Archive of Our Own ^beta

His shoelace is untied. Frankie doesn’t know how he or Mom missed that - especially Mom, who always notices any and everything that could possibly be a safety hazard; she’s never missed an opportunity to stop him dead in his tracks and point to his feet and give him that stern right now, mister, before you trip and fall and break your nose or your teeth or worse, and it looks so sloppy, like we let you out of the house looking like a ragamuffin-

He doesn’t move to tie it, letting the white lace slide across the tile floor. If he stares at his shoelace, he doesn’t have to look up. If he doesn’t look up, then he doesn’t have to see Mom’s angry expression, doesn’t have to meet the headmistress’ eyes-

Mom taps him on the shoulder roughly. He looks up after a moment, looking at Mom’s blouse rather than her eyes, until she lowers her face so he can see her lips as she says, “You need to pay attention.”

Normally, Frankie would roll his eyes and bite back; today, he’s out of his element, and knows he’s already in big trouble - and about to be in even bigger, soon, once-

“Is Mr. Kaspbrak going to be here soon?” Headmistress Gilmore asks, and Frankie can feel the way Mom stiffens, already knows that if he were to look at her eyes, he’d see irritation and, as much as Frankie hates to admit it, a flash of pain there. “I don’t think we should begin this meeting without him.”

“He told me he was on his way,” Mom says in that low tone that she uses whenever she’s trying to control her emotions. It’s become one that, as of late, seems to be reserved solely for Dad. “I’m sorry for his tardiness; he knew that we were going to be meeting today, but-”

“He just got busy at work,” Frankie mumbles before he can stop himself; Mom stares down at him.

“Don’t interrupt me,” Mom says firmly, and Frankie wants to snap back that it’s true, that Dad doesn’t work super close to here, that he probably just did get busy. But Mom’s cheeks are starting to turn red and he knows that she’s already pissed enough at him - and he doesn’t want to fight in front of the headmistress, not when she and all of the other teachers here are already annoyed with him, so he bites his tongue.

After a few minutes, Frankie sees movement out of the corner of his eye, and watches as Dad bustles into the office; he smiles apologetically at Headmistress Gilmore, shaking her hand and looks over at Frankie, his expression hardening.

He doesn’t look at Mom or say anything to her; and even if Frankie were to turn around, he knows that she wouldn’t be looking or saying anything to Dad, either.

Headmistress Gilmore probably feels the immediate tension in the room, but she doesn’t comment on it; Frankie gets the feeling that she just wants this to be over with, that she wants the three of them - but especially Frankie - out of her office as quickly as possible.

That makes two of them, at least.

“It’s nice of you to join us, Mr. Kaspbrak,” Headmistress Gilmore is saying; her thin mouth turns up at the corners just a little in a polite smile. “I understand that you had to leave work.”

“Yeah,” Dad says, and then clears his throat, “I mean, yes, ma’am. But- I’m sorry I was late, I know-”

“Everyone knew what time we’d be meeting here,” Mom cuts in randomly; Frankie’s sitting between them, so he’s unfortunately able to pick up on pretty much everything she’s saying, since Mom’s not exactly quiet.

Dad glances at her out of the corner of his eye, jaw clenching.

“You’re here now,” Headmistress Gilmore finally says, smoothing her fragile hands over the top of her desk. “I wish that we were meeting under better circumstances, Mr. and Mrs. Kaspbrak-”

“It’s Ms. Kaspbrak, ma’am,” Mom says.

Headmistress Gilmore blinks; Frankie has the feeling that she couldn’t care less, but the old woman still gives Mom a curt nod before continuing, “-but the reason I’ve had to call the two of you here is to talk about Franklin. More importantly, Franklin’s…behavior as of late.”

Dad’s eyelashes flutter. “Frankie’s always done really well in school,” he inputs, but from the little side-eye that Dad gives him, he knows that his father knows that that’s not what the headmistress is getting at.

“Academically, Franklin has always been a wonderful student. Very intelligent, good grades,” A beat of silence. “But we’re not here to discuss the past, Mr. Kaspbrak - presently, Franklin has been displaying a multitude of concerning behaviors.”

Frankie stares down at his shoelace again.

“Like what?” Mom says; Frankie sees her shift closer to him, sees the tenseness of her shoulders.

“Franklin has been rather challenging in his classes over the past few weeks; his teachers have said that he’s constantly talking back, and refuses to cooperate with other students.”

“Well, Frankie’s always been,” Mom hesitates, “He’s always been a little stubborn, but-”

“This is more than just stubbornness, Mrs. Kaspbrak-”

“It’s Ms. Kaspbrak, now-”

“-I’m not talking about Franklin displaying a streak of independence; this is about your son outright ignoring his teachers, refusing to participate in class discussions or activities, and the hostility that he shows to some of his other schoolmates.”

“Hostility?” Dad cuts in; he looks down at Frankie, trying to catch his expression, but Frankie looks away just as quickly. “Frankie’s not- Frankie isn’t like that.”

“What do you mean by hostile?” Mom asks; her voice is a little shrill, and Frankie has to stop himself from wincing.

“Some of his other classmates have said that Franklin often gets rough with them, that they’ve caught him using vulgar language-” And that, Frankie snaps his head up to look at the headmistress, because that’s a goddamn lie, or- maybe not completely, but it’s because he’s defending himself, and she doesn’t know the whole story, just what everyone else has told her, and she’s never even asked him- “-and as the pair of you are more than well aware of, this is not that kind of school. We have zero tolerance for that behavior.”

“What kind of language?” Mom says, brows furrowed.

“This is a Catholic school,” Headmistress Gilmore gestures to the cross behind her, and both Mom and Dad’s cheeks start to redden. “And I will not insult our Father by repeating it. Just know that Franklin is quite….creative with the words he uses, and the combinations he chooses.”

“Well, I certainly don’t use that kind of language in front of him,” Mom says, throwing a pointed look at Dad.

Dad waves her off. “What do you mean about- he’s been getting physical with other students?”

“That doesn’t sound like Frankie,” Mom admits.

“There have been a few instances in which Frankie has had to be pulled away from other students,” Headmistress Gilmore says, which - okay, but he’s defending himself. When Thomas had tried to trip him down the aisle in class, Frankie had turned around and shoved him back against his desk. When someone had tried to pick on him and Oliver, he flipped them off and kicked them back just as hard as they kicked him.

“Frankie?” Dad asks; he sounds nervous, confused. “Is that true?”

Frankie hates disappointing Dad - but he hates the fact that Dad seems like he almost believes everything that the headmistress is saying. That Dad looks like he’s already getting ready for whatever punishment that he and Mom are going to join together - for once - to make up for him.

“No,” Frankie says, because it’s not. Not all the way.

Headmistress Gilmore is staring holes into the side of Frankie’s head; he doesn’t want to look at her, doesn’t want to meet her eyes. She’s terrifying.

“Really, Franklin?” the old woman finally asks. “Then explain your side of it, please. If you’re accusing your classmates and teachers of being untruthful, I’d like to hear why.”

“I-” The thing is: he can’t really explain why, at least not in this room, not right now, not in front of his parents.

Because the reason why is pretty fucking stupid: it started off because some kids were being annoying about his parents getting divorced and his dad dating another guy, and then it just snowballed from there. He doesn’t even think that half of the kids that don’t like him are doing it because they know about Dad and Richie: he thinks that he’s just become the target this year. And his friends Oliver and Alex have told him to ignore them, that everyone would forget about it if he just pretended like nothing was going on - but Frankie didn’t want to do that, so he started fighting back. He started talking back to the dumb assholes who started bothering him, shoving back when they shoved him first.

But it started because of Dad, as much as Frankie’s blood boils to think about. And he can’t- he can’t tell Dad that, he won’t. Dad’s been miserable for so many years - even as a small kid, Frankie knew that. He understands it better now that he and Mom have been divorced for a little while and Dad and Richie got together, but it’s the truth: Dad was absolutely miserable for all those years, and Frankie doesn’t want him to think he needs to go back to how everything was before, that he made some mistake.

And he doesn’t want Mom to freak out and blame Dad, either. He cares about his mother, but he knows that she’s still kind of weird after the divorce. That she seems to hate Dad but, at the same time, kind of misses him, too.

Or maybe just misses how they were before, even though Dad and Frankie - and probably Mom, even though she refuses to admit it - don’t.

And he has the feeling that Headmistress Gilmore might not take it seriously if he were to tell her about how it all started. That she might get the same look on her face that some of Frankie’s teachers get whenever one of Frankie’s classmates talked about Dad and Richie: that look of vague disgust.

He doesn’t get it. He hates that Dad and Richie have to go through this, and he doesn’t want to break Dad’s heart.

So instead, Frankie finally mumbles, “Some kids just started picking on me. So I started getting angry back at them. It’s not fair that I’m getting in trouble when I’m defending myself.”

Headmistress Gilmore narrows her eyes, leans back in her seat. “Franklin, if this is true-” Why do you believe them over me? Frankie wants to scream, “-then you don’t handle it in the way you’ve been doing. You tell one of your teachers; your parents.” At this, she looks at Mom, and then Dad; Frankie can see the way both of his parents shrink back under her stare. “Were either of you aware of this?”

“Well,” Dad starts, and then pauses.

“Frankie doesn’t speak to me,” Mom suddenly says, and both Dad and Frankie look at her at the same moment. “I think- ever since the divorce, Headmistress, it’s been very hard on him and I - it’s a major life change, and I- I’ve always wondered if maybe…”

“Myra, stop it,” Dad says lowly, annoyed. “This isn’t-”

“Well, Mrs.-”

“It’s Ms. Kaspbrak.”

“-Kaspbrak isn’t exactly wrong, Mr. Kaspbrak. Divorce is difficult for children, especially…” Headmistress Gilmore dips her head; for once, her normal, stoic expression slips, and Frankie can see how uncomfortable she looks as she continues, “...considering the circumstances here.”

“Circumstances?” Dad blinks once, twice. Frankie clenches his jaw. “What circumstances?”

Mom scoffs from Frankie’s other side; Frankie looks over at her.

“It seems that the pair of you have a very, if I may be blunt, hostile relationship with one another. And not just in this meeting - you two are very unwilling to cooperate with each other, even when your son is involved,” Mom and Dad both lean forward to say something, until the headmistress raises her hand. “I am not interested in being your relationship counselor; I pity the poor soul that does. But the pair of you must work together to pay attention to Franklin - the fact that neither of you had any idea of your son’s behavior until today is, quite frankly, concerning. Especially considering the fact that we have sent letters and attempted to contact you both multiple times before today, and have not heard back from either of you.”

“I’ve never gotten a letter or a phone call,” Mom says automatically.

“I haven’t either,” Dad murmurs, and at this, Frankie looks down. Fuck.

Both Mom and Dad, very slowly, turn to look at him. Frankie looks down at his shoelace.

“Franklin?” Headmistress Gilmore finally says; Frankie doesn’t want to look at her, but he also doesn’t want to look at either of his parents right now, either.

“I, um,” Frankie crosses his arms over his chest; Dad’s the only one here that knows ASL besides him, anyways. “I don’t know.”

“Frankie,” Mom growls firmly. “Tell me you didn’t.”

Frankie shakes his head, rolls his eyes. “Fine. I hid the letters before either of you got home, and I blocked the school’s number on your phones.”

“Frankie-” Mom screeches.

Dad splutters, “How- how did you even-”

“I get home before either of you guys do, and your phone passwords aren’t hard to figure out.” Mom’s is the year her and Dad got married; Dad’s is Richie’s birthday. When he figured that out, it made him feel an overwhelming sense of pity for his mother.

He wasn’t able to get to Mom or Dad’s work phones, though, which is how they finally got in touch with them for today.

Headmistress Gilmore leans back in her seat, nodding very, very slowly. “These are very unusual circumstances indeed.”

“What should we do?” Dad refuses to look at Frankie; he’s pissed, and Frankie shifts in his chair. “Going forward, what’s the plan for Frankie?”

“Frankie is going to have to attend after school sessions-”

“Detention?” Mom gasps, as though that’s the worst thing she’s heard all meeting long.

Such bullshit. He gets detention, when he’s about a hundred percent positive no one else is going to get in trouble when he didn’t even start anything.

“After school sessions, Mrs. Kaspbrak. But Franklin will be required to attend them for about two weeks - we will be monitoring his behavior very closely from now on, and I think, if I may, that perhaps Franklin would benefit from some counseling."

Both Mom and Dad quiet at that; Frankie stares at his headmistress, eyes wide.

“I don’t need to see a therapist," Frankie snaps, much harsher than he has all meeting long; he can see the way Dad and Mom glance at him and he tries to ignore it. “I didn’t even do anything, but I’m the only one getting in trouble.”

“I think you would benefit from being able to speak to someone, Franklin,” Headmistress Gilmore tells him very firmly, “And I would suggest an adjustment to your tone, lest you want to have your role in the play this upcoming Friday be stripped from you. I understand that Marcus is a wonderful understudy for you; his parents might love the opportunity to see him on stage, since you seem so bent on displaying such a resistance to authority.”

That shuts him up. He knows it’s a little lame, but he’s actually excited for the play, especially since his drama teacher actually gave him one of the lead roles. It had been a weird sort of tension in class, though, among some of the kids who were picking on Frankie.

(“Frankie barely even talks,” one of them had snapped to Mrs. Smith. “And when he does-”

“Be very careful,” Mrs. Smith had shot back before Frankie could even react; she’s one of the few teachers that always seemed to believe in Frankie wholeheartedly. “Frankie is going to be in this role, and you are going to have to get over the fact that he had the best audition for it out of everyone else’s.”

Frankie couldn’t meet her eyes when she looked down at him, but it warmed his heart all the same, even though he really couldn’t understand how his classmates didn’t seem to care about saying anything homophobic, yet they all looked ashamed and drew the line when it came to picking on him for being Deaf.)

“What do you say, Frankie?” Dad finally says; he seems pretty angry, and Frankie doesn’t know whether he’s angry at himself for making his parents disappointed in him yet again, or pissed at them for- well, for everything.

“Sorry, Headmistress Gilmore,” A beat. “And thank you.”

“I don’t want to see you in my office under these circumstances ever again, Franklin,” she says, and then, “And I do not want to see the pair of you here again, either. I suggest that you all think about what I’ve said, and address the issues at hand. Franklin truly is an incredibly bright and intelligent young man; he has overcome a lot, more than the three of us can comprehend.”

Frankie shifts a little in his seat; Mom and Dad give the headmistress thank you’s and apologies, and Frankie catches Headmistress Gilmore’s eye as he starts to leave the room - he thinks that she looks almost…pitiful of him.

He follows Mom and Dad out, and a few yards from her office, Mom spins around.

“I cannot believe you,” Mom says, hiking her purse higher up on her shoulder as she stares down at him. “Vulgar language? Getting physical with your classmates? We raised you better than that, Frank!”

Frankie glares up at her, narrowing his eyes at his mother. “I told you, I didn’t start anything.”

“I don’t care who started it, you don’t- do you know how embarrassing this is? Do you understand how mortified I am?”

“Myra,” Dad says, stepping to Frankie’s side. “I think we-”

“I’m not speaking to you,” Mom says, holding up a hand and pointedly ignoring Dad.

“Seriously?” Dad says incredulously.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself? Do you know how disappointed I am in you, how-”

“Mom,” Frankie suddenly shouts; his mother frowns, clearly taken aback by his tone, “I told you, I didn’t fucking do anything!”

Dad suddenly puts a hand on Frankie’s shoulder; Frankie looks up at his father, unnerved by the anger he sees in his dad’s expression as he looks down at Frankie.

“Franklin Kaspbrak,” Dad says, leaning down. “Do not ever speak to your mother like that again, do you understand me?”

Frankie stares back at Dad, annoyed. Mom does whatever she wants to Dad, says whatever - and now Frankie is still somehow the bad guy?

“I-”

“I don’t want to hear anything that comes out of your mouth unless it’s an apology,” Dad snaps, and Frankie bites his lip, stares back at his father, indignantly, even though he doesn’t think he’s seen Dad be this pissed off at him in- well. Maybe ever.

Finally, Frankie turns to his mother. “Sorry, Mom.”

Mom doesn’t say anything, but Frankie feels terrible when he sees the expression on her face. She can be annoying, sure, and he doesn’t- yeah, he and Dad are closer than he is with his mother, but he’s never really cursed at her like that before, or yelled.

“Let me talk to him,” Dad is saying to Mom; he looks upset, and Frankie crosses his arms over his chest, looks away.

Mom mumbles something to his father; Frankie can’t pick up what she said, although she swiftly turns around and walks a little ways away from them.

Frankie thinks he can see her shoulders shaking a little, and he feels even worse for yelling at her. Mom’s always been a little much, but the only other person he’s ever seen make her that upset is-

Frankie grinds his teeth. Headmistress Gilmore is right: unusual circumstances, indeed.

Dad leads Frankie down a separate hallway, and drops to one knee to be eye level to Frankie as he says, “Frankie. What’s going on? You never act like this.”

Frankie shifts his feet; his shoelace is still untied. Not even Dad noticed.

“Frankie. Please talk to me.”

“I didn’t do anything, Dad,” Frankie tells his father honestly. “I didn’t- I mean, I didn’t start it, and-”

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” Dad asks, and Frankie drops his gaze for a split second, bites his bottom lip. “Frankie, I…”

At Dad’s deep sigh, Frankie leans forward a little. “Dad, I seriously didn’t start anything,” He pauses, “I’m not a bully.”

Dad’s eyes snap up at that, and Frankie’s heart sinks when he realizes that that’s what Dad’s been thinking, maybe Mom too. That they’re concerned that he’s picking on people, and-

“Is that what you think?” Frankie asks, annoyed again. “Do you think I’m a bully?”

“You’ve never been a bully,” his dad says firmly, but Frankie saw the flicker in his eyes, saw the hesitation. “But you also don’t act out like this, you don’t- Frankie, you and your mother argue, but you’ve never-”

“Why are you taking her side?” Frankie asks bluntly, glaring at Dad. “You don’t even like her.”

Dad stares at Frankie; three, four, five seconds go by.

“Frankie,” Dad says, very slowly. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing,” Frankie snaps back at Dad, angry. “I already told you what was going on. Some kids have been bothering me, so I’ve been- Headmistress Gilmore never even asked for my side of it, no one has.”

“I’m asking you,” Dad points out; he looks really upset - not the angry kind of upset, more like the nervous and overwhelmed kind. “Please talk to me, Frank. I don’t want you to keep secrets from me.”

For some reason, that pisses Frankie off; maybe it’s because he’s still ashamed at himself for hurting Mom, maybe it’s because this all is such bullshit, or maybe he’s more angry at Dad than he realizes.

“Why did you go back to Derry last year?” Frankie finally asks; Dad frowns.

“What?”

“You won’t tell me why you went on that trip,” Frankie points out, because - well it’s true. Maybe Dad has gotten a lot more chill since then, and maybe it’s the reason why he and Richie got together - but despite how many times Frankie tries to bring it up, Dad won’t talk about it. “You keep secrets from me.”

“I’ve already told you,” Dad says slowly, impatiently. “I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

Frankie rolls his eyes - yeah, he should’ve expected that.

“And that’s not even- that’s not even remotely similar, Frankie. And you know that. So you need to tell me what’s really going on,” His dad hesitates, his brows knitting together, and Frankie realizes how angry his dad suddenly look. “And if you’re being picked on, Frankie, then your mother and I need to do something.”

“It’s just kids being annoying, Dad,” Frankie grumbles, because he can’t think of anything worse than what his dad is most likely considering: taking Frankie out of school and putting him in a different one. He’s been going here since he was in kindergarten, and all of his friends are here. It wasn’t even all that bad until…well, until his parents got divorced. “Didn’t you and the Losers get bullied all the time when you were in school?”

Frankie didn’t say it to be mean; but he sees that his dad looks hurt all the same. He flinches back a little, and Frankie blinks a few times.

“I wasn’t trying to be mean, Dad,” Frankie says honestly. “I’m not- it’s not like…”

Dad waves him off. “It’s fine, Frank,” even though it doesn’t look like it’s fine. But then Dad carries on, “Frankie. If you’re being picked on, then maybe it’s- maybe we need to think about doing something different.”

“I’m not being bullied,” Frankie says adamantly, and then, “And I’m not a bully. It’s just kids being stupid, Dad.”

He doesn’t know if Dad believes him; he can see the way his father is looking at him, knows that Dad isn't going to just simply let it drop.

But finally, Dad sighs and says, “I’m sorry, Frankie.” At Frankie’s confused look, Dad continues, “Headmistress Gilmore is right: the divorce hasn't been easy on you, and we- your mother and I...,” Dad looks ashamed. “I’m sorry you had to see that, that it’s- that everything has been so complicated.”

Frankie doesn’t know what to say to that, because it’s true that Mom and Dad fight a lot, and the fact that they can’t even be in the same room together most of the time isn’t exactly easy. He knows that some of the other kids he knows who have divorced parents have it a lot worse: he knows kids who can’t hang out with one of their parents without a supervisor present, who only get to see one of their parents every other weekend or once a month. And it’s not- one of his friends said that their parents divorce was traumatizing for them, and Frankie doesn’t think that that word fits, not exactly. He knows that his dad is trying as hard as he can, that Mom is mostly just upset and heartbroken at Dad for the divorce in the first place, but he feels like his parents are more embarrassing than anything else.

Maybe it’s like Dad said: it’s complicated.

“I don’t think you’re a bully, Frankie,” Dad says, his expression very serious. “That’s not- you’re not like that. You don’t have a mean heart. But when I hear that you’re getting physical with other students, that you’re being disrespectful…that scares me, Frank. Do you understand?”

And he’s about to snap that once again, he’s just defending himself, that his classmates are just idiots, but the look on Dad’s face stops him.

Frankie nods, slowly.

“And Frank,” Dad says, putting one hand on Frankie’s shoulder as he signs, “Never speak to your mother like that again. You don’t curse at us.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings,” Frankie says honestly; he hesitates as he signs, knowing that if he were to use his voice, Dad would hear the wobble in his tone. “I… She just started yelling at me, and I just…”

“She shouldn’t be yelling at you, either,” Dad admits, and Frankie knows he doesn’t want to be around for that conversation between the two of them. “But you can’t talk to her like that.”

Frankie is a little frustrated, because he doesn’t really understand how one thing can be true and not the other - that whenever Mom yells at him, he can’t defend himself. That neither of them are supposed to be yelling at each other, but whenever Dad’s not around, sometimes that’s all they do.

“Are you okay, Frankie?” Dad says, breaking Frankie out of his thoughts. “Seriously.”

Frankie knows that most other kids would say what’s going on - that this all started because of the divorce. That kids can be really fucking cruel.

But he can’t hurt Dad like that, not after - not after everything, not when Dad’s so happy with Richie and the Losers. Not when Frankie really likes Richie, too; even if it’s frustrating at times to see how much easier Dad and Richie are able to communicate, that even though his parents weren’t happy, that Richie really was the final strike against his parent’s marriage - he can’t do that to either of them.

It’s easier for Dad to believe that Frankie just messed with the wrong kid one day.

“I’m okay,” Frankie tells him, biting his lip. “Are you mad at me?”

“I’m disappointed,” Dad says, and before Frankie can open his mouth, Dad goes on: “You- I don’t even know how you did it, but you hid letters and blocked phone calls from your mother and I so that we wouldn’t know about what was going on. And you’ve been acting out.”

Frankie huffs sharply through his nose. “Whatever.”

Dad watches Frankie for a few moments, dropping his gaze slowly. “Your mother is waiting,” he finally says, which - yeah, fuck. It’s his week with Mom. “Please don’t keep things from me, Frankie, especially not like this.”

Frankie could bite back that once again, Dad hasn’t always been truthful with him - but he’s so frustrated. He’s tired and he’s annoyed and he has to endure a car ride with Mom.

“Okay,” he finally says, shrugging. He hesitates, before, “Are you going to tell Richie?” Richie’s not in New York right now - he has meetings in LA this week, which bums Frankie out since he won’t be able to go to the play at the end of the week. Not that - he knows that Richie’s his dad’s fiance, so it’s not like Richie has to go the same way Mom and Dad do, but it’d still be nice to have him there.

Dad blinks. “Don’t worry about that.” Meaning: yes, Richie will probably hear about this. “I’ll see you on Friday for the play, Frank, and- if anything, and I mean anything happens, you know you can reach out to me, right? Even on your mother’s week.”

Frankie nods. “I know.”

“I’m really excited to see you on Friday,” Dad admits as they move away from the wall, starting to walk back in the direction that they left Mom at.

“You are?”

“Of course I am,” Dad says, frowning. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Frankie doesn’t really have an answer for that, although he has to admit to himself that he’s still a little nervous about the whole thing. Not because he’s shy, but- it’s a speaking role, and even though a lot of people swear to him that his Deaf accent isn’t as pronounced as it used to be, that everyone can understand what he’s saying, it’s still…difficult.

Dad wouldn’t really understand that, though - none of his family does.

Oliver is a CODA: his parents and older brother are all Deaf, and sometimes, Frankie wonders what that would be like, to have other Deaf people in his family. Dad and the Losers all try as hard as they can - especially Dad, who literally learned ASL along with him so that they could communicate, something which a lot of his classmates in his afterschool Deaf program couldn’t really believe, since it’s rare for hearing families to do that - but they still don’t understand what it’s like. But sometimes, he imagines what it’d be like to have a Deaf family, how much easier it might be to communicate and understand one another, to not have to rely on lip reading or for people to repeat themselves.

Dad tries, at least. He always has, even when Mom didn’t, and maybe that’s why Frankie can’t tell him the whole truth.

When they round the corner, Frankie sees Mom with someone else, and he realizes it’s his classmate's mother. They look like they’re deep in conversation, with the other woman holding Mom’s shoulder, and Frankie notices Dad hesitating at his side for a moment.

When they get closer, the two women look up at Frankie and Dad.

“Hi, Diane,” Dad says, stepping forward and waving to her. Frankie watches as the other woman narrows her eyes at Dad, glancing over at Mom and looking back at Dad with a look that can only be described as pure annoyance. “It’s been awhile, how is-”

“Nice to see you again, Myra,” the woman - Diane - says to Mom, and then looks over at Frankie, “You too, Frankie.” She looks over at Dad and doesn’t say anything, turning on her heel and walking out of the hallway.

Dad watches her go but doesn’t say anything; he looks back at Mom, who begins moving towards the exit.

Frankie looks back up at Dad, maybe to ask him what that was all about, to see if maybe he can somehow convince Mom to let him drive him to her apartment, but Dad is looking away from Frankie, jaw clenched and cheeks red, and Frankie realizes that Dad probably wants to be alone right now, just as much as Frankie and Mom do.

Unusual circumstances, indeed.

“Let me know you’re home safe,” Dad says to Frankie slowly; Frankie nods, and he hesitates briefly before stepping forward and wrapping his arms around Dad’s middle.

He doesn’t really hug a whole lot, but from the way his father hugs him back, he thinks that Dad needed it.

Mom doesn’t say anything to Dad or even look at him, not that Frankie expected her to; she simply has her arms crossed over her chest, refusing to look at either of them as Dad waves one last goodbye to Frankie and walks out of the exit doors.

Mom doesn’t say anything to him as they walk to her car, or when they get inside. Not even as she starts the engine and fiddles with the radio station for a little while before seemingly finding one she likes, hands tight on the steering wheel as she eases out of her spot.

Frankie normally would be content to not say anything when she’s this upset, but he knows that this time, he really hurt her. And he doesn’t think he was exactly completely in the wrong; she refused to even listen to him or ask him any questions, was instead so focused on being angry at Dad and believing everything Headmistress Gilmore was saying. But he’s never really yelled or cursed at her like that.

Frankie stares at his untied shoelace. The thing that makes him the most upset is the fact that - for a brief moment - he was almost…glad to make her that upset, to have her really pay attention to him. Even if it happened because he lost his cool with her, because he cursed at her - for a split second, he thought that’s how you make me and Dad feel.

He doesn’t like that feeling at all, or the knowledge that he has that side of him.

“Mom,” Frankie finally says, turning to look at her profile. “I’m really sorry.”

Mom doesn’t say anything, doesn’t blink.

Frankie furrows his brow. “Mom, did you- did you understand what I said?”

Mom clenches her jaw. “Yes, I did.”

Frankie’s eyelashes flutter. “I’m really sorry,” he repeats, wringing his hands in his lap. “For yelling at you and saying a curse word at you like that. It- I won’t do that again.”

Mom scoffs; it’s almost like she’s saying yeah, you will. And something burns deep inside Frankie’s gut when he sees that - that she’s not listening to him again, even though he’s saying sorry. That she probably thinks he’s a bully and that Headmistress Gilmore is right and that he’s this horrible, awful person.

Sometimes, he’s almost afraid that Mom would actually agree with the kids at school and some of his teachers. That the reason why she gets so tense and angry whenever Frankie even vaguely references Richie isn’t because she simply hates Richie as a person, but because she can’t accept that Dad is with a man.

Frankie has; it doesn’t bother him. Sure, he didn’t really get it at first, mostly because he was a year younger and he thought his father only liked women. But Dad is still pretty much the exact same person as he was before, just…happier.

Frankie always feels at war with himself during these moments, torn between loyalty for both of his parents. Loving Dad and knowing that his father has tried as hard as he could for Frankie, that Dad and Richie and the Losers are better family to him than Mom’s side of the family ever has been.

But knowing that Dad leaving Mom is part of the reason why it’s like this between her and Frankie now. They’ve always argued, sure, but the divorce made it worse. That Mom is lonely - she doesn’t have her own Richie, and she knows that Frankie would rather be with Dad and Richie than her most of the time.

“Mom,” Frankie tries again; he tries to keep the emotion out of his voice, but he doesn’t think he does a good job, since Mom actually glances at him for a split second. “I’m really, really sorry. I don’t want to hurt you, and…I’m just really sorry for yelling at you.”

Mom blinks; they slow down to a stoplight, and Frankie watches her lip wobble, her knuckles turn white. He knows that anyone would reach over and hug their mom when she’s so upset, but-

“Mom,” Frankie tries, but she shakes her head.

“Thank you for apologizing,” is all she says; the light turns green, and neither of them say anything the rest of the way back to her apartment.

—

When he’s over his mother’s apartment, Frankie has to wear his cochlear’s more than usual. He can get by without them, since he can read lips and speak, but he’s learned that whenever he takes them off, his Deaf accent will start to become more pronounced the longer he goes without them since he can’t hear himself speak, and Frankie can see the way his mother looks whenever she hears his voice after he’s had them off for while. 

He remembers one time when he asked his father about how he and Mom reacted when they were told that Frankie was going to be Deaf for the rest of his life after he got sick. His dad had said that he started reading everything he could, that he wanted to make sure that Frankie had the resources that he needed. When Frankie asked about Mom, Dad got this look on his face and said, “It was hard for her, Frank,” and there was something about the way he said it that made Frankie’s heart drop.

So he’s made it a habit to wear his cochlear’s around Mom, which is how he hears her on the phone that night. His cochlear implants don’t restore all of his hearing - he thinks the percentage he would use to describe it is anywhere from forty to sixty percent of usable hearing, and he usually has to be close to the person to hear them.

But Mom’s apartment is pretty small, and she doesn’t notice him on the other side of the wall from the kitchen. She’s pacing and he can’t pick up on everything, but since she must think he’s still in bed, she’s talking loud enough that he can still understand some of it.

“I just don’t….what…do,” Frankie can fill in the gaps - i don’t know what to do.

“He…always…that man.” Probably Richie: Mom exclusively refers to Richie as that man. “I don’t…hurt so…”

Frankie tries to tiptoe closer, hoping she’s too preoccupied to notice.

“I can’t…Eddie is…poisoning against me…” He doesn’t think that Dad is doing that - if anything, Dad’s a lot nicer to Mom than she is to him.

A long silence; Frankie thinks that maybe she’s ended the call, so he’s about to go back into his room, before he hears:

“Cheated on…walked away from…and our son still loves him more than me.”

Frankie feels his throat tighten; he doesn’t want to hear anymore, so he slips back into his bedroom, deciding that sneaking a soda isn’t worth it.

That’s how his mother sees everything, he realizes: that Dad destroyed their family, has a new relationship, and Frankie is still choosing him over her. And there’s that part of him that knows there’s more to his parent’s relationship than they’ll ever tell him, that he probably doesn’t want to know. At Thanksgiving, he was telling his Uncle Stan and Aunt Patty’s daughters, Wren and Ava, something about his parents, and they both got this look on their face, one that Frankie recognizes from his friends whose parents are still together, are happy: that i’m so happy my parents aren’t like that look, and he was so insanely jealous of the girls that he changed the subject immediately.

He can tell that the Losers don’t like his mother; they barely ask him about her, just little and how is your mother doing? and nodding along when he answers, but never prying. Whenever he’s seen any of them with Dad and everyone assumes Frankie isn’t paying attention, he can tell whenever Mom is being brought up, because Dad always gets this exasperated, annoyed look on his face.

Richie doesn’t like his mother at all, and now, laying in his bed, he wonders how fair that is on Richie’s part.

He likes Richie a lot; he’s going to be his stepfather soon, and Frankie’s always pretty excited when he thinks about that. But, at the same time, there’s also the thought of you’re the reason why everything is like this now pops into his mind whenever Richie gets that look whenever Mom’s name is mentioned.

He doesn’t want his parents back together; not at all, it isn’t that.

Frankie just doesn’t get why it has to be like this. If Dad broke everything by falling in love with Richie, or if Mom and Dad were doomed to fail in the first place.

If maybe Frankie being here made it all the more difficult.

He doesn’t like thinking of that part: that if Frankie wasn’t here, Mom and Dad wouldn’t have to talk anymore. They could've gotten divorced and never seen each other again, and Mom, especially, would be happier.

Frankie picks at his comforter, thankful that he has his cochlear’s off. It’s moments like this that he really, truly appreciates silence.

Frankie sees the light from his phone’s screen; he reaches over, staring at texts from Richie, of all people.

Richie

I know it’s late where you are, but one of the girls who works at my agent’s office has a dog that looks exactly like your dad

It’s uncanny

Don’t tell him yet, I’m going to do a whole bit with it when I get back, lol

I miss you! I’ll see you soon, dude 🙂

Richie attaches a picture of a dog that - okay, yeah, looks pretty much like his father, disgruntled with big brown eyes and all.

Frankie feels bad that seeing messages from Richie makes him feel better, like it’s another betrayal to his mother - that anyone else in his position would yell at Richie, tell him off, but the worst thing that Frankie’s starting to come to terms with is that nothing he would say would fix anything between the three adults in the equation.

Mom and Dad will always hate each other; Mom and Richie will always hate each other.

It’s just Frankie’s fault that the three of them are stuck together until he’s eighteen.

—

Everyone in his drama class is freaking out on Friday; Frankie’s trying to remain as calm as possible, since they’ve all rehearsed their parts dozens and dozens of times before, and it’s just a play, but one of the girls in his class, an eighth grader who says she’s in charge of the production, even though it’s actually Mrs. Smith’s job, looks at him and asks, “Have you been practicing on your speaking voice, Frankie?” and Frankie starts to get a little jittery, even though he tells her that that’s offensive to ask. She looked so freaked out afterwards and kept apologizing afterwards and Frankie had rolled his eyes and waved her off.

Oliver plops down in a chair next to him; Frankie relaxes, knowing that they can actually talk now since no one else knows ASL.

“You’re gonna do great,” Oliver tells him, hooking a thumb over his shoulder. “Also, that’s fucked up that she said that. You should probably tell Mrs. Smith.”

“It’s fine,” Frankie says, shrugging. “I mostly told her I was offended because I wanted her to stop talking to me.” He looks away, biting his lip, before, “Do you think my voice is okay, though? That everyone will…” He lets the question hang in the air, hands poised mid-sign.

“You speak really, really well,” Oliver reminds him. “Would anyone you know make fun of my parents if they heard them speak?” Oliver’s parents have much more pronounced Deaf accents than Frankie does; no one in Oliver’s family has any sort of hearing aid, so it always makes it that much cooler in Frankie’s eyes.

“No,” Frankie says automatically, because they wouldn’t. 

“So you don’t have anything to worry about,” Oliver says easily, and then, hesitating, “Are your parents going to be there?”

“Yep,” This, Frankie uses simcom for, popping his mouth on the p.

“Ouch. What about Richie?”

“He’s in LA,” Frankie says, shrugging.

“Is he making a new special or anything? Any movies?” Oliver’s eyes go wide; his older brother apparently is a massive fan of Richie’s standup, which is how Frankie got access to Richie’s work when he and Dad got together. Oliver’s still hoping that whenever Richie has a new act, that Frankie will be able to get him tickets - which, for Oliver and Alex and a few others, yeah, he would.

Fuck the rest of this school, though.

“I have no idea,” He doesn’t; Richie always tells him that he’s under an NDA, but when Frankie tried to ask Dad what that meant, Dad rolled his eyes and told him that Richie’s just messing with him. “But when he tells me, I’ll keep you in the loop.”

“Fuck yeah!” Even though no one else speaks ASL, they both instinctively glance over to see if Mrs. Smith is watching; they both laugh.

“I hate this fucking school,” Frankie says, and Oliver snorts.

“Fuck this fucking school and these fuckers here.”

“Yeah, fuckfuckfuck-” 

Frankie feels his chair jostle roughly; he looks over his shoulder and sees one of his classmates shoving past him, tossing a look down at Frankie and smirking.

“Sorry,” his classmate says with a laugh.

“Careful, his mommy might call our parents.”

Frankie gets up; he feels Oliver grab his sleeve, but he shakes off his friend’s hand.

“Aren’t you on behavioral probation or something?” his classmate leers, grinning at Frankie’s frown. “What, did I hurt your feelings?”

“Fuck off,” Frankie signs; they just stare at him.

“What does that mean?”

“Hey, you,” the other guy says to Oliver. “What did that mean?”

Before Oliver can speak, Frankie says, “I told you guys to-” Oliver touches the small of his back, and Frankie glances over to see Mrs. Smith watching them very, very carefully.

If they weren’t in school right now, Frankie thinks he probably would say a whole lot more. That he’d do a lot more.

But, as corny as it is, he wants to do this play, and it’s that alone that causes him to lower his gaze and look away.

“I need to rehearse,” Frankie finally mumbles; the other guys cackle with laughter.

Frankie watches them go; Oliver tries to say something to him, but Frankie shrugs him off, walking over to the door.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” he tells his teacher; she looks like she’s going to say something, but she hesitates, before nodding.

“Be back in ten, Frankie,” she says. Frankie blinks - usually the allowed time before everyone starts a mass search for you is five, maybe six, but he realizes that she’s giving him extra time on purpose.

He nods, leaving the classroom and going down the hallway. He’s about to go to the bathroom when he sees movement down the hall that leads to the courtyard; he recognizes the combat boots and glances at the bathroom before walking quickly after the group, being extra careful to open the heavy doors as gently as possible, closing them slowly.

Frankie sees the group of kids near the chainlink fence; they’re mostly eighth graders, and he’s only spoken to maybe one or two of them before, but everyone knows who they are. They’re kids who are kind of like him - who aren’t religious and don’t come from religious families, who are just sort of here because their parents thought it was better than public school. But unlike him, they have a reputation with the middle schoolers of being alternative, which is, in Alex’s words, a different way of saying goth.

Whatever they call themselves, everyone knows one thing: they like to come out here and smoke and drink.

As he makes his way over to them, he watches as they all turn to look at him, cautious.

“What are you, the hall monitor?” one of them asks.

“I recognize you,” another one - a tall boy with long, dark hair - says, gesturing to Frankie with a cigarette. “You’re-” He motions to his ears, and Frankie nods.

“Wait, you’re the kid with the gay dad,” Frankie stares, and the girl who said it holds up her hands. “Dude, I’m not judging. That’s like, it’s cool. I mean, it’s 2017, right? Who gives a shit who your dad is into.”

“He’s dating the comedian, right?” Frankie nods. “John Mulaney?”

“No, Richie Tozier,” someone says, and the kid who spoke first says, “Tozier’s gay?”

“Is that a cigarette?” Frankie asks, pointing to it; the tall guy nods slowly. “Can I try it?”

“Aren’t you like, eight?”

“Twelve.”

“No way,” the girl says, shaking her head. “You shouldn’t smoke, kid. It’s fucking terrible for you.”

“Then why do you guys do it?”

“Because we’re idiots,” they say, and then laugh; Frankie frowns, looking at the cigarette.

“I just want to try it once, is all.”

“Why?”

Because I don’t want to be in class, he thinks, biting his bottom lip. Because my parents would kill me if I did. Because I’m an idiot, too.

“Because I want to.”

“I’m not going to hell for giving a twelve year-old a cigarette, man,” one of the kids says, shaking his head. “No fucking way.”

The tall kid is watching Frankie, though, tilting his head to the side and eyeing him curiously; Frankie looks back, unafraid.

Everyone stares over Frankie’s head, and then he sees them all throwing their cigarettes on the ground and stamping them out, going shit, shit, shit.

Frankie turns, and sees Sister Claudine approaching them all with rapid steps.

She stares at Frankie, frowning deeply, before looking over at the rest of them. “What are you all doing here during school hours?”

“They were helping me practice, Sister Claudine,” Frankie lies easily, staring the nun straight in the eye. “I- I’m kind of nervous, with…you know, it’s a big show tonight, and when they heard me practicing my lines out here, everyone offered to help me.”

Sister Claudine stares at him, open mouthed, until someone speaks from right behind Frankie, “He’s pretty nervous, but we think he’s going to do great.”

“Yeah, he’s going to really kill it, Sister.”

Thankfully, Sister Claudine is pretty old; she doesn’t even take notice of the faint cigarette smell in the air, or the buds on the floor. She just nods and looks oddly touched.

“That’s very sweet of all of you. Franklin has a big role tonight, you know.”

“Oh, we’re really happy for him. Great kid.”

Sister Claudine smiles and nods again; Frankie has a feeling that in Mass next week, this is probably going to be used by her in a sermon as some sort of odd message about hope and accepting differences or something. She leaves nonetheless, telling Frankie to break a leg and disappearing through the doors.

When Frankie turns around, the group is giving him thoughtful stares, smiling at him.

“You’re quick on your feet,” someone says, and Frankie shrugs.

“I’m not going to give you a smoke this time,” the tall guy says, and when Frankie groans, he shrugs. “You have to work your way up, man. Franklin, is it?”

“Frankie. I hate when people call me Franklin.”

“I’m Travis,” he says. “You can hang out with us whenever you have free time. You’re alright, for a sixth grader.”

Frankie’s eyelashes flutter, and he beams.

—

“Are you nervous?” Mom asks as she pulls up to the school; Frankie gives her a sideways glance as they ease out of the car, shivering and hugging his jacket tighter around his body.

“I’m fine,” he tells her, because it’s not exactly a lie: he’s not exactly nervous, since he’s rehearsed dozens of times and knows his lines and scenes by heart at this point. The play itself isn’t really bothering him as much anymore - he mostly just keeps thinking about the fact that Dad’s going to be here soon and in the same audience as Mom.

How they won’t be sitting near each other, and Frankie knows that his eyes are always going to try and find his father in the crowd versus his mother.

Even though he and Mom are still a little frosty towards each other since the meeting with Headmistress Gilmore, he’s felt more pitiful towards her since hearing the snippets of her phone call from that night. Knowing that a large chunk of the reason why she acts the way she does is because of the fact that she can’t find it in herself to let go of her anger towards Frankie’s father.

And he wishes that he were able to feel anger towards Dad and Richie, but it’s hard for him to, and Frankie doesn’t yet understand how so many conflicting things can be true at the same time.

That he feels bad for Mom and wishes that she had a better life, but knows, even if Dad and Richie won’t tell him why, exactly, that Dad shouldn’t have been with Mom. That Dad did walk away from Mom and his marriage, but he didn’t leave Frankie behind like Mom always tries to imply - but at the same time, Frankie still feels bad for the fact that he wanted to follow Dad out the door that night.

He and Mom head up into the school; Mom stops and talks to some of the other parents as they make their way through the crowd, parents of kids that Frankie either doesn’t think he knows or hasn’t talked to in years.

He’s about to leave her side and walk towards his drama class when he pauses and turns, grabbing her attention. “I have to go and finish getting ready before we start,” he tells her, and Frankie blinks when he sees the sudden emotion in her eyes - before he can ask what he did wrong this time, what she’s so upset about, she leans down and sweeps him up into a hug.

Frankie’s about to groan and tug out of her arms, until she murmurs, “You’re going to do great. I’m so excited that you got a big role,” and he softens, hugging her back.

When he makes his way to his class, Mrs. Smith smiles when she sees him; he nods to her, now a little nervous when he realizes that it’s getting closer and closer to showtime, and- okay, he’s got this.

He feels his phone buzz in his pocket and takes it out, smiling as he settles into a chair and seeing the texts from Dad and, just a few moments later, Richie:

Dad :/

I’m here, I found Oliver’s parents. We’re going to be sitting on the right side, Oliver’s mom was able to get us some seats up close.

I am so incredibly proud of you, no matter what.

I love you

Richie

It’s almost showtime, right? I hope you’re not nervous - you got this, I know you got this. You’re gonna do awesome

Put the rest of those stiff Catholic kids to shame, Frank!

Break a leg

That’s showbiz for do well, kiddo 🙂

See you soon!! I miss you!

Frankie feels someone drop into the seat next to him, and relaxes when he sees Oliver; his friend smiles at him.

“Nervous?” Oliver asks, and Frankie shrugs.

“Sort of. You?”

“I have like three lines,” Oliver reminds him, and Frankie laughs a little. “Thanks for telling your dad to sit with my parents again.”

Dad offered to help translate for Oliver’s mother and father, even though Dad’s not really an interpreter or at that level of fluency yet - he’s pretty good, but Dad always says that around Frankie and Oliver’s family, he always realizes that he’s still got a long way to go. Frankie reminded him that Dad’s always pretty much been his interpreter at the doctors office or pretty much anywhere ever since Frankie can remember, and they both had gotten a little shy about it, but especially his father, who reminded Frankie that he didn’t mind.

“He needs to practice,” Frankie finally says, even though they both know that’s not exactly true - but they both smile and laugh, and Frankie feels a little bit better.

“Frankie,” Mrs. Smith gets his attention, gesturing for him to follow her; Frankie glances at Oliver, worried, before trailing after her as they make their way to a quiet part of her classroom. “I just wanted to tell you that you’re going to do great tonight.”

Frankie nods. “Um. Yeah, thanks. I appreciate it.”

“I mean it, Frankie,” she says, hesitating, “You’ve come a long way since starting the sixth grade - it’s like you transformed over the summer. You talk more, you auditioned to be a part of this play - and I’m very, very excited to see you on stage. You’re going to do fantastic.”

Frankie doesn’t know what to say to that exactly, especially since he’s still thinking of the conference with the headmistress and his parent’s disappointment. Sometimes, he feels like his life has gotten better in a lot of ways since his parents divorce; his dad is happier, Richie’s in their lives, and he has his dad’s side of the family now, too. But he thinks of his relationship with his mother, and the fact that even after the play, his school life probably won’t get better. About how Mom and Dad are pretty deadset on making him go to counseling, even though he told them both he didn’t need or want to go.

He hasn’t told his parents about any of that, and he sure as shit won’t tell his teacher, so he just smiles and nods and says, “Thanks.”

By the time they play is set to start, Frankie’s gone over his lines a few more times and ignores Oliver’s laughs when he gets into costume - fucking Shakespeare Frankie had said, causing them both to laugh since they signed it in front of Mrs. Smith - but lets his friend take a picture so he can send it to Richie, because Richie would probably think it’s funny.

He’s playing Philostrate from A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and after Mrs. Smith gives them one final pep talk (with Oliver translating for him since he was too far to hear her) and leads them all to the backstage.

Frankie’s never really performed in front of a crowd before; he’s never really enjoyed speaking in front of people, especially in such large groups, but maybe Mrs. Smith is right and something good changed in him over the summer, despite how weird everything’s been since Mom and Dad split. Everyone’s told him that his voice is fine, that they can understand him, and- fuck it he thinks as he starts his first scene.

He’s never really had to act before, but in Frankie’s opinion, it’s not really that hard. You just say some lines and go home; he remembers seeing that line on a tv show somewhere, although he can’t remember the name of it now. The emotions are a little harder for him to convey since he doesn’t really see himself in Philostrate, but, as he performs in front of the audience, he realizes that pretending is something he’s very, very good at.

Maybe I’ve been acting for a really long time, he thinks after his first scene, attempting to be funny at first, but then the weight of the words start to dawn on him as he waits backstage for his next scene.

Maybe he has, but he doesn’t really know if it’s a bad thing. Dad was good at acting and pretending for Frankie’s entire life - maybe even now, since sometimes he doesn’t know how truthful Dad always is with him. Maybe it’s just a Kaspbrak thing.

By the end of the show, he feels oddly…light. At first, he thinks it’s because it’s all over and done with, but as he sees a few people doing the sign for clapping, he thinks it’s because he did a good job. Mrs. Smith is all smiles when he sees her at the end of the play, telling him over and over how great of a job he did, but it’s more than that: a strange sense of satisfaction that he has at a job well done.

Huh. He wonders if Richie feels this way after he finishes a standup routine or an episode of a tv show.

A few of his classmates smile and congratulate him, others walk past him without saying anything - but for once, he doesn’t particularly care.

After a little while, he finds Mom; she runs over to him immediately and hugs him, ignoring his oof and squeezing him harder.

“You did so, so good,” she’s telling him as they start to walk down the hallway, her arm around his shoulder. “Frankie, I was so proud of you - I kept telling everyone around me that’s my son! whenever you came onstage. You were fantastic!” After a beat, Mom says, “And I don’t- you know, I don’t think anyone else really even could tell…you know.”

And just like that, Frankie feels that temporary euphoria dissipate; he looks up at his mother, frowning. “What do you mean?”

“Your accent,” Mom says, a little uncomfortably even though she was the one who started it. “I just mean - it’s not as easy to tell anymore, I think, when you’re not signing. Your speech has come a long way.”

Frankie doesn’t look at her, clenching his jaw. He knows that in her weird, Mom way she’s complimenting him, but it definitely doesn’t feel like a compliment at all. He’s very proud to be Deaf; it doesn’t bother him in the way that it clearly bothers Mom. It’s just how hearing people interact with him sometimes that make it difficult, but he doesn’t like the way Mom says it, like she wants people to think that.

“Okay,” Frankie finally says, remembering that thought from the play: i’m good at pretending. And he doesn’t want to fight with Mom tonight, not when he had a good time.

As they exit out of the school doors, he can see Dad in the courtyard wearing a thick jacket over his work suit; Frankie smiles at the sight of his father, but his heart nearly leaps out of his chest when he sees Richie standing next to Dad. They look like they’re talking, and before Frankie can call out to them, he watches as Mom follows his gaze and stiffens, her eyes widening at the sight.

Frankie’s torn once again. He sees Richie and Dad turn around and see Frankie, and then Mom, and he wants nothing more than to run over and talk to them, especially since Richie’s supposed to be in LA still; he didn’t say he was coming tonight. But then he sees Mom, sees how upset she looks, and it stops him in his tracks.

“Um,” Frankie glances over to where his father and Richie are, and then back to Mom. “Mom, I…”

Mom swallows, her face turning red as she glances down at Frankie, rolling her eyes. “Five minutes.” Her voice wobbles, and Frankie feels even worse, even though he didn’t even do anything.

“Mom, I didn’t know-”

“Your father is waiting for you,” Mom cuts him off, refusing to acknowledge that Richie is there too. “Five minutes and then we’re going home, Frank.”

Frankie swallows and nods, ducking his head as he crosses the courtyard. He can’t stop himself from running a little as he gets closer to Dad and Richie, stopping in front of them and giving Richie’s arm a light punch.

“Ouch, now you’re assaulting me?!”

“I thought you were supposed to be in LA!”

“And miss Franklin E. Kaspbrak’s big stage debut? As if, little man,” Richie looks a little bashful as he says it, and Frankie feels something inside of him warm at the thought - that Richie left LA early just to see Frankie perform in a dumb middle school play.

He knows Richie cares about him, and he cares about Richie too, but it’s in moments like these where he thinks that he doesn’t have it in him to hate Richie the way that Mom does. That he’s really excited for Richie and Dad to get married.

“You were fantastic,” Dad says to Frankie, leaning down to wrap him in a hug; Frankie rolls his eyes but hugs his father back, groaning when Dad kisses the side of his head.

“Gross, Dad,” Frankie says.

“You were,” Dad repeats, letting Frankie go and ruffling his hair. “I didn’t…” His dad looks a little bashful, “You did such a great job. You’re a really good actor.”

“You put me to shame,” Richie inputs, seeming a little shocked despite the grin on his face. “And I mean, I have some pretty stellar performances-”

Frankie mimics throwing up, and Richie narrows his eyes.

“Walked right into that one.”

“You think so?” Frankie asks Dad, a little shy; he shifts from foot to foot. “It was good?”

“Amazing,” Dad says, and then, “I may or may not have taken a few videos for the Losers-”

“-ugh, seriously-”

“But everyone thinks you did amazing, Frank.”

“Did you like it?” Richie asks. “Acting, I mean.”

Frankie shrugs. “You just say some lines and go home,” he says, even though he thinks he really did like it, more than he expected to. He wasn’t that freaked out about performing in front of people; in fact, there was something almost fun about showing all of those people that he could do it.

Richie looks like he’s about to say something to that, until he and Dad look over Frankie’s head; Frankie turns and sees Mom a little ways away, her arms crossed over her chest and refusing to look over their way.

There’s an awkward, tense silence that hangs in the air between the three of them; Frankie wishes that it was Dad’s week already so he could go stay at his apartment. 

“Um…,” Frankie sighs. “I think I have to go.”

Richie opens his mouth and then closes it, looking a little annoyed for a split second before he nods. “Yeah, um. I’ll see you on Sunday, dude.”

“Let me know that you’re home safe,” Dad says; Frankie lets his father hug him again. “You did really well, Frank. I love you.”

“Love you too, Dad,” Frankie replies, and for a moment, he hesitates at the idea of giving Richie a hug when his mom is right over there. He knows that if Mom actually sees him hug Richie, that it’ll push her further away from Frankie - he doesn't know how he knows, he just does. That it’ll break her heart.

Richie looks a little awkward, too, glancing over Frankie’s head again, and Frankie frowns. He hates this. He hates how uncomfortable it is between his parents and Richie, hates that he can’t even really talk to Richie for longer than a few minutes, much less hug him.

You know what - fuck it, Frankie thinks as he steps forward and gives Richie a quick, firm hug; Richie doesn’t have time to really react before Frankie steps away and waves.

“I’ll see you guys on Sunday,” he tells them, turning around and walking back over to where Mom is standing. “I’m ready to-”

“Let’s just go home,” Mom says, turning around sharply and walking across the courtyard and towards the street; Frankie looks back at Dad and Richie, who are still standing there, watching with vaguely concerned expressions as Frankie lingers behind.

Frankie ducks his head and walks after his mother.

—

That night, Frankie sits across from his mother at the dinner table, eating leftovers from last night. He knows that Mom doesn’t really want him to say anything to her; she’s been quiet and angry ever since they left school, and Frankie knows that there’s probably nothing he could say that would really fix anything.

But still, he tries, “I didn’t think that Richie was going to be there, Mom.”

Mom’s hands tighten around her fork as soon as he says Richie’s name.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Mom asks, surprising Frankie; he’s always just assumed that she’s mad at him, since they usually are arguing, and it seems like she takes it out on him whenever Dad or Richie does something to piss her off.

“You just seem upset.”

“I am,” she says, probably knowing it’d be useless to lie about it. “I’m upset at your father. That man shouldn’t have been at your school; it’s inappropriate.”

Frankie feels a cold sense of anger when she says that. “What are you talking about?” he asks, his voice low; Mom looks up at him and meets his eyes, frowning even deeper when she sees his expression.

“Your father shouldn’t have brought him there,” Mom repeats, as if it were obvious. “He never thinks about how I feel, or how any of his decisions affect you and I, it’s- he’s so-”

“I wanted Richie there,” Frankie finally blurts out, and Mom reels back as if he’d slapped her.

“You don’t even know him,” Mom says, her voice shaking with hurt; Frankie knows he should stop, knows that she’s hurting, but he doesn’t know if she’s implying that Richie being there is wrong because she doesn’t like him, or if she really does agree with the people at Frankie’s school. If she hates the fact that Richie is a man.

“I do know him,” Frankie says firmly. “And I really like him. He’s funny, and he’s nice to me, and-”

“Stop,” Mom says, slapping her fork down on the table. “Please just stop, Franklin. I don’t want to hear that man’s name in this house ever again, do you understand me?”

“Well, he’s not going away any time soon,” Frankie points out, and Mom’s face twists in anger.

“Go to your room,” she snaps.

Frankie stares at her. “You can’t-”

“No matter how much you wish I wasn’t,” Mom says, and Frankie feels his own sense of hurt since he’s never even said that to her, doesn’t actually wish for that, “I’m still your mother. Go to your room.”

Frankie rolls his eyes and gets up from the table, stomping to his room and slamming the door shut and locking it.

—

Frankie doesn’t tell Dad about the fight he had with Mom the night of the play, nor does he want to; he has the feeling that it’d just make things worse between Frankie and his mother, and he knows that Mom will probably be fine by the time he sees her again on Sunday when it’s time for her week again, that she needs time to cool off.

He thinks that Dad and Richie know that something happened, but outside of checking in on him a few times when he goes over Dad’s on Sunday for his week, they leave it alone when Frankie stresses that he’s fine, really.

Dad tells him on Sunday night that Frankie’s going to go to a counselor on Wednesday after school, since apparently, Headmistress Gilmore was fine with Frankie skipping a day of detention if it meant that he’d go to a counselor, Frankie had groaned and argued back and forth with him, telling his father that he didn’t actually need to see a therapist or talk to anyone, that he’s fine, until Dad had said,

“Frankie, there’s nothing wrong with going to talk to someone. I do it.”

Frankie hadn’t known that. “You do?” The idea of it seems bizarre to him - that Dad goes and talks to a therapist. He has no idea what Dad would even talk about with someone else since it seems like Dad’s life has gotten so much better since he and Richie got together. “What do you talk about?”

Dad blinks. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, not unkindly, and then, “But I’ve been going for a while, and it’s…it’s actually really helpful.”

He can’t picture Dad doing that, but there’s that thought that he has again - the one where he thinks that Dad’s also pretty good at acting, too. That he doesn’t tell Frankie everything, yet expects honesty in turn.

He tries to argue with Dad about it, but Dad is firm. “I should’ve taken you to talk to someone after your mother and I got divorced in the first place. It’s long overdue.”

Long overdue, Frankie thinks with an eyeroll as Dad takes him to a therapy office after school that Wednesday; he walks inside with Frankie, putting a hand on his shoulder as he says, “I, um. I’ll wait for you out here, okay?”

Frankie doesn’t look at his father after he finishes signing, still a little pissed. As soon as a receptionist waves him over, Frankie follows her down the hall, dragging his feet on the carpet as they reach the door.

When he goes inside, he sees a woman around his parent’s age inside; she gets to her feet and smiles big at him as she says, in ASL, “You must be Franklin. I’m Dr. Novik.”

Frankie stares up at her, taken aback. “Are you Deaf?”

“I am,” she says, and Frankie’s thrown off kilter a little bit; he doesn’t remember Dad mentioning that, but he can’t deny that it makes him feel oddly at ease to be talking to another Deaf person, knowing that he doesn’t have to read her lips or try and focus to hear her, or ask her to repeat herself.

He still doesn’t want to be here. But…whatever.

Frankie flops down in the chair across from her, frowning.

“Do you prefer Franklin or Frank?”

“Frankie.”

“Okay, Frankie. I’m here to talk to you about whatever you want - anything at all that’s been bothering you, anything you feel like you can’t tell your parents or friends or teachers, no matter how simple you think it is, or how scary.”

Frankie stares at her.

“Have you ever been to therapy before?”

“No.”

She doesn’t seem to be deterred by his flat expression, his stiff signs. He knows that she can pick up on his body language, that she knows he doesn’t want to be here - but it doesn’t scare her off.

“I understand your parents got divorced semi-recently,” she says, and Frankie flares his nostrils. “And that you’ve been having some trouble in school. Do you want to tell me a little more about that?”

“No,” Frankie says automatically, shrugging. “Not really.”

Again, Dr. Novik doesn’t flinch, doesn’t frown. She just nods. “What do you want to talk about, Frankie?”

“Nothing,” Frankie tells her. “I don’t need to be here.”

“Your parents think you do.”

“Well, I don’t,” he stresses, shrugging his shoulders again. “I don’t want to be here, and I don’t want to talk. Nothing is wrong with me.”

Dr. Novik watches him for a few moments before she nods. “Can I ask you something, Frankie?”

Frankie blinks. “I can’t go anywhere.”

She doesn’t comment on that, instead asking, “Do you play chess?”

“No. I don’t know how.”

“Would you like me to teach you?”

“Why?” he asks bluntly, staring at her. 

“We need something to fill up our time,” she points out. “And because I want to propose something to you: if you walk out of here understanding how to play a game of chess, and if you end up enjoying our time together, then if you decide to come back here next week, we can play another game. And then maybe you can find something you want to talk to me about.”

Frankie weighs his options. He knows that Dad won’t give up on this whole counseling thing, even if Frankie thinks it’s stupid, so Dad will just keep finding other people for him to talk to, anyways. And Dr. Novik seems nice - he likes the fact that she’s Deaf, and that she’s not forcing him to talk about the divorce, at least.

Not that he needs this, or anything.

But Frankie still shrugs and says, “Fine, you can teach me. But I don’t have anything to talk about.”

“Everyone has something to talk about, Frankie,” Dr. Novik says as she begins to assemble the chess board. “Now. Let’s begin.”