Frankie woke up early that morning, so he took the chance to make breakfast for himself since he never normally got to eat breakfast at all. The kitchen was small and he didn't have the means to make anything particular nor the time, so pancakes it was.

When he was smaller his pancakes were practically crepes. But Stella had taught him well, the last pancakes he made with her were soft and fluffy- perfect.

It was easy to make pancakes, but hard to make good ones.

He poured the wet into the dry and then mixed it. When the batter was done, he turned down the heat on the frying pan, and then got a ladle to spoon the pancake batter onto the pan. After he'd finished pouring enough for 4 pancakes, he looked at the very full bowl of batter and thought that might have made just a little bit too much. The four pancakes- maybe two more- were already enough for him, but here he had about enough to make 15 more.

Great. Just lovely.

He could either cook all of them now and put them in the fridge, store the pancake batter knowing that he'd have to cook the rest by tomorrow morning, or he could pour it out.

Frankie's brows furrowed when he thought of the last solution, his dad worked hard for everything they had in the house, and throwing things away felt like was practically slapping the man in the face. But how much did it really matter to Frankie? Something in him wanted to see his father's hard work in a trash can.

In the end, he decided to just cook them all.

Frankie had made about half of them before he heard stamps coming from upstairs, they grew louder as the culprit got to the first floor. Foster didn't know how to be quiet, whether it was his kitchen shenanigans or his huge feet, not a bit of him knew that word.

Foster poked his head through the kitchen door.

"Fran? You're awake early," He said, grinning as he did.

Foster was wearing grey sweatpants, and a white shirt. He had a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. His hair had grown out, and looked like a short wolf cut, something along those lines. Whatever his hair was, it was messy.

Frankie nodded.

Foster whistled as he approached Frankie, something that always pissed him off. "Pancakes?" He said as he hovered over. Foster was taller than him by about a head. He'd gotten some of his father's height, and was just an inch or two off from being the same height as him.

Frankie didn't know whose height he'd gotten.

"Pancakes," Frankie replied.

"Give me some?" Foster asked playfully, with his hand already on the top pancake of the stack.

Frankie scoffed instinctively.

Foster always helped himself to things that weren't his. There were 8 pancakes on the plate so he probably thought it wouldn't matter if he took one. But even if Frankie had made a thousand pancakes that still didn't mean Foster could have even one.

Seeing his hand on the stack of pancakes made Frankie angry beyond words. Who did Foster think he was?

"Oh, uh, Sorry," Foster said as he put the pancake down, "I didn't mean to...."

He struggled to find the words as he pulled at his hair.

"Take it, you already touched it," Frankie said in an icy tone.

"Fran I was- I wasn't trying to be horrible," Foster said as he struggled for words, "It was...just a pancake,"

"Foster. Take it," Frankie said. He was already angry enough, and a dawdling foster pissed him off even more. He didn't care if it was 'just a pancake', Foster had everything, so why should he want to take from Frankie?

Foster stuffed the pancake in his mouth, and his expression shifted slightly in satisfaction, but went back to guilt soon enough, "Thanks Fran, and, Good morning,"

Frankie watched him leave as fast as he could, practically running.

The rest of the pancakes came out horribly, a mountain of half-burnt half-raw things that probably had Teflon on them since Frankie had to scrape them off a supposedly nonstick pan. His grandma had always told him to never cook or bake angrily, he reluctantly understood why.

Frankie sighed as he dumped the remains in the remains in the trash.

The woman hadn't liked him, and now, he had proven her right about something. It got on his nerves in a strange way, and made him angry but also slightly sad.

***

Frankie never took the school bus to school because it was never on time, either too late or too early. He never drove because Foster hogged their 'shared' car, and even if he did get a chance he practically didn't know how to drive anymore. Frankie always walked, and today, it was raining.

He was soaked to the bone, his jacket barely helped to save his torso, and the rain seeped through his trousers. His socks were dripping, and his shoes squeaked every time he moved. There was no hood with his jacket so his face was bearing the full brunt of the downpour. He could barely see because his glasses were covered in water droplets, and if he took them off he'd probably end up walking into the road.

Already, his day was bad.

School was a 30-minute walk at best, close to an hour at worst. Frankie had been walking for 15 minutes and still had about a 30-minute walk left, it was a worse day. He had English first and figured that they'd be calling him a 'Wet dog' all lesson, or that they might just ask that Frankie leave the class for being 'covered in too much rain,' for his teacher to actually tell him to leave, like they did last year.

He wouldn't call Foster because there was no way he'd come for him- he was at practice around this time and didn't ever pick up his phone then. He couldn't call his Dad because he'd just come back from a night shift and was probably fast asleep.

Frankie had $4 in his account, and there was no calling an Uber with that.

He was going to have to walk, and he hated it.

Easgray was small in people but not in size. Unlike any other town Frankie would imagine, the people here liked to distance themselves to about a 7 to 10 minute walk between homes, and the richer they were the farther the distance. There weren't many forests, instead, the place was covered in fields hence the tagline Easgrey; 'Home of Fields'.

Looking at the fields on his way to school was nice the first couple of times, but the magic wore off after the first week. He sometimes wished they had trees, though Frankie didn't think it was worth the bears.

Five minutes later, when a car wouldn't stop following him, Frankie contemplated running for it. Who is that? He thought as he glanced at the window, but he couldn't see much cause they were dimmed and he was too far away. He wondered if someone was about to offer him drugs like the school always told him would happen, or if he was about to get kidnapped- but then they rolled down their window.

Ezra Grant.

He was no kidnapper, Frankie was fairly certain, and he didn't look like he was peddling drugs either.

A head of black wavy curls shrouded his eyes slightly, but they peaked through as a deep forest green. Both the hand holding the wheel, and the hand leaning against the open window were wheat-coloured like the rest of his skin

"You look cold," Ezra said, staring blankly, "Wet, too,"

"I...am?" Frankie replied, thoroughly confused. He felt like he'd missed something somewhere, Ezra Grant was speaking to him, speaking to him normally. Not like some strange pet, or a pest. He talked to him like they knew eachother, they definitely did not.

"Get in," He said while gesturing to the seats behind him.

Frankie was confused for a moment. "...Your car?" He asked incredulously.

"Yes," Ezra said, like it was the most obvious thing on the earth.

"I'm soaked," Frankie replied, he pointed to himself as he did so, "Are you sure you want me in your car?" Frankie asked. He wasn't going to say no to a free ride, but it'd be embarrassing to make someone else seats wet.

"Get in," Ezra reiterated, furrowing his brows as he did. He seemed to take the question as an insult to his intelligence.

Frankie entered gladly. He vaguely recognised the brand of the car before his shivering hand touched the heated seats in the car, and then nothing really mattered to him anymore.

The car ride was silent as much as it was warm. Frankie was only a bit damp by the time they got to the school, there was only one question in his mind, Why is Ezra being so nice?

Frankie was suspicious the entire ride, after all, he had no reason to drive him anywhere. He might have watched him shivering in the rain but that didn't mean he had to do anything about it.

Ezra Grant was on the football team, holding a position that Frankie couldn't remember exactly. He was either a Runningback or a Quarterback, and one of those positions belonged to Foster.

Either way, he was pretty popular. This didn't mean he was the type of person to bully Frankie, but he was definitely the type of person to ignore someone like him. People in Easgrey High didn't necessarily care for popularity, everyone normally was friendly with each other. The problem was when you were specifically unpopular, that's when people became mean.

Frankie watched him with scrutiny as he drove into the drop-off bay, he wondered what was in it for Ezra. Maybe it was out of the kindness of his heart? Frankie thought after struggling to find a reason. He didn't know Ezra well, and for all he knew he could just be a particularly kind person.

Frankie said a 'Thank you,' before grabbing the door handle.

"Have this," Ezra said, handing something to him.

It was a letterman, no patches though.

"It's...okay," Frankie said, trying to pass it back to him.

Ezra stared at it for a moment before speaking, "I don't wear it at all, you can have it,"

At that point, Frankie felt like he had to.

"Thanks...then," He said.

"I'm not coming to school today," Ezra said, "I've got something on,"

Frankie did wonder why he'd taken him to the drop-off bay rather than the student parking lot, and why he hadn't gotten out of the car yet. If he wasn't even going to school, why go out of his way to take Frankie?

"See you next week then," said Frankie, waving as he did.

"See you next week," Ezra said. He waved back, as a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.

His behaviour was strange, to say the very least.