Frannie and Tru

by Karen Hattrup

  It was almost midnight when we’d climbed the porch steps. As I’d fumbled for my key, Tru had told me to wait a second. He’d coached me in a soothing whisper.

  “If they have questions about tonight, just roll your eyes and act like whatever they asked is stupid and you don’t feel like answering. That’s what grown-ups expect from teenagers anyway. And the less you say, the less likely you’ll be caught in a lie.”

  I’d gone inside and done exactly that. We’d hardly had to say a word to anyone.

  Watching Tru get into our rusty old minivan was strange. He was cheerful this morning, popping into one of the middle seats and buckling up with a little too much enthusiasm. He looked like a kid at the fair, amused by a ride he’d grown too big for.

  Kieran grabbed the seat next to him, so Jimmy and I took the back. As the van grumbled to life, Dad told Truman he was in charge of the music. The van was beyond ancient, no hookup for an iPod or phone or whatever, so he gave Tru the only three choices he ever gave anyone, the only CDs he kept in the car: U2, The Rolling Stones, or Bruce Springsteen.

  Tru surprised me by picking Bruce.

  “Um, have we explained to Tru where we’re going?” Jimmy asked, leaning forward to yell over the first strains of “Born in the U.S.A.” “Because if he’s expecting, you know, an actual beach, he’s going to be pretty pissed.”

  Kieran snorted. “C’mon, man. A crappy swimming hole in a crappy park is almost like the real beach!”

  Jimmy leaned forward farther, straining his seat belt, putting a hand on Tru’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. The people are cool. It’s all, like, rednecks swimming in jean shorts and insane packs of wild children from the nature camp.”

  Dad told them to shut up. Mom yelled at them for exaggerating. Angry shouts filled the car until Tru broke in.

  “Look, I’m just happy that I’m not in the car with my mother and father, sitting in hours of stop-and-go traffic so we can go to the Hamptons along with half the social-climbing assholes in New York City.”

  Next to me, Jimmy tried to stifle a laugh and practically choked. Mom turned around and glared at him, which made him explode, setting off Kieran, who set off me. Tru was wearing his best attempt at a sheepish grin, but I was pretty sure he was pleased with himself.

  “Uncle Pat, Aunt Barb, I’m sorry. Really I am,” he said, hands clasped in a kind of mock prayer. “But you have to believe me. There’s no other way to describe the place. It’s just a total asshole convention.”

  Mom cried out Truman’s name in admonishment, but she didn’t really sound that mad, and besides, Dad was giggling now—and Tru was still going.

  “I don’t know what’s worse, the ten-year-old girls texting in their bikinis or the moms all Botoxed to hell. No, wait, scratch that. The dads are the worst by far,” Tru said, and now he adjusted his voice, taking it down a notch, talking in a baritone that was somehow how both peevish and gruff. “Coming here is a privilege, boy! This is what success looks like. These are some of the most expensive residential properties in the nation.”

  Jimmy and Kieran kept snickering, but I sensed an undercurrent of nervousness from Mom and Dad. The car grew quiet after that. For most of the remaining ride, we disappeared into our own worlds, watching the landscape rush by, listening to Bruce’s rasp.

  Huddled in the backseat, I nursed a suspicion. As the houses and strip malls and billboards passed, I became more and more sure of it, for Tru’s little bit of showmanship had shaken loose some old, vague memories I had of his family. What he’d just done was not the voice of some random social-climbing jerk. It was a dead-on imitation of his father.

  I said little to anyone the whole time we were in the van. Tru said nothing to me.

  The parking lot was almost empty. It was supposed to rain today, though right now the sun was blazing. The six of us gathered our things and headed down to the water.

  We were the only family I knew who called this place the beach. I liked it here, always had, even if it maybe wasn’t much. The water stretched about as far as a neighborhood pool and was edged by the smallest ring of fine white sand. Beyond that was a collection of splintery picnic benches and crusted-over grills. A wooden signpost explained how the swimming hole was once a quarry. They had mined iron ore here for decades, and when the work was done, the hole filled naturally with spring water. The deepest points went fifty feet down.

  A few makeshift paper signs warned that the lifeguards weren’t on duty for another week. Looking around I saw a mom with her toddler, an elderly couple hiding under an umbrella, a few scattered families like ours. We settled on a picnic bench that was tattooed with pen marks and pockmarked with old gum. Mom and Dad said they were going on a hike, and headed immediately toward one of the paths off in the trees. The four of us watched their retreat.

  “So, wait,” Jimmy asked as soon as they were out of earshot. “We came all the way here, and they’re not even going to swim in the shitty hole?”

  Tru took off for the little pavilion that had the bathrooms and soda machines. The twins stretched out on the benches and put on their sunglasses, looking ready to fall asleep.

  With no one paying attention, I stripped down to my suit and went straight for the quarry. I flew across the grass and through the sand, but came up short as my toes touched water. From there I walked in gently, feet clinging to the gritty land as it sloped away. I hung on until the last moment, standing on the very tips of my toes, chin just above the water line. Then I dove.

  The water was fresh, clean, ice-cold. The butterfly was my best stroke, and that’s what I practiced, keeping close to the surface and moving in circles. Sucking in my breath, I forced my body to sink down under, but didn’t open my eyes. I never opened my eyes here because there were fish and turtles, sometimes snakes. I didn’t like to think about them. Still, I used to like hiding down there in the darkness. I liked how alone it made me feel, even if it was a little scary.

  Today, though, I couldn’t find the magic in it. I only felt chilled, annoyed by this odd little place, which looked dumpier today than ever before. Maybe Jimmy and Kieran were right about it. And even if Tru acted happy to be here, I was sure he probably agreed.

  Breaking the surface, I began to tread and turned back to look for everyone.

  Jimmy and Kieran hadn’t moved. Mom and Dad were nowhere to be seen. And Tru . . . Tru was still at the pavilion. He was leaning against the soda machine, talking to a couple of girls. They looked about my age, maybe older, and were barefoot, wearing loose little dresses over their bikinis. Both of them seemed to be posing, and one kept playing with her hair. Jealousy took over before I could stop it, even though I knew that was ridiculous—if anything I should be laughing at them, their clueless flirting. I told myself not to be stupid, but I couldn’t stop thinking about last night at Siren, hoping that more nights like that were waiting.

  I hadn’t thought of the possibility that someone else might come along, take my place.

  Now Tru was gesturing toward the water, and the three of them turned in my direction. I leaned back, gently floating. I assumed this position would show just how little I cared.

  I stayed in until I was cold and wrinkly. When I finally emerged, I came back to our picnic bench to find it empty. Mom and Dad were still hiking. Jimmy and Kieran had been pulled into a volleyball game on the little sand court off by the trees. Tru was still talking to the girls—although now they were leaving the pavilion. For a minute I thought he was bringing them over, but then I realized the girls were just headed for the parking lot.

  The three of them looked over at me again as they talked. Annoyed and embarrassed, I pretended not to notice, turning my back to them as I dug through my backpack for a T-shirt.

  By the time Tru arrived, I’d managed to hide behind a magazine. He held out a Coke. Gave it a little shake.

  “Bought an extra. If you want.”

  I took the can from him and it froze my fingers. Tru sat down on the bench and leaned back agai
nst the table, so I was left staring at the back of his head.

  “Making new friends?” I asked him.

  “Oh yes. Have to introduce myself to the Baltimore social scene.”

  I almost let it go at that, but I couldn’t.

  “What were they saying? When you guys were looking over here?”

  “They liked your bathing suit. One of them was going to ask where you got it, but they were in a rush to get somewhere. Don’t worry, she gave me her number, so I can be sure to text her this vital piece of information.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Well, actually I don’t even know. My mom bought it.”

  I immediately regretted how childish that sounded. At the same time, I was trying to make sense of why Tru would have this girl’s number. Was he messing with her? Did she offer it and he took it to be polite? Or was he genuinely looking for some company to fill the coming weeks? That is, company that was more interesting than me.

  “Well, your mom knows clothes,” he said, still staring off into the trees. “At least, that’s what my mom always says. That Barbie knows clothes.”

  That was true. My mother was heavy like half the moms I knew, but she hid it better. Around the house she was a mess, but whenever she went out she looked put-together. She wore skirts and sweaters to work when she could have worn jeans. She had junk jewelry that looked like the real thing.

  “Your mom used to make prom dresses for both of them, did you know that?” he asked, still not turning back to look at me.

  “No,” I said, shivering. “She doesn’t talk about your mom much.”

  I sat down and cracked the Coke, hoping that he’d say more, maybe offer some insight, some information, at least a reaction that I could read. But his head didn’t move. The breeze ruffled his hair.

  I watched Tru watching the distance and tried to think of the last time I’d seen Aunt Deborah. Nothing came to me. What I remembered were her birthday cards. Pink or lavender with flowers or rainbows. She wrote nice notes in careful script, things like I saw your school photo and you look beautiful. I know you’ll have an amazing year. They always had a crisp fifty-dollar bill inside, which seemed amazing and extravagant. I hated breaking them and would carry them around in my wallet or leave them in my nightstand drawer for weeks.

  “I know I haven’t seen them in forever,” I said. “But your mom always seemed kinda nice.”

  “Kinda nice?” he said, turning finally to look at me. “That’s high praise.”

  “I just . . . I don’t know. Maybe she’ll realize she’s wrong and apologize. Before you go back home? Are you going to talk to them at all?”

  He turned his back on me again. “Yes, I’m going to talk to them. I think we’ll avoid deep philosophical debates about the relative wrongness of things that I’ve done, but we’ll need to discuss other items of note. You know, like how much I can put on their credit card while I’m here.”

  He turned back to me now, looking serious. “Have you been talking about this with your parents?”

  “No!” I said, embarrassed and blushing. “I mean, I don’t really talk to them about, you know . . . things like that. I haven’t said anything.”

  “It’s probably better that way.” He relaxed a bit, even started to smile. A smile that made me feel happy and nervous all at once.

  “Do you know about Prettyboy?” he asked.

  Goose bumps erupted all over my skin. I tried to play it cool.

  “Everyone knows about Prettyboy.”

  I attempted to sit casually but couldn’t find the right way to arrange my body. My elbows and knees bent awkwardly, pointing everywhere.

  “You look concerned,” he said.

  I wiggled the tab off my can, trying to buy some time.

  “Well,” I said finally. “I know what you’re thinking.”

  He raised his eyebrows and waited.

  “You want to go to the jump-off,” I said.

  He laughed again. “It sounds like a good time.”

  I asked where he’d heard about Prettyboy, and he rolled his eyes.

  “My two new lady friends. Did I tell you they were headed to their first day of cheerleading camp? They’re captains of their team, even though they’re only juniors.” He made his eyes go wide and reached a hand toward me. “Try not to faint from amazement, okay? Though if it’s all right with you, I think we’ll skip hanging out with them.” Now he went down to a whisper. “I don’t think they’re really our type.”

  I smiled, feeling a little bit better, starting to think that last night wasn’t a fluke, and that I did have reason to hope this summer wouldn’t be a miserable bust. Tru was here, and Sparrow, too. And there was her cousin who played the violin. His friends. The coming weeks didn’t have to be a dead end. They were wide-open with possibility—I just had to make sure that Tru remembered I was here, that I was the kind of girl who said clever things about sculptures and helped him sneak into bars. A girl worth knowing.

  He had turned to the trees again, leaning against the table.

  “We should go to the jump-off,” he said, his back still to me. “We should go before the summer is out.”

  “Okay,” I said. “We’ll do it.”

  But even as the words came out of my mouth, I was hoping the day would never come.

  We were quiet on the ride home, all of us rubbed a bit raw by our first real day of summer. Skin was tinged red, hair damp and matted, feet gritty with sand and soil and broken blades of grass. I leaned against the window and watched as clouds moved in. Drained by the sun, I drifted in and out of sleep, falling into half dreams about the Prettyboy Reservoir.

  I’m not sure I could have found it on a map, but I knew it was north of the city, somewhere down a lonely county road, tucked away in a thicket of wood. Prettyboy was a twisting snake of deep water, the currents swift and dangerous. Swimming there was forbidden, which was exactly why people went. There was a special spot where a rock ledge jutted out over the water, the perfect diving board. Next to it a rope hung from a high branch, always pulled down by park rangers, always replaced. From that rope, kids would fling themselves like stones into the reservoir below. That was the jump-off. We used to whisper about it during middle school sleepovers, making stupid dares about going there, dares we couldn’t possibly fulfill for years, not until we had cars and boyfriends and ways to get beer. Always when we talked about it, we talked of the two boys who’d died there, years and years ago. St. Sebastian’s boys, I was pretty sure.

  And that was why I’d never really wanted to go to Prettyboy. Not then and not now.

  I didn’t want to go, because I knew that I’d freeze there on the edge, unable to jump at all. I was always the one who chickened out in line for roller coasters and water slides. Those were things that I actually knew were safe. The jump-off was the opposite.

  Half-awake in the back of the car, I tried to think exactly what I knew about the boys who had died, but couldn’t remember a thing. Eyelids heavy, mind floating again toward sleep, I kept seeing the two boys leaping, then flailing, the pair of them faceless as they sank down below.

  That evening we ate hot dogs and corn on the cob at the plastic table in the backyard. Afterward we gathered in the dining room to sort out our work hours for the coming week, fighting over who got the new-ish sedan, who got the ancient minivan.

  Just the night before, as I’d walked back from Siren with Tru, the coming weeks of summer had seemed like they might be one long stretch of magic nights, music and bars and who knows what. Now reality crowded back in. I was babysitting Duncan Hart three doors down. Kieran was a counselor at a sports camp. Jimmy was working a regular weekday shift at the gas station a few blocks away. That afternoon, Tru had received word from his parents that they’d had him squeezed at the last minute into an intensive, five-days-a-week Latin course at Loyola, the Catholic college about a mile and a half down the road, the one his father had gone to.

  I wondered if my parents would let him have a car and how that wou
ld go over with the twins, but then Tru jumped in and said that he would walk. It would take twenty minutes or so each way, but he insisted he didn’t mind, and frankly that was easier on everybody.

  Meanwhile Jimmy was trying and failing to control the look on his face. His mouth puckered in amusement.

  “Intensive Latin?” he asked. “Sounds . . . intense.”

  Tru just laughed.

  “My dad’s idea. Or rather, his command. I’ve been taking Spanish for the last three years, which makes sense to me since half the country speaks it. But who cares about that when you can conjugate a bunch of verbs that only matter to dead guys?”

  My father seemed to take a strange delight in this, giggling loudly. Mom shot him a disapproving look as she started cleaning up the plates.

  That night, we all half watched a movie in the living room, a goofy comedy about mistaken identities, miscommunication. Mom folded laundry and Dad slept in his chair. The twins texted and cruised the internet on their phones. I had nobody to text and no phone to play with either, because I’d dropped mine down a sewer grate three weeks ago. I couldn’t get a new one until I had enough babysitting money or until my contract renewal kicked in at the end of the summer. So far I didn’t really miss it, since I barely heard from the girls anymore—not having the phone meant I didn’t have to look at my empty inbox. Instead, I sat flipping through magazines, hardly seeing what was on the pages. Truman was sitting in the corner under the floor lamp reading The Great Gatsby, looking absorbed and content.

  “Ugh,” Jimmy said when he saw it. “We were supposed to read that last year. Couldn’t do it.”

  Kieran threw a pillow at his head. “Dude, you’re seriously pathetic. It’s short and the whole thing’s just drinking and car wrecks.”

  Jimmy did his well-worn act of pretending to fall asleep.

  I thought I might get a chance to talk to Tru before bed, to ask him when we might see Sparrow, and to feel out how serious he was about Prettyboy. But he slipped downstairs early when his dad called his cell, and he never came back up.