Thorn • Scott Summers

nineteen

Florence went to bed early that night; almost right after she had fought with Scott. She couldn't believe he thought that about Warren and most significantly, what he had said to her.
It all made sense. She fell into a spiral of self doubt and loathing. Of course. How could anyone like her with her anger issues? After everything she'd caused in the school, how could Scott tolerate her?

She was flooded with thoughts full of sorrow and hurt, and Jean heard them all. It got too much for her, and she made her way to Scott's room. She knocked and opened the door right away, not waiting for a response. She saw Scott sitting on his bed, his hands rubbing his eyes. He perked up, eyes shut completely.

"Who is it?"

"It's me," Jean said, and Scott immediately recognized her voice. He patted his bed next to him, searching for his glasses. He put them back on, looking up at her in his doorway.

"What?"

"What was all that yelling?"

"Jean, don't act like you don't know what it's about."

Jean grew annoyed at his angry tone. "Fine." She said. "I'm just trying to help."

"With what?"

She exhaled. "Goodnight, Scott."
With that, she slammed the door and went back to her room.

Scott fell back on his bed, wallowing in regret and sadness. He couldn't believe what had come out of his mouth. He had no idea why he said what he said, but he knew it was no easy fix.

As he usually did before he met Florence, he decided to ignore and avoid his emotions and problems. He went to bed that night hoping he'd wake up in Florence's room, the whole situation having been a dream.

*

Florence sat on her usual bench next to Hank's table, avoiding looking at the stool where Scott usually sat. She hadn't seen him walk in, but she hadn't looked at the seat at all.

Hank was taking attendance next to her, whispering all of the names from his sheet to himself as he checked everyone off. He would look up, eyes darting to the spot where the person sat, then go back to the paper. He got a little more than halfway, his eyes on the paper going up to the spot she was visually avoiding.

"Summers," he mumbled to himself, standing straighter when he looked up. "Huh, no Scott?" He turned to Florence, raising an eyebrow in question.

"I don't know," she mumbled, not meeting his eyes. Hank was confused, noticing her tension.

"Maybe he's just late," he said, earning no answer or reaction from her. He was confusing, but went on with the list.

Scott never showed up to the class.

Florence sat quietly the whole time, angry and sad all at once, Hank eventually figuring out what had happened. He said nothing, not wanting to push it.

Florence stayed in the greenhouse after class ended, after Hank left as well. She stayed there for as long as she could. Of course, she had her other classes. When it was time for her poetry class, she trudged outside, meeting Charles and the other students. Warren arrived, sitting on the grass next to her.

"Florence, what happened last night?"

She didn't answer at first, but then she spoke up, looking at the ground.
"Scott thinks you like me."

When he didn't say anything, she looked at him, questioning.

"I..." He sighed. "I already knew. I could tell."

"What?"

"It's pretty obvious when a guy is jealous. Especially the way he gets. I figured he'd realize I wasn't at the 7-11 because of you. Guess not."