Chapter Thirty
Sean
As my Flora-themed life unfolds, she remains at the center, and I fit everything else around her.
I understand her better now than I did in junior year.
After we got back together, her parents were gone for a week.
I’ve taken my dad’s home-cooked meals, my mom’s warm encouragement, and Lindsey’s whining for granted.
Flora’s life, in contrast, is one black hole after school and cheerleading practice.
She needs an exit for her excessive energy.
It’s my responsibility to become that outlet. I start taking her home, and she brings us wine from her parents’ collection. Sometimes she gives my mom flowers. After dinner, she offers to clean up, though all she really does is sit on the counter, dangle her toned legs, and flirt with me.
Some nights, we retreat to my room and try to stay quiet.
Other times, I drive her back to her place, where we can really “blow off steam.” The routine is all I could ask for.
I nurture the dark circles under my eyes, which Flora finds sexy.
She says they make my eyes bluer. Homework begins only after she sleeps, while espresso becomes my life-support system.
We wear each other down like a meteor tearing through the atmosphere.
The real wake-up call comes one night when I accompany Flora to a Lanvin runway show.
Her mom is one of the VIP invitees, and Flora gladly takes her place.
The show runs longer than expected, and by the time we get back to her house, it’s late.
We make out for a while—no matter how exhausted I am, the adrenaline rush keeps me going—then she curls up under the covers, barefaced, and I sit at the edge of her bed, holding her hand.
My brain is running on fumes, grasping at some vague thought in the back of my mind. Something I was supposed to do.
“You’re so wonderful to me.”
The way she says it, soft and unguarded, is enough to override every rational instinct. The feeling of being needed is overpowering.
“Good night, button.”
The next thing I know, I’m jolted awake by the cold. It’s 3 a.m., my phone is dead, and every muscle in my body aches. The next morning, I oversleep and barely have time to shower, let alone eat breakfast. When I sit down in AP Chemistry, it hits me.
The thing I forgot to do.
Mr. Miles asks us to hand in our assignment after class. My answer sheet is blank. This can’t happen to me. I don’t forget my homework. I always check it three times.
Am I going to get detention? Detention is as foreign a concept to me as Lanvin once was.
When Mr. Miles turns to scrawl formulas across the blackboard, I force myself to focus. Chemistry is one of my stronger subjects, but today, the words dissolve before my eyes like salt in an undersaturated solution. Too tired to think, I curse under my breath.
Carmen slides her homework onto my desk. It takes me a second to register it.
“My answers are correct,” she whispers.
I nod. “Thanks.”
My back burns with remorse, but there’s no time for that now.
There’s plenty of time for that two days later, when I get my German pop quiz back.
German pronunciation is a struggle, but written tests are usually a breeze, so when I see the red numbers slashed across the paper, my first instinct is that this isn’t mine.
Sixty-eight.
Sixty-eight.
I don’t remember ever getting a mark below ninety. My eyes dart around the room, scanning for reference points. Maybe the test was harder than usual. Maybe everyone failed.
The first mark that meets my eyes is a whopping ninety-four.
I shuffle to my next class like Hester Prynne from The Scarlet Letter, a giant embroidered 68 scalding the front of my button-down shirt.
Flora is less than sympathetic.
“Wow, what a story to tell the grandkids, right?” she says on the way to cheerleading practice.
“Flora.” I try keeping the irritation out of my voice.
“It’s fine. It’s one test, and German isn’t that useful anyway. Everybody in Germany speaks English, including Einstein.” She tousles my hair.
“My grades are slipping. I’m not as smart as you think. I’ve always had to work for it. This shows I have to put in more effort.”
“One pop quiz isn’t going to tank your GPA.”
“It’s not the test per se. It’s a warning sign. I forgot to do my chemistry homework too.”
“Didn’t Carmen save you in time?” We reach the football field, and she’s losing interest. “I have to go to practice now. Blame me later.”
“Baby, I’m not blaming you, but we need to make some changes. Let’s talk after practice, okay?” I’m so drained I don’t even have the energy to explain.
Her lips are set in a thin line. “Sure.”
“Can you go to practice now and get mad at me later?”
“Getting mad at you won’t interfere with my practice. I’m a pro at multitasking.”
We stare at each other for a second before breaking into smiles at the same time.
“You’re so hot in your cheerleading uniform, no one can argue with you and win.” That sounds like something Flora would say. Well, two can master this art.
She gives me a proper smile, one that washes away my worries like waves erasing drawings in the sand. “I’m sorry about your test. Call me later?”
With a small wave, she jogs over to join Madison.