Frannie and Tru by Karen Hattrup Page B

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.
    â€œBought 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 against the table, so I was left staring at the back of his head.
    â€œMaking new friends?” I asked him.
    â€œOh yes. Have to introduce myself to the Baltimore social scene.”
    I almost let it go at that, but I couldn’t.
    â€œWhat were they saying? When you guys were looking over here?”
    â€œThey 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.”
    â€œOh,” 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.
    â€œWell, 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.
    â€œYour mom used to make prom dresses for both of them, did you know that?” he asked, still not turning back to look at me.
    â€œNo,” 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.
    â€œI know I haven’t seen them in forever,” I said. “But your mom always seemed kinda nice.”
    â€œKinda nice?” he said, turning finally to look at me. “That’s high praise.”
    â€œI 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?”
    â€œNo!” I said, embarrassed and blushing. “I mean, I