Fools

Bonding

“An enigma?” Florence muses as the corner of her lip curves up into a smile. I nod honestly. “I think that’s the nicest insult I’ve ever gotten.”

“It wasn’t an insult. It was definitely a compliment.” I say instantly clamping my mouth shut.

“How so? Calling me an enigma is pretty much calling me weird and unknown.”

“Now I don’t think that’s an insult.” I defend my opinion. “You’re different; you’re not like all the girls at our school. As far as I can tell you don’t dumb yourself down, which is always a positive.” She nods in agreement.

“I guess.” She shrugs and turns back to her computer and finishes her post. She closes her laptop and turns in her chair to face me.

“I’m Florence Lémieux.” She sticks her hand out to shake mine.

“I’m Trey Aquila.” I put my hand out to shake hers.

“I like painting, reading, writing, and music of any genre.” She says.

“I like to read, write music, and sing.” I smile at the stupidity of this, but in all honesty it’s not.

“What do you like to read?” And for an hour after that I hang out with Florence just talking and comparing the things we read, our writing, and the music we listen to.

“No way I love The Cab!” Florence exclaimed from her chair as I sit on her bed.

“Favorite song?”

“Temporary Bliss.” I said automatically.

“How come? That’s not a very happy song.” She pointed out. I knew it wasn’t.

“It’s just relatable.” I say simply not wanting to release all my pent up emotions and revelations about my relationship with Grace on her.

“Is that how your relationship with Grace is?” She asked. To the point aren’t we? I nod begrudgingly.

“Yeah it is.”

“Who are you?”

“The idiot.” She nods.

“We’ve all been there. Sucks to be the fool.”

“Always. I’m nothing to her anymore. She didn’t always used to be such a monumental bitch.” Florence nods not completely convinced.

“I know she wasn’t. We were acquaintances in middle school.”

“Acquaintances? Odd wording.”

“I’ve never really had a friend that I lived near. Most of my friends live back home.”

“You’ve lived here most of your life. If this isn’t home then where is?”

“Nice, France.” She says looking out her window. “Your room is a mess. I thought guys were only like that in the movies.”

“In France? That’s where you’re from? And yeah it is, I don’t clean.”

“You think the last name Lémieux would have given that away and the fact my grandfather only speaks French and that I speak fluently.” Her voice is way past mordant, but I smile.

“Shut up.” I throw her pillow at her. It thunks her on the head and I laugh. She throws it back, nailing me in the face.

“Jerk.” Florence says as I prop the pillow behind my head.

“You’re late on that fact. So your friends are back in France? Family?”

“My dad is still there along with the rest of my family. Then my friends are too.” She untucks her leg from beneath her and gets up. Florence walks over to her shelf and pulls down a photo album. She sits down beside me and I sit up properly so I can see. “That’s my dad.” She points to a picture of a man with a little red headed child in his arms, Florence.