Opposite of Always(69)

“Collecting two hundred Gs? Trouble? Naw,” he says, with a dismissive wave, and I’m at a loss if he’s being serious or sarcastic. I settle on serious, because there’s something about Franny’s dad that makes me think he’s walked around with a lot more money than $200K before. “So, listen, where to now?”

“What do you mean?”

“To celebrate, man. Drinks on you.”

“Uh, okay.”

He clasps his hands together, like he’s finalizing some mega deal. “But listen, first we drop off that money. Walk around with that kind of cash, get your ass killed for real.”

Franny’s dad heads to the bar while I detour to my house. I’m more nervous than I expected, driving around with a bundle of money. What if I get pulled over? What if they search the car? What if—

I obey all the posted signs: speed limit, stop signs, yield signs. I signal my turns extra early. I make it home without incident.

After a quick sweep of my bedroom, I realize I have no clue where to keep a duffel of cash. This is my first duffel-full-of-money experience.

My desk and dresser seem too obvious.

Under my pillow is too obvious.

So I stash it under my bed.

Flipping original, I know. No one would ever look there.

“You wouldn’t understand, man,” Franny’s dad says, as the surly-looking bartender sets down another set of shots in front of us.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“When you look at your pops, what do you see? A strong man, right? Someone to look up to. Someone you respect. Even when he’s done something to piss you off, you still love him. That’s never a question, right?”

I’m not sure if I’m supposed to answer. But he tilts his head to the side as if to say, Well?

“Me and my dad are close, yeah.”

“Francisco looks at me and he sees none of that. Hell, most days, he barely looks at me. And why should he? What can I give him? What do I have that he needs?”

“He never wanted money, sir. He—”

Franny’s dad waves his hand, his drink sloshing but not spilling. “Cut that sir shit.”

“Sorry,” I say.

“S’okay. Go on.”

“I’m just saying, Franny never wanted things. He only wanted you. That’s what you have to give. That’s the only thing he ever wanted. You.”

Franny’s dad lifts his glass, waits for me to lift mine, and we clink and toss back the shots, or to be clear, he tosses back his shot while I sorta hard-gulp mine down in three or four semipainful baby swallows.

“I’m not the fearful type, you know,” he continues, signaling the bartender for another round. I try to make eye contact with the bartender to signal that he should not bring us another round but he’s already pouring. “Where I grew up, if you were afraid of anything, you got fucked with a quickness. But you know something? The truth, Jack? I’m afraid, man. I’m afraid it’s too late. It’s no secret I’ve screwed up. And not just my own life. His, too. I know that. Shit, I know that. But that’s not how I want to leave things. I can’t fix everything that’s happened, but I can make sure it doesn’t go that way again. I’m here now. I can make sure I stay here.”

“He needs to believe that you’ll keep showing up.”

Franny’s dad nods. “I’m going to be there. You watch.”

I slip into my bedroom undetected, which given my slightly inebriated state feels like a win. Plus, a quick under-the-bed check confirms that I haven’t been robbed. And all is well with the world (with my stomach and my head not so much) because Franny’s dad is going to show up at the game this time. No, all the times he wasn’t there won’t be magically forgotten, but it’s a start. Everything, good or bad, starts somewhere.

Meanwhile, my brain decides to torture me with questions about Franny and the money that I’m literally sleeping on, as in, Just how pissed would Franny be if he knew I worked with his father behind his back?

Would he understand that I have good intentions?

That I’m trying to save Kate?

Would it matter to Franny that I’d tried to use the time I’d spent with his father to improve their relationship?

I drift to sleep largely answerless, but with one happy thought running Olympic-speed laps in my brain—

Franny’s dad is finally going to be there.





Pants on Fire


Except he’s not here.

Not when Franny’s big game begins.

Not at halftime.

Not when it’s over.

When the final buzzer sounds and our school has been defeated, Jillian, Kate, and I race onto the court to wrap Franny into a Friendship Circle of Unconditional Love and Support, and even though he grits his teeth into a smile, it’s clear he’s not into it. Franny, who’s the most competitive person I know, doesn’t even seem to be taking our team’s butt-kicking that hard.

It’s the other thing.

That the person he wanted there isn’t.

Abuela tries to cover for him. “Franny, your dad, he wanted . . .”

“My father, not my dad,” Franny corrects her.

Abuela takes his hand. “Listen to me, mijo, it’s better to forgive. You can’t hate him forever, Francisco. I understand . . .”