Not Even A Cat (To Hold On To)

By Susan Fell Evans

Fourteen year-old Frankie Ryan’s life has become a crazy juggling act: lying to the two older brothers who are her guardians, hiding bruises, pushing her friends away. And, oh, also: pretending she’s not a type 1 diabetic who needs insulin to, you know, stay alive. All to keep her superstar boyfriend Kyle interested.

Her life’s like a minefield, too. If her brothers find out she’s dating, they’ll probably decide they’ve had enough of the guardianship thing and send her to foster care. Then there’s a planned trip to see relatives in California that could become permanent. And the dates with Kyle where she fudges on insulin and messes up her blood sugars. (Let’s just say not good, okay?) Girlfriends who are getting suspicious and might tell. Kyle wants sex -- of course he does -- so that’s not a question of if, just when. And yes, Kyle also sometimes gets angry and holds her too hard, and sometimes he twists her arm until it leaves bruises. But those are just accidents, right? Nobody’s perfect, after all. And deciding to be with him makes Frankie feel glamorous and like she’s finally running her own life. Why would she want to lose that? And if it costs a few things – little ones, you know, like her health and her home – it’s totally worth it, isn’t it?

Some strong language.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Susan Fell Evans
• Release date: Jan 2, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310684500

Susan Fell Evans

Susan Fell Evans has been writing books since second grade. The first one she remembers finishing was about a flying horse. Since then, Susan has been a Rotary Exchange student, has graduated from college and law school, and has worked at various jobs, including as a science writer, a magazine editor, and a trademark attorney. She currently lives with her husband and daughter, two dogs, seven cats and two horses outside of Philadelphia, PA, where she spends her free time writing more books.

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Copyright

Not Even A Cat (To Hold On To)

By Susan Fell Evans

Smashwords Edition

Text Copyright 2013 Susan Fell Evans

Cover Design Copyright 2013 Bruce Brachman

All Rights Reserved

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. No part of this book may be reproduced, used, copied, downloaded, disseminated or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for you, please go to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Thanks to Libby Emmons, Alice Perry, Martine Bellen, Jen Kratz, Jen Paine, Stephanie Norris, and the Indian Valley Writers’ Group for reading, critiquing, editing and on-going support! Thanks also to Alyssa and Alec Morshead for help with the cover photo.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Chapter 72

Chapter 73

Chapter 74

Chapter 75

Author’s Note

Copyright

Chapter 1

WHEN I was almost twelve, my parents died. Died, as in, went out one night, had an accident, and then weren’t alive anymore. That kind of died.

My parents and their car had a run-in with some trees on a Thursday night, and by the next morning I pretty much didn’t have parents anymore. Technically, my Mom lived two more days, but it’s only technical. It’s also beside the point here, which is that, since then, I have been an orphan. Just like in the books you read when you’re a kid. The Baudelaires, Superman, Harry Potter, me — orphans. Somehow, I hadn’t thought there are such things in real life.

It turns out that there are, though, and that I am one. It also turns out that when you are eleven and an orphan because you don’t have parents, living ones, anyway, you are also what’s called a ward of the state, and the state gets to decide what happens to you. Really. One minute you have a mom and a dad and a home and two cats and you know who’s in charge of you, and the next you don’t have any of that, but you do have a social worker coming to the hospital in the middle of the night with plans to take you to a foster home because you are now (or, okay, soon will be) a ward of the state.

Also when I was almost twelve, just in case my parents, you know, dying, wasn’t enough, I got this thing the doctors call diabetes. I call it stuff neither of my brothers would let me say out loud. I don’t suppose my mother or father would have either if they were still alive, but they aren’t, so let’s not even go there. I just won’t say them. But, you know, not good names, okay?

The best part about those things is that they happened three years ago. And that I’m actually kind of used to them now, and that my life has gotten more or less normal again. I mean, if you can count having my brothers for parents and that I go everywhere with an insulin pump attached to me, normal. Which, of course, you may not, but it is what counts for normal where I live, okay?

Chapter 2

SO. ANYWAY. Moving on. Please, right? Because, except for being diabetic and an orphan (and obviously neither of those actually counts), nothing has ever happened to me that anyone would call even remotely exciting. Yes, I know that’s pathetic and no, I don’t want to talk about it. Except to mention that all that changed two days ago. Two days ago when Kyle Martin noticed me. To my complete and utter amazement.

Seriously, it would be a massive understatement to say that I was surprised when Kyle showed up at my locker after school on an otherwise average Wednesday in April, looking fabulous in old jeans and a sweater. I mean, besides the fact that I’m me, and let’s not go there just yet, I’m also only a freshman, and Kyle is a junior. Plus he’s cool. He’s good-looking in a hot boy-band kind of way, and he plays on the basketball team and he’s in the school play and he hangs with all the other cool kids. Not to mention the small detail that all of his ex-girlfriends are gorgeous. Seriously gorgeous, okay? I mean, at the beginning of this school year there was Sydney Gamble, who’s blonde and beautiful, and then around New Year’s they broke up and he started with Alyssa Jamieson, who’s dark-haired and beautiful. Both Sydney and Alyssa are juniors, and did I mention that they’re beautiful? And they’re the ones from just this year.

So you don’t expect a guy like that to be interested in a girl like me. Because even though I hope that — maybe — I’m not completely terrible-looking, let’s just say that no guy has asked me out before now, and Kyle Martin is hardly the one I thought would be the first.

My brothers would probably tell me that I’m wrong about that, that I’m gorgeous and cool — inside and out — blah blah blah, because they’re very good with the feel-good talks. But that’s my point: that’s Matt and Eric and the stuff they think they have to say to me. So even though I knew that Kyle had just broken up with Alyssa — the rumor is that something happened last weekend at prom, though no one seems to know what — and was available, the very last person I would have expected him to pick for a replacement is me. I mean, just in case I’m not being perfectly clear about this, I’m not anybody, and I’m not gorgeous. In fact, I may, or may not — because you can’t really expect me to remember — have been called Frankie the Frizzy in the past. While Kyle is closer to movie-star awesome.

But even so, this Wednesday after school, when I was at my locker getting stuff to take home for the night, suddenly Kyle was leaning against the locker next to mine and talking. To me. I was so surprised that at first I didn’t hear what he said.

… Right, isn’t it? is what I caught.

Excuse me? I said. I tried to act like I talk to people like Kyle all the time, but I suspect I didn’t pull it off all that well. In fact, it’s possible that my voice came out like a squeak. I mean, it’s possible, okay?

I said, ‘your name’s Francesca Ryan,’ right? he said.

Yes, I said slowly, wondering what he wanted. Most people call me Frankie, though, I added, because I didn’t know what else to say. And because my whole name is Martha Francesca, and I mostly do go by Frankie because, really, who in their right mind would use either Martha or Francesca? I can’t imagine why my parents picked those names, and by the time I wanted to ask, they weren’t around any more and I couldn’t. Matt says it’s because there is some great-great-great aunt on one side of the family named Martha and one on the other side named Francesca, and Mom and Dad weren’t feeling creative when I was born, so they used their names. Eric says Mom just liked them. I think Matt must be right, since I find Eric’s version hard — okay, impossible — to believe. And whatever the explanation, I’m still stuck with the names, so I don’t think it really matters why.

And, yes, I know it was a totally dumb thing to say, but I’m not always the fastest. And also I was completely distracted by Kyle’s wavy hair and hazel eyes. Did I mention he’s good-looking? Because he is. Even better — I was discovering — from two feet away than from a distance. I mean, good-looking from somewhere down the hall was almost blinding up close. Totally gorgeous wavy light brown hair, and eyes with lashes that are, I’m pretty sure, longer than mine. Full lips that curve up at the ends. Dimples. Tall. I mean, the whole package. Enough to make you forget how to talk.

Frankie, Kyle said. He smiled, and my knees melted. Cool. So, Frankie, I was wondering if you’d go out with me Saturday night.

I’d like to say that my mouth didn’t drop open right then, but I can’t promise anything. I don’t really know one way or the other, but Kyle didn’t laugh. So maybe it wasn’t too obvious how surprised I was.

Uhm, I said because, again, I’m not always the fastest. Uhm, I’d like to, but, uhm, I need to check with my brother first. And, yes, thanks, I do know that was so not clever. And, also yes, that it probably would have been quicker just to come out and say I’m a ninth grade baby and I can’t do anything before getting permission. But I’m lame in my own special way, okay? Anyway, this is where a hole in the ground opening up in front of me so I could fall in should have happened. But it didn’t, of course, and so I just stood there feeling like the biggest idiot ever. I mean, BIGGEST. And EVER.

Oh, yeah, Kyle said, you live with your brother, right? I heard about that, I guess it’s pretty wild, huh?

How in the world would you know that? I wondered, but It’s okay, is what I mumbled. (Going really well, Frankie.)

So what, Kyle said, like you have to get permission from your brother instead of your parents or something?

Yeah, I said, that’s how it works. Because, you know, my brothers are like my parents, since my parents are, uhm, you know, dead. (Duh.)

Definitely wild, Kyle said. He smiled again. I know it sounds stupid, but seriously, his smile made me feel like you do when the sun turns up on a rainy day, and I think my knees almost gave out this time. I bet you get away with lots of stuff, he added.

Uhm, I guess, I said slowly. Honestly, I can’t say I’d ever considered that possibility.

I’m sure you do. Kyle stood up from the locker and looked at his watch, which was big and gold and probably very expensive. It went with the gold signet ring on his right hand. So, plan on meeting me at seven on Saturday. I’ll let you know where. He started to walk down the hall, then turned around and smiled at me. The corners of his mouth curled up in a way that made me almost faint, and both his dimples were on full display. Rainy day. Sun.

And wear that short black skirt you have — you look great in that, he said, and turned again and walked off.

Okay, then, wow and double wow. Better yet, OMG. My brothers don’t like that term, so I’m not supposed to use it. But it totally describes where I was at that moment. I had to lean against the locker to catch my breath.

I think Kyle Martin just asked me out on a date, I told my friend Kayla a few seconds later when she showed up to walk to the subway with me. Kayla Ruiz and Julia Newman have been my best friends ever since I started at this school two years ago. Kayla and I met in homeroom on my first day because our last names are Ruiz and Ryan, and we got our seats mixed up when we tried to sit in alphabetical order. I thought Kayla would think I was dumb because I couldn’t spell, but she just thought it was funny. Then she told me that it was her first day, too, and we’ve been friends ever since.

Kayla is tiny with long black hair and dark eyes. When I told her about Kyle, her eyes opened really wide behind the red glasses she wears. No way, she said.

Way, I said.

No!

Really, he did.

Awesome! Kayla whispered. I picked up my backpack, totally forgetting to put in my math book, which I absolutely needed that night, and I almost left without closing the locker door, because I couldn’t seem to focus on anything except Kyle’s hazel eyes. And dimples. To die for. Seriously.

We picked up Julia, who is tall, blue-eyed, and blonde and goes by Jul (Jewel, get it?) instead of Julia, and who started out as Kayla’s partner in science lab and then became our second best friend. The three of us spent the ten minute walk to the subway talking about this amazing event, and whether it really was a date date or a group hangout. And either way, could it be real or was it some kind of awful joke? And, if it was real and not a joke, how was I going to get Matt to let me go, and what would I wear? We went on like that until Kayla peeled off to catch her train, and Jul and I continued the conversation, since we take the same train, until she got off at her street a couple of stations before me. And even after that, I was so busy seeing hazel eyes and dimples that I almost missed my stop.

Chapter 3

BECAUSE I think the true awesomeness of this event needs to be made clear, I’m going to backtrack a little here. I mean, seriously, I know you want to understand all of this TOTALLY, because, I mean, who wouldn’t? And because I believe in being thorough, let’s start when I was eleven. When my parents died. When my life was pre-orphan, pre-diabetes, pre-OMG-Kyle. And that, as I said, happened on a Thursday in April when I was almost twelve.

You already know that I have brothers, and you probably also figured out that they are a lot older than I am. There are two of them: Matt is nearly eighteen years (seventeen years, nine months) older than I am, and Eric is fifteen years (and four months) older. And what you can probably figure out from the age difference is that I wasn’t intended. I mean, something happened, you know, like the birth control didn’t work (please!) or my parents forgot it, or they just didn’t think they needed it. Because, according to Matt and Eric, before I came along, Mom and Dad thought they were done having kids.

Eric also claims that he and Matt helped out a lot with me when I was a baby, like changing diapers and stuff, which is why they didn’t think it would be a big deal to take care of me again when my mom and dad died. I’m not so sure about the diaper-changing part, and the part about taking care of me again I don’t believe at all. But I’m not complaining about it, either.

Matt says he moved out and went to college when I was about a year old, which I don’t remember but also don’t have any reason not to believe, and Eric left when I was three, and the point is that I don’t remember my brothers living at home when I was a kid. And that I didn’t really know them before the accident. Now, it’s the total opposite.

I do remember them coming home sometimes back then, like for holidays. They would carry me around upside down on their backs until I got so dizzy I thought I might throw up. One Christmas, they taught me to ride a bike in the snow by pushing me down a hill. (They didn’t hold on.) They thought it was hysterical. My mom and dad let them do that stuff with me, apparently on the theory that we were all having fun.

But mostly, before the accident, home was my mom and my dad and our cats Mr. Mistoffelees and Tuxedo. We lived in a totally normal house, on a totally normal street, in a totally normal town not too far outside of New York City. Like most girls my age, I went to school and to activities like Girl Scout meetings and piano lessons. My parents were busy most of the time: My mom was a lawyer and my dad was a high school principal, and they both worked. Constantly. I spent a lot of time at home by myself, especially on days when I didn’t have something after school. When my mom and dad came home, we’d have dinner, I’d do homework or watch TV, and then I’d go to bed. On holidays we’d see friends or relatives and sometimes go to church or temple (depending on which side of the family we were with at the time). Sometimes on a Saturday night we would rent movies. Once in a while we would go to the City to see my brothers, and in the summer we went to the shore for vacation. It was uneventful. It was — again — totally normal, in the way that life is normal for most people. Which is, I think, really all you need — probably way more than anyone needs — to know about that period of my life.

What I remember most about the time when my parents died is that I was almost done with sixth grade. I wasn’t particularly thrilled with that year. Most of the girls were getting breasts, and I suppose the boys were also starting to change in the ways that boys change, and all of a sudden everyone was all into being girls and boys and into what goes along with that. I mean, you couldn’t be friends with a boy unless you were girlfriend and boyfriend and if no boy wanted you to be his girlfriend, well…let’s just say not fun, okay?

And then, in case no one wanting to be my boyfriend wasn’t enough (short answer: it was), the boys did pay attention to me by making fun of my hair. Because it’s curly, sort of reddish brown and really curly (did I mention that it’s curly?), and the boys thought it was hysterical to make sixth-grade-boy jokes about it. Frankie the Frizzy might have been the sort of thing they said. Or maybe not. Because — I think I already said this, but I’m sure it’s worth repeating — it’s not like I would remember something like that, you know.

So I was looking forward to the school year being almost over. Fall always feels new, and I was hoping that when the next grade came around, somehow, things would be different, that I would be different. I was counting the days until sixth grade ended and spending my time in class daydreaming about how seventh-grade Frankie would be so much better than the sixth-grade version. I could just see her sleek, shiny hair, fabulous clothes and oh-so-cool demeanor. The other girls would envy me, and the boys would drool. I was so there already. If I’d had any idea at all just how different it was actually going to be, I might not have wanted it so much. Which probably goes to show something, though I’m not sure what.

And here’s the thing: If I’m totally honest about it, and normally I try to be honest, I have to admit that Frankie the Cool hasn’t really shown up yet. Even worse, I don’t think that Frankie the Frizzy has ever left. I’m a lot better at making my hair look more curly than frizzy now, I live in a different place — two of them, if you count Eric’s — I dress better (I hope), I go to a new school and I have different friends, but I’m still Frankie, and I’m still mostly the same person. If, of course, you don’t count the insulin pump or the sugar meter or any of that stuff. Which I totally try not to. And that’s really all I want to say about any of this for now, except that I think it entirely explains why Kyle Martin asking me out was so totally earth shattering, okay?

Chapter 4

THE BIGGEST problem about Kyle (okay, the only problem, because, seriously he’s perfect) was, of course, my brothers. I mean, feel-good talks, you’re gorgeous and you’re great stuff aside, I could guess without even trying that letting me go on an actual date with an actual boy would be another level altogether. We’ve had a sex talk and a drug talk and, I think, all the other required talks, too, but the one thing we haven’t talked about is when I’m allowed to put any of it into practice. Which, I suspect, is because neither Matt or Eric is planning to let me do anything even vaguely related to any of those things any time ever. And which is also, by the way, why anyone who thinks my life is easy because I don’t have parents is seriously misinformed.

Really, I’m pretty sure that two brothers running your life is way worse than parents doing it. Even when, technically, only one of them is an actual guardian. Matt is the one who is legal, but he discusses everything with Eric, and they both tell me what to do. The deal we have is that I have to listen to them both. They compare notes with each other all the time, and what one of them doesn’t figure out the other usually does. I mean, it would probably help if they didn’t get along or something, but no, of course not. They like each other. Which means that I don’t get any breaks. None. None, okay?

After Jul got off the train, I kept thinking about how I could possibly get Matt to let me go out with Kyle. As I said, we haven’t covered little details like when I can start dating, and you don’t have to be a genius to know Matt would almost certainly say that fourteen is too young. Even if I’m almost fifteen. I’ve had three years of experience dealing with him on related subjects, and you can trust me that I’m right about this one without even needing to ask.

And you know how much I wanted to go. What kind of idiot would I be if I didn’t? I mean, yes, Kyle could be playing a joke on me, and yes, I’d heard about guys who hold contests over who of them can get an ugly girl to sleep with him first. And no, I’m not totally stupid; I knew something like that could be behind it. On the other hand, Jul and Kayla both say I’m not ugly, and that I kind of look like Kyle’s old girlfriend Alyssa, that I’m his type. I hoped they were right. Plus, Kyle was so impossibly cool, I couldn’t imagine he would do that kind of mean joke thing. I mean, a guy like that? He wouldn’t, right?

And, finally, while I was sitting there watching people on the train zone out and the stops whiz by, thinking about Kyle’s hazel eyes, I decided that even if it was a joke, it was worth the risk. I mean, Kyle Martin. KYLE. MARTIN. A total stand-in for any heartthrob pop star you want. And he asked ME — Frankie. The Frizzy — OUT. Do I need to say anything more?

Really, the only thing I needed to figure out was how to manage it. Sure. Simple. Easy, even. Like, you know, maybe I could slip it in when Matt was on his way out the door for work in the morning and wasn’t really paying attention? Like, Have a good day, Matt! And, oh, by the way, I’m going on a date Saturday with a guy who’s a junior and it will be just the two of us. See you.

Do I