“Am I a boy or a girl today?” Fran asked, poking her head out of the door as Brookie came back from a morning shower, towelling his hair dry. He was wearing a pair of khaki trousers and a dark blue t-shirt, but however much water he’d put himself under, he still looked half asleep.
“Hmm?” He turned around, squinting, and then caught sight of Fran. “Oh, what, for the paintballing? Better come as a boy, just in case.”
Fran wrinkled her nose. It had been extremely nice to spend a couple of days without the chest compressor. With a sigh, she shut her bedroom door again and rooted around in the chest of drawers for her male clothes.
How am I supposed to make myself look pretty if Rico’s there when I’m dressed as a guy?
“He doesn’t know who you are, stupid,” she muttered, whacking the side of her head with her palm. Her vision sparked momentarily and she staggered, lightheaded. Ugh. Too early in the morning.
By the time Brookie came knocking on her door to tell her they needed to go and that she ought to eat breakfast first, Fran had a headache brewing.
“Are you okay?” he asked her just before he backed out of the room. “You look a little peaky.”
Fran waved a dismissive hand. “Headache. It’ll go.”
Brookie disappeared, but he was back a few minutes later with some Paracetamol.
“Here. Take one of these. It should help.”
Fran popped one out of the packet and dry swallowed it, causing Brookie to shoot her a queer glance.
“How do you do that? Isn’t it really uncomfortable?”
Fran just shrugged. “Useful if you’re nicking sweets off your little brother.”
“Oh, speaking of Freddie, has he got any news?”
Fran shook her head. “None. Why did you put Conrad in touch with him?”
“Conrad asked.”
“Why?”
“Haven’t the foggiest. Come on, you need to eat.”
A few minutes later, they were in the car heading towards the motorway.
“Exactly how far away is this place?” Fran asked.
“About an hour’s drive. Piers and Arthur are coming up from London, so we needed to make it reasonably fair for everybody to get to.”
“And how many people are coming?”
Brookie shrugged. “Most of the boys in my year. Don’t worry – you know them all. The twins will be there, and Rico….” He shot her a sly grin.
Resisting the urge to thump him, Fran flushed.
“Oh, and I invited Mathilda, as well,” he added. “I thought you might appreciate some female company.”
“Mathilda doesn’t know I’m a girl,” Fran pointed out.
Brookie smirked. “Really? Have you asked her?”
Fran sighed with frustration. “And how exactly am I supposed to do that? ‘Oh, hey, Mathilda, have you worked out I’m a girl yet?’”
Brookie laughed. “That was pretty much what I said to her, actually.”
“Brookie! F*cking hell!” This time, she did thump him. Still laughing, Brookie did no more than adjust his grip on the steering wheel.
JE LEEST
Plan B
TienerfictiePlan A might have been just as dangerous as the police insisted it was safe. It involved being locked away, out of sight and communication, and didn't solve the problem that Fran's stalkers seemed to have access to police files and data. Plan B th...
