The Flynn Effect

34 | glossophobia

Jo

"JUST FOR YOU." My favorite cook, Martha, says once she hands me the tray of food and I smile at her before turning around and heading towards my usual table.

Carter's eyes dart between his tray and mine and beside me, he asks in the most clueless tone ever, "What does that mean?"

"It means she gives me diabetic-friendly food for lunch."

His brow arches. "You're diabetic?"

I nod. "I am." And then I drag a seat backwards with my hand before placing my tray on the table and taking a seat. "Flynn didn't tell you that?"

He shakes his head and immediately he sits, he starts devouring his burger. "No. Sorry about that. I thought that was for old people."

I roll my eyes. If I got a penny for the number of people who tell me this, I'd have a fortune by now. "No, it's not. Anyone can have diabetes. Even little kids."

"Huh?" He hums thoughtfully. He grimaces and pulls out a pickle from his mouth like Flynn did at Rosie's the other day. So, they both don't like pickles. Now that I think about it, it seems like a long time ago even though it was only about a month and a few weeks ago.

"So you don't get to eat sugar and all of that?"

"I can," I reply and sip slowly from my coke. "Just not as much as you can."

"Makes sense." He says mouthful and then he grins. He doesn't look like the typical football player. He's far too friendly and smiles a lot. He smiles more than Flynn does.

"Anyway," I start, cutting straight to the chase. I try to sound like a very concerned girlfriend. "I feel like he hides things from me, y'know? Sometimes, he's not straightforward with me and I don't know how long this will work if we're not open with each other."

Carter scratches his head. "I can only tell you what I can tell you. Anything else would be his story to tell, not mine."

"But you're his best friend." I whine.

He nods. "The more reason I have to keep his secrets a secret unless he's ready to tell you himself."

I resist the urge to groan even if I understand where he's coming from. I nod and swirl a chip in my ketchup.

"Alright then." He says. "You get three questions. What do you want to know?"

"For starters, is Flynn dyslexic? I mean he's not too bad in writing but you can never be so sure."

He chuckles. "What made you assume that?"

"I don't know if you were there, but on Monday, he pretty much freaked out when Miss Anderson told him to read out loud."

He shakes his head from side to side. "He's not. He's just scared."

"Of what?"

"Glossophobia. I think that's what it's called."

"Fear of public speaking?"

"Yes. That's it." He nods confidently.