Plan B

Chapter Twenty-five

It was nearly three in the morning before Fran got back to the boarding house.  She didn’t dare use the lift because it made too much noise, and struggling up the stairs with the crutch took a lot longer than she’d thought it would.

Whoever had been on night duty for the house had evidently forgotten about it: the curtains all along the corridor were open, but Fran was grateful.  It meant that she could see her way around any obstacles without having to turn the light on or crashing into things and causing a ruckus.  As quietly as possible, she made her way down to the end of the passage and was about to push her bedroom door open when she noticed light seeping out through the cracks.

Oh… crud.  He’s still awake.  Fran bit her lip.  How was she supposed to explain her condition to him?  He’s not going to leave me alone if I walk in with a crutch.  He’ll probably already kill me for staying out after curfew.  But what the hell is he doing still up at this time of night?

Brookie never stayed up that late.  Midnight was the latest he went.

He’s probably keeping himself up until I get back, she realised with a sinking heart.  It was the only explanation.  The stuck-up little prig.  If he hadn’t already busted her absence, he probably would in the morning.  Or wanted to make some kind of slave-like deal with her so he wouldn’t bust her.

I can’t win this.  I have to face him at some point.  Swallowing, Fran gripped the handle and pushed the door open.

Brookie’s desk lamp was the one emitting light, and Brookie was sitting in his office chair, which he had moved to the side of Fran’s desk so that he was directly opposite the door.  His arms were folded and Fran noticed that his phone was clutched in his right hand, backlight still bright.

Brookie pursed his lips when he saw her.

“Finally.  You’re back.”

No comment about the crutch.  Fran froze.  Brookie didn’t look surprised in the remotest at her battered state.  If anything, his expression was irritated.  He nodded towards her bed.

“Well, sit down.  Can’t believe you’re doing your leg any good like that.”

Blinking and with a niggling unease, Fran tried to control her shaking as she limped over to the bed and sat on the edge of it.  Brookie got to his feet and crossed to close the door.  The click as he dropped the latch confirmed her sneaking suspicion that Brookie somehow knew something about what had happened.  Frightened, she drew her good leg up to her chest and hugged it tightly, unable to look at him.

Brookie lingered with his fingers at the catch for several seconds before coming to stand in front of her.  Fran managed to glance up as far as his chest.  His arms were crossed again, and his phone was visibly shaking from some kind of tremor in his fingers.

“Tell me,” he ordered.

Fran remained motionless.  That tone….  Godd*mn, the fury he was supressing was like a pressure cooker reaching its absolute pressure limit.  He tapped his foot impatiently.

“Tell you what?”  It came out as a whisper.

Brookie’s reply was cold and coated with irony.  “Oh, I don’t know.  Perhaps your name would be a good start.  Or should we begin with the fact that you’re a girl masquerading as a boy in a co-ed school?  What’s up with that, huh?”

Fran’s mind went numb and her vision seemed to fade as she stared at her foot.  Girl… as a boy… in a co-ed school.  He knew.  He knew.  Her entire body started to tremble.  How did he find out?  Oh, God, how did he find out…?  She tried to breathe calmly to soothe her nerves, but it came out ragged, almost as if she were crying.  What do I tell him?  What do I tell him?