“Are you my friend again?” I asked, folding the wrapping paper into a square and putting it in my pocket.
“No,” Ellie said and I didn’t understand. She just gave me a present. Friends give each other presents. She gave me a notebook. It was smooth and I liked to rub it with my finger.
“We’re not friends, Flynn. I’m sorry about the way I treat you. I’m sorry for being mean. But I’m not going to hang out with you anymore. I won’t walk you home. And you can’t talk to me in school.”
Her words made my stomach hurt.
“You gave me a present,” I said, holding the notebook out for her to see.
Ellie frowned. Was she mad?
“I got it for you; I wanted you to have it. That’s it, Flynn,” she said.
“That’s it,” I said. Ellie put her hands over her face. Why was she doing that?
What was wrong with her?
“We’re not friends, Flynn!” she yelled at me. I covered my ears. She was being really loud. Why was she being so loud?
“Stop it!” I yelled back.
“I’m sorry,” Ellie said. Her face was wet. She was crying. Mom had told me that meant someone was sad.
“Why are you sad?” I asked her, pointing to her wet face.
“I’m not sad! Don’t be a retard!”
That made me angry.
“I’m not retarded!”
Ellie wiped her face. It was still wet.
“Go home, Flynn. And don’t talk to me ever again,” Ellie said.
I threw my birthday present in the stream and ran all the way home. I didn’t even look at the minutes on my watch.
-Ellie-
I went to find Flynn after our run in with Dania. I had been rattled to say the least. I found him at home, playing with Murphy in the yard.
He wouldn’t talk to me at first.
I apologized over and over again, not even sure he was hearing me.
“You made up that name? Freaky Flynn?” he asked me finally after I had been near tears.
“Yes,” I admitted. It was the one thing I could come clean about.
“I hate that name. It makes me really mad. And you made it up. You told them to call me that.” Flynn threw the ball for Murphy, who was oblivious to the tension between the two humans in his life.
“I know you do, Flynn. I’m so sorry.”
“That’s a mean name. You’re a mean person,” he said flatly. Unemotionally. No feeling whatsoever. He was telling me the absolute and total truth.
“Yes, I am,” I agreed, my chest feeling painfully tight.
“My name isn’t Freaky Flynn. It’s just Flynn. Flynn Hendrick. I live at 16 Hollow Point Road, Wellsburg, West Virginia 22098. I’m five foot eleven and weigh one hundred and seventy-four pounds. I am not Freaky Flynn!” His voice rose the more upset he became.
