Chapter Sixteen
Sean
We agreed to meet after school again after my practice on Monday. Flora glides into the student lounge with her usual flair.
Her dark hair is pulled back in a ponytail, showing the crystal earrings dangling below her jawline. The faint sparkle brings me back to last year when we were still dating.
“Nice earrings.”
“Yeah.” Her tone is frozen, matching my winter memories. “Someone who used to matter gave them to me.”
Ouch. Her dress hovers several inches above her knees. She’s probably going on a date later. It’s none of my business. “Are you going somewhere after this?”
“No, I’m all yours.” She pulls out the chair next to me. The end of her ponytail swings in front of my face as she sits down.
I inch away. I’m a sucker for long, glossy hair, and I don’t need distractions.
She dumps a folder onto the table with a sharp thud, then pulls out a typed document and shoves it in my face. “Here, read this.”
It’s several pages long. An outline of our paper, fully typed up, footnotes and references included. Some paragraphs are highlighted. She was paying attention.
“This is impressive.” I flip through the pages. “You did this in one day?”
“What do you care? I come fully prepared this time. I can hold a proper discussion, so you can quit acting superior. I’m going to earn my name on the assignment.”
“I wasn’t . . . Hey, I’m sorry I offended you yesterday.”
“You offended me, all right. I thought we’d brainstorm first, but you treated me like a parasite leeching off your brilliant mind.” Her hazel eyes flash. “History isn’t rocket science. It’s not even hard. I don’t know how you can be so arrogant.”
“Okay, I deserve that. I was tired yesterday, and I don’t function well in the morning without coffee. I’m really sorry.”
She flips the school’s history textbook open with unnecessary force.
I try reading the document she handed to me. Her lips are drawn tight, her shoulders stiff. I pick up my pen and tap the end against her forearm. “Hey, are you going to forgive me? I can’t read with this much hostility aimed at me. Don’t be mad. Please?”
“Fine.” A long pause, then she exhales a quiet laugh. “Stop it.”
Thank god. We’re stuck working on this for three weeks, and I’d rather not spend all of them fighting.
“But,” she warns, “you can’t laugh at my suggestions or make me feel stupid again.”
“I promise.”
She snaps the textbook shut and leans in. “Okay, then. I have an awesome idea about our presentation.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“We should do a play.”
“A play?”
A smug smile tugs at her lips. “Yeah, like a skit. Something immersive. We can dramatize a year in medieval times, with characters like a peasant, a noble, or Crusaders, and show how our lives were shaped by the period. The plights we faced. The social structure. How famine, plague, and war impacted us. Depends on which angle we want to emphasize.”
Is this the back cover of an RPG game, minus the quest to locate hidden treasures and conquer the seven seas? I stall, scrambling for a rejection that doesn’t sound like one. “I don’t know? Mr. Goleman doesn’t strike me as someone with a sense of humor. I seriously doubt he’ll go for it.”
“I’m not about to stand up there for fifteen minutes reading from a paper and boring everyone to death.”
“Can I at least think it over?”
“Think of it like advertising. Same product, better packaging. A play lets us weave in tons of historical facts. It’s way more engaging than PowerPoint. Imagine if TV commercials were just slideshows. People need to visualize things, you know?”
“Unless I’m selling a medieval castle here, I don’t see how that’s relevant.”
She glares at me. Then a dangerous gleam enters her eyes. “Wait, I have an even better idea. You play the knight, and I’ll be the girl who mysteriously falls from the sky.”
My mouth drops open. “What mysterious girl?”
“I’m from the modern world, but one day—bam!—I get sucked into a portal and land in medieval times. Time travel is so hot right now.”
This is spiraling into a full-blown nightmare. “Oh, perfect. Maybe we can even fall in love, and you’ll throw away your entire life to stay with me,” I say dryly. “We’ll feast on soup-stew and rye bread for the rest of eternity.”
Flora claps her hands. “Yes! Like that old Meg Ryan film. We have to add this. And Josie can be the all-knowing narrator—this prophet or priest as the voice of reason. She’s perfect for this role.” She scribbles time travel movie on her notes and underlines it three times.
I drop my forehead into my palms. “I just can’t win with you, can I?”
* * *
A week later, Flora emails me the script with the title “Meeting Pre-reads.” When we meet again in the library, she hands me a printout. “Josie emailed me her suggestions, and I’ve incorporated her input in this updated version. I trust you’ve had time to read it over?”
I have. Flora’s idea isn’t half bad. The plot is solid, equal parts educational and ridiculous, and while I don’t want to boost her ego any further, I can’t keep the smile off my face as she tosses me my updated lines.
“‘I’m clean, I’ve been tested for the plague’?” I raise my eyebrows.
“Tell me you’re not enjoying this.”
“Totally. A knight trapped in a Hallmark movie, riding a paper horse and reciting medieval pickup lines? My lifelong dream.”
She chuckles, and I melt at the sound of her laugh. I’d forgotten how fun it was when we weren’t at each other’s throats.
“And you’re much better at organizing meetings,” I admit. “That first one I called, that was a disaster. That was on me.”
“Right?” She elbows me. “As my mom says, you must start with a clear agenda and end with a concrete action plan. Watch and learn, young grasshopper.”
When we wrap up for the day, it feels too soon. She collects her things, sorts her notes into a neat pile, and snaps her folder shut. “I’m hungry. Wanna grab dinner?”
“Sure.” As soon as the word is out, I regret it. Spending time with her is one thing, but this might be pushing it. It’s too easy to get pulled in again and start wanting things I shouldn’t.
“Great! I’m starving.” Flora is all smiles. “Let’s take your car.”
We walk in silence to the parking lot. This is a step. A huge step. It’s nothing. Just casual dinner. People eat.
I hold the door open for her. “Where do you want to go?”
“I’m dying for some raw, dead fish. There’s a new Japanese place near the park.”
I start the car, eyes fixed straight ahead, but I’m hyperaware of Flora in the passenger seat. Her perfume gnaws at me, and being crammed inside my car with her feels claustrophobic. My mind goes blank.
Luckily Flora is chatty enough for both of us. “How’s Lindsey adjusting to high school?”
“Pretty good, I guess. She doesn’t tell me anything, but she’s been giddy lately.”
She nods. “That’s because she has a boyfriend.”
“Already?” It’s been two weeks since school started.
“Yeah, his name is Beckett. He’s in her English class. Lindsey’s declared that she’ll marry him the second high school ends.”
“Right.”
“She’s got it bad. It’s a recipe for disaster, if you ask me. When you pour your heart out to a guy this easily, nothing good comes out of it. As Madison would say, let the guy do some work. Make him sweat a little, or he’ll never cherish you.”
“I hope you don’t believe that.”
“In theory. But I have trouble applying it. When I like someone, I can’t shut up about it.”
Her eyes linger on my face, and something in her voice still gets to me.
I need to remember why we broke up. But it’s hard to remember anything when she looks at me like that.
Then the thought of her cheating on me lands hard, like a stone dropped into still water.
I change the subject. “Thanks for looking out for Lindsey. She’s lucky to have you as a friend. ”
“No need to thank me. I’ve always wanted a little sister to spoil, and in a way, she reminds me of myself. I was clueless when I first started high school, too, and I had my fair share of boyfriends who didn’t appreciate me.” She glances at me again as I pull up in front of the restaurant.
Once seated, I let her order for both of us.
She’s meticulous about dining etiquette, acting like she grew up in Tokyo just because she can say arigato to the server, who greets us with “Irasshaimase !” She asks for recommendations and then orders something completely different, but still thanks the server every time she comes to the table.
She watches as I pick up my chopsticks. “They should revoke your right to eat Asian food.”
“Enlighten me, then.”
She demonstrates how to pick up a slice of marinated radish, her hands shaking. The radish wobbles, then drops back onto her plate.
“Yeah, not sure I want to learn from you.”
“Put your index finger here.” She reaches across the table, taking my hand to adjust my grip. Her touch is cool, but my pulse spikes.
I withdraw my hand as subtly as I can. “I can teach myself.”
“Let’s see how that works out.” She leans back. I practice, balancing the food, while Flora lounges in her chair, gloating. When she reaches for another radish slice, I move faster and snatch it right off the plate with my chopsticks before she can.
She stares at me with her eyes widened.
“You don’t have to be so arrogant, Flora. It’s not rocket science. It’s not even hard.”
She shakes her head, biting back a smile. “You have terrible table manners, Sean.”
I finish my dinner while Flora fills my cup with green tea and the space between us with her nonstop chatter. By the time we leave, it’s dark outside. We stayed too long. I enjoyed her company a little too much.
What is this, poking at a bruise to make sure it still hurts?
I shouldn’t do this again. Next time she suggests dinner, I’ll head straight to a McDonald’s drive-through and toss her a Big Mac.
“Can I close my eyes for a bit?” Flora asks as we settle in my car. “I’m exhausted. I’ll get my car tomorrow.”
“No problem. I’ll wake you up when we get to your place.”
“Thanks. How do I lean the seat back?”
“There’s a handle to your right.”
She fumbles around and turns to me. “I can’t do it.”
“It’s the same as every car.”
“No, yours is stuck. Can you help?”
Her face is innocent, but I have a truckload of dirty thoughts. Adjusting the seat means reaching over and touching her. As I lean in to work the adjuster, we’re so close I can almost feel the warmth of her breath.
Flora is a Siren in Odysseus’s tale, and I have the self-control of a sailor with no wax in his ears.
“Better?” I ask, my voice coming out rough.
She hums, eyes already closed. “Much better. Thanks.”
I turn the music down and drive in silence. When we stop at a red light, I grab my jacket from the back seat and drape it over her.
She doesn’t stir. She’s so at ease beside me.
When I pull up to her building, she’s still sleeping.
I indulge myself in gazing at her for a few seconds more, memorizing the way she breathes, the way her lashes rest against her cheek.
I’ll never have the chance again. She’s still the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, even though she broke my heart.
“I had fun tonight,” Flora murmurs, still not opening her eyes.
I tear my gaze away. “We’re here.”
She stretches, arms overhead, then straightens up and hands my jacket back. “Thanks. You’re very sweet.”
“No problem.”
“Well, see you tomorrow.”
Our eyes lock. My heart rate picks up again. Then, before opening the door, she leans over and gives my shoulder a squeeze.
It’s with the right amount of strength, playful enough to keep me guessing. She gets out of the car and heads up the stairs to her door.