“Dude, my eyes are up here,” I snapped, annoyed at the way I flushed under his gaze. Most guys would have had the decency to look embarrassed at being caught ogling. As I said many times, Flynn wasn’t most guys.

“Why did it suck?” he asked me again.

I shrugged. “Just the same ole’ same ole’, you know?” I said, not wanting to get into all the reasons I had left. Like it even mattered. I knew for a fact that it was most likely my friends hadn’t even noticed that I left.

“I don’t know. I don’t go to parties,” he responded.

I wasn’t entirely surprised by his confession. Flynn had always avoided social situations. When we were fifteen I thought he was ridiculous because he never went out. I had been in the midst of my own raging social life that involved delinquency and foolish decisions. But that was before I realized how hard it was for Flynn to be around other people. He struggled with daily interactions in a way the rest of us took for granted. And why would he choose to hang out with people who never once made him feel like he belonged?

Myself included.

“That’s not true. We went to a party once,” I said, before I could censor myself. My mouth fused shut and I wished I could take back my words. The last thing I wanted was to connect with him over that particular shared memory.

Especially one that was so horrible.

From the look on Flynn’s face I knew he was remembering that night all those years ago with perfect clarity. But unlike me, he wasn’t one to hold back what was on his mind.

“Your friends put my head in the cooler and then made me leave,” he stated flatly. I winced. Even though I had convinced myself I had gotten over my Flynn laced guilt, I still felt it rearing its shameful head.

I had taken him with me to a party at Stu’s, whose parents were out of town. Stu lived in a trailer park by the river and the drinking was primarily happening in his fenced in back yard.

It was in a less savory side of town so the typical collection of high school dropouts, stoners and preppy kids trying to seem hard-core were there. I knew better than to take Flynn there. He had been adamant that he didn’t want to go.

He had been anxious yet I had pushed him even knowing what kind of reception he would be given. I don’t know why I had done that; what I had hoped to prove by dragging him there. I had known that my friends would gang up on him. So why hadn’t I listened when he had pleaded to stay at his house and watch television?

Because I had always been selfish. I had always had a hard time thinking of anyone but myself. I had wanted to go. And that was the end of it.

I had been working overtime to keep my friendship with Flynn a secret so I must have been experiencing some temporary insanity when I had made the suggestion.

So we had gone to Stu’s party. And it had been a disaster. And I had done nothing to stop Flynn’s humiliation.

I hadn’t stopped my friends as they tormented him. I had actually joined in as everyone started changing “Freaky Flynn” over and over again. Flynn had gotten violently angry, turning over a table and kicking over lawn chairs. He had clawed at their hands as they lifted him up and dunked him in the ice-cold beer cooler headfirst. I had forced myself to laugh through all of it, encouraging Shane and Dania as they tossed him out the back gate and locked it behind him.

And I silently hated myself the whole time.

I had remained at the party like a coward instead of going after him to make sure he was all right. I had been thanked by everyone for bringing the night’s entertainment and then I proceeded to get wasted.

I had buried my guilt under a deep layer of alcohol and drugs.

And Flynn had forgiven me, even when I couldn’t apologize. He always did. I wasn’t sure who was the bigger idiot. Flynn for accepting an apology I could never verbalize or me for not being brave enough to say it.

“I waited out here all night for you to come by after I left that party. But you never came,” Flynn went on. His words were matter of fact. Not an accusation, just the simple truth. I could picture the Flynn Hendrick of years ago, huddled up on the bench, shivering in his wet clothes.

“What’s the point in talking about shit that’s already happened, Flynn? What’s done is done,” I said harshly, my voice rough with emotions I was trying like hell to put a lid on.

Flynn didn’t say anything at my outburst. He continued to look at the ground, refusing to meet my eyes. And perhaps that was for the best. Because the sight of the piercing green would undo me.

“I’d better go.” It was long past time for me to leave. I had pushed beyond the reasonable limits for this less than pleasant walk down memory lane.

“Okay,” Flynn said. Though a part of me wished he would stop me. But he had never asked me to stick around. Not even when we were friends a lifetime ago. He had always let me leave.

I realized I was more than a little resentful about that.

Because just once I’d like someone to ask me to stay. I needed to feel wanted. And the one person who had ever made me feel like that was incapable of verbalizing it when I needed so desperately to hear it.

“I’ll see ya around,” I threw over my shoulder as I headed back across the darkened yard.

Flynn stayed quiet. And his silence pierced the thick walls around my heart.

-Flynn-

Many years ago…

I was alone.

I was always alone.

I don’t have friends.

I don’t talk to anyone.

I sit by myself at lunch. I eat my chicken salad sandwich really fast so no one can take it from me. I don’t like being hungry. And if Stu saw my lunch he’d eat it.

I hate being alone. I want people to talk to me. I want them to like me. It makes me angry when I try to say something and people ignore me. Or worse they laugh.

They call me names. Lots of names. Mean names.

A girl named Dania started calling me Freaky Flynn a few months ago and now they all call me that. They yell it when I walk down the hall.

Someone wrote it on my locker with black marker. I cried. I was so angry and everyone was laughing. They called me a pussy and someone shoved me into the wall.

The mean girl, Dania, pushed me and called me a loser. I didn’t want her touching me. I yelled at her and threw my science book at her face. There was a guy named Shane standing next to her and he threw my book in the trash and told me to go get it.

I didn’t want to. But he grabbed me and shoved me into the trashcan.

It smelled bad. I threw up. And they just kept laughing and shoving me.

Every day is the same. I hate going to school. I try to stay home but my mom makes me go. She says I can’t let them get to me. That I have to be strong. I don’t want to be strong.

I want them to stop.

The only thing I like about school is Ellie. I like seeing her. When she talks to me in class, it makes me happy.

She is still mean sometimes but she is nicer now. She asks me about my drawings and she tells me she wishes she could draw too.

I tell her I can teach her.

She laughs and says she isn’t talented enough. I like her laugh. It makes my insides feel weird.

I still get angry when she calls me Freaky Flynn. But it also makes me feel something else. Not mad, but worse. My new doctor says it is sadness. He helps me figure out the way I am feeling and how to tell what other people are feeling.

I know when Ellie is frowning, she is mad. And when she is laughing, she is happy. But the other stuff is harder to figure out. I don’t understand when she looks at me sometimes and her mouth turns down. It makes me nervous.

And I feel sad when Ellie is mean to me. When she is with her friends she is just as mean as they are.