“Yeah, you are.”
I stopped walking and so did Frankie, she turned to face me. She looked up at me with her big green eyes and she almost narrowed them as if to challenge me. I shifted, looking down at my feet.
“I’m not lying, Frankie.”
“It’s okay,” she comforted. “You don’t have to be scared.”
I felt like I was suddenly in a tiny, dark, confined room.
“I . . . Look, I don’t think I can walk you home.” I blurted, taking a step back. “I forgot I have something to—”
“Risk, I’m going to tell Mr Jones what I think is happening to you.”
I felt my jaw drop as surprise, and anger, filled me when she brought the school’s counsellor into the conversation.
“What the hell are you talking about?” I said, dumbfounded. “Nothing is happening to me.”
“Yes, it is,” she pressed. “You come into school with more bruises and injuries than anyone I know. At first, I thought you were clumsy, but no one is this clumsy. Also, don’t insult me. I’m not stupid, no poxy frying pan left your face that bruised and swollen.”
I shifted my gaze and stared down at this girl who I had known since reception, but never really knew. I couldn’t believe how she could see through the cloud of lies that not even my best mates questioned. I suddenly felt panicked. She said she was going to tell Mr Jones. He was probably the nicest man to walk the earth and he was the obvious choice for a student to go to when they needed help.
“Frankie.” I wiped my forehead. “Listen to me—”
“Don’t lie to me and I will.”
I couldn’t believe she was talking to me like this when we had never really talked before. Didn’t she realise how out of order she was?
“You’ve got some neck, y’know?” I frowned. “You can’t just go and say shit like this to people.”
“Shit like what?”
“Like saying I’m being abused!”
“But I didn’t say that.” She raised a brow. “I said I was going to tell Mr Jones what I thought was happening to you. You said the word abuse, not me.”
She was confusing me.
“Stop.” I scowled. “I knew what you meant and you did too.”
“Well, answer me this. Are you being abused?”
My heart hurt with how blunt her question was.
“I . . . I . . . No, I’m not!” I lied. “It’s fucking creepy of you to think you know me when you fucking don’t. I thought you were cool, but you’re clearly a psycho bitch who—”
“You’re not hurting my feelings.” She interrupted as she folded her arms across her flat chest. “You’re lashing out because you’re scared and upset and I get it.”
“What is your problem?” I snapped. “Why’re you acting like you’re an adult? You’re no older than thirteen!”
“I’m actually twelve, thirteen next week, but just because I’m not older I’m supposed to not see what’s right in front of me?” she demanded. “I can’t just pretend I don’t see that you’re hurting, Risk.”
“Why not?” I shouted at her. “Why the fuck not? Nobody else sees what they do to me, why do you? Why d’you even care?”
“Because I’m not heartless, wazzock. That’s why!”
I couldn’t believe she called me an idiot, I couldn’t believe she was doing this to me at all. I was breathing heavily and I stumbled back when I realised I just confirmed her suspicions. I imagined her telling Mr Jones everything and then the police coming and taking me away. Everything flashed before my eyes and it prompted me to say what I’d been holding on to for so long.
“Please don’t tell,” I begged. “They’ll take me away if you do. I won’t get to go to school here anymore, or see May and Hayes every day or even you. Please, Frankie. Don’t tell.”
Her lips parted and sadness filled her lustrous green eyes, sadness for me.
“They’re hurting you though, Risk. You’re always so beat up coming to school and it kills me to see you like that. They’re your foster parents, they’re supposed to take care of you, not hurt you.”
“They don’t hurt me all of the time,” I assured her. “Owen only does it when he’s mad, Freda just shouts sometimes. She only smacks my head when she gets goin’, she doesn’t do anything worse.”
“Risk.” Frankie’s eyes glazed over with tears. “One smack is enough for it to be worse.”
“Please,” I pleaded. “Don’t tell. I don’t want to leave Southwold. Please.”
Frankie didn’t reply.
“I’ll be eighteen in a few years, then I’ll be an adult and out of the system,” I rambled on. “I just have to stick it out for a few more years, then I’ll walk away and never look back.”
“D’you promise?”
“Yes, Frankie. I promise.”
“And promise you’ll do everything not to make your foster dad mad.”
“I promise.”
“Okay.” She rubbed her eyes. “I won’t tell. I hate that you’re asking me this. I shouldn’t listen, but I don’t want to hurt you so I won’t tell.”