Goody, Like Two Shoes

I was dreading the weekend coming. Frank and I, alone together - whether it was studying or not - scared the hell out of me.
And, because I didn't want the weekend to come, the school week flew by so quickly; it felt like I'd only just blinked and suddenly it was Saturday.

Luckily, mom and dad had taken Grandma Anne out for the day, so that meant that there'd be no accusations and bets flying around about Frank being my boyfriend, and whether our first date had been a success, or if we'd had sex.
Just the thought of the latter made me want to throw up.

The only unlucky thing about my parents' absence was that they could come home to find me hung, drawn and quartered; my remains left in the kitchen sink.

I was up bright and early like always; having breakfast, taking the dog for a walk, finishing up some homework, and then settling down with a Jane Austen book, "Mansfield Park", that I'd read uncountable times.

I'd just reached the part where Henry and Mary Crawford arrived at the village, when there was a series of awfully out of rhythm knocks on the front door.
I sighed, putting my book down, then headed to the door.

I was taken aback when I came face-to-face with Frank; it was only twenty past ten in the morning, and I'd assumed he was one of those types of boys who liked to be lazy on the weekends - I guess I was wrong.

We looked at each other for a second, neither of us knowing what to say, until Frank coughed and adjusted his black satchel over his shoulder, "So, can I come in; or are we studying on the porch?"

I sidled over, creating a gap so he could step inside, and he stood next to me, waiting for me to shut the door and guide the way.

I cautiously began to walk up the stairs, and Frank obligingly followed me, tapping his fingers on the banister as we went.

Once in my room, I sat down on the edge of my bed and Frank stood awkwardly in the doorway, glancing at the light blue walls that had a few things on them; awards in frames, maps, posters from nature magazines.

For once, he didn't seem like little-mister-I-know-everything, but like a five year old separated from his mother in the grocery store.
He shut the door, and took a seat at my desk, searching through his bag for whatever he needed to revise; a novel, workbook, notepad and pen.

I wasn't going to say anything. I was just going to let him get on with his studying, and let him come to me if he needed help.

He quietly opened the books - Hamlet and another book with questions about the story - and his eyes focused on the first page of questions.

He was silent as his eyes skimmed over the words until he let out a loud grunt and looked up at me, "Uh, I don't get it."

I folded my legs up under myself, picking at a loose thread on my socks, "What don't you get, Frank?"

He hauled the books over to me and sat at my side, glaring at the open book on his lap, "This. I don't get this."

I read the text that his finger was pointing at, "It says "How many lines and words are in Hamlet?"; you don't understand that?"

Frank squinted at me, and I was caught off guard when he knocked me over, laughing quietly, "Of course I know what that means, dumbass. But its says here, "Answer these questions before you read the play". So how am I supposed to know?"

I sat up, "Have you not heard of some simple words called "research" and "libraries"?"

"One: Yes, I have. Two: I don't have a library card. Three: Will you just give me the answers?"

"Four:," I began, "No. There's a shelf full of books - encyclopaedias - over there; go find an answer."

He raised a dark eyebrow at me, "Are you blind, you tard? You have a million-and-fucking-one books on that shelf."

I glared at him, folding my arms over my chest, "I'm not blind. And, if you want my help, treat me like a normal person; I'm not some doormat that you can walk all over, anymore."

He lowered his eyes, his cheeks turning red, "Uhm, I'm sorry. Will you please help me?"

I nodded, "Those books go in alphabetical order; just look."

Frank stood up, rubbing his hands on the thighs of his jeans, "Alphabetical order? Damn, you really are wei-- way cool"

I laughed, "I take it you just throw your books - if you have any, that is - in a pile of dirty laundry..?"

"Right on." He clicked his fingers and pointed at me, "Give me a hint, or I'll be here all day, woman."

"Try looking under "Playwrights of the Nineteenth Century"."

"Ah-ha, why didn't I think of that?"

I shrugged, "Because you don't think."

"I do think.," he retorted, searching the shelf for the books that began with "P".

"Okay, so maybe you do think; but you don't put any effort into it."

One of his eyebrows disappeared under his messy fringe, "Don't go all genius on me. I'll convulse."

"Oh, don't worry, you'll be convulsing by the time you reach the end of the book."

"Out of boredom? Sure."

"No, out of anticipation to read it again."

"You frea--freedom fighter."

"What?"

"I was going to call you a freak...but I changed my mind. And then I didn't really know what other word began with a 'freeeee' sound; other than "freedom fighter"."

"Hm, and I'm the weird one?"

By early afternoon, Frank and I were sprawled out on my bed; him on his stomach, reading aloud, and me on my back, looking up at my star chart that was stuck to the ceiling.

"Hey, Sasha, who's this Polonius dude?" Frank asked, tilting his head to look at me.

"You know Claudius?"

"Not personally, no." he snorted.

"Be quiet. Anyway, Polonius is Claudius's advisor."

"'k, and he's the father of --"

Frank stopped talking when my bedroom door opened, and my grandmother peered inside, practically hyperventilating.

"Holly, Holly!" she yelled, moving into the room to wave her walking stick menacingly at Frank, "There's a strange, pierced boy in bed with Sasha!"
Frank merely glanced up at my grandma, smiling sweetly, unfazed by the cane that was within inches of smacking him in the nose.

I, on the other hand, was trying to calm my grandma, attempting to convince her that Frank and I were doing nothing in the least bitsexual wrong.
I'd never dream of touching the boy, let alone do stuffwith him.

When my mom appeared, I turned to her instead, "Mom, she's overreacting; I'm helping Frank study."

"It's okay.' Mom smiled, linking her arm in my grandma's and leading her out of the room, explaining what we were doing.

Frank smirked at me, "Haaa, she thinks I fucked you."

"You're repulsive, you know that?"

"So are you. I wouldn't touch you with a bargepole."

He ended up getting a pillow thrown in his face.

Mom reappeared at my side, and she held her hand out to Frank, "Hi, I'm Holly; Sasha's mom."

"I'm Frank. Nice to meet you." he shook her hand politely, and stood up.

"Staying for dinner, sweetie?" she asked him, "It's pasta."

"Oh, no thanks. I better be getting home; my mom'll be worrying."

After Frank packed up his books, borrowing one of my encyclopaedias, I walked him to the door.

"Sooo..." he hummed, pulling his hoodie on, "Thanks for today."

"You're welcome." I smiled.

"See you on Monday." he began to walk, and he stopped at the bottom of the garden to wiggle his fingers in my direction.

"See you." I waved back, and turned to go back into the house, heading to my room until dinner was ready.

There was a small piece of paper left on my bed, and I looked at it closely.

You're not as nerdy as I thought.
I guess you're not too bad, really.
-Frank (the next Shakespeare)
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