Sommerstall Academy

I need to get a grip on it or I’ll scare Florence off. Seriously, when she asked why I’d like to hear her recite Hermione’s lines, I nearly told her it was because they’re both pretty, smart girls. How horribly basic would that have sounded?

Furthermore, my hand is still resting on the soft, flower-patterned fabric of the girl’s pants. It’s an innocent touch based on good intentions but now I’m painfully aware of it. Does her skin tingle like mine does or am I just losing my mind? At least she seems less fidgety now that she’s talking to the TV.

It’s quite impressive to watch. Florence knows nearly every word spoken by every character. I wonder how many times she’s watched the movies.

Probably too many because there’s only so much you can do to occupy yourself when you’re home alone as much as she is. If her parents leave for several days each month, Florence would be home alone almost every other week. The thought shouldn’t bother me as much as it does.

My life’s pretty much the opposite. With two adults and four children barely an hour goes by where I’m awake and alone. It can be a bit much but I’d rather be surrounded by people that love me too much instead of too little. I get the feeling Florence is more used to the latter.

As the movie plays on, I play around with the idea of taking the girl beside me to my place some time. I know my family would love her. Who wouldn’t? Even without having spoken to her much, I noticed how nice she is to everyone around her. She seems so genuine and precious at times it makes me want to wrap her up in bubble wrap to make sure nothing can ever hurt her.

I sound like a crazy person, having thoughts like that about a girl I barely know. Something about her just evokes a protectiveness I don’t feel towards anyone else. Besides, I feel like I kind of do know her.

Perhaps she’s easy to read to everyone or I simply watch her too much. Truth is, the small glances we exchange at school each day are kind of the reason I look forward to school.

I groan inwardly. I sound so crazy to myself that the thought of ever letting anyone know my thoughts makes me want to rip out my tongue as insurance.

‘Elija?’ Florence’s voice breaks me out of my thoughts. I look at her just as she turns a bit more my way, making my hand move further to the inside of her lower thigh. Not wanting to make her uncomfortable and seeing her red cheeks I pull my hand away.

Her reaction to such a simple contact makes me wonder if anyone has ever touched her in a more-than-friendly way. The thought doesn’t sit right with me, even though I’m not entitled to feel that way. More than that, it makes me want to keep touching her. I love seeing her blush and smile because of me.

‘Did you hear what I said?’ she asks so damn softly my chest squeezes a little tighter. She is so close right now and it’s all I can do not to pull her into a hug.

Most mornings I see Benji embrace her and it’s so tempting to follow his example. I’d do it properly though, unlike my friend.

I wonder how her body would fit against mine. If she’d smell of scented candles like her room.

I think the fumes are getting to my head.

Realizing Florence is still looking at me expectantly I pull myself together. ‘No, sorry. I zoned out there for a bit.’ I can see her smile growing a little less sincere and mentally kick myself. Not sure what’s going through her head but causing it makes me feel like shit.

‘I asked what bus you want to take,’ she repeats patiently. Right, I was supposed to hang around here until my next bus arrived. Here I am, overstaying my welcome by suggesting we watch a two-and-a-half-hour movie. I’m an idiot for forgetting this wasn’t a date but probably just Florence being too nice to kick me out.

‘Right, sorry.’ I laugh and check the time. ‘The next one leaves in twenty minutes. I should be able to make it if I leave soon,’ I tell her even though leaving sounds less than tempting.

‘I could give you a ride to the bus stop,’ she offers but I shake my head. She doesn’t mean that, she’s just too nice for her own good.

‘I really appreciate it but you’ve already done enough. It’s a short walk.’

–

A slightly awkward goodbye and fifty minutes later I enter my home. The first thing I’m greeted by is the familiar scent of my stepfather’s cooking. Judging by the time, he’s making lasagna. Hell yeah.

The next thing I know, two little demons try to tackle me. I laugh and ruffle their hair as they bombard me with questions about where I’ve been.

‘Dad said you didn’t call,’ May complains.

‘Were you with Ricky?’ Daniel asks hopefully.

‘No, little dude. I told you I’m not seeing her anymore.’ His smile falls a bit, making it hard for me to keep my anger toward that girl at bay. I used to hang out with her and eventually made the mistake of introducing her to my family. The twins got attached so I didn’t have the heart to tell them what went down between us but it’s for sure that she won’t ever come over again.

‘Glad to see you’re not dead in a bush,’ my stepfather says as he walks out of the kitchen. He’s a big guy but the warm smile on his face makes it impossible for him to seem intimidating. He finishes the distance between us and pulls me into a hug by the back of my neck as if we hadn’t seen each other this morning.

‘I missed my bus so a friend offered me to stay with her. We watched a movie, I’m sorry I didn’t call.’ There’s no need to lie to my father. He can read me like a book either way.

‘Anyone I should know of?’ he asks with slightly narrowed eyes. He and my older brother are the only ones I told the full story of what Ricky did and ever since he’s been more protective of me.

‘She’s a friend, dad. I barely know her,’ I tell him.
I call him dad because he’s been around ever since I’ve been really young and let’s be honest, he’s more of a father than my biological has ever been.
Somehow, reducing her to that feels wrong but I couldn’t tell my dad anything else. Not yet and definitely not surrounded by two curious little kids who will demand answers I do not have.

Seeming to follow my train of thoughts, my dad nods in a we’ll-talk-later way before heading back to the kitchen.