FRANKIE
The music swells as Angel finishes her song, and the whole place erupts. My mom’s on her feet clapping like she’s at the opera. I just lean back in my chair, arms crossed, trying to look bored. It’s not working. Everything about her up there—the way she closes her eyes, the passion in her voice—it’s getting under my skin. And I hate that it is.
“I don’t know what’s going on between you and that girl, but there’s something about her I like,” my mom says, not taking her eyes off the stage.
I pretend I don’t hear her. We’re not exactly cool after my blow-up earlier.
“Do you not hear mom talking to you, Frankie?” Lorenzo thumps me hard on the back.
“She didn’t exactly say my name,” I grumble.
“Answer the question, dummy,” he warns, that older-brother tone in his voice.
I roll m
