The End

Chapter 16

            As I sat in my car at the curb, I regretted my outburst. It wasn’t Duke’s fault, and I unjustly unloaded my anger on him.

            The second I entered my house, I pulled out my phone, dialing him.

            “Hello?” he asked, his voice shaking.

            “Duke, I-I’m sorry,” I apologized, tears slipping down my cheeks.

            “Florence?” He sounded surprised. “I should be the one apologizing. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you, and that I said what I did. I’m an asshole,” he admitted.

            The noise that left my throat was caught between a giggle and a sob. On the other end of the line, Duke sniffled, his voice uneven, breaking, upset.

            “Does this mean you’re not angry with me?” he asked tentatively.

            “I’m not mad,” I responded, “just very confused.”

            “It’s okay, I am, too.”

            “I just-I don’t understand. Why? Why did he do that?”

            “Florence, if I could answer that, I would—but I can’t. The only person that knows is Stephens. Somewhere in his twisted brain, he has a reason for this—he has a reason for everything he’s done.”

            He has a reason for everything he’s done. Disobedience, anger, need for control—that was all brought on by myself, but why before that? Why had he meddled in the Reynolds family? Why did he create me, only to despise me? The questions played in my head like a broken record. Was there an answer? At what point did an action move from punishment for wrongdoing, to punishment for existing? Though some of the world’s mysteries may be unanswerable, one thing is certain. Dr. Karl Stephens is a wicked man.

            “When will you be back to school?”

            “Monday,” Duke sighed dramatically. “I can’t play soccer until then.”

            “Yeah, because that is much more important than you health,” I said sarcastically.

            “It is when you have a scholarship headed your way,” he laughed. “Hey, will you pick up my homework for the rest of the week and bring it over tomorrow? We still need to finish that government project,” he reminded me.

            “Sure. See you then.”

            “Goodbye, Florence.”

            “Goodbye, Duke.”

                                    *                                    *                                    *

            Sitting under the tree at lunch, a familiar blond head strutted toward me.

            “Why hello there, Florence. Long time no see,” he smirked arrogantly.

            “Hello. It’s Grant, isn’t it?”

            “Of course,” he crooned. “So where is your little boyfriend?”

            “He’s sick.”

            “He’s always sick when we need him.”

            “What?”

            Grant sighed dejectedly. “Last night we lost, four to one. He’s top scorer for Seneca, and he wasn’t there.”

            “He’s sick,” I repeated, trying to ease the bitter attitude he held toward me.

            “I have no doubt about that, but it still makes me mad,” he confessed.

Carefully, he sat on the grass next to me. His fingers moved swiftly as he tugged the legs of his khaki shorts down his thighs. The light gray t-shirt he wore made the blue of Grant’s eyes more pronounced, his tanned skin and golden hair making the boy a spectacle. I honestly wasn’t surprised to find several pairs of female eyes glued to us from varying seats in the courtyard. Girls shot me dirty looks as I slowly inched away from him.

“He’s waited for you forever, you know,” he said.

“What?”

“Duke. Since, like, the eighth grade, we had been hassling Duke to get a girlfriend, but he always said he was waiting for someone. We all started to think he was gay for a little while, but he just insisted that his princess was out there, and he had to wait a while before he could have her,” he smiled. “On Friday, he said you were his princess, and I couldn’t help but remember that. The way he looked at you, Florence, he really cares.”

I stammered incoherently, trying to form some thought, any thought, that would allow me to respond. Grant just grinned, his lips crooked, his white teeth flashing as he shook the hair from his eyes.

“You seem surprised.”

“I just-I thought-he-“

He laughed heartily. “Leave it to Reynolds. He finally gets the girl, and he doesn’t tell her how he feels.”

“I’m sorry about Friday,” he mumbled unexpectedly. “I was a jerk. I overstepped my boundaries, and I’m sorry.”

His cheeks flamed; I couldn’t help but mentally agree with him.

“It’s okay, you’re only human,” I said, trying to be polite. He laughed again.

“What?” I asked, his laughter puzzling me.

“It’s just—you said that like you’re not human,” he explained, smirking.

My cheeks reddened. Instantly, I thought for a way out, survival instincts taking full effect. I laughed half-heartedly, mumbling about his sense of humor. Quickly hurling him a hurried goodbye, I stood before he could follow me, claiming I needed to speak with a teacher. As I rushed away, Grant called a strangled goodbye.

He had no idea—none of them do.