Safe With Me

It’s not until nine o’clock rolls around that Florrie finally decides to get up. It takes her longer than it should, mostly because her brain is in a battle with itself – one half telling her to get up, the other working hard to convince her to stay within the warm confines of her sheets. Eventually, the logical part of her mind wins out and she reluctantly gets out of bed and heads to the bathroom for a quick shower. It doesn’t take her long to get ready and when she’s finished, it’s just about a quarter to ten. Her appointment is in less than half an hour and the doctor’s office is no less than a twenty minute drive - a forty-five minute walk. Educated with this knowledge, she knows that she should leave right away – rush to get there, actually. But it’s impossible to find an ounce of care in her bones, so she takes her sweet time, boiling a pot of coffee and pouring it into a disposable travel cup before finally slipping on some shoes and heading out the door.

She walks down Tempe’s roads with a gentle stride, taking her time and reading each sign that shows up, in no hurry to get to her destination, despite the true time crunch. In one hand she’s holding her steaming coffee cop and in the other she has the directions to the doctor’s that her aunt wrote down in her chicken scratch writing, alternating between the two every few seconds. She looks over the directions every few moments as she walks down the sidewalk in her worn out combat boots, her brown hair quickly drying up from the heat. If there was one thing she could already choose to hate about Tempe, it would be the constantly warm temperatures. It seemed like the sun was already burning this small state to sweltering temperatures by early morning and as the day wore on, it would only get exceptionally worse.

As she approached a four way intersection, Florrie paused to look at the directions, trying to decipher her aunt’s handwriting. There was no crosswalk sign so cars continued to whiz by at 40pmh, paying no mind to the small girl looking around. With a careless and annoyed shrug, Florrie stepped off the sidewalk and began walking across the busy intersection, ignoring the cars that rush to a halt and slam on their brakes, their horns screaming at her. It’s as though they don’t even exist – she doesn’t bat an eyelash at their obvious discontent with her decision. As she passes by the final lane, a small, yellow car misses her by inches, slamming on the brakes, just a pencil sized space protecting her legs from the car’s front bumper. The driver honks his horn much like the others, though it resembled a clown horn so closely Florrie couldn’t even begin to take it seriously. She flips him the bird, slowing her pace down even more, just to piss him off.

“Pedestrians have the right away,” she says snidely, shrugging her shoulders.

“Come on!” Yellow Car Guy screams out the window. Florrie just smirks and waves at him, taking small strides to the sidewalk. He steps on the gas and speeds by her as she finally gets off the road, leaving yet another handle of people disappointed with her decisions.
She continues down the street, throwing her empty coffee cup into a trash can as she passes by it. After a final look at the directions, she becomes aware that the office is just down the street and around a few corners. Once fully convinced that she is sure of where she’s heading, she folds up the wrinkled piece of paper and tucks it into the back pocket of her shorts, adjusting the sunglasses on her face as she wanders around.

It doesn’t take long before the office comes into view, a sign hanging above it reading ‘Smith and Robert’s Medical Home’ gently swaying in the light breeze that did nothing other than make it seem twice as warm. Approaching the door, Florrie halts as it swings open, the bells attached by a rivet at the top jingling obnoxiously. A tall guy with messy hair and the same black Ray Bans as Florrie stumbles out, a box in his hands and a smile on his face. Instantly, Florrie recognizes him as Yellow Car Guy and she takes a step back, keeping a straight face. He glances over at her and then double-takes back, recognition immediately crawling over his smooth face.

“Hey! It’s you!”

Florrie grunts in response, crossing her arms over her chests, waiting for him to finally walk out of the doorway so she could head in. He adjusts the box in his hands and stands up straighter, turning to her, his body practically shading her from the sun beating down above.

“You’re the girl that cut me off!”

The look on her face makes it quite clear that the guy, though searching for an explanation or apology, was not going to get one. Florrie slips past him, maneuvering her body around his tall frame, purposefully making sure no part of her body touches his. Opening the door to the doctor’s office, a cool breeze from the air conditioning hits her in the face, immediately cooling her sheened skin. Glancing over her shoulder, Florrie watches Yellow Car Guy’s retreating figure, his stride though casual, nothing but awkward and lanky. Something in her vibrates, a feeling she hasn’t felt in ages, but is all too familiar with – guilt. The apology that he was looking for balanced on her tongue, waiting to be spoken, but was stuck as though glued or stapled down – it didn’t matter now though. He was gone and the odds of her ever running into him were one in a million.

“Can I help you?”

Turning around, Florrie is faced with a blonde haired receptionist with an easy smile and expectant look. She rolls her chair over to her computer as Florrie approaches the front desk, leaning her arms onto to the cold surface.

“I have an appointment with Dr. Roberts – Florrie Lee.”

She types something into her computer, before nodding, sliding a clipboard over to Florrie. “She’ll be just a few minutes. Since this is your first time here, we just need you to fill this out.”

Florrie nods her head and grabs the clipboard and a blue pen from the cup holder next to it, turning and taking a seat in one of the green cushion chairs in the small waiting room. She takes her time, filling out the single-sided worksheet quickly. Once done, she hands it back to the receptionist, taking a seat again with a sigh. She leans back and slides down in the chair, crossing her arms and stretching out her legs. Tempted to grab a magazine from the wood table in the center of the room, Florrie stares at the glossy covers. Her laziness and lack of care triumphs over her desire to entertain herself, however, and she just settles for looking around the unfamiliar office, taking in all of the pictures on the walls.

“Florrie Lee?”

Standing up, Florrie follows a nurse in through a single door. She’s sent into a small office with light, powder blue walls, a single cushioned table with the same, annoying crinkle paper used in every doctor’s office covering it centered in the middle of the room. There’s a counter to the right, lined with jars of cotton balls and various other medical supplies, a sink at the far end.

“Just jump up on that table. Dr. Robert’s will be in with you in just a minute, sweety.”

Florrie nods her head and climbs onto the table, lying back and staring up at the luminescent lights above. She crosses her boot clad feet, swinging them back and forth. There’s a speaker above and from it music plays lightly from some small radio station that plays commercial free. Unfamiliar with the song, Florrie hums along anyone, closing her eyes as the quite room and buzz of the music nearly lull her to sleep.

The door suddenly opens, bring with it a gust of wind. Florrie sits up as it brushes her legs and a tall, busty, red-haired woman in a white lab coat holding a black laptop and a small red binder shuffles into the room, glasses perched on her head keeping her bangs out of her eyes.

“Hello, Florrie. I’m Dr. Robert’s.”

“So I’ve heard.”

She smiles and steps inside, closing the door behind her, taking a seat on a short, rolling stool, placing her laptop on the counter and opening it up, a grid loading on the screen. Faintly, Florrie can make out her name at the top and she looks away as she realizes it’s her file from Dr. Reed.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Miss Lee.” Dr. Robert’s says, glancing over at Florrie with a smirk. “Elise Reed is a very good friend of mine and I’ve known Martin, or Dr. Reed as you know him, for a while now. He’s quite the jokester, isn’t he?”

The small talk does anything but humor Florrie and she smiles, a very painfully fake smile, nodding her head.

“Well, being that what I know about you is only from this file of yours, I’d like to just talk today, so I can get an idea of where you’re coming from. Is that alright?”

“You’re the doctor.”

“Good,” Dr. Robert’s smiles, her eyes creasing as she does so. She types a few things into her computer system, before mumbling some incoherent words. “I swear, these doctors make every computer system difficult just to aggravate me.”

“Paper and pen is the way to go,” Florrie says absentmindedly, glancing around the room.

“You’re probably the one in your generation who thinks that. Technology is all about newer and better things. It just confuses us old people.”

Florrie nods her head, having said enough in her opinion already.

“Okay, so,” Dr. Robert’s turns to her, opening the binder to some sort of official looking piece of paper, steadying a pen. “What were the first symptoms you experienced?”

Thinking back, Florrie bites her lip before speaking. “It was when I was 10. I started losing my breath a lot.”

“That was the only sign?”

Florrie shook her head, “No, I started to get deep, purple rings around my eyes. It started out a light shade and slowly got a bit darker over the weeks, and sometimes I’d wake up and my eyes would be swollen.”

Dr. Robert’s nods her head and writes something down, continuing to talk as she does so. “That all started at age 10?” Another nod from Florrie. “And then what happened?”

Florrie cleared her throat, scratching a red patch on her wrist. “Um, when I was 11, there was an… incident and my parent’s rushed me to the hospital. They ran a bunch of tests and what do you know? They found something.”

“They diagnosed you at 11?”

“Yup.”

“And how old are you now?”

“20.”

“So essentially you’ve had this since for nearly 10 years. That’s not easy to deal with.” Once the ‘therapist talk’ began, Florrie’s walls began to crumble. It takes the simplest amount of sympathy and understanding to make the young girl’s hard exterior crack. Usually people look at her like she’s a lost cause, but for once, someone just looking at her like she was – someone who was sick and just looking for a cure.

“I manage.”

“Yes, I know. Cigarettes seem to be your crutch, hm?”

“Martin sure doesn’t know how to keep a secret, does he?”

Dr. Robert’s smiled easily at Florrie, shaking her head. “When it comes to you and your health, not so much. He cares about you a lot Florrie – he speaks very highly of you.”

Florrie can’t help the snort that slips through her nose and Dr. Robert’s laughs, nodding and throws her hands up. “Alright, alright. Big, bad Florrie, the she-devil herself.”

“That’s more like it,” Florrie mumbles, smiling just a ghost of a smile.

Dr. Robert’s asks questions left and right, until finally she’s filled up her binder with information. When Florrie is finally released from the doctor’s office, she couldn’t be more relieved. Something about the small rooms with the same disinfectant smell and questionable gazes always sets her on edge, though she’s an expert at hiding all and any emotions with her attitude. Stepping back up to the front desk, Florrie makes another appointment for the following week with the receptionist before heading back out into the blazing Arizona heat, sliding her sunglasses down from on top of her head to cover her eyes. For a moment, she just stands on the sidewalk, looking up at the sun as it radiates heat and rays. People move around her frozen frame, grumbling as she blocks their path and makes it difficult to maneuver around the small path.

It’s been nearly months since Florrie’s had a real conversation about her illness. Dr. Reed has been her doctor since she was just 10 years old, so he knows her as well as she knows herself. Her being sick and all of her symptoms are nothing new to him, and while his dedication and commitment to making her better have never once faltered, he’s never bothered to ask her honest questions or discuss the disease with her. Within the last few years, there hasn’t been a reason to explain this and that about it – every possible question has already been asked, months ago. And Amanda and Robert Lee know about her sickness being her parents – they were there in that room when she was diagnosed. And yet, never once have they discussed or asked how Florrie was coping. They never once bothered to understand the disease itself. Florrie had to research every aspect of what her body was struggling with on her own – she had to make it through so many painful nights and days alone.

And now having someone question her about it all, from beginning to end, made Florrie nearly want to cry and that is not something she is used to. Since she was young, Florrie has grown up with a hard attitude and a grudge against the world. Somewhere in her mind, she devised that only the strong will survive – in her mind she’s fighting everyone and everything. Showing emotion never seemed like something she was capable or even tempted to do. It was an overwhelming feeling, that heavy weight somewhere in the empty cavity within her chest. It was vulnerable moments like this that she wished she had someone to talk to – that she had someone to tell her everything was going to get better and that there is nothing to fear. But standing on her own, especially in a completely new place, has become her only option.

Moving her eyes from the glowing ball of light, Florrie heads to the small store across the street, black dots dancing across her vision from staring at the sun for so long. The automatic doors open as Florrie steps inside Pete’s Deli and Grocery, waves of cool air once again winning over the flow of heat coming from outside. Grabbing a cart, Florrie moves towards the isles of food, pulling the list her aunt had written out from her pocket, unfolding it from its balled up state.

Eggs
Milk
Garlic
Saltine Crackers
Hot Dogs
Napkins
Pepsi
Windex
Laundry Detergent
Toothpaste
Oreos
Carrots, Broccoli, & Lettuce
Peaches, Bananas, Tomatoes, & Apples
Thousand Island dressing

The list is longer than Florrie expected and just looking at the multitude of items written down she becomes bored and tired with the task, almost tempted to just leave the store and tell her aunt that she forgot. But she had already made her way over here and the disappointed look her aunt would harbor was not something that Florrie was willing to risk, so with a reluctant glide, Florrie grabs a cart and begins maneuvering her way throughout the unfamiliar store, reading the signs placed before every isle and trying to find all of the items on the list.

Rounding a corner, Florrie’s cart crashes into someone else’s and as an apology begins to fumble out her mouth, she bites her tongue, familiar blue eyes shining into hers.

“Are you stalking me?”

The scoff immediately escapes through Florrie’s pink lips and she rolls her eyes as Yellow Car Guy laughs, entertained with her attitude.

“I think it’s you who’s stalking me,” Florrie says, jutting out a small hip.

Shaking his head, this familiar stranger disagrees. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re the one that ran out in front of my car.”

“Like I said, pedestrians have the right away.”

“There was no cross walk. Cutting through traffic is illegal.”

“What are you gonna do? Call the cops on me. Go ahead, see if I care.” Florrie snaps.

Throwing his hands up, Yellow Car Guy gestures his innocence. “Woah there. Chill out; I’m not gonna call the cops. I was just-“

“Hey, Garrett, I found the Captain Crunch! Now we don’t have to eat that crap Kennedy buys all–oh.”

An equally tall guy rounds the corner, two boxes of Captain Crunch clutched in his small hands. Long, messy, brown hair hangs down to his shoulders, shaping a face with small child-like features, easy eyes, and a nose just a bit too big for his face. He’s gangly and awkward and just looking at him makes Florrie think of a child trapped in a man’s body. He smiles at her and waves enthusiastically, rushing towards the pair and throwing the boxes of cereal at ‘Garrett’. Florrie can’t help but think that this Yellow Car Guy looks like a Garrett, the hoop in his nose and the black skinny jeans on his legs screaming punk-wannabe.

“Hi! I’m Pat!”

“Hi, Pat,” Florrie smiles, unable to keep her cool façade at his excited demeanor.

“You look really familiar. Do I-wait! You’re that girl that cut Garrett off!” Pat laughs, glancing over at Garrett, the later rolling his eyes with a smirk.

“Yeah, we’ve already covered that Pat.”

“Oh, well-“

“Uh,” Florrie clears her throat, cutting off Pat, “I really should get going. I have a lot to do and little patience to get it all done.”

“Okay, well, it was uh, nice meeting you,” Pat says, turning back to Garrett. “So, I got Captain Crunch.”

Florrie fights back a smile at Pat’s limited attention span, catching Garrett’s eye a final time before turning and walking away, back to struggling to find the rest of the items on the list. For the most part, the store is empty, only a few people lingering about and shopping. The limited amount of people makes the process of shopping easier and more relaxing to Florrie. Around strange people, the young girl always feel as though she’s being watched; like everyone has an opinion and is judging her. Anxiety begins creeping up her spine and she pauses in the middle of the soda isle, gripping the cart handle, her knuckles turning a striking white, deep breaths escaping through her nose, small, shallow breaths through her mouth. Her eyes glance up and she straightens out, clearing her throat as an older man meanders down the aisle, not yet noticing the panicking girl. Slowly, Florrie begins moving forward, avoiding eye contact with the older man and rushing out of the small space until finally, she’s alone in the meat section. It’s a small incident, barely worth calling it so, but it’s enough to put the young girl on edge.

Frustration fills her bones as she glances down at the list, realizing that there are many more items still missing than crossed out. The new found irritation is enough to light a fire in her legs and she starts moving through the store like a flash of light, gathering each and every item and tossing it into the cart carelessly. When finally everything is loaded into the shopping cart, she crumbles up the piece of paper and throws it onto the floor, turning and walking out of the isle and towards the cash registers, as though that was justice for all the troubles the little list gave her over the course of an hour.

Florrie gets in line behind a woman and her little boy, tapping her foot on the floor and looking around in a daze, counting down the seconds until finally she can leave. The small toddler in the cart in front of her watches her every move, his large eyes gazing curiously at her. His small hand rises in the air and he smiles, waving gently at Florrie, his chubby fingers flailing about. She can’t help but to smile at his innocence and she waves back, biting her lip to fight off a laugh as he giggles loudly, burying his face in his hands. His innocence makes Florrie’s chest ache, missing the days when she was able to be careless and free with her friends – back when her biggest problem was finding shoes to match her new dress and homework assignments. So many things that are now so minuscule and unimportant used to be considered catastrophes to Florrie. Things changed quickly though – there was no time for dress shopping or homework stress anymore.

It’s not long before the little boy and his mother are exiting the store, the boy waving once more at Florrie as his mother wheels the cart away with a receipt in hand. With one final wave to her small admirer, Florrie begins loading all of her items onto the electric belt. The teenage cashier with enough acne for ten puberty-stricken boys and hair as orange as the matching fruit rings up all of her items quickly, piling them into paper bags carefully by weight. Forty dollars later, Florrie is exiting the store with two large, brown paper bags filled to the brim with groceries tucked in her arms. She struggles to walk, barely able to see where she’s stepping as the large bags block her view.

“Hey!”

Lost in trying to balance the two heavy bags while not falling or tripping, Florrie doesn’t hear the voice shouting for her attention until there’s an arm blocking her way.

“Do you want some help?”

‘Garrett’s’ smirk is enough to make Florrie say no, besides the fact that she’s not one to accept help in the first place.

“No, I’m good,” she answers, trying to move around him, though he dodges her advances, cutting her off once more.

“The bags are going to break before you make it out the door.”

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

“Are you sure?”

“Are you doubting my strength?”

“I’m doubting the shitty bags this place uses, though your little arms don’t look like 42’s or anything.”

Wrinkling her nose, Florrie adjusts the bags in her arms, sticking her head up high and blowing a piece of fallen hair out of her face.

“I’m fine.”

“Let me drive you home. You can’t live too far if you’re walking, right?”

“You don’t know me,” Florrie says like it’s the most obvious thing. “In fact, a few hours ago you were screaming at me.”

“You cut me off!” Garrett says exasperated, though he laughs anyway. “Besides this is a friendly town. We help each other out.”

“Well, I’m not from here. I don’t need help. Thanks, but no thanks.” Florrie says him a look, making it known that is help really is unwanted and she moves around him, heading towards the doors, her arms already hurting from the heavy bags, her pride getting in the way of any solution to the problem.

“I insist,” Garrett says, though he doesn’t make another move to stop her from leaving.

“And I’m declining,” she throws over her shoulder.

The automatic doors open again, sliding across their rubber holdings and making a sound close to a space ship door opening. Barely two steps out the door, the bottom of one of the bags gives out and all of its contents tumble to the concrete below. Shocked, Florrie watches as her purchases fall to the ground, before a frown graces her face and she groans loudly.

Looking up at the sky, Florrie curses her luck. “You have got to be kidding me,” she grumbles.

“Ready to take me up on that offer?”

“No.”

Garrett watches as the mysterious girl tries to stuff the fallen groceries into the one bag still intact, the corners beginning to tear as she roughly shoves things into it. Her stubbornness annoys him and yet humors all the same, not to mention the snarky attitude, but there’s something about her that prevents Garrett from simply walking away. He shakes his head mentally at his cliché, bitch thoughts, but as he watches the girl move with determination, he knows there’s more to the frail brunette stranger than she lets on – than she’s willing to share.

Knowing the move may be dangerous, Garrett knows he can’t just walk away from her and leans down, grabbing the 2-pack of toothpaste and bottle of Windex, and cradling it in his arms, reaching out to grab another item. A hand shoots out before he can, grabbing his wrist and his blue eyes shoot up to meet her green ones, the freckles dotting her nose more obvious from the close proximity, though it’s obvious she’s tried covering them up with a layer of cover-up.

“What are you doing?” She asks, pushing his hand away.

“You don’t honestly believe you’re going to fit all of this in that one bag do you?”

“I don’t see how that concerns you.”

“You see…what’s your name?” Garrett asks, realizing he never asked at any of their other run ins.

“Non’ya.”

“Non’ya? What is that, like Greek?”

Rolling her eyes, Florrie grimaces, shaking her head. “As in none-ya business.”

Not faltering, Garrett nods his head. “Well, you see Non’ya, I’m a nice guy. You may not think so, but I am. And nice guys don’t let girls, or anyone in general I guess, struggle with some fallen groceries.”

“Not even if their assistance is unwanted?”

“Not even then, Non’ya, not even then.”

“Obviously, all of the people you’re helping are weak. I, contrary to what you seem to think, am not weak, so…go away.”

She moves to grab her purchases from his arms, but he pulls back, smirking at her.

“Not so fast, Non’ya-“

“My name is not Non’ya.”

“So you lied?” Garrett asks, smirking.

“Are you stupid?”

“Sometimes.”

“Right now seems to be one of those moments.”

“Oh, you haven’t seen stupid until you’ve met my friend Austin.”

“Garrett! There you are! Can you stop chatting some girl up and help me out here! This car is heavy and- hey! You again.”

“Me.” Florrie says, looking up at Garrett’s friend, his name already gone from her memory.

“Are you stalking her, Garrett?”

“See, even your friends think you’re a stalker.” Florrie says, smirking at Garrett as he rolls his eyes, shaking his head.

“Shut up, Pat.”

Pat, so that’s his name, Florrie remembers, the name now sounding familiar.

“Anyway,” turning back to Florrie, Garrett says, “Are you willing to accept a ride yet?”

“No.”

“Too bad.”

Quickly, Garrett snatches one more item from the ground without looking and stands up, running away as quick as his skinny jean clad legs could carry him.

“Hey!” Florrie shouts, growling at the back of the auburn headed boy’s body.

Heads turn as people watch the young boy run down the street, toothpaste, Windex, and a box of tampons in his arms. Garrett pays no mind to anyone else and makes his way to his parked yellow car, throwing the brunette’s items into his back seat.

“Is he serious right now?” Florrie asks no one in particular as she watches grocery stealing boy smirk from a few feet away, leaning against his yellow, with arms crossed and a cocky expression on his face.

“Oh, he is,” Pat chirps from next to her.

“What are the odds of me walking home?”

“Slim. Garrett likes you; he won’t just let you off that easy.”

The thought of someone liking her, in any way, makes Florrie cringe. She holds back a shutter, crossing her arms uncomfortably over her chest.

“He doesn’t even know me.”

“He knows you enough to like you. Come on, just accept the ride! I promise you can choose the radio station? You don’t strike me as a K104 kinda girl but I guess you could be. I once met this girl who..” Pat begins walking away, still chatting up a storm, looking crazier than ever as he walks and talks to himself, pushing a full cart of brown bags with far too much glee for a sane person to accept.

Florrie weights her options but as she catches Garrett’s eye, she knows that if she doesn’t just follow the two persistent, crazy guys, they’ll follow her all the way to her house. Her goal was to remain as invisible as possible to Arizona’s residents and if two guys were going to compromise that, she was going to have to play along for just a few minutes. Garrett makes his way back to Florrie, leaning down and picking up the remaining items from the ground, standing up straight once more with a smirk.

“Ready?”

Florrie doesn’t respond, but instead grabs the other brown bag and struts past Garrett, purposefully banging her shoulder into his as she passes. She can hear him laugh from behind her and she grits her teeth, biting back a smart remark. After Pat and Garrett pile their things into the trunk of Garrett’s car while Florrie waits impatiently in the back seat, her jaw clenched and her arms crossed, the two boys climb into the car, talking away as though Florrie wasn’t even in the car.

“No way, Pat.”

“Oh come on! What does it matter? We’re gonna be in Brazil! You don’t even know anyone there!”

“Exactly. I’m not trying to get arrested in a strange country.”

Pat pouts as Garrett shoots down whatever idea he was purposing, leaning back into Garrett’s black leather seats with a disgruntled face. “You suck.”

“Grow up, Pat.” Garrett laughs, glancing at the irritated girl in his back seat. “So, where do you live?”

“21 Burkley Drive. It’s the fifth house on the right at the end of the road.”

Nodding, Garrett speeds off as the car falls into an uncomfortable silence.

“So, uh, you just moved here, right?”

Florrie nods her head disinterestedly, staring out the tinted window, her leg bouncing as her teeth nibble away at her already destroyed cuticles.

“You did?” Pat asks excitedly, like it was something that people didn’t do on an average basis. “Where are you from?”

“Alaska.”

Pat stares at her for a few minutes, processing her answer. “Are you joking?”

“Do I look like I am?”

“He just asked; no need for an attitude.” Garrett says, glancing at her in the rear view mirror once more.

“Sorry, does my sarcastic attitude not agree with you? Feel free to pull over here so I can walk if it’s a problem.”

Smirking, “Nice try.”

Florrie rolls her eyes, looking back at Pat who was still waiting for a serious answer. “I’m from California.”

“Ah,” Garrett chuckles, like life’s purpose had just been revealed to him.

“Problem?” Florrie questions, narrowing her eyes at the back of his head.

“Not at all. I just finally understand you.”

“I’m sure you don’t.”

“No, I think I do. Your attitude, the way you carry yourself, your looks; it all screams Cali.”

“I promise you that I am nothing like your typical California girl.”

“Fine, fresh, fierce, we got it on lock. West coast represent, now put your hands up,” Garrett sings lightly, tapping his hands on the steering wheel and bopping his head.

“That song is a disgrace to California.”

“No way, Snoop Dog knows what’s up.” Pat says, nodding his head at Florrie. “I mean…he’s Snoop Dog! If he says there’s girls ‘freakin’ in a Jeep’, you just nod your head and go with it!”

Florrie scoffs, though she can’t fight the smile from secretly sliding across her lips. It’s only another few minutes before Garrett pulls into Florrie’s driveway. As quickly as she can she jumps out of the car and heads to the drunk of Garrett’s atrocious yellow car, reaching in and grabbing her bags as he pops it open.

Suddenly his tall frame climbs out of the driver’s seat and he grabs some of the fallen items out of his backseat, tripping to a stop as Florrie steps in front of him.

“What are you doing?”

He glances down to the items in his hands before glancing back up at her. “Uh, helping?”

“I don’t need any more help. I appreciate it, but I can handle-“

“Oh give me a break. I’m just helping you carry your shit. No big deal.” He smiles at her and moves around her short frame, heading straight to her front door.

Florrie follows behind him, not sure of what to make of the helpful boy. Cautiously, she unlocks her front door and lets Garrett step in first, following behind him as he moves through her house.

“Just, um, put them in the kitchen, I guess. It’s right through that door,” Florrie says awkwardly, unsure if letting this complete stranger into her house was a good idea. Having him drive her was an entire other regret.

When all of her items are loaded into her house, Florrie walks Garrett to her door, standing uncomfortably in the threshold as he slowly makes his way down the sidewalk. She bits her lip as her mind fights her strong attitude, but in the end the polite side of her, however small and reserved, speaks out.

“Uh, Garrett?” He stops, turning around. “Um…t-thank you…for uh, ya’ know, helping me and uh, everything…”

He smiles at her, shaking his head. “It’s no problem.” He starts walking away, stopping just at the driver’s door and looking back at Florrie as she stands at her door, still watching him. “See you around, Non’ya!”

As Garrett backs out of the driveway, he can’t help but stare at the brown haired girl. Something about her drew him in right from the start, though despite himself, he couldn’t distinguish exactly what he liked about her. She was nothing but rude, and yet, there was something about the way she spoke and the way she so against help that made Garrett just want to help her even more. As Garrett drives down the street, he realizes that he never got her name.

“Shit,” he mutters, contemplating going back and asking her, however creepy that may be.

As he considers how creepy he’s willing to be in one day, Pat glances in the back seat, noticing something on the floor of Garrett’s car. He reaches down, grabbing the pink box and then yelps, throwing it onto the backseat like it was on fire.

“Gross! Are those tampons? Garrett, what the hell!”