Thorn • Scott Summers

twenty five

"Florence, I'm pretty sure there's never been an anger management class here. They probably just asked De Luca to do it this one time," Scott said, as they wandered closer to the classroom.

Florence sighed, not wanting to go inside. She had never enjoyed new experiences, and this one was even less anticipated. "You're right, I guess."

"Of course I am," he said jokingly, a cocky grin growing on his face. She rolled her eyes but couldn't help but smile with him. She checked her watch and looked back up at him. "I gotta go," she said, and he grabbed her hand, squeezing it lightly and pulling her in for a quick kiss.

"I'll see you in an hour, hippie."

She shoved him away into the hallway and he laughed. Pulling the strap of her bag higher up on her shoulder, she twisted the doorknob, flinging the door open.

She scanned the room for the teacher, but was met with two other faces. Her eyes widened, and they stared back at her.

She looked at the front of the class at the green chalkboard, the words ANGER MANAGEMENT written in white letters. Looking back at the other two students, one boy and one girl.

"You lost, beatnik?"

"Excuse me?" Florence said, looking at the boy who spoke, her eyebrows furrowed.

"You're in my poetry class. Always talking about Kerouac with that winged guy."

She paused, looking at him and racking her brain to try to remember ever seeing him. Then again, most of the kids in her poetry class were there because they thought it'd be easy. Not a lot of them were actually interested in the subject. When she couldn't put a name to his face, she spoke again.

"Who the fuck are you?"

He laughed, and the girl next to him snickered.

"John. And your name?"

Florence took a seat a couple of spots in front of him. Before she could answer, the other girl beat her to it.

"You don't know who she is?" She said, her voice monotone like Florence's, and she narrowed her eyes, looking straight ahead. She imagined John shrugged.

"Florence," The green haired girl introduced herself.

"So, who are you?"

Florence turned around at John's voice. "I just told you."

"Well, Warhead made it sound like there's more to it."

"Is there?" Florence said rhetorically, not enjoying the topic of conversation. She looked at the other girl, noticing her buzzcut and black lipstick.

"Ok, well, that's cryptic. What's your mutation?"

Florence sighed. "I control plants."

"A hippie in anger management?"

"You'd be surprised what she can do," The girl said.

"Well, I control fire. So we're kind of the same." John said, and Florence tilted her head in silent disagreement.

Florence turned around, her glare burning into him.
"Geez, no wonder you're in here." He said unaffected.

She turned to the girl. "What's your name?"

She chewed on gum, her expression matching Florence's. "Ellie. I blow shit up."

Florence raised her eyebrows in acknowledgement, turning back around. The three were silent for a while- it must've been at least twenty minutes. Florence rested an arm on the desk, and she leaned on her hand. She faced the open window, feeling the rush of wind flitting the grass to the right. Absentmindedly, she began growing a stalk of stems, up to the top border of the window. There was a big red EXIT sign, and she grew flowers around it.