Opposite of Always(70)

But Franny cuts her off. “You have to forgive him, Abuela, because he’s your son. You’re supposed to be there for him. I understand why you can’t turn your back on him. But I’m his son. He’s supposed to be here for me. He’s supposed to show up for me. He doesn’t want my forgiveness. He has to be sorry first.”

“Mijo, listen . . .”

“I’m sorry. I love you. More than anything. The only good thing that man ever gave me was you, but right now, I can’t stay here any longer. I gotta get outta here, okay? I’m sorry. I’ll call you.”

Abuela nods, her eyes glassy. “The best thing he gave me was you.”

Franny walks into Abuela, his body twice her size, and she disappears in his embrace. He kisses her gray curls, squeezes her tighter, before letting go.

“You okay to get home?” Franny asks her.

“You go have fun, Francisco,” she says. “Have fun with your friends.”

He nods. “Make sure you text me, let me know you made it, okay?”

“You know nobody messes with your abuela,” she says, smiling.

“They better not,” Franny says, raising his fists in the air. He turns to Jillian, to me. “You guys ready?”

“Let’s get out of here,” Jillian says.

“Where we going?” I ask.

Franny gives the gym one final look as we step into the night. “Anywhere but here.”

After pillaging two bottles of wine from Jillian’s mom’s stash, Jillian drives us to her grandparents’ summer cottage out on Lake Erie. Inside it smells stale and the electricity isn’t on because Jillian’s grandparents are a couple weeks away from opening it up for the season, but it feels good to unwind together.

Jillian and Kate light candles all around and I turn on music on my phone and along the walls our shadows dance. Even Franny, sad and angry, eventually peels himself off the couch, lets us drag him into our Soul Train oblong.

He dips his shoulders. “Let me show you guys how this is supposed to look.” And he’s right. His way looks infinitely better.

We wind up on the back deck, and although it’s too dark to see the water, we hear it sloshing, clapping below us.

“We still have a chance. With the tourney,” I say when a silence settles.

“The consolation bracket?” Franny shrugs. “Long shot.”

“But a shot.”

Franny pulls a slip of paper from his pocket. “Guess you’re right. If this could happen, anything can.”

“What’s that?” Jillian asks.

“See for yourself,” he says. She takes it from his hands, uses her cell-phone flashlight to illuminate the letter.

“Oh my God,” she whispers, shaking the paper like it’s on fire.

“What?” I ask.

“What is it?” Kate chimes.

“You got in,” Jillian screams, jumping up and down. “You fucking did it, Franny!”

“Got in where?” Kate asks.

But I don’t need the letter to know what’s happened.

“Whittier,” Franny says. “I get to be with you guys!”

“That’s awesome,” Kate exclaims, throwing herself into Franny and Jillian’s Jump Party.

“Friends forever,” I say in my cheesiest voice.

Only I really mean it.

“Okay, I don’t know about you guys, but this wine is squeezing my bladder like a lemon,” I say, already headed out of the room.

“That’s Jack’s super-elegant way of saying he has to pee,” Franny interprets for Kate. “He’s an awesome kid, but he’s a lightweight.”

“Am not,” I yell.

“Just don’t miss the toilet, Romeo,” he calls after me.

“No promises.”

I set one hand against the wall for balance and, I don’t know, maybe it’s that my bladder’s feeling relieved, or maybe it’s the moonlight falling through the small window beside me, everything a swirly yellow glow, but I know everything’s going to be okay.

Kate will live.

Franny’s going to Whittier with Jillian and me.

Maybe the four of us will get an apartment together. Make our own reality show called Four Stupid Smart Kids Take on College. I laugh. At how good I feel. At how lucky I am.

The only thing that’s still broken is Franny and his dad.

But there’s time to fix that, too.

I can make that right. I’ll try until I do.

“Hey, Jack, your phone’s ringing out here, man,” Franny calls through the door.

“Probably my parents. I’ll call them back when I’m finished.”

“No, it’s not their number.”

“Okay, well, just let it go to voice mail then.”

“Too late,” Franny says, laughing. “Jack’s Answering Service, how can I help you?” He’s still laughing.

Then he stops, and I can’t hear him anymore. Only the girls singing in the distance.

“Franny, who was it?” I say, unsure if he’s even still by the door. “Listen, we need more wine now. I’m ready to fill up again.”

I flush and stumble to the sink, turn on the water, wash my hands, slap water against my face. Smile to my reflection. My reflection smiling back, harder, happier.