Losing Francesca Read Online Free PDF

dinging the little bell.
    "You still want that air filter?"
    "Nah. Thanks though, for telling me all this."
    I turn to leave, but he calls out after me, "Don't come by, Brody. I mean it."
    I nod but don't turn, then get back on my bike and pull out into the street, still half dazed with thoughts of Fiona running through my mind. I promptly get pulled over by Abe the Asshole Pig for the bike not being street legal. He probably cut short his donut break to bust me for this but the ticket barely registers in my brain. I just sit there on my bike, resting my head on my handlebars and staring down at the road as he writes me up and tells me to appear in court in three weeks.
    And the next thing I know I'm pulling back into my driveway, still lost in my thoughts.
    I have to see her. I need to see her.

Chapter Five - Francesca

    Lunch is quick and easy—we eat sandwiches standing up outside in the backyard and then everyone goes right back to work.
    Which is a relative term for these people because no one seems to mind what they are doing. All the various girls, I learn, are either owners of horses that the Sullivans board for a fee, or they are just town kids who do odd chores in exchange for lessons.
    I basically sit around and watch the kids work. They turn the horses out on the pastures, four at a time, until they have all been exercised. Some of the horses get bathed in the outside washing station, and Angela is busy giving lessons to some little kids who ride the sweetest ponies I've ever seen. Their parents trailer them in just for this purpose and they're dressed up like they're posing for an equine clothing catalog.
    Lindsey has her own group of lesson kids in another arena on the far side of the farm. These girls are big and they are jumping a course. I watch them from a rickety wooden picnic table under a very large tree that provides just the right amount of shade.
    "Do you jump?"
    Aimee is standing next to the table with her pony's lead in her hand.
    " Sì ."
    "Oh," she says wistfully. "Angela and Dad won't let me jump. They say I'm not ready."
    "Oh," I say. I can relate. It takes a while to be ready to jump. When I told Sean I took lessons I really meant I've been riding consistently for as long as I can remember. We actually have a bunch of horses at home and I've owned too many to count off-hand at school.
    I point to her pony and then motion for her to put her foot in the stirrup. She takes the hint and hops on with little effort, then I take her pony by the bridle and walk it into the indoor arena where no one wants to be because it's too hot.
    I let go and wave her on to warm up and then watch her as she fiddles with her boot and her leg position.
    " No, guarda ." I take her foot and reposition it so her heel is pointed towards the ground. " Come questo ."
    She gets it and sighs. "I know, Angela always tells me that too, but it hurts to make my foot go that way."
    "Ah." Yes, I can understand. Riding horses means you hurt a lot. Pain and horses go together like peas and carrots. If your thighs aren't sore, you have burns on them from rubbing up against a bumpy saddle. Or your calves ache from squeezing, or your back hurts from sitting straight or bouncing too much. Sometimes your head hurts, as well. And that's just when you're doing everything right. If you fall off, things get much worse. " Advil ," I say.
    She laughs. "I think Advil counts as English."
    I laugh with her. " No! Advil è Advil in italiano ."
    "There you are! I've been waiting for you, Aimee. Get your butt in the ring!" Angela scowls but it's not real. She is teasing and she looks happy. We watch Aimee direct her pony out of the arena and Angela turns to me. "Would you like to ride?"
    I shake my head. Not because I want to be difficult, it's just I don't feel like it. " Caldo ."
    She nods, and I know she probably thinks that means cold and not hot, but oh well. She smiles and walks out.
    My first afternoon as Fiona Sullivan is not so bad, I