Always Only You by Chloe Liese (z-lib.org).epub

She nudges me. “Quit deflecting.”
Turning my head, I watch the constellations. “The real Ren is still a bit of an
unsure misfit.”
“Why?”
I shrug and lift my hand, signaling I want another hit. “Who knows.”
Carefully, I take another small drag on the joint and hand it back to her, speaking
through my exhale. “I was awkward when I was younger. Then we moved when
I was in high school, so I had to start all over again, trying to find a few friends. I
never found my stride.”
“Until hockey?”
I smile up at the stars. “Yeah. I’m happy on the ice. And I actually get along
with the guys. They like my weirdness. I don’t know, I feel accepted, I suppose.”
“That’s important,” she says quietly. “I have that with Annie and Lo. I’d be
miserable without them.”
I turn my head and stare up at her. “What about your family?”
Frankie shrugs. “Eh. I love my sister, Gabby, but she was a real asshole
when we were younger. I was her baby sister having all these meltdowns and
issues, and she felt ignored. We’re mostly past that, but we’re also really
different people with a country between us. With Ma, I’m a walking time bomb,
and every step I take is one closer to falling apart. Nonna’s cool about the
arthritis, but she doesn’t get autism. I drive her nuts with my lack of a filter. I
used to embarrass her at church and in her social circle. The Catholic church and
I don’t get along too well, and it’s like her life.”
“What about your dad?”
She stares down at the sand, dragging her finger slowly across its surface.
“He died when I was twelve. It’s part of why I make my mom so anxious. She
never got over losing him. He was a firefighter, and when he died on the job, it
just deepened her anxiety about her family’s well-being, if that makes sense.”
Carefully, I press my hand to hers, my knuckles sliding against hers. “I’m
sorry.”
Slowly, her fingers dance with mine. “That’s all right. I’ll always miss him,
but the pain dulls after a while.” She sighs, stubs out the last of the joint, and sets
it next to her tea. “So, tell me about Shakespeare Club.”
I tip my head, confused by her changing directions. “What about it?”
“What you like about it. Why you still participate.” She sips her tea and
stares at the ocean.
“Well, it started in high school, a couple of nerds like me who loved reading
and performing these words from a time when language meant something—
when you didn’t just throw words at each other, or I don’t know, maybe you did,