Chapter Text
Since she was a kid, Francesca has always loved going on rides. Whether it was her pink tinted bicycle, with flowers all over its body, or her older brother’s skateboard, a cheap, colorful one with ruined stickers all over it, she would come home every evening with bruises all over her knees, exposed by her dirty jorts. She wasn’t very fond of Luca’s ridiculously oversized flannel shirts, but she would wear them around the house anyway, getting laughs from her parents. She would make a great impression of her brother as well, which only gathered more laughs.
On her eighth birthday she had begged her mother to get her one that would fit her, and when her mother accepted she had brought her with her at the store to choose the one she liked the most. When she walked towards the little boy’s section and gained a confused look from her mother, she had justified herself saying that she had found one that looked exactly like Luca’s, and that she wanted to match clothes with her older brother so much that it had to be identical to his.
She wore the flannel shirt to her birthday party. It was the bluest shade, the black stripes covering half of its surface. For good measure, her mother put a ribbon hairband, almost the same shade as the blue of her shirt, with white polka dots all over it.
Looking back at her baby pictures, oh how she hated that flannel shirt. But she loved the way it fit her shoulders and her figure in general. She looked so cool in one picture specifically: her, Luca and their dad on their respective bicycles, Francesca with baggy jeans, a dark reddish color tinting her knees, that flannel shirt now completely unbuttoned and a very dirty white tank top right under it. Her eyes were covered by the sunglasses she had stolen from her dad, and she had most definitely fallen a few instances before this picture was taken, but she looked so relaxed, so natural, in a way she hasn’t probably felt since then.
It’s just puberty. She thought. Everybody feels weird at my age. Even Violetta.
Now, Violetta. She was her best friend. The most gentle but enthusiastic soul she had ever met. Violetta was the epitome of femininity. The way she moved, the way she carried herself, the way she spoke. She was elegant and shy, a true swan, or a small deer, one that had just awakened into this world and began taking its first steps. Despite being so timid she took everyone’s attention with impressive ease.
Francesca would have lied if she said she wasn’t part of that ‘everyone’.
That said, Francesca put the picture back in the old and dusty box, handed it to her mother with a smile and crossed her arms to her chest in deep thought.
“You were so different back then. So boyish.” Said her mother, putting the box back in its designed place, over her parents’ wedding photo album.
Francesca giggled, trying to fix the creases of her dress with her hands. “I looked so cool.”
“You did.” She gave her daughter a kiss on the forehead before she headed to the kitchen to check if Luca had finished preparing dinner already.
Her brother was always overly responsible. He had a great passion for cooking which was convenient to everyone in the house, and he also liked doing the housework, the dishes, to the point it turned into obsession. Everything had to be clean, everything had to be in order. And his little sister was anything but order.
He’d clean after her and scold her for leaving pairs and pairs of socks around the house, for leaving her dark long hair in the sink. It annoyed her just as much as it annoyed him, so she had learned how to make things at least a bit easier for him. Her favorite thing to do was probably loading the washing machine and seeing how hard it shook on the floor. Luca hated the noise so this mission was only ever assigned to her, and when he suggested they should have bought something to keep the machine firm on the ground she had complained, saying that the noise had a certain rhythm to it.
She stood up from the couch and walked to her room. The wall she painted a light, blinding blue with her brother when she was a kid remained intact, and the polka dots colored the white walls around it. She laughed, reminded of her outfit from the birthday party, and how those two specific elements accompanied her throughout her entire childhood as if two worlds were battling inside her. What she truly wanted versus what her mother had always expected of her.
Now, Francesca knew blue didn’t necessarily mean boy. That type of mindset was obsolete, a belief she absolutely didn’t approve of. But she would have been stupid, even at her young age, to deny that it had no significant meaning to society and, most importantly, to her parents. The closer she got to blue, the more her parents would give her pink. The closer she got to motors, cargo shorts, football, the more her parents would try to give her dolls, cute dresses and ballet.
See, she never quite understood why her parents were so adverse to their daughter’s natural state. They never struck her as close minded, especially her mother. They were nice people, always supportive of her dreams, her passions, always affectionate. On top of that, Luca was always drawn to things that were (wrongly, of course) perceived as feminine and they had never batted an eye. What was so different with her?
That until she recalled a specific quote from her mother. “I would always play with dolls and dress them up, pretending they were my daughters.”
It crossed her mind for a second, an opinion she would have never dared to mouth out loud — that if this was the reason, her mother must have been abundantly selfish. But how could she even think that of her own mother, the same person who had given her everything, the hardworking woman who moved to Buenos Aires and left her entire family just to give her and her brother a better life?
As she stored that thought on the back of her head, or in the depths of her stomach, she took the phone that was vibrating from the multiple notifications she was receiving.
The name read “viluuu!!!” with a smiling emoji next to it.
fran
shopping in 10 mins?
dad said yes :}
pls tell me you are free!!! ramallo will take us
with the car u like so much!
Amongst all the people she knew Violetta was the only one aware of her love for cars. The discovery had been so casual, as Francesca almost drooled at the sight of Germán’s car and she could name the exact model, to Violetta’s surprise.
The younger girl laughed, saying she didn’t know the first thing about cars and motors. Francesca expected her to be at least a bit weirded out by it, but instead she took her arm and looked at her like her mouth was coughing up gold. “Tell me all about it.” She had said. That stuck with her for a while.
She didn’t realize she was smiling at her phone and blushing like an idiot until she got another message.
change of plans, i’ll pick u up in 5! be quick! TQM
She swallowed, her cheeks still flushed.
Okkkkkk!!!!!
She laid the phone face down on her bed and quickly searched through her closet. She was looking for something specific, a red summer dress, belt included — with a blue ribbon on top of it. Her mother said that dress fit her beautifully.
But as she rifled through her clothes she wondered if those cargo shorts she wore just a few years prior would have fit her just as beautifully. The weather was so generous today, so she probably could wear a white tank top she stole from her brother’s closet when he was shorter and smaller.
She decided on the cargo shorts, but the tank top would have been too risky— too eye-catching. Her family wasn’t used to seeing her like this, her— Violetta wasn’t used to seeing her like this, so she had decided on a pastel purple tee with cute lace on the short sleeves, one that reminded her of her friend.
Heels, ballerinas or platforms wouldn’t have matched with the outfit — she thought, and wore a pair of sneakers instead.
Her hair was a mess, so she put it in a rushed ponytail and waited until Violetta was at her door.
She did not have to wait that long until Violetta rang the bell. She grabbed her phone, rushed to the door and warned her parents that she would leave just before she opened the front door to her friend.
When she did, the girl greeted her with a gleaming smile, wrapping her arms around her neck, her whole weight pushing Francesca two steps back. Luckily she was strong enough (or was it Violetta who was so light?) to lift her off the ground and spin her around, thanks to all the manual labor she had to do at her brother’s restaurant.
When her feet touched the ground again, Violetta laughed and grabbed her hand firmly. “Let’s go before my dad changes his mind.” She said right before dragging the older girl towards the car. She opened the door for her, but that didn’t feel right. So she encouraged Violetta to get in first. She giggled timidly at the gesture, giving her a small bow before entering that — beautiful, majestic — car. Francesca could have sworn she felt her heart skip a beat.
“Wow, you’re a true gentleman.” She joked, but that had awakened something in the inky haired girl that was hard to suppress now. Her hands trembled with excitement as she closed the car’s door behind her, now sat down so close to Violetta that she could feel the hair of her arm on her skin.
It tickled her a bit, that proximity that was so close to turning into distance instead, so she moved a bit to the right, near the window, smiling. “Your arm was tickling me so bad.”
Violetta looked at her, mimicking her smile. “I like the new pants.” Her eyes shot down at the cargo shorts she chose to wear, then they traveled back to her friend’s face. “And the hairstyle.”
I like you. Everything about you— She wanted to reply. Those words rang in her skull just as naturally as the water flowing through a river bed. The ringing sound, so loud she feared Violetta would hear it coming out of her ears, was almost causing her a painful headache, one that would leave her bed ridden for days. Like her. As a friend. That stopped the ringing for a while. But the truth is she knew she would have sat with that thought for the entire day, and that it would have led to a sleepless night, whether she wanted it or not.
She chose to go for a totally different reply. One that would have let Violetta know more about her friend. “I’ve had these pants for years, actually.” She admitted. “I just… I didn’t wear them for a while.” She looked down to her shoes, now incredibly conscious of each and every word she said. “I was so… different.”
“Different.” Violetta repeated. “Like what?”
“Like, cool graphic tees and legs spreading on every chair I sat on.” Francesca laughed, and Violetta joined her.
“Like you’re doing right now?”
Until now, the girl hadn’t realized how largely her legs were spreading on the car seat, or how her arm was hanging right between them, elbow resting on her thigh. She closed her legs and gave Violetta a polite smile. “Yeah.”
She expected a weird or confused stare on Violetta’s part, but instead she was met with such fascination in her eyes.
“I think you’re so cool.” She uttered shyly, looking down, fidgeting with the hem of her skirt.
Ramallo looked at them through the rear-view mirror with a curious look on his face. Francesca saw his eyes peeking from the mirror, a knowing expression piercing through her — she suddenly became self conscious, her entire face turning a bright red that she could have easily blamed on the high temperature of the car. Violetta seemed to notice his stare too, as she looked right at him for a split second and then averted her gaze to look at the trees growing on the side of the road instead. Maybe Francesca was blinded by her own emotions, but she saw her friend’s face turn a brighter color as well.
“Here we are, girls.” He smiled, now turning around to look at the both of them face to face. When Violetta thanked him with a kiss on his cheek, his smile got wider, his teeth showing. He shot an affectionate look in Francesca’s direction as well. “Thank you so much, Ramallo.” She said, opening the door for herself and Violetta.
“Don’t be too late, hm? I bet your father is going crazy already.” He laughed as he fixed his glasses on his nose.
Violetta rolled her eyes playfully. “Mh-mh, bye bye.”
Ramallo saw the both of them leave for the mall silently. He had never seen the girls so awkward the many times he had left them to places. He wondered if he was reading too much into it or if Violetta had really fallen for a girl. Which would not be a problem—for him. But for Germán? All these years he had never asked himself this question, which made him a bit disappointed in himself. He drove back home with the urge to know if Olga had ever wondered about this possibility before, or if her mind was just as obsolete as his.
Germán was nervously tapping his foot against the floor as he sat on the couch. He checked the time once, twice, then a third time. When Ramallo walked towards him he hadn’t even noticed, his eyes only looking up when the older man cleared his throat. “Ramallo.”
“Germán.” He sat beside him, conflicted. There was some information he should have absolutely gathered before he spoke to Violetta. “Nervous?”
“Hm.” That was all Germán could muster before he took a deep breath. “It’s already been an hour.”
“Germán, let her live a bit, come on. Francesca is a responsible girl.” He said, taking a sip of his friend’s coffee — no sugar, as always. Germán looked at him as if he was eating food directly from the trash can.
“The Italian one or the black haired one?”
The man couldn’t help but laugh. “The black haired one is the Italian one.”
“Ah.” He nodded. “She does look responsible. She’s a little girl too, though. I’m worried about the guys, the men.”
“She’s eighteen. She can drive, go to jail… She’s an adult.” He clasped his hands together. “Your daughter is turning eighteen soon as well.”
That made the man scoff. “Don’t remind me.” He cleaned the cup where Ramallo had previously rested his lips with a napkin. “I’m worried Camila was just a cover-up to meet that guy— León. In secret.”
“Francesca.” Ramallo corrected him. But soon enough he was lost in thought, thinking about Germán’s words, thinking about the little woman blushing at her friend today in the car. So now he wondered if the real situation was the total opposite of what his friend thought, if it was León who served as a cover-up for Violetta and Francesca’s relationship, if Violetta was so scared to tell the truth to her own family. To him, to Angie, to Olga, who would have accepted her with open arms and guided her into the complicated society she would have to face.
“Germán…” How to word this? How to ask a father if he would accept his daughter without arousing suspicion?
Germán, I don't think you should be worried about guys at all. No.
Germán, what if your daughter was in love with a girl? Too direct.
“You know, I’ve been wondering, since you don’t want Violetta to date any guy…” He cleared his throat. “Would you act the same way if she was dating a girl instead? Hypothetically.” Maybe he had ruined everything with the ‘hypothetically’, but Germán didn’t give him the confused look he was expecting. Instead he seemed to be lost in thought.
“You know, I never thought about that. Does that make me close-minded?” He rested his elbow on his leg, the hand covering his mouth and scratching its corner.
“I don’t know.” He gave him a soft smile. It was nice to see how calm Germán was being right now, and how he had the same worries as he did today in the car.
“It’s complicated.” He started, taking a deep breath. “I think Violetta is too young for relationships in general, but I would feel safer knowing she’s dating a girl instead.” He stopped for a few seconds, fidgeting with his hands. “I’d be scared of how the world would treat her. In the worst case scenario, I could protect her from a violent boy.” He shook his head. “But from the rest of the world… That’s— harder.”
“I understand.” Ramallo felt kind of bad for being so prejudiced against his own best friend. Germán was strict and close-minded in any aspect, but he had worked several times to help the people in need— that was what his job was about. He was a caveman in his own way, but never hateful. Just protective.
“Nothing would change if my daughter liked a girl. I think I’d just be disappointed in myself if she didn’t trust me enough to tell me.” He said. The thought of his daughter thinking he’d judge her for loving someone made his stomach turn. Then it was like he had been awakened from a long dream. He turned around to Ramallo with a raised eyebrow. “Is there something I should know?”
“Nahh. Nah.” Ramallo shook his head animatedly. Then he started nodding and then shaking his head again.
“No, yes, no? What? Ramallo.” He warned him.
“It’s both a no and a yes. Violetta didn’t tell me anything, I just have my suspicions.”
“Did something happen today?” He got closer to his friend, ready to listen.
“Nothing incriminating,” He said, making air quotes. “Just a few awkward looks, some blushing here and there…”
For a second the vision warmed Germán’s heart. But his mind would have been too kind to not present him with the worst possible scenario. If it was true that Francesca and Violetta were dating and today’s hangout was actually a date, that would mean they were probably holding each other’s hands right now, subjected to the hateful and prejudiced looks of ignorant people, and Germán wasn’t there to protect them.
To protect her daughter and her possible girlfriend from the cruel world he swore to protect her from since the day she was born.
“Ramallo—“ His friend could hear the horrified tone in his voice. “What if something happened to them?”
“Germán, please.” He put a hand on his shoulder to stop him from standing up. “Mine is just a speculation. Let me take care of this. I’ll call them and ask if everything’s going alright, and at what time they want me to pick them up.”
The man nodded, feeling a bit more relaxed. “Thank you.”
Violetta had received the call, reassured Ramallo that everything was going just fine, that she was having fun, and asked him (begged him) to pick them up in two hours instead of one.
She was sitting in front of Francesca around a table that was definitely meant for more than two people, but since they left the car they didn’t dare to get closer. It was almost as if an energy field sat between them and that would have pulled them closer than the law of physics would have normally allowed them to be. The raven haired girl sipped her juice in complete silence, her eyes never leaving the brunette’s figure.
Violetta broke that awkward silence that was hanging in the hair. “I wanna buy some clothes.”
Francesca nodded absentmindedly. “Will you help me choose?” Said Violetta, shyly. Her drink was still untouched.
“Yeah. Let’s go.” She stood up faster than she should have, the juice almost spilling from the glass. As they headed towards the store, Francesca looked at her a couple of times before gaining the courage to speak her mind.
“How’s it going with León?” She asked, her voice daring to break for a second before she immediately saved the whole sentence from collapsing into a blabbering mess.
“Good.” Her voice came out louder than it should have— Violetta thought. “We’re doing great. The usual.”
“Good.” Francesca replied in a whisper. Never had a conversation with her best friend felt so awkward in so long. What had changed between them in that car? Was it the way she was dressed today, or the way she took too much space manspreading in her seat? Did that make Violetta uncomfortable?
Was she weirded out?
But she had called her cool. Was it a lie?
Then her friend finally looked at her. No, not just ‘looked at her’, she looked at her. Her eyes were piercing through hers with such undeniable force that she felt them burning her retinas. “I don’t wanna talk about León though. I wanna spend time with you. Okay?”
Francesca smiled to herself, biting her lower lip. That was her futile attempt to stop her smile from getting bigger and cheesier. She grabbed Violetta’s hand, strong, and nodded. “Yes.” That said, she dragged her best friend through the store.
What caught Violetta’s eyes at first was a beautiful pink, ruffled skirt, one that would have fit perfectly with her elegant lace trim shirt, but as she turned around to tell Francesca she eyed something that caught her attention for completely different reasons. It was a dark blue henley shirt. She would never wear it, but she wondered if her friend would, because it would fit her frame so just right. It would have hugged her shoulders in a way that made her stomach flutter.
“Fran, do you like that?”
She turned around, not understanding what Violetta was pointing at. “What?”
“That one blue henley shirt. Do you like it?” She asked, holding the handles of her bag on her shoulder.
Last time Francesca had shopped from the men’s section she was fourteen. She came home, took the sweatshirt from the bag and wore it the next day. Better said, she attempted to.
Her father had looked at her and told her that didn’t suit her at all, that people would have made fun of her, that she looked like a boy.
Quite frankly, Francesca did not care if people made fun of her or if she looked like a boy, but her father’s unsupportive words ravaged her soul, and sat in the back of her brain like a tumor— spreading rapidly, taking everything with it. She was a susceptible teenager after all, one that needed her parents more than anything. “Yeah.” She admitted.
But when she turned towards Violetta again, expecting the disappointed gaze of her father, she was met with a gentleness she thought she was undeserving of.
“I think it would look so good on you.” She said under her breath, shy, but still holding eye contact.
“I love it.” —you. I also love you. At this point it was undeniable: her heart was beating out her chest and her ears were heating up rapidly. If today’s “I like you” would have kept her up all night, this moment’s “I love you” would have kept her up for years, until her unrequited feelings would eventually consume her.
“I’ll buy it for you.”