Mark My Words

81 | Partners? Not Anymore

Darling would give that security to Joanna.

And, so, five days later at the next practice, Darling was there waiting with Lennie Pittmen on the benches. It was becoming somewhat of a theme—seeing the two of them together. It was an odd pairing that Rosalie found just as comical as Ray, who, when asked by Alyssa, said, "Why would I be jealous of a doll without a backbone?" The girls found that hysterical.

When Rosalie approached the plexiglass door for a water break, she caught the tail end of Lennie speaking perfect French. She recalled the days she used to swoon at the sound of Lennie's fluent accent, but it was nothing compared to Darling's response—a crystal clear, lilting, native accent that would have put their entire Advanced French class to shame.

"Ça me gêne pas du tout. Ça dépends d'à quel point tu y tiens—vendre quelque chose qui n'a pas de valeur à tes yeux t'apportera plus de profit," Darling said.

Lennie looked annoyed—they'd been at this topic for a while if it came to that, and Rosalie could see it etched in his forehead and stiff frown. "Mais tu penses pas que c'est mal d'exploiter—" Lennie started, only to stop when he caught Rosalie staring.

Darling hopped to her feet.

"Oh, don't stop because of me, by all means," Rosalie said.

Lennie rolled his eyes. "I was just asking about her work," he said.

"Classy of you," Rosalie said with a tight, sarcastic smile.

Lennie turned to Darling and said, "Joanna a déteins sur elle."

"Ça se voit carrément," Darling said. She put a hand to her lips to keep from giggling.

Rosalie scowled at them, brow furrowed, and said, "I can understand you two perfectly, I'll have you know."

Darling's eyes widened, and by the soft, subtle, nearly imperceptive grin on Lennie's face, he hadn't mentioned just how many of the soccer players were fluent. Granted, the majority of Bradshaw populated the Spanish and Mandarin courses, but French was also a popular choice.

The curve, however, dropped off around Level Three—two years before the moment Lennie explained to Darling, "Have I mentioned that we share sixth period French together?"

"No, you haven't," Darling said, a hand to her heart. "I really didn't believe Georgie that you and Joanna have the same exact schedule."

Rosalie frowned. "She told you my schedule?"

"Yes, in vivid detail," she confessed with a nervous smile.

Lennie furrowed his brow, hands clasped between his knees. He looked at Darling, and then curiously to Rosalie, who gave him a droll stare. She expected nothing less from Georgina, and she barely understood the girl even after spending eight entire hours together at Bradshaw.

At the mention of Georgina, though, Rosalie's eyes then traveled up to the entrance platform, where the concession stands were dark and locked up, and the railing was occupied by one particular suspect—heading in their direction from the stairs. Rosalie swallowed hard at the vivid image of Joanna's terror at the sight of Georgina Saber, and every time her eyes met with that beast of a woman.

Rosalie gestured discretely for Darling to look. Darling spun around, hair flowing, and she gasped in delight at the sight of Georgina reaching the bleachers. The devil's footsteps rattled the metal bleachers as she walked, and as Darling bounded up and over the divider that separated the players benches from the spectators.

Rosalie startled at Darling's swift escape, and barely processed the fact that Darling was now leaning over the ledge and waving to her, saying, "By Rosie! It was great talking with you, Lennie!"