Francine & Earl

Love

Francine was annoyed.

The constant whispers of the couple behind her were really getting on her nerves. First, she had to deal with projectile popcorn, now she had to deal with the least inconspicuous people she had ever had the displeasure of being near. Groaning under her breath, she played with the straw of her drink, a beverage she wished she didn't waste money on. As soon as Jonathon dragged her into the McDonald's, he proceeded to order enough food that she was sure would give them a premature heart attack.

While Jonathon was debating how much food was too much food, Francine had slipped into the the bathroom of the establishment. The area wasn't the most sanitary, but it had paper towels and water so she could scrub the makeup from her face. The war paint was like a reminder that the battle of making her visually mediocre had not, and probably never would be, won. She was glad that most of it was removed, and decided to ignore the smudges of mascara under her eyes. It wasn't as if she had anyone to impress.

She had adjusted Jonathon's jersey around a little bit and tugged on some basketball shorts she found in the back of his car. The time they had been washed was questionable and they couldn't fit without her bunching up the side with one of her many rubber bands, but it got the job done. After coming to the conclusion that she wouldn't look any better than this, she left the bathroom and went to sit and eat.

Jonathon seemed to be waiting for her before eating, which made her roll her eyes, but really she was glad that someone was actually treating her as a person and not a ghost. He lit up when he saw her, and began waving her over to the table laden with food, even though they were the only ones there. When she sat, he joked around with her to get her laughing, to help her forget about the disaster that happened earlier. His attention was solely focused on her, and it made her feel important. Wanted. Yet, Jonathon was always like that. He was her rock, her confidant, and best friend. He made her feel as though she was alive, and she made him feel like he was living.

"Cee."

Snapping out of her thoughts, Francine looked up to see Jonathon already staring at her. When noticing this, she raised an eyebrow. Somehow an arm had found its way around her shoulders and the hair tie that was keeping her blonde locks up had materialized on his wrist. He just looked down at her with a goofy smile and then had the audacity to tuck some hair behind her ear.

Shoving his hand away, she shot him a exasperated look.

"What?" she whispered, not really caring about the 'no talking' policy in the theater. The people around them were excitedly, and loudly, discussing the death of one of the characters anyway.

Jonathon looked behind them for a moment with a thoughtful look on his face as Francine waited.

And waited.

And waited.

"Did you suddenly experience the aftermath of all those headshots, or did your brain go on vacation?" Francine whispered, flicking his hand. Rolling his eyes, Jonathon turned back in her direction and tightened his hold on her. Francine would have complained or tried to tug his arm off, but the area they were sitting in was drafty, and the only protection she had was from a thin jersey.

Or at least, that's how she reasoned it to herself.

Leaning closer, Jonathon spoke directly in her ear, as though he didn't want anyone around them to hear. Francine didn't see the point in this until she heard a squeal then the sound of movement. She didn't even want to know what was happening back there.

"Apparently, we make a cute couple. That's what the people behind us are squealing about," he whispered, voice breathy.

Scrunching her nose, Francine moved farther away from him. The sound of him breathing in her ear was weirding her out, and the heat was disconcerting. She turned to face him, noting that they were still close and his hold was still tight on her. If he pulled her, she would be right on his lap which she thought was a very uncomfortable idea with the arm-rest between them, if for no other reason. She studied him for a moment, liking the way the dark brown of his eyes reflected the lights of the film. A film that they should both be watching, yet ignored.

"And that effects us because. . ." she began, trailing off when she saw the mischievous glint in his eye that only meant one thing.

He had a plan, and there was only one of his terrible ideas that could fit this situation.

"Seriously? Ex-girlfriend Protocol?" she questioned morosely, covering her face with her hand. All she needed to hear was his quiet chuckle for affirmation.

Sighing, Francine shook her head. The Ex-girlfriend Protocol was code for "act all couple-y to either make someone jealous or get a reaction." It began back in middle school when Jonathon's girlfriend of two weeks dumped him in pursuit of the new, young, male teacher. He had decided that he had to get back at her for it, and Francine, being his best friend, was involved in the plot. It was a lot of hand holding and pecks on the cheek, but it did the trick. His "ex" got jealous, and they got a reaction.

"C'mon. It'll be fun. Wouldn't you want to make their wish come true?" Jonathon all but sang in her ear, and Francine shrugged.

It wouldn't hurt, if anything they would think that she was a man, and she was bored. The horror movie was terrible, and not in the so-bad-it's-good way. Nodding, Francine immediately got into character. She tugged Jonathon's arm around her waist and tangled her fingers in his before tucking her head onto his shoulder.

She felt him clear his throat as he moved closer, and began playing with her fingers. The people behind them began vehemently whispering, and she let a small smile form on her face. As much as she would like to say it was the strangers' reaction, she couldn't help but think that being held like losing grip on her would make her disappear was a major part of it.