Losing Francesca Read Free Page A

hoping he'll go away.
    But he doesn't go away. He searches the yard. "Lindsey?" He waits. "I'm hearing things."
    He gets on his bike with a smug smile on his face and he's just about to kick-start it when he glances up and sees me standing in the tree.
    "I'm not crazy," he says. "But you sure are. What the hell are you doing up there, Lindsey?"
    I don't move and I don't answer.
    He squints up at me. "You're not Lindsey." I stare back because he's got quite a face on him. His hair is blond, I can see that now, and he's got a little bit of stubble on his chin. Not enough to make him look dirty, just enough to show he needs a shave. And his eyes are an amazing blue color that I can see even in this dim moonshine.
    We stare at each other for several long seconds, and then he breaks the silence. "Who are you?"
    I bolt back the way I came. Scamper up the branch, then slide over until I'm on the terrace. I can hear him calling me names as I slip through my door and go back to bed.
    Freak . That's what he called me. And he's right, I am a freak. A freak stuck between worlds, looking down on rude boys from a tree limb. His bike starts up with a loud rumble and I listen to the sound fade as he travels down the road.
    I lie there for hours, thinking about him, how his eyes looked in the moonlight, the shape of his face and the curve of his shoulders under his t-shirt. And I make a promise to myself to stay far away from this boy. Far, far away.

Chapter Three - Francesca

    I wake early the next morning, but not early enough to beat the Sullivan family. They must start chores before the sun comes up, long before that eight o'clock breakfast Aimee talked about, because the whole place is bustling with activity, the chatter of Sullivan kids, and the thunder of galloping hooves when the horses are turned out for morning exercise.
    I go to the closet to find some clothes. There are a bunch of things to choose from. Most are for summer, since it is summer, but there are a few winter sweaters and long pants, too. Like maybe they think I'll still be here when the humid Ohio summer turns into fall and winter.
    I hold down a snort at that. I will be long gone.
    The hanging clothes are all brand new and have tags on them. There is a stack of jeans on a shelf, all of which look used. The whole stack gets thrown on the bed and I start trying them on. Lindsey and I are not the same size, she's shorter than me, so the first three pairs are not only too short, but too tight as well. I get to the last pair, all ripped and faded with a button-fly and a hole in the knee, and they slip on and hang low on my hips the way I like my jeans.
    I button them up and breathe a sigh of relief as I pull a tank top over my bra and go looking for shoes. All the shoes are new and are a variety of sizes that come pretty close to my own. There are sneakers and sandals, barn boots—both tall and short—and one pair of strappy heels. I guess the fancy clothes mean they will want to take me out in public.
    Just the thought makes me a little queasy.
    I opt for a pair of slip-on sneakers and pull them on just as a soft knock sounds on the door. When I open it Sean smiles at me. "Hey," he says. "Have a good night?"
    My head nods as he eyes my clothes. "Oh, those fit you. Great. Those are mine," he says, laughing a little. The silence gets uncomfortable and he sighs out a breath of frustration. "Hungry?"
    I simply nod and follow him downstairs. The place is a madhouse. There are kids here I didn't see last night, all wearing different versions of the same thing—riding clothes. Tall boots, short boots, breeches, chaps and summer tops. They are all girls. Not a single boy in the crowd. Most of them are younger than me, and Aimee chats merrily with several, like they are old friends. Lindsey is eating at the end of the table where Frank was sitting last night, talking to Angela. They notice me and Lindsey takes over.
    "Chessie! Hey, everyone, this is my new foster sister,