Warnings: implied masturbation, non-consensual kissing
Notes: Here are the rest of the frabbles, making an even dozen. Those who asked have been given. I need a vacation.
. grace .
Grace is annoyed. She comes home for the holidays and finds a mini-version of herself in her house --- well, a version of herself who wears pigtails and obeys authoritarian rules.
Hannah is nine and she is Grace's mother's new best friend. Even Joan thinks it's a bad idea to let a drunk babysit, even if it's only for two hours after Hebrew class on Thursdays.
"Actually, your mother is really good with her," her father says, and there's a sliver of hope so naked in his voice that Grace wants to grab his words and drown them in a bucket of reality. It's true though; Sarah is great with Hannah.
Grace watches her mother with her young friend, and she knows that Sarah will break the little girl's heart one day. This is also true, but this is the part that people don't see.
o
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. daymare .
It has become an exercise in determination rather than pleasure.
Friedman carries on, ignoring the shouts for him to get out of the bathroom. He closes his eyes and desperately thinks of something, someone, some kind of mathematic formula.
Combinatorics . . . Marie Curie . . . Luke's sister in her underwear, in that picture of hers . . . Luke . . . Luke? What the hell, Luke?
To his horror, it works, but somehow Luke morphs into Lischak, and suddenly, his physics teacher has her lips on his neck. "Newton never got this kind of treatment," she murmurs, slipping her hand under his shirt.
Friedman skips class the next day.
o
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. geometry .
Rocks are usually for throwing, but for some reason, Grace keeps this one on the shelf near her bed. It's not that she wants to look at it all the time --- in fact, she doesn't, because it reminds her of that night with the geek, and Grace Polk does not waste any brain activity on thinking about geeks --- but it seems like a shame to keep it in a drawer or under her bed.
The geode catches the sun from the window, and in the morning a scattered pattern of geometric shapes appears on the ceiling, little trapezoids and parallelograms of light. Grace likes to lie in bed and watch them flicker and move. It's beautiful, and it keeps her entertained.
That's all, she tells herself. A rock is a rock is a rock.
If she repeats it enough, she thinks she might start believing it.
o
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. crazy .
Sometimes Joan worries about Judith. She knows Judith isn't crazy, not compared to Darlene the Hair Puller or Conduct Disorder Nat, but Judith acts out from time and time and does stuff that scares Joan.
Once, in the middle of Meditative Therapy, Judith gets out of her seat and sticks her hand over the flame of a candle. Joan screams, but Judith says, "It doesn't hurt, JoJo. It doesn't, trust me."
Joan changes Judith's bandages for her that night. "Don't do this to yourself," she begs. Without God, Joan only has Judith left, and Joan can't risk losing her either.
o
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. stolen .
You corner her in the bookstore, when there is nobody else around. In the poetry section, surrounded by all those pretty words, you close your mouth over hers and kiss her hard, catching her bottom lip with your teeth. So hard that you draw blood.
It is over as quickly as it starts, and you have taken her by such surprise that she barely registers what's happening when you let go.
"I'm telling my dad," she threatens, but you know she won't. Even if she does, there are several witnesses who can place you fifty miles away from Skylight Books at this moment.
"My apologies, Joan, I didn't mean to scare you," you tell her. "You know I'll never hurt you."
You remember the taste of her blood on your tongue.
o
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. full .
When Grace leaves for college, the Girardis are determined to weigh down her luggage with food. Who needs textbooks when one can have Mr. G's prizewinning lasagna instead?
"Here are sandwiches for the plane," Mrs. Girardi says, handing Grace a Tupperware container. "The cookies I've put in your bag, but don't eat them until you finish the sandwiches, all right?"
Luke and Joan go for the conventional snacks: licorice and bite-sized Snickers and jawbreakers that live up to their name.
These Girardis, Grace thinks, you can't escape them. They start with your stomach and work upwards, invading your thoughts, your dreams.
o
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(2/2)