The Infamous Frankie Lorde 1, page 4
“Now who’s lying?” I said as I pushed back from the table and put my empty bowl in the sink.
Entry Ten
Though I had no concrete proof in the matter, I was pretty sure that showing up on your first day of school accompanied by a police officer was not the way to fit in. And although I kind of liked the idea of people thinking I was some sort of deranged delinquent worth staying away from for the rest of the school year, I also knew it wouldn’t help me accomplish my goals of flying under the radar.
So I begged Uncle Scotty to drop me off a few blocks away from Western Middle School instead of escorting me inside.
“I don’t know if I like the idea of you walking to school alone,” he said, putting on his serious cop face.
“It’s just a few blocks,” I argued. “And besides, this is Greenwich. It’s not exactly the big city. What are you afraid is going to happen? That I might catch wealth and privilege?”
I snorted at my own joke, but Uncle Scotty didn’t join in.
“Greenwich has crime too,” he said. “Otherwise I’d be out of a job.”
“Right,” I said slowly. I could tell this tactic wasn’t working with him, so I changed things up. “Hey, this’ll give us a chance to work on that whole trust thing you were talking about. You can trust me to get to school okay on my own and I’ll trust you that there are bad guys out there I should be looking out for.”
I gave him a hopeful smile.
I didn’t add that most people would probably consider me and Dad two of those bad guys.
I could tell he was weighing his options as to how to respond, but a quick glance at his watch seemed to make his decision for him.
“Fine,” he conceded. “I’m running late today anyway. We’ll give this a try, but I reserve the right to change my mind later.”
“Deal,” I said, not caring about later, as long as he wasn’t walking me into school today. Then I added, “Thanks, Uncle Scotty.”
He couldn’t help but smile at that, and it reminded me that for the most part, Uncle Scotty was a good guy who was just trying to do his best with the cards he was dealt.
Just like I was.
Maybe we were more alike than I realized.
“O-okay,” I stammered, not wanting this to grow into a mushy family moment. “Um, wish me luck?”
“Good luck,” he said. “But if I know you, you won’t need it.”
I started to say something sarcastic back but then just waved instead and headed off in the direction all the other students seemed to be going.
As I walked toward the school entrance, I tried my best to sneak peeks at the other kids without them noticing that I was scoping them out. I wouldn’t ordinarily have taken the risk of looking like the new girl, but I needed to get a better idea of what I was getting myself into.
In the end, it appeared that Google hadn’t completely let me down. The girls were all wearing variations of my outfit. High-waisted pants with cropped tops. Shorts that stopped just below their butts paired with baggy, oversized shirts. Sundresses with jean jackets and Vans. It was the I’m-trying-but-not-that-hard vibe that I’d seen made popular on every Nickelodeon and Disney show ever.
The guys were less predictable.
Any trend seemed to go with them. From the baggy pants and skater shirts to the fitted jeans and button-downs. Even the skinny jeans and distressed tops had a place in the fashion lineup.
There was literally no imagination anywhere that I could see, and I found myself longing for the boho, dressy-chic style I’d seen in Paris.
I focused my gaze back down at the ground in front of me and followed the horde up the front steps of my new school, noting the lush green grass on either side of the concrete walkway. Kids were gathered under trees to keep from melting in the already-hot sun, while others were practically running for the shelter of the air-conditioned hallways inside.
I was headed straight up the steps like I knew where I was going and did my best to avoid anyone’s gaze as I went. If I could just get to the front office before anyone noticed I was there, maybe the whole transition into public school wouldn’t be so bad. I could just fly under the radar from day one and coast through all my classes until I could convince Uncle Scotty that school was a terrible idea—
“Let me get that,” a voice said, breaking through my thoughts and causing me to nearly stumble into the door that was now swinging open in front of me.
“Oh,” I said, surprised. “You don’t have to…”
“It’s my pleasure, milady,” the kid said as he flung the door wide open and bowed dramatically to me.
“Um,” I said, completely confused by what was happening. I looked around helplessly, but there didn’t seem to be any explanation for the boy in front of me. “Okay. Uh, thanks?”
“No problemo, mamacita,” he answered, gesturing for me to enter.
I prayed that the embarrassing moment was now over, but as soon as I stepped inside, I could feel the kid slip in after me and match my pace.
“You’re looking for the office, right?” he asked. I tried not to make direct eye contact with him, for fear it would encourage him to keep talking.
“It’s okay,” I said quickly. “I know where I’m going.”
It was only partly a lie, but this kid didn’t need to know that. And the truth was, I did know where I was going: as far away from him as I could get.
“Really?” he said, cocking his head to the side and looking confused. “But you’re new.”
I’m sure he didn’t actually yell this out to everyone within a twenty-foot span, like it felt. But I still cringed at the label and glanced around to see if the other kids were staring at us.
Surprise, surprise, they were.
“I’m fine, really,” I insisted, quickening my pace.
But this only made him speed up too.
“You have to let me help you,” he insisted. “I’m the welcoming committee.”
“Seriously?” I asked, surprised. What kind of school had its own welcoming committee? It sort of made me hate the place even more.
The kid had begun to lose his breath trying to keep up with me, but to his credit, he forced his words to come out anyway.
“Okay, so I’m not officially the welcoming committee,” he admitted. “But I know where everything is around here, and you don’t, so I think that qualifies me for the position.”
I stopped in the middle of the hallway then, preparing to tell him to back off. But then I looked at him a little more closely—and completely forgot what I was going to say.
Because my tormentor turned out to be a slightly pudgy kid who appeared to be of Mexican descent, about a foot taller than me with longish dark brown hair pulled to one side and secured behind one of his ears. Not that any of that was enough to make him stand out. It was actually his outfit that made me do a double take. He was wearing bright red skinny jeans and a black V-neck shirt covered by a gray vest. To top it all off, he’d slung a slouchy scarf around his neck and shoulders, despite it not being a bit cold inside or out.
And then as if on cue, my one-man welcoming committee procured a fedora out of thin air, twirled it in his hand, and placed it on top of his head.
My mouth fell open. The move felt completely rehearsed. Like I was possibly on some sort of hidden-camera show. And I had to blink to make sure it had actually happened.
It had.
“I’m Oliver,” the kid said finally, holding out his hand to me formally. “But everyone just calls me Ollie. You can call me whatever you want.”
It sounded like a lame pickup line, but I wasn’t getting that kind of vibe from him.
It was more like…he was excited for me to be there?
But that didn’t make sense, either, considering that for all he knew I was just some boring loser kid transferring from another school. I’d made sure that nothing about me screamed interesting of any kind, and my humdrum haircut and underwhelming outfit weren’t going to alert others to my potential coolness.
So why did he care at all that I was there?
I decided I didn’t care and had to get out of there.
“I really appreciate the welcome. Really, all of that was…great,” I said, gesturing in his direction. “But I really think I can handle it. Just point me in the direction of the office—”
“Right there,” Ollie said pointing directly behind me.
“—and feel free to go back to whatever you were doing before I showed up,” I finished.
“Are you sure—” Ollie began.
I held up my hand. “Bye, Ollie.”
“Oh,” he said, his face falling slightly. “Okay. See you later, uh…”
I knew he was fishing for my name, but the less anyone knew about me, the better.
“Later,” I said, and turned on my heel to march into the office behind me.
Entry Eleven
There wasn’t much paperwork for me to fill out when I finally got into the office. Uncle Scotty had dealt with the majority of it before I showed up, and what was left was me just filling in the blanks on where I was academically. What level math had I been studying before? What books was I reading? How many years of Spanish had I taken so far? Some of the questions were actually fun to answer, all things considered.
I sat silently in a chair across from the main front office worker as she read over the pages I’d filled out. The woman looked like she was about a hundred years old and told me to call her Miss Elloise. She stared at my papers for over five minutes, commenting on things here and there, moving at a pace that matched her age.
“It says you speak four different languages, Miss…,” Miss Elloise said, searching for my name on the paper in front of her.
Hint: it was the first thing I’d filled out.
“Frankie Lorde,” I offered. “And yes. I can speak French, Spanish, Italian, and English.”
“Fluently?” she asked skeptically.
“Si, Señorita Elloise. Aprendí español primero,” I said. “Poi siamo passati all’italiano. Et le dernier endroit ou nous avons vécu était Paris, donc c’était assez facile à trouver.”
I switched from each language without any difficulty as I answered her question. Translated, it meant: Yes, Miss Elloise. We learned Spanish first. Then we moved on to Italian. The last place we lived was Paris, so that was pretty easy to pick up.
Yes, I was showing off a bit, but she was the one who’d asked.
Miss Elloise just nodded and didn’t question any of the rest of my answers.
“You have first period with Mr. Misaki,” she said finally, handing over a piece of paper she’d retrieved from her printer. The printer, I noticed, moved faster than she did. “Mr. Misaki’s class is over in B wing, classroom twenty-eight. Would you like me to escort you there?”
“Uh, no thanks,” I said, trying not to make it sound like I thought this was a terrible idea. “I think I can find it.”
“Okay,” she said. I could sense her appreciation for the fact that she wasn’t going to have to move from her chair again anytime soon. “Well then, good luck, Miss Lorde.”
After a few wrong turns and one trip to a different wing entirely, I finally found the right building and classroom.
According to the printout of my class schedule, my first-period teacher, Mr. Misaki, teaches literature. At least I won’t be starting off each day with a subject I hate. Lit is easy, because I love to read. Doesn’t matter what genre, I like them all.
In fact, I’ve secretly always imagined I’ll grow up to write stories. Ones with some sort of mystery in them, like Sherlock Holmes. Or possibly adventure books, where the stakes are high and the payoffs even higher.
Maybe that’s why writing in this stupid journal comes so naturally to me. I’m not exactly thrilled to be the subject matter, but telling an exciting story? Yes, please.
Taking a deep breath, I walked into class.
The bell hadn’t rung yet and only about half the seats were taken, so I spotted an empty chair in the middle and headed for it.
“Miss Lorde?” a deep voice called out from the front of the room, stopping me in my tracks.
“Yes?” I said, turning around slowly to find a thirtyish man standing behind an oak desk looking straight at me.
“Would you mind coming here a moment?” he asked, beckoning for me to join him at the front of the room.
I turned back at the empty chair longingly, then spun and walked the other way.
By the time I’d reached him, the man had taken a seat on the edge of his desk and was leaning back easily. He didn’t look like the paunchy old I-hate-my-job-and-my-life teachers I’d seen on TV. Instead, he was bright-eyed and impeccably dressed in a blue and pink plaid suit that appeared to have been tailored to fit him perfectly. An iced green tea sat sweating on his desk, but it had been set down on a coaster so it wouldn’t leave a ring.
“The office gave word that we’d be getting a new student today,” he said, breaking the silence. “I’m Mr. Misaki. I’ll be attempting to teach you literature—depending, of course, on your willingness to learn.”
He gave a little chuckle at this and smiled a perfect toothpaste-commercial grin.
“And you’re the infamous Frankie Lorde,” he said, gesturing to me.
“Infamous?” I asked, beginning to panic.
“Well, you’re the mysterious new student at Western, so your presence is a treat,” Mr. Misaki announced like it was some sort of school record. “I’ve always thought that a fresh mind births fresh ideas. I have high expectations for you, Frankie Lorde.”
“Oh, goody,” I said, not exactly thrilled at being on anyone’s radar. Even if it was for a teacher who seemed cooler than most.
“Out of curiosity, what was the last book you read?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
I looked around as other kids began to enter the room behind me and fill in more and more of the seats.
“Uh, let’s see,” I said, distracted. I wanted to give him whatever answer was going to allow me to sit down faster. And I wasn’t quite sure what would leave him unimpressed enough to become bored with me.
But I was also having trouble thinking of any book titles at the moment. I’m usually so good about being put on the spot, too. This whole school thing was throwing me off my game.
“Uh, The Giver?” I supplied finally.
“Ah, one of my personal favorites!” he exclaimed. Then he winked at me conspiratorially. “I do believe your former teacher had great taste.”
“It wasn’t a school assignment,” I said before I could stop myself. “It was just for fun.”
“Even better!” he said, looking at me more closely. “Well, it’s on our reading list for later this year, so you may get a little break from assigned reading during that time if you can recall all the details.”
He pulled a piece of paper out of a file folder on his desk and handed it to me.
“In the meantime, here’s a list of the books we’ll be focusing on this year, along with the dates we’ll be studying them. Feel free to read ahead if you choose to, but make sure to brush up before tests,” he advised.
I glanced down at the paper and scanned the list:
Number the Stars by Lois Lowry
Where the Red Fern Grows by Wilson Rawls
Eragon by Christopher Paolini
Wonder by R.J. Palacio
Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson
Bridge to Terabithia by Katherine Paterson
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone by J. K. Rowling
These and about a half dozen others made up the eclectic list of novels our class would be expected to read this year. I’d already plowed through more than half of them.
Looks like I’ll have a lot of downtime after all. Not that that’s a bad thing.
Maybe school won’t be the crap hole I thought it was going to be.
The bell rang loudly in the corner of the room. I winced at the noise and began to turn away from Mr. Misaki to go to my desk, but he put his hand on my arm and pulled me back gently.
“Wait just a second there,” he said. “I’m not through with you just yet.”
I complied as he guided me from his desk to the front of the classroom and deposited me there, instead of at a desk and chair like I thought he would.
“Class, let’s all welcome a new student,” he said, gesturing to me as I stood there frozen. “This is Frankie Lorde.”
Entry Twelve
Every pair of eyes was staring at me. Some in boredom, others with slight interest. The rest seemed to be blank, thank God.
I started to dart toward the only empty seat I could find, in the second row, but Mr. Misaki called me back.
“Miss Lorde,” he said, going back to his perch on the desk. “Would you mind sharing a few things about yourself?”
I looked at the class in front of me and blinked.
“Wait, you guys really do that here?” I asked him, shocked that what I’d seen in movies was actually true.
Mr. Misaki looked at me, confused, and it hit me that he wasn’t joking. He really wanted me to introduce myself. He gestured again for me to start, and I swallowed and began to speak.
“Um, I’m Frankie,” I offered uncomfortably. Then I shrugged, because I wasn’t sure what else to say.
I looked over at Mr. Misaki, but he was no help.
So I scanned the rest of the class miserably, hoping that most of the other kids would at least feel my pain and grant me immunity on what was happening. But either the other kids had never had the pleasure of embarrassing themselves publicly or they were perfectly happy to revel in my horror, because I didn’t see any sympathy in their faces. Until my gaze fell on one face that I recognized.
