Thorn • Scott Summers

twenty two

"Florence, you're gonna kill that pencil."

"What?" Florence said, looking down at her grip. Her knuckles were white, fingers tightly held around the yellow pencil. "Oh."

Warren snickered, his wings fluttering with the motion of his chest. "Always so serious," he said, unaware that Florence's harsh attitude was directed towards the straight haired, narrow nosed girl across from her. Ida Tarasov, the eldest of the Russian family. Ida was staring at Florence, a cynical smile plastered on her face.

"Alright class, settle down, settle down." Charles said, and the voices quieted down. Florence averted her eyes from the pale girl across from her, looking at the Professor instead.

"Today, we are starting our French unit. In this one, we'll focus more on specific poets than writing style, and I think some of you will be very pleased with our first study." He had turned to Florence at the last part, smiling slightly at her. "We are starting today with a French poet, who wrote at a very young age. He was considered, in his time, a terrible writer, but later was renowned one of the best of his time."

"Arthur-" Ida started.

"-Rimbaud." Florence finished.

The two girls stared at each other, and Charles noticed the tension Florence held. "Yes, you're both right. Arthur Rimbaud was a peripatetic french poet, who wrote mostly melancholic and nostalgic pieces."

Florence turned to a new page in her notebook, and began to write down Charles's words, despite the fact that she already knew most of what he was saying.

After a while in the class successfully ignored Ida, paying attention to the Professor only. That was, until Warren leaned into her, whispering. "Westling, why is the goody two shoes staring at you?"

She looked up with her eyes only and saw Ida staring. Florence narrowed her eyes, feeling her anger bubbling up inside her. She felt the surge of energy at her fingertips, but she suppressed it. "Beats me."

She managed to go through the rest of the class without at an outburst, but Warren and a couple of other kids noticed her sour mood. The other kids quickly left the area when the class was over. Warren spoke up, concerned.

"What is it, dexter?"

"The Russian girl. Something is wrong with her and her whole family."

"Geez," Warren said, humorously surprised at her sudden harshness. "Why do you think that?"

"I don't know, but I feel it. Scott does too."

"If you said the earth was flat, Scott would agree and write an essay on why you're right."

She glared at him, trying not to smile at his words. She looked down. "That's not true, and that's not the point. Don't you think they're a little weird, though? I mean, they just seem like they're hiding something."

He sighed, taking in her words.

"I hope you're wrong about them, Florence."

She didn't say anything, but she hoped she was wrong, too.

-

Florence was at Scott's table in their botany class. The boy next to him had managed to kill his plant in two days. Florence put her hand over it, feeling the soil and roots.

"Jonas, what did you do?"

"I just watered it like you guys said."

"Yeah, you're supposed to water it a little. Like, drops, Jonas. The soil is soaked."