Onward

   “FRANCHESCA PIPER ZAMORA, YOU’D BETTER WAKE UP BEFORE YOU MISS THE BUS!” Mom yelled at me from down the hall. 

   I peered over at my alarm clock and nearly hit my head on my ceiling jumping out of bed. I ran to the bathroom to brush my teeth and get dressed. Mom barged in. “Come on, you don’t have any time for that!”

   “Right.” I ditched the toothbrush and exchanged it for an actual brush. Then I grabbed my backpack and went downstairs into our small yet busy family owned italian restaurant. I kissed my mother goodbye and ran outside.

   The bus was approaching the bus stop. I caught up with Freddie Laverne, my best friend. He laughed as the bus came to a complete halt and opened its doors. “Girl, did you just wake up? That’s twice this week, and it’s only Tuesday.”

   I playfully nudged his shoulder with mine. “Hush. Senior year is tough, all right? Kicking my ass, in fact.”

   He laughed and found us a seat. “C’mon, it isn’t that bad.”

   “Easy for you to say!” I narrowed my eyebrows. “You don’t have very high expectations for yourself. Do you really think you can live in your mom’s house and work as a barista at Suzanne’s Gourmet Cafe your whole life?”

   He rolled his eyes. “Touche. But aren’t you supposed to be working in your family’s restaurant until you die?”

   I bit my bottom lip. “That’s what they want for me. But Freddie, I’ve been accepted into Columbia and NYU. I don’t think I’m just going to turn down such great opportunities.”

   He gaped at me. “You what? Frankie, your parents are going to go ballistic. You can’t go to college! How would you even be able to afford it?”

   “Freddie, Freddie, Freddie,” I said, shaking my head. “Don’t you get that I don’t care if they’ll get mad? It isn’t their life to live, it’s mine. Little Sophia can run the business when she gets older. It isn’t my dream anymore.”

   “But what about the costs?” he asked pointedly.

   I pursed my lips into a tight thin line. “The scholarships would pay for my tuition and housing.”

   “Excuse me, did you just say scholarships?” he gasped. “As in not one, but multiple?”

   I gave a sheepish grin. “Yeah, Freddie. I mean multiple. Both schools offered me academic based scholarships. The problem is I’m not sure what school to choose.”

   “Girl, you’ve wanted to be a lawyer for crazy long,” he pointed out. I was about to protest, but he shushed me. “I’ve seen you watching all of those law shows, don’t deny it. Go to NYU. Be a lawyer. I’ll be cheering you on from the sidelines --- well, the cafe.”

   I hugged him. “You’re the best.”

   “Aren’t I?” 

   The bus arrived at school. For once I entered Stuyvesant High School with a stress-free smile on my face.

.     .     .

“Mia figlia,” Mom said, entering my room. She looked pissed. “What’s this I see about a letter from New York University?”

   Crap. Crap crap crap. “Oh, uh, it’s just a pamphlet. Freddie must’ve addressed it here or something, I’ll give it to him when he comes over.”

   One of her eyebrows inclined. “Uh huh. A letter to Freddie addressed to you? Is something going on, mia figlia?”

   “No, mama,” I said, forcing a smile.

   “Okay, then.”

   She stormed away. Freddie passed her and entered my room with wide eyes. “Girl, what just happened?”

   “My Mom almost busted me for having a NYU pamphlet,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I said it was yours, so please pretend now that you want a future.”

   He stiffened. “Um . . .”

   I raised an eyebrow. “‘Uh’ what? Come on, man, it was a joke.”

   “Yeah, whatever,” he murmured.

   I became worried for my friend. “Hey, what’s going on.”

   “Nothing!” he replied all too quickly, his eyes darting down so I couldn’t read them in time.

   “Fred---”

   “I said it’s nothing, all right?” he said, his voice raised.

   “I . . .” What would I even say to that? “Okay. What do you want to do?”

   “I don’t know,” he sighed. 

   “What if we---”

   “If you say study,” he interrupted me. “It’ll end in cold blooded murder, Franchesca.” 

   I stuck my tongue out at him. “I wasn’t going to say that. And only my mother has permission to call me Franchesca. You know that.”

   “I also know that your trigger word is Franchesca,” he snorted. He gazed back down onto my bed. “Besides, your full name isn’t even bad. It’s . . . fitting.”

   “How so?” 

   He blushed. “Because it’s pretty.”

   I rolled my eyes. “Freddie, may I remind you of the countless number of times you’ve told me that I’m the ugliest girl alive.”

   “In my defense, I was a little kid who thought all girls must be destroyed,” he protested. “And for the record, I’ve never once actually believed that you were ugly.”

   I smiled appreciatively, though my cheeks felt warm as I stared into his curious green eyes. “Thanks.”

   “Of course. Dude,” he added at the end, sending any stray butterflies back to their cage.

.     .     .

The next day at school was weird. Freddie seemed to be less talkative than usual, only speaking in response or agreement. It felt . . . off. I didn’t know why I cared so much about it, though. I mean, usually Freddie letting me talk would be a dream come true!

   I nudged his shoulder. “Hey, triste. Why all of the sudden stop being your normal chatty self? Is something wrong?”

   He shrugged me off. “I’m fine. Just . . . I’m fine.”

   “Oh! Okay,” I said, caught off guard. He was fine. But this wasn’t Freddie behavior. “Wait. No. Not okay! Freddie, you’ve been acting super . . . weird lately. What’s going on?”

   “Nothing!”

  “Enough with that cock-and-bull excuse!” I groaned. “We’re best friends and we’ve been best friends for how long? Since when have you ever kept a secret from me?”

   “Yes, well, I need some privacy,” he said bitterly.

   I stopped walking. “What the hell is wrong with you? You’ve just been moping around everywhere lately!”

   “Why do you even care?” he asked. That hit me pretty hard.

   “Because, Freddie, I care about you! Your problems are my problems. Period. No semicolon, no ellipsis, and no comma. PERIOD.”

   “I don’t want to talk to you, Frankie,” he said, angry. But why was he mad? Didn’t I have just as much right to be pissed at him too?

   “Yeah, well, I want to talk to you. I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s bothering you.”

   “That’s harassment.”

   “Do I really look like I care?”

   “FINE!” he shouted. “God, Frankie, you’ve always been so stubborn! Do you want to know what’s wrong with me? I. AM. FALLING. IN. LOVE. WITH. YOU. OKAY? I . . . I’m falling in love with you.”

   I took a step back. And then another. And another. And then one more. “What?”

   He punched a locker. People who weren’t already watching us started looking. And the lookers turned into starers. “Of course you wouldn’t feel the same way. It’s always me with the misfortunes, isn’t it? ‘Oh, Freddie, you don’t have your life planned out, you’re a mess, but my life’s still harder because I can’t choose between Columbia and NYU!’ What sense does that even make?”

   Freddie, I---”

   “Oh, and another thing,” he said, laughing dryly. “Do you know what’s hard? Trying to keep it from your best friend that you’ve liked her for years. That now you’re so in love with her that you can’t get out. You know what, Frankie? I’m done. I am absolutely done trying to convince myself that this would work out.”

  “But you’ve barely just told me!” I cried, 

  “Does that even matter when you aren’t going to do a thing about it?” he asked, almost hopefully.

   “I---”

   “Yeah, didn’t think so. See you, Franks.”

   As he crossed the corner I stopped my quivering lip, swallowed the huge lump in my throat, wiped my tears, and stumbled my way to seventh period English.

.     .     .

Days went by. Then weeks. Then months. I didn’t know what the point was to even try to fix my friendship with Freddie. His words sunk into my skin like water. The thing that sucked was the fact that I couldn’t tell him that I figured out I loved him too. And not just in a best friends for life sort of way. Romantically. Nope, I spent my time thinking about what if and how the hell I was going to tell my mother that I didn’t want to continue the family business and that she’d have to rely on my little twelve year old sister, Sophia, to take over when she turned eighteen.

   Of course prom rolled around, and Mom forced me to go, even if it meant flying solo. She tried convincing me that it was the best school event I’d ever experience. 

   I found this one gorgeous dress in storage that presumably belonged to my mother when she was my age. It was a palish pink with no straps and long sleeves. It went down to the floor. It flowed beautifully. Mom put white cherry blossoms into my light brown hair and put a light blue sapphire necklace over my pale chest that supposedly complimented my ocean blue eyes. 

   And so I marched straight into that ballroom with a content smile. Only to get shot down by seeing the saddest thing ever; Freddie sitting alone at a table looking more depressed than ever. His blonde wavy hair had colourful rays bouncing off of it from the disco ball. His gaze connected to mine, and I could see so many things through his eyes. Pain. Sadness. Love. Impatience. Anger. Hopefulness.

  So I walked confidently over. “Get up. We’re dancing to this song and talking through our problems whether you’d like it or not.”

   “Well well well,” he said, taking my hand. “It looks like a new dress brings on a new wave of braveness. And I seriously thought you were a little Ravenclaw.”

   I led him to the dance floor and put my arms around the back of his neck as he took my waist. “Freddie, what’s happened to us?”

    “Honestly?” he asked. I nodded. “I freaked out. I pushed you away. Don’t you remember when I told Lily Ann Carter that I liked her back in the second grade and instantly ran away afterwards?”

   I laughed. “That was possibly the most funny and depressing thing I’ve ever seen.”

   He bit his lip. “It was the same way with you. Only we’re best friends and I haven’t spoken to you since November.”

   “Look, I know you’re a runner, Freddie,” I said, patting one of his cheeks with my hand. “But please. Don’t run away from me.”

   “Awh, c’mon, Frankie---”

   I grabbed his jaw and pecked his lips. He kissed back aggressively. Longingly. Then I knew that he’d wanted that to happen for years. When we pulled away, we started laughing. He shook his head. “I really do love you, you know that? You’re full of surprises.”

   I grinned back. “I love you too. Just don’t tell my mom I told you that, otherwise you’ll never be able to step foot in my room --- or house for that matter --- again.”

   He chuckled. “My perfect, perky little Franchesca . . . Wow, you didn’t just bite my head off for saying that.”

   “Oh please,” I laughed. “You can call me whatever you’d like.”

.     .     .

My mom seemed thrilled when I came home with Freddie by my side that night. As far as she knew, we had become friends again. But I, of course, chose that time to spoil the mood. “Mom, I have something I need to tell you. You may want to sit down.”

   Her face turned ghostly pale. “Yes, what is it?”

   I sucked in a deep breath. “I’m going to NYU.”

   Five. Four. Three. Two. One.

   “LIKE HELL YOU ARE! Are you crazy? Do you know how many crazy people live in Manhattan? There’s no way in God’s name that I’ll permit you to go!”

   I scoffed. “There’s not much you can do to stop me. I’m eighteen. I’ll move out.”

   “Yeah, well good luck getting the money---”

   “My scholarship pays for everything.”

   “What about our business?”

   I shrugged. “You mean your business, mama? Sophia can take over in five years.”

   “I DID NOT RAISE MY DAUGHTER TO DISOBEY ME!” she shrieked. “THAT’S IT! YOU’RE MOVING OUT!”

   “Yeah, well, that’s fine by me!” I laughed bitterly. Time to play the nightmare child card. “I guess I’ll just go move in with Freddie. Oh, you know, my boyfriend?”

   “Boyfriend?” she gawked. “This little nerd? I thought I raised you to have better taste in men than this idiota!”

   “Never insult the boy I love again,” I sneered. “NEVER.”

   I ran upstairs and got the suitcase I’d had packed for months. I ran out of the shop and back into the cab Freddie and I shared on our way here, sniffling.

   “Don’t cry, my love.”

   “I’m going to cry. My mother hates me.”

   “She doesn’t hate you, she was just spooked,” he said, soothingly. “She’ll come around.”

   “I don’t think so,” I said pessimistically.

   “Girl, it’ll be okay. I love you, all right?”

   “I love you too,” I smiled sadly. 

   “Where to?” the cab driver asked impatiently.

   “Onward.”