Francine & Earl

Stay

Francine was tired.

Staring up at her ceiling, all she could think about was the exhaustion that was soaked through her skin and creaked in her bones. It was silent in her room, yet somehow it deafened her. It rung in her ears and refused to leave. But, it was better than the constant pings and buzzes. Her phone had been turned off because of the constant texts and notifications she was getting, things she had no clue on how to turn off.

No, she did not care about a party this weekend. No, she did not need to see pictures of salads flooding the newsfeed of her newly made Instagram account. No, she did not care who wore it better, or who was going out with who, or what teacher was reportedly screwing the principal.

She just couldn't find the energy.

Her mind was fried and it was only Tuesday, leaving her with no clue as to how to continue throughout the week. Shifting on her bed, Francine brushed the few wet strands of hair that clung to her forehead off her skin. She had just gotten back from the shower when the tiredness hit. It wasn't from the dance practice, because she had been an athlete for almost all her life. She was just done with being disgusted with the stranger that stared back at her from the mirror.

Her mother was beginning to get on her very last nerve with her underhanded comments about her appearance, the girls on the dance team didn't accept her, and her best friend was too busy with college applications and scholarship forms to even breathe in her direction. Francine had just had enough with people saying she did this for attention, only to take advantage of that attention themselves by talking to her. She hated walking into a room that suddenly went quiet with the type of silence that only came from being the subject of conversation. No matter what she did, she never did it right, and she felt sick to her stomach when she had to step through the doors of her school and plaster a smile on her face that was almost as fake as the image she wanted to project.

She just couldn't do this anymore, and she loathed herself for being a quitter.

First, giving up on her only dream. Her one dream. The thing that was like an organ that couldn't be taken away. Football. And now, her last hopes for being normal were dissipating.

"Francine," her mother's voice called, followed by a knock at her door, "breakfast's ready."

Wiping under her eyes to make sure that the tears she shed in the shower were gone, Francine pushed herself off her bed and traveled downstairs. The dress she wore was slightly wrinkled, but after today, she would be done with keeping up with appearances.

Entering the kitchen, Francine saw her father lounging at the table reading a copy of Vogue with confusion on his face. He was dressed in a suit, meaning that he probably had a meeting that day, and his free hand was wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee. A small smile quirked her mouth at the sight, only to be knocked off by her mother's comment.

"Oh, Francine! Your hair!" she exclaimed, pressing a hand to her crisp white blouse, shock on her usually calm features.

Sitting down his coffee, Grayson Waters nodded.

"Her hair is lovely, isn't it? At least now we can spend less money on shampoo, and we can go to the same barber," he joked, but then ran a hand through his dark locks, "but I have been contemplating getting extensions."

His wife just shot him a harsh glare, causing him to raise an eyebrow and flip the page in his magazine.

"Thanks, dad," Francine muttered, plucking an apple from the table and sitting across from him. She didn't even contemplate eating the food her mother attempted at making. Her mother, who was now standing with her hands on her hips and a displeased look on her face.