“He came to find me," I offered, a small indication, maybe,that this was a Phillite boy who'd grown into doing the right thing."I'll give him that. He could have just sucked down his spaghetti and gone." Frankie stuck the cap back on the lipstick. "You look very pretty in..." He flipped the tube over and read. "You've gotta be kidding. Poysonberry? Who comes up with this stuff? Anyway.I'm sure Alex Bainbridge will agree.""Thank you.""Anytime.Just keep this in mind, if you would, please. I know that you look very pretty every day, with or without the ridiculously named wax products.""Saint Francis," I teased, feeling just delightfully poysonous enough in the glow of his approval. "Too good for this world.""That's just what Connor said." Frankie's most recent boy. They met in a bookstore."Bookstore Connor of the fantasy realm?"Behind us,the gong went. Frankie started to scoop his stuff together. "Careful.His fantasies do not involve one-dimensional Phillites or dead men."I tapped him on the tip of his perfect nose. He hates that. "How do you know? He might have a thing for dead, one-dimensional Phillites.”

“Frankie had used one (reverently) to wipe his eyes.This specimen was old and soft,monogrammed with a J in the corner. "Makes it interesting," he told me once, after finding a box monogrammed with M for fifty cents at a sidewalk sale. "Was it Max or Michael? Maybe Marco...""Here," he said now. "You have lipstick halfway down to your chin."Humiliated, I scrubbed at my face.Frankie held out his hand, palm up. "Okay,let's have it." I pulled the tube out of my pocket. "Not really my thing, madam, but since I've seen what happens when you don't use a mirror..." I'm sure it helped that he was holding my face, but he read it like a pro. "You had a mirror.""I did.I'm hopeless.""Maybe.Open." He squinted as he filled in my upper lip. "I don't like this.""The color? I knew it was too pink-""Quiet.You'll smear it.The color is fine. Better for Sienna, I'm sure..." He surveyed his handiwork. "I don't like that you're doing this for him.""Don't start. I told you how nice he was.""In excruciating detail."Given, the post-Bainbridge family dinner e-mail to Frankie and Sadie had been long. But excrutiating stung, especially from the boy who'd used every possible synonym for hot in describing his Friday-night bookstore acquisition. No name, just detailed hotness and the play-by-play of their flirtation over the fantasy section.”

“Frankie was making me work for my forgiveness. It had taken several days, a thousand phone messages, and a seriously overpriced Vogue Hommes International shoved through his mail slot to get him even to speak to me. He was sitting across the table from me now, arms crossed over his chest (to be fair, he did that a lot when wearing that particular cashmere sweater; it covered the repaired moth hole at the point of the V-neck), glowering a little. I nudged the cannoli another millimeter toward him. It was chocolate chip,his fave."So I screwed up twice." I was wrapping up my tale of guilt and woe. "Edward I don't mind so much now. We just were too different for it to work out in the end..." I chanced a glance at Frankie's sulky face to see if he found that at all humorous. Apparently not.,. I sighed and went for honesty. "Alex...That one has walloped me."Frankie darted out a finger and scooped a little of the filling from the cannoly. I resisted the urge to fling myself across the table and hug him until he squeaked. "The sharks were good," he acknowledged, and not even too reluctantly. "Insane but good.""Yeah.And Ferdinand. I'll introduce you sometime."Frankie wrinkled his perfect nose. "I'll take my stingray as a shagreen wallet, thank you."I laughed.Not that I appreciated the thought of Ferdinand as an accessory,but I was just so happy to have my Frankie back.He read my mind and waved a cannoli-tipped finger at me. "Ah.You are not forgiven yet, madam."I subsided in my chair. "I'm sorry," I told him quietly. "I'm really really sorry. If I could go back and do any of it differently, the very first thing would be to tell you everything as it was happening.""Hmph." Frankie took a bite of cannoli, delicately wiped his mouth, had a sip of espresso,wiped his mouth. And examined the painted til ceiling.”

“So,if it's all love or money, which is Alex Bainbridge?"I blinked at him. "What?""He's a turd, Ella. He looked right through you like you were a ghost, but you still have a thing for him.""I do n-""Don't even. You've gone through the whole week watching for him. So what is it? I would really like to know. Love or money?""I have not been watching for him!" I snapped. Oh, but I had, in every hallway, at lunch, when I took my seat at the edge of English class. "And if I have, it's just so I can look away first."Frankie rolled his eyes. "Shall I get you a pail of water?""Why?""Your pants are on fire."I actually looked down at my lap. "Oh, very funny." I shot Sadie a look when she giggled.”

“You'll have to forgive me," Dad said. His mouth was moving very little, a sign that he was tense. "I'm not...familiar with...the protocol. For boys like you. But I..."I felt my face turning red. No, no, no. Quit while you're ahead, Dad. Please."I'm sure you have...urges," Dad went on. "All teenage boys have...urges. I don't know whether you've...tried anything--"I said please!"Just as long as you're safe. That's very important. You still have to be safe, even if you're both boys. I don't know what really...um, entails. You know. How you...do things. I could look it up for you--"I clapped my hand over Dad's mouth. I took him by his arm, my face burning, and dragged him back to the field.”

“Hey, manager... Some kid must have left his glove here... It has his name on it... See? Right here... Willie Mays... He wrote his name on his glove, see? Poor kid... He's probably been looking all over for it... We should have a lost and found. I don't know any kid around here named Willie Mays, do you? How are we gonna get it back to him? He was pretty smart putting his name on his glove this way, though... It's funny, I just don't remember any kid by that name...""Look at your own glove.""What?""Look at your own glove... There's a name on it...""Babe Ruth... Well, I'll be! How in the world do you suppose I got her glove?!”