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.

22

-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.

Murphy dropped the ball at Flynn’s feet and he kicked it across the yard.

“I know you’re not Freaky Flynn! I’m so sorry I ever made it up! I was a mean, stupid girl! I was too scared to admit how I felt about you. That’s all! But I was wrong! So wrong! I love you Flynn!” I cried out.

Crap! I hadn’t meant to say that! Not now. Not like this.

Flynn was shaking his head back and forth. He was pulling at his hair so hard I thought he’d pull out chunks. “No, I’m not Freaky Flynn!” he yelled again.

He hadn’t even registered the huge admission I had just made.

I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or disappointed.

Murphy started to whine, picking up on his owner’s state of mind.

“You’re not Freaky Flynn!” I yelled, feeling myself getting worked up as well.

“You always called me names! You always made me feel bad, Ellie! I wanted you to be my friend. I wanted you to like me!” His voice rose and he had started to cry.

I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what to say. I was afraid anything I said or did would only set him off further. I had seen him like this before of course, when we were both much younger.

But then I hadn’t cared about calming him down. I had laughed and teased and tormented. I had milked his freak out for everything it was worth.

Not now. Now I just felt helpless.

I was the worst person to talk him off whatever ledge he was hanging over. I knew these outbursts were just a part of who he was. But they scared me.

“I’m not Freaky Flynn!” he screamed over and over again. He was rubbing his hands together. Up and down his arms. He rubbed harshly and systematically over and over again.

I took a deep breath. I needed to get myself under control.

I closed my eyes while he yelled. Murphy was pacing in circles now, clearly distressed.

I slowly, so as to not upset him further, walked toward Murphy. I made a point to keep a healthy distance from Flynn, who was still rubbing his hands together. Murphy was whining and pacing by the apple tree. I leaned down and started rubbing Murphy’s head in long, even strokes. “It’s okay, boy,” I said calmly. The act of rubbing his thick, silky fur relaxed me. Even as Flynn raged behind me.

I kept rubbing the dog, keeping up a steady stream of soothing words. Murphy stopped pacing and settled on the ground, his tail wagging.

“That’s it, calm down,” I said softly. The words were just as much for me as for the dog. I realized Flynn had quieted down. I looked back and saw that he was still rubbing his hands but he wasn’t yelling anymore. He was watching me pet his dog.

“You’re a good boy,” I crooned to the dog as he nuzzled my hand.

I stayed like that for almost twenty minutes. Petting Murphy and waiting to see what Flynn would do. He continued to rub his hands the whole time.

Finally he came over and knelt down beside me, putting his hand on Murphy’s head.

I watched as Flynn visibly relaxed while he rubbed Murphy. I let out a breath that I hadn’t realized I was holding.

We were quiet for a long time; the only noise was that of Murphy’s panting and thumping tail

“Do you want to sit down?” I asked as I lowered myself onto the ground.

Flynn still didn’t answer me but he sat down beside me. We were silent again. My back was getting stiff but I wouldn’t move away from him. I wouldn’t retreat. I would be here for Flynn. Even if it was just sitting beside him while he rubbed Murphy.