Page 13 of For the Fans

Frankie’s head dips back in a laugh that warms my gut. She has this sultry rasp to her voice that I like. “There are more of us, don’t worry. Hang with me, kid. I’ll show you how to survive this school.”

I’m so excited to be making afriendthat I end up nodding along and mindlessly following her like a pet.

Maybe this new school won’t be so bad after all…

When I get home, the house is empty.

It’s a relief, for sure, since I’m not in the mood to watch my mom and Tom make googly eyes at each other while blathering about wedding plans. And I’mdefinitelynot in the mood to see my douchebag almost-stepbrother after what happened at school today.

I’m telling you… I’mreallytrying to keep a positive outlook here. But the idea of even calling that guy mystepbrotheris making me want to die. He’s just such asnob.

Mr. Perfect Football Quarterback, with his perfect grades, and his stupid ironed clothes with no holes in them. Jock body and perfectly coiffed hair… laughing at people who are different with his idiot friends…

I scoff to myself upstairs to my bedroom.Milktoast motherfuckers.They all look the same and dress the same. Sports are their whole personality, it’s pathetic. Actually, it’s all so predictable, I could retchforthem.

They date the same rich cheerleaders, who are eerily similar to their own waspy mothers.Totally creepy.They peak in college and end up in the same boring marriages their parents had… The once hot-stuffpopulargirls become white-wine-and-Xanax-guzzling zombies, and the footballall-starsget stuck in dead-end corporate jobs, then end up cheating with their secretaries until they’re slapped with a sexual harassment lawsuit. Get divorced, then prey on the moms of unsuspecting emo nerds like me.

And the cycle repeats itself.

“Bleh…” I grumble, meandering into my room and tossing my backpack onto the bed. “Coolkids… Kill me now.”

Rustling in my secret desk drawer, I pull out some weed and rolling papers.Okay…So I don’tknowfor certain that’s what happened with Tom and his wife. But it wouldn’t surprise me. Not one bit.

Closing my eyes for a moment, I shake my head. I want to give him the benefit of the doubt. I want to see my momhappy. But it’s just so easy to be skeptical when these people are so very different from us.

I mean, these aren’t blue-collar people. They’re Irish Catholics from Southie.

No wonder Kyran hates me so much… I’m a mutt in his eyes.

Alright, that’s not fair either.He’s not a racist or anything. He’s a jerk, there’s a difference. And I don’t want to spend another minute obsessing over all this crap.

It’s toking time.

Sticking the joint between my lips, I light it and take a long drag, grabbing a nearby can of Febreze and spraying it everywhere. I go for my backpack, pulling out my Spanish homework. It makes me smile. For only a moment, before I’m smacked upside the head by reality once more.

My father… He used to speak Spanish to me when I was little. Before he died.

I was six years old when Arlo Vega was taken from this world. He worked construction for the city. And one day, there was a terrible accident on the job site, and he fell from some scaffolding that wasn’t properly secured.

My father plummeted to his death from over a hundred feet. Dead on impact.

It’s that level of hurt, internal scars and a lifelong pain to overcome, that I’m not sure Thomas or Kyran Harbor, with their cushy life, could ever understand.

A loud thump snaps me out of it. Like a reflex, I stub my joint out on my tongue and tuck everything away in my drawer, in case it’s Mom or herfiancé. But when I hear footsteps clomping upstairs, I realize that it’s neither of them. It’s someone worse. Someone angry.

A muffled voice comes from outside my bedroom door, the steps making their way into the other room just up the hall. I listen as Kyran slams his bedroom door, talking to someone, likely on the phone.

“It’s only for one more year…” I hear his voice through my door to our shared bathroom. “I already talked to Principal Brown, and he said there are forms you can fill out so I can still attend Somerville while technically residing in Cambridge. The school districts are—”

His voice cuts out like he’s been interrupted, and I creep over to eavesdrop a little better.

“I know. Iknowthat, Mom, but I’m begging you.” He actually sounds distraught. It kind of humanizes the enemy a little. For once, he’s not being a cocky, brooding asshole. “I just can’t… I don’t want to be here. Can Ipleasecome live with you??”

My mouth drops open. I can’t believe what I’m hearing…

He’s pleading with his mother to let him come live with her…To get away from me??I mean, I’m guessing that’s what’s happening. Why else would he be suddenly desperate to move out of the home he’s lived in for years?

Kyran is quiet for a few heavy moments, while I’m trying not to make any noise so I can keep spying.