my pop, man. That’s my pop! And the whole time it’s happening, it’s not real, you know. None of it’s real.”

“I don’t know what to say,” I say. Because I don’t. I take a chance and drape my arm around his shoulders, and he bristles but doesn’t move. “Let’s drive down to the precinct, find out what the charges are. See if we can get him out.”

“Abuela’s already on her way. She called your parents. They’re meeting her there.”

And I know I’m responsible.

Franny’s right.

If I show up on time, no one gets antsy.

No trip to the corner store.

No arrest.

No Franny hating my guts.

But I’m late.

“This dude can’t even last seventy-two hours out in the real world. Like, who does that?”

“I’m sure it’s a mistake, Franny.”

“The only mistake is thinking he could change.”

“I’m sorry I was late. If I hadn’t been late, then . . .”

“If you’re thinking I’m about to absolve you of your guilt, it’s not the time, man.”

“No.” I nod. “I’m sorry.”

“Besides,” Franny says, standing up, smirking like he’s some supervillain, a streetlamp casting a yellow haze behind him. “If anything, you did me a favor, man. He was bound to screw up sooner or later. You just saved us all the bullshit in between.”

And then Franny walks up the sidewalk, and I don’t have time to decide if I’m meant to follow before he disappears into the house, slamming the door behind him.

And here’s the killer part.

You’re probably wondering what was so important that Kate wanted to see me in person, right?

Like me, you probably figured it was about her illness. That she wanted to tell me face-to-face.

Like me, you figured wrong.

She wanted to see me because it was our three-month anniversary and she had a present for me. Which made me feel terrible because I hadn’t gotten anything for her. And I felt worse when I saw how awesome her gift was.

A digital photo frame with carefully curated pictures of our times together.

Yep.

I get a thoughtful electronic keepsake that I don’t even deserve, and Franny loses his dad, again, the same day he got him back.

Franny stops talking to me.

Jillian tells me I should probably find another way to school, just until he cools off, she assures me.

But I don’t argue.

I deserve far worse.

Mom tries convincing me that I’m not to blame for Franny’s dad, that he’s a grown man who has to be accountable for himself, and while I appreciate her efforts to make me feel better, I know that’s mostly Mom Talk.

“Where’s Dad?” I ask one day after school.

“Uh,” Mom says, intensely typing into her computer. I peek over her shoulder. She’s typing on some spreadsheet for work. “I believe he’s with Franny.”

“Oh,” I say. “What are they up to?”

“Shopping for a tux, I think. I guess Franny wanted help.”