𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐄 | ꜱᴘᴏᴛ ᴄᴏɴʟᴏɴ

𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑

FRENCHIE GASPED.

Apparently, the rest of the gang wasn't so sure. Everything broke into chaos, with dozens of people asking questions until—

Frenchie raised her arms. "Hold it!" she said. "How can I be working for that much? Medda, I put a lot of thought into what I do and... it just seems wrong to... how could I handle all that pressure?"

Medda didn't answer, but Frenchie got the feeling she knew. And the truth was not good.

"The important thing," Jack said, "Is that Frenchie is getting paid a lot more now now. You have a job to fulfill, which means she will need her own space."

Frenchie eased herself onto the stool in front of the ruined hearth. Without the fire, the night was dark. When she opened her eyes, the group was glowing with possibility. A positive smoke issued from her mouth. The voice that came out was high pitched and giddy—the sound a mouse would make if it could talk:

"I'll do it, Medda."

On the last word, Frenchie grinned. She looked away from the hearth and instead towards the stage.

"Is that normal?" The new Crutchy boy asked into the silence, everyone looking at him. "I mean... do her emotions change that much?"

"She's just a girl," Jack sneered. "She just does that all the time—been doin' it forevah."

"Jack," Frenchie snapped. "Crutchy asked a fair question. No, not always. I'm not a very vulnerable person, you'll come to find."

Jack rose. "Well, we don't have much choice. We need the money. And French has the spare time. Besides, we can't just not help the queen of the theatre if she needs more music."

Frenchie stood up. "Maybe. But I shouldn't be the only one doing work around here, Jack."

"I'm working on it," he snickered.

"Shut ya yaps!" Crutchy growled. "How are ya gonna fit the music into ya schedule, French?"

No one answered, but Frenchie and Medda were having a quiet exchange.

"I sell the papers every day...no, it can't be then," Frenchie muttered.

"We don't have to speak of it here. We can come up with another time," Medda urged, looking into the small group.

"You're kidding me!" Frenchie growled. "I can't be that unlucky."

Medda looked over the girls shoulder. "Later, child. If you had everything figured out already, I'd be worried for you."

Frenchie took a deep breath and faced the pair. "I'm doing it," she announced, "and not just for the money."

Jack stared into the dark, hoping someone could see him. "Good. I'm happy for you, French."

Crutchy said, "Well, we can head back whenever you want."

"I'd actually like to start right now," Frenchie said. "If that's alright with you, Medda?"

"Oh, it's alright, child." Medda blurted out. "I've got nothing major going on all night. It's typically slow on Tuesdays."

"How slow?" demanded Frenchie.

Jack tried to form a retort, but he couldn't.

     Crutchy saved him. "I get you're excited French, but ya don't gotta work so hard."

"Says who?"

"Says me," Jack agreed. "You always push yourself too hard."

Under the Irving Hall banner, Frenchie's shoulders slumped, like she'd just been given a heavy anvil to carry. "I do not."