9: Franny (2/2)

When he turns and sits back down on the table, I begin bandaging up the cut.

”Where are your parents?” he asks.

”My dad's out,” I say. ”When you came to the front door weren't you worried my dad would answer it? What would you do then?”

”Say some random bullshit,” he mutters. ”I was mugged.”

”Wouldn't that get the cops involved?” I ask.

Tyler shakes his head. ”I'd just say I didn't want to press charges. I guessed you were alone anyway.”

”How?” I frown.

”No car on the driveway, only one light on.”

”Car could have been in the garage,” I mutter.

”You're right.” Tyler smiles a little. ”So I guess I did just go off luck.”

I finish bandaging him up and tie it off, rolling the excess back up and placing it in his first aid kit. ”You don't seem to be getting such good luck lately. Your face looks like crap.”

Tyler lets out a breathy laugh and lifts his hand to press the pads of his fingers against the swelling under his eye. ”Fuck . . . ” he mutters. ”There's no way I'm going to be able to hide this.”

”Who are you hiding it from?” I ask.

Tyler gives me a dry look. ”Who do you think?”

”Right.” I nod. ”Your parents.”

”Yeah,” Tyler scoffs. ”Parents.”

I frown a little but make no comment on the way he speaks about his parents. I don't know what his relationship with them is like, so I can't have any say in the way he treats or talks about them. I close the first aid kit and place it in his bag, zipping the compartment back up.

”How far away is your car?” I ask.

”Down by the plaza,” he says. ”About fifteen minutes. Twenty with my fucked-up hip.”

I look over at the oven and check the time. I ponder for a few moments until I sigh and turn back to Tyler. ”It's nearly six . . . just stay.”

”Stay?” Tyler raises an eyebrow but then stops and winces as his face aches from the pain of moving. ”Here?”

”Yes, here,” I say. ”You don't want to face your parents any more than I want to send a guy off onto the street who was nearly bleeding to death an hour ago.”

”I wasn't bleeding to death,” he comments.

”But you could start bleeding again,” I say. ”And whoever fucked up your face and cut you could be waiting for you. Do you honestly want to risk that?”

”What about your dad?”

”He won't be coming back tonight,” I say. ”He'll show up about two in the morning. You're fine.”

Tyler doesn't say anything but his entire body slumps against the table, his arm sliding back to keep him up as his other hand holds onto the bandaged hip. I walk over and grab a glass from the cupboard. I fill it with water and pass it to Tyler.

”Do you want painkillers?” I ask.

Tyler nods, knocking back the whole glass of water and handing it back. I refill it and take out some ibuprofen and pick two of the tablets out of the bottle. Dropping them into Tyler's hand, I give him the glass again.

He swallows them dry and I wince until he finishes off the entire glass of water again. He sighs, putting the glass down on the table harder than he thought and the sound cuts through the silence. He lets out a long breath.

”Thanks. Can I repay you in any way?” Tyler asks, sitting on the edge of the table with his hand pressed to his bandaged side.

I reach forward and gently swat his hand away from the injury. ”Don't touch it,” I murmur. ”And no, I don't need anything. It's okay.”

”What?” he scoffs. ”There's nothing that you'd want? Out of anything?”

I shrug. ”You were bleeding and if I didn't help then you would have been bleeding on the side of a road in the dirt and not have been found till morning. I'm not that cruel.”

Tyler looks at me, his eyes lighting up in the darkening room. ”Aren't you failing history?” he finally asks.

I shrug again, this time a little defensively. ”Maybe. How would you know?

”You take all the answers from your ginger friend,” he comments and I purse my lips.

”Her name's Tally,” I say. ”And they don't count for marks so it's fine.”

Tyler just smirks and shakes his head. ”It's not, really. So, I'm guessing I'm right about you failing.”

I sigh. ”I might be.”

”So then why don't I repay you with answers?” he asks.

I look at him incredulously. ”Answers? You hardly show up to class. You're probably failing as badly as I am.”

Tyler chuckles softly, his face scrunching in pain a little. ”I'm not as stupid as you might think.”

Oh, I know you're not stupid. Everyone says you're practically the smartest kid in the whole grade, I think to myself.

Out loud, I say, ”I'll just have to memorize the answers you give me anyway. More work for me.”

Tyler looks at me and shrugs. I try not to let my eyes trail down his chest but finally with the blood out of the way, I can see the skin beneath. Most of it is covered ink but a lot of it is bruised and covered in a faded blue haze. There are fresh red marks that must be the beating he just got.

A sudden idea occurs to me and I can't help asking, ”Was it your parents?” I want to take back the words immediately, realizing how harsh they must sound. ”Sorry. That was stupid. I shouldn't have asked that.”

”No,” he says. He doesn't sound angry. ”It wasn't my parents.”

I nod and pick up his empty glass, walking back to the kitchen to clean it out. When I turn the tap on, Tyler's voice calls out over it. ”So, there's really nothing I can do for you?”

I turn off the tap and lean my hip against the counter as I face him from across the room. ”Is that how you work? You always have to make sure that both sides of the party gain the same amount? Can't you accept that it's just a kind offer? I don't want anything from it. It would make me uncomfortable.”

Tyler just stares at me from the other side of the room and I feel nervous under his gaze. I fidget and turn around, cleaning up more old dishes to cut through the silence. I look at the clock again, and it's only just turned six. I sigh.

My dad hopefully won't be back for a while so what am I supposed to do till then? Why did I offer to let him stay? Now this awkward silence is just going to press through. But I can't just let him walk off. He's injured and someone's beaten him up. They could still be out there. I don't want that on my conscience.

Then again, I don't want his attacker to come to the front door either.

I shut off the tap and walk back over to Tyler.

”The person that beat you up,” I say. ”They're not going to come here, right?”

Tyler shrugs lightly. ”No one followed me.”

It isn't a definite answer and I fight off the little shiver of fright that wants to make its way down my spine. Instead I just say, ”Okay . . . you hungry?”

”You asking me out to dinner?” He smirks.

I breathe out a light laugh. ”No, hotshot. I'm asking if you would like any of the pizza that I'm going to order.”

”What if I don't want pizza?” He smiles a little.

”Then start walking back to your truck,” I say. ”Pepperoni okay?”

He nods and I pick up the phone, going to the other room to place the order.

__________

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(French edition of my book ASK AMY is available in bookstores in France and online retailers outside France)