Aaron’s prediction proved true the very next day. Fran had barely managed to step out of the boarding house before she was besieged by screaming girls.
“It’s Frankie!”
“Oh my God, look, it’s Frankie!”
“Isn’t he just the cutest thing you’ve ever seen?”
“Frankie! We love you!”
“Frankie, can you please give this to Brookie for me?”
Bewildered, Fran had been pushed back against the house wall and showered in gifts for both herself and Brookie before she’d even worked out what was going on.
A large box of chocolates wrapped up with a glaring pink bow was forced into her hands. Fran stared around herself in a daze. All the faces blurred together and she genuinely had no idea how many people were hemming her into the side of the building. There was a fair amount of jostling going on as people at the back tried to get further to the front, and the result was squishing Fran against the wall. Pain jarred through her hip as it bashed against a protruding brick. She squinted, trying to see if there was a way out, but she might as well not have bothered. It would have been a miracle if even Pythagoras had found room to move in the crowd.
Dear lord, how does Brookie stand this? she wondered in despair, ignoring the clamours for her to act as a go-between between the fans and Brookie and the flirtatious looks and comments that many of the females in the crowd were shooting her. The only thing she could compare it to was like being an extra-juicy hunk of raw meat surrounded by ravenous, slobbering wolves who were even snap-happier than the paparazzi at a major event.
She had almost been squished as flat as a pancake by the crowd and blinded by the camera flashes before the door opened and her salvation appeared in the form of Rico.
“Oi, break it up, girls!” he bellowed, forcing a path through the crowd to Fran’s side. He had to fight the last few metres. “Everybody has class to get to, and those of you who are in the wrong school this morning could get done for truancy. Leave the poor kid a bit of space.” He managed to get close enough to grab Fran’s wrist. The two girls nearest immediately clawed at his arm, trying to make him let go. Rico impatiently batted them away and drew Fran close to him. Fran was too dazed by what had happened and the number of times her head had cracked against the wall to complain.
“Scram, pronto, or I’ll call security!” Rico yelled loudly as more girls, with a couple of fan boys in their midst, surged forward, trying to separate him and Fran. Rico dug his phone out of his pocket and held it up above his head, out of the way of anybody who might try to snatch it. “Ten! Nine—!”
The pressure from the crowd began to ease up, but Rico had still reached two before it was safe for him and Fran to move again.
“One!” he shouted, dialling in a number. Seeing how serious he was, the girls reluctantly backed off.
Rico kept the phone aloft as he steered Fran out of their midst, a clear warning not to even attempt following.
“Right,” he said once they had crossed the courtyard in front of the boys’ boarding house and entered the archway that let through to the main school. “Where do you need to go?” He lowered his arm and tucked his phone into a pocket.
Fran just looked at him, running her tongue over a swollen bottom lip. Fans were dangerous. Rico came to a halt and let go of her arm.
“You look like a total wreck,” he told her, “and this is only your first day. How do you plan to cope with this?”
Fran managed a half-hearted shrug, but she couldn’t make herself meet his gaze.
“Look,” said Rico, “you can’t let them push you around. Brookie only handles the stress by ignoring them when he can afford to, and he actually has to spend some time paying fan service because he’s a film star. You don’t, because you’re only a celebrity by association. You’ll probably only get bad press while it’s known you know Brookie, and it’s unlikely to jeopardise your career, so you can actually afford to be rude and forceful when the fans piss you off. The stress will break you if you don’t. I don’t want to see that happen. None of us do. Brookie’s terrified you’re not going to be able to cope with this. He feels really guilty for inadvertently dragging you into it—”
Fran took a deep breath and interrupted him. “Rico, I think I might have done something horrible.”
Rico frowned. “How so?”
Biting her swollen lip, Fran kept her gaze firmly fixed on the floor.
“I might’ve helped somewhat in the process of breaking Brookie and Selena up.”
She didn’t dare look up for his response.
“Hey, it’s not necessarily that bad,” Rico reasoned after a moment or two. “They’ve been arguing for a couple of months. It was going to happen at some point anyway. She was making Brookie miserable; I say it’s a good thing they’re no longer together.”
“But he still really likes her. And I feel awful.” And I’d feel worse if she wasn’t a complete cow.
Rico patted her shoulder. “Well, there’s not really much you can do except tell Brookie—”
Oh, God no, Fran thought.
“—But it’s not like that’ll solve things. In any case, I think the issue is more that you’re going to be mobbed by Brookie’s fans who see you as a means of access to him. We’ll help as best we can – we’ve had a little experience with Brookie already – but there’s only so much we can do, and you want to be really wary of the media. They have underhand ways of getting scandalous stories, even if the stories aren’t true.”
Rico’s prediction turned out to be just as true as Aaron’s: Fran had barely alighted from the bus into town on Saturday afternoon before she was spotted by a journalist.
“Francis Grey!” the woman exclaimed delightedly, making Fran jump and whirl around in shock. The woman beamed at her.
Perturbed, Fran backed away. “Uh… do I know you?”
“Probably not, dear. I’m searching for a scoop for Gossip magazine. Do you know it?”
Fran almost replied that she’d had an addiction to that very rag just a couple of years previously, but then realised that no guy, gay or straight, would ever admit to that.
“Um… maybe?”
“Well, dear, this seems to be an opportune meeting, so why don’t we—?”
A hand fell on Fran’s shoulder. From the size of the shadow of the new arrival, Fran suspected that the person was at least Arthur’s height.
“I’m afraid Frankie doesn’t have time,” said a familiar male voice. “He’s coming out to tea with us, and our school has a strictly no-media-contact policy.”
Fran glanced up. Her shadow instincts had been right, and Arthur looked royally pissed.
The journalist pouted in a way that Fran had always used to get her way at the height of her Queen Bee years.
“Just a couple of quick questions,” the woman wheedled with obvious disappointment. “I was just interested on his take of Brookie as a roommate.”
To Fran’s surprise, Arthur didn’t even falter.
“We’re late for our reservation, and I can assure you Frankie’s not interested. Why do you think nobody’s ever interviewed him before?”
“Yeah,” Fran added, somewhat lamely.
“Bye, now,” Arthur finished, taking Fran by the elbow and turning her around.
Fran didn’t even check whether or not they were out of the woman’s line of sight before heaving a huge sigh of relief.
“Where did you spring from?” she asked him.
“The manhole,” Arthur told her, tapping the lid of a manhole they were passing with his foot. “I always come into town on Saturday afternoons. I was even on the same bus as you, numskull.”
“Were you?” Fran frowned. “You were.” She still didn’t remember seeing him.
“Well, obviously, immersion in the martial arts has turned me into a ninja.” Arthur adjusted the strap of his holdall and looked around. “Journalists are a pain, aren’t they?”
Fran wrinkled her nose. “I’ll admit it’s my first proper encounter with one.”
“Don’t tell them anything,” Arthur advised. “All the ones wanting to talk to you because of Brookie are just looking for a scoop. They basically don’t care what you say – they just want to make it look like they have some kind of authoritative source, and while they’re not all Rita Skeeters, some of them out there will bend every word you say.” He paused. “That said, you do get nice ones. They just tend not to be involved in celebrity gossip, in my experience.”
Fran managed a laugh.
“So, how does it feel to be recognised everywhere you go?”
“A couple of years ago I would have loved the idea, but it actually really sucks,” she complained. “And it’s only been a couple of days.” Plus the more I’m in the public eye, the greater my risk of being discovered.
“Brookie said as much. Look, I’m going to have to love you and leave you. I have a competition I need to get to.”
“Sure.”
Arthur clapped her on the shoulder and jogged away. Fran watched until he was lost to sight weaving through the crowds before she decided to rethink her plan for getting off campus to escape Simon and Kevin. She hadn’t expected to be accosted by a journalist, and Arthur was undeniably cool. Fran wished she’d had the guts to handle the situation like him.
He’s just so… charismatic? Is that the right word? She dug in her satchel for her phone. I need to escape the public eye before I’m recognised again. I wonder, will Phil and Duncan be up for a surprise visit?
Fran awoke on Sunday morning to the pleasant realisation that she wouldn’t have to go out of her way to avoid either manic fans or Simon and Kevin: it was one of the wonderful things about staying at Phil’s house. After a massive Nerf fight with Duncan, in which he absolutely slaughtered her, she managed to find a quiet spot with Phil and sit down for a joint effort with their homework. Only French caused major problems.
“You keep mixing up the gender of your adjectives and agreements,” Philippa told her, snatching Fran’s pen off her and stealing her homework. “Look: je suis allé au parc, not je suis allée au parc. You’re not a girl.”
“Yes I am,” Fran snapped. Philippa threw her a withering look. She was used to French putting Fran in a foul mood.
“Also, it’s samedi dernier, not dernière. Samedi is masculine.”
“Well, good for samedi. It still doesn’t stop me being horrific at French.”
Philippa didn’t even bother replying, and they spent the rest of the afternoon in a frosty silence until Fran remembered that she had to be back at school for the evening check in. Duncan looked a bit disappointed that she was leaving, but he perked up when Fran promised to come back next weekend.
“If you do, for the love of God, don’t bring your French homework with you,” Philippa begged as she showed Fran out. Fran managed a wry smile, but it wasn’t nearly enough to combat the thunderous frown she’d been wearing since she’d first pulled out the past paper.
“I won’t,” she mumbled. “See you tomorrow.”
She stopped off at the corner shop on her way to the bus stop and bought herself a packet of cigarettes. After Brookie going ape on her, she didn’t dare stock up just in case he found them again, but she wasn’t going to be able to survive without them.
The feeling of relief as she finally lit up after a whole week of not smoking was so great that tears sprang to her eyes. Brookie, why are you such an *rse?
“Oh, there he is!”
There were several flashes like lightning and Fran came to a halt, blinking hard. She’d reached the bus stop without realising it, but more importantly, she’d reached the bus stop without realising that it was crammed with journalists.
Stunned, she stood there slack-jawed for several moments. The cigarette fell out of her mouth. One of the journalists approached her with a camera and snapped a quick shot.
“Francis! Would you mind answering a few questions for me?”
Cr*p. Fran turned and bolted.
There were several shouts of indignation, but from the stampede of footsteps following her, Fran figured that the vast majority of them were following her.
Great. Now, if I can lose them, I can get back and get a bus without them cornering me again. She put on an extra spurt and rounded a corner. I need to keep turning left so I have an easy way back.
Three turns later, the journalists were audible but no longer in sight, and Fran turned into a cul-de-sac. Panting, she turned several times, looking for an escape, but there were none. After concluding that her best option was to hide until the press was gone, she scooted behind a large plant pot and sat down, trying her hardest to keep silent.
Her watch bleeped, telling her that it was already seven o’clock. She wasn’t going to make it back for seven-fifteen check-in.
D*mn. She bit her lip. Do I have Rico’s number? I need to tell them….
To her huge relief, she did have Rico’s number stored in her phone. She tapped out a quick text explaining that she was trapped in town by the media and would be back as soon as she had lost them, and not to worry about her being missing for check-in.
Her phone buzzed mere seconds after she had sent it. Fran looked down at the screen, expecting to see she’d received a text from Rico confirming everything was fine, but found instead that there was an incoming call. Her initial instinct was to hang up immediately, but then she saw the caller ID and picked up.
“Hey, Freddie! How’s life?”
For several moments, she could only hear background noise – crackling, shouting, and lots of bangs.
“Freddie? Hello?”
“Fran!” He sounded terrified. “Fran, help, it’s gone insane!”
Fran frowned, trying to work out what he was talking about. “Can you—” There was a loud bang and several screams. “Wait, Freddie, can I hear gunfire?”
“I don’t know,” he sobbed. “Probably.”
“Sh*t. Where are you?!”
“We’re at the quay. They just jumped us from nowhere. I’m just… I just wanted to talk to you again, just in case—”
A gnawing worry plagued Fran’s gut. “Stay where you are and hide. I’m coming to find you.”
“No! Fran! Don’t come! What if you get recognised or caught?!”
Fran hesitated. “I didn’t think of that.”
“I know! So stay away!”
There was another burst of gunfire and the phone went dead.