Plan B

Chapter Twenty-six

“Hey, titch.  Wake up.”

Fran groaned as a pair of hands seized her shoulders and shook her vigorously.  She kicked out with her good leg, but only succeeded in losing her duvet.

“Come on, girl.  Get up.  It’s bad enough you need a crutch, which is going to take some explaining, or do you want to tell the headmaster where you were last night after curfew?”

Girl?  Fran’s eyes snapped open.  The shock of finding Brookie’s face millimetres from her own gave voice to a scream.  Jerking backwards, Brookie covered Fran’s mouth with his hands.

“Whoa, calm down!  Do you want the entire corridor to know that Sleeping Beauty only wakes up under threat of kissing?”

Fran ripped his hand away.  “F*ck off,” she grumbled, barely coherent enough to register his words but able to tell from his grin that he was making fun of her.

“Relax.  I wasn’t going to do anything.  Kissing sleeping people is perverted and creepy.  Here.”  He sat on the side of her bed, hauling her into a sitting position.  “Your left leg is the busted one.  Uniform,” he piled it onto Fran’s lap, “and I’ll bandage your leg now and then let you get dressed in peace.”

Fran was too dazed from lack of sleep to fully take in what was going on until the door opened and Bernard wandered in, yawning and rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

“Guys, what’s with the noise at eight in the morning?”  Blinking owlishly in the light, he looked around the room and then spotted Fran and Brookie on Fran’s bed.  “Brook?”  The second half of Brookie’s name was lost in another humungous yawn.

“Frankie busted his leg,” Brookie said cheerfully.  “And I poked it while I was re-bandaging it.  Look.”  He finished off the bandage and held up Fran’s leg for Bernard to see.  Fran yelped.

“Brookie, you’re far too happy for this time of morning.”  Bernard shook his head and shuffled back out.

Brookie patted Fran’s leg and stood up; Fran slumped back against the wall.

“Why’d you wake me up?” she complained.

“You have school,” he pointed out.  “You still have to go, you know.”

Fran looked up at him, tears filling her stinging eyes.  She shook her head mutely.

“Come on, Frances.  Pretend you broke your leg or something and that’s why you got back late yesterday.  If you don’t function as normally as possible, people might start asking questions.  The last thing you can afford right now is to be sent to the infirmary or somebody wanting a detailed account of yesterday evening.”

Fran’s vision blurred, and she blinked rapidly.

“I can’t,” she whispered.  “Please, Brookie, I can’t.  I….”

Her whole body started quivering.

Brookie’s grey eyes softened a little, and he sat down beside her again.

“Everything will sort itself out.”  He wrapped an arm around her shoulders.  “Trust me.”

Fran flung his arm off.  “How can you say that to me when you were telling me just a few hours ago that you couldn’t trust me?!”

There was silence as he studied her for a long moment.

“You’re right, and I still don’t,” he admitted with a shrug.

“I hate you!”  Trying to hold back her tears, Fran threw herself facedown on the bed.  “You have no idea what I’ve been through!”

Brookie didn’t respond.  For several minutes, the only sound was Fran sobbing; then, eventually, the mattress creaked as he stood up.