FLYNN BARNES
The next morning, Mr. Warren stopped Flynn after the end of first period.
“Hey, Flynn,” he said gently. “Is everything OK? You seem a little distracted.”
Flynn shrugged. “I’m fine.”
“Are you?” Mr. Warren asked. “But it seems like you’re carrying a lot. And quietly. Which from my experience, doesn’t end well.”
Flynn didn’t respond, not wanting to tell Mister Warren anything that was not necessary.
Mr. Warren smiled. “Well, I’m not going to pry. But just know you don’t have to decide everything at once. And if you do want to talk more, my door’s always open.”
“OK,” Flynn said.
He walked out of the classroom knowing that he wouldn’t take the offer.
On his way to the next class, the hallway was full of students. But it also felt louder than usual. Flynn kept his head straight towards where he was going as he walked, counting steps the way he counted soul bowls of words when his thoughts got too loud. 6 to the stairs. Three times that up the stairs. Right turn then six steps to 2nd period.
He almost made it through that last part without incident, when suddenly…
“Hey, Barnes,” Dylan said, standing in front of where he was going, halfway through the hallway of his 2nd period class.
Flynn shook his head. I don’t have time for this, he thought and tried to keep walking.
But with one hand, Dylan grabbed his arm tightly. “Hey. I’m trying to talk to you. How’s Mr. Popular lately?”
“I’m doing fine. But I’m going to be late,” Flynn said. “So let go.”
“This will be quick. I figured out something you could do to make both of our lives easier. Be my new homework guy. All you gotta do is do the homework that I tell you to do, and I in return help you break out of your shell. And who knows? If you do a really good job, maybe I can let you hang out with Tara without causing any problems,” Dylan said.
“It’s not going to happen. And I don’t need your help,” Flynn said.
Dylan shoved Flynn against the wall. “Maybe you don’t need my help. But you’re gonna need some kind of medical help if you don’t do what I ask. I can make things a whole lot better. Or a whole lot worse. It’s up to you.”
Before Flynn could respond, the bell rang, and Flynn was officially late for 2nd period for the first time.
Dylan patted Flynn’s cheek. “This isn’t over, Barnes.” He walked off.
Flynn stood there a second longer.
I can make things a whole lot better. Or a whole lot worse. It’s up to you.
The words echoed in his head as he walked to his 2nd period class.
At lunch, Flynn sat at his usual spot, eating slowly, barely tasting anything.
He mostly kept his eyes on his tray, only glancing occasionally.
During one of his glances, he saw Tara waving, not too far from him.
Flynn shook his head, hoping that she’d understand that he didn’t want to talk.
Tara looked confused and a little hurt, but she nodded and turned back to her notebook or whatever she was looking at.
And Flynn hated the feeling that hurt on her face came from her worry. And he hated even more that part of him wanted to tell her why.
When another day at school had ended, Flynn and his mom had a ride back to their hotel room. Back stood one bed, with a couch on the other side of the room, a desk that might collapse if anything too heavy was placed upon it. Back to their fairly large room, in a place that didn’t feel like a neighborhood.
The curtains were half drawn, a din of late sunlight was strewn across the carpet, and there was another letter, another envelope, sticking out of the door.
Flynn’s mom saw the letter, stopping short. “What?” she exclaimed. “I thought it was over.”
Flynn swallowed. “Maybe somebody just…”
“Don’t,” she said, not sharply but firmly. “Please don’t do that.”
She picked the envelope up and turned it over. From her expression, Flynn could tell that just like the others, she saw that there was no return address. She looked at Flynn seriously. “Did any other letters come yesterday or the day before that I haven’t seen?”
Flynn hesitated. Just a second too long, her eyes sharpened.
“No,” he said, hating how small the lie sounded. “This is the first one that I have seen.”
Flynn’s mom exhaled, but her relief was not as palpable as how she sounded when Flynn had lied to her previously. But when she opened the envelope, her worry grew back like weeds. She read aloud, “I think it’s finally about time that I send a letter to you, Mrs. Barnes. How long will you keep your son quiet? Do you know what he is suffering through, not talking to anyone? I know that pressure reveals character, but you are keeping your son small because you are afraid of what he might become. And now others are seeking use of his potential, including Dylan Laurence.”
Flynn widened his eyes at the exact wrong moment, the exact same time that she lowered the paper.
“Flynn, honey,” Flynn’s mom said quietly, “do you think this Dylan Laurence has something to do with this?”
“I don’t know,” Flynn said.
“Flynn,” Flynn’s mom said firmly. “We’re getting letters. Someone is sending this to us. I’m going to need you to do a little better than I don’t know.
Did you talk with this Dylan Laurence today?”
“Yeah,” Flynn said, looking away, the question landing hard.
“What did he want?” Flynn’s mom asked. “And look at me.”
Flynn, after hesitating, looked at his mom and her serious expression. “He wants me to do his homework. That’s what he said,” he added in response to her incredulous look. “I refused.”
“And what did he do in response?” Flynn’s mom asked, her worry beginning to shine through the seriousness of her expression.
“All he did was say this isn’t over, but he made me late for second period.”
Flynn’s mom took a shaky breath, pacing just like she did a couple of days ago. “Oh, my gosh. How could I be so foolish? I thought we were safe. I thought this could be the place we could stop running. I was so wrong. I’m so sorry, Flynn. But we can’t stay.”
“What?” Flynn whispered, not wanting to believe that he heard his mom right.
“We can’t,” Flynn’s mom repeated, stopping her pacing to look at Flynn. “I don’t like where this is going. Somebody else is going to notice. Somebody else is going to ask questions. Someone is going to watch.”
Flynn widened his eyes. No, no, no, no, he thought, but he was too shocked to actually say anything else.
“I’m going to let you finish out the rest of this week,” Flynn’s mom said, walking over and putting her hands on Flynn’s shoulders. “But come next Monday, I’m going to pull you out of Mayville Junior High. I don’t know where we’re going next, but we’re not staying here.” The words hit harder than any punch.
Flynn closed his eyes. This can’t be happening, he thought, not now, not so soon. “No, Mom, please.”
“I won’t risk it,” Flynn’s mom said firmly.
“But we just got here,” Flynn said.
“I know. I really am sorry. But safety must come first. You know the drill. No new friends. No attention. No record of us. And already the second principle is getting broken,” Flynn’s mom said.
Something inside him snapped. So that’s just it? Our lives just start over every time you get scared? Flynn thought angrily. He opened his eyes, scowling at his mom. “You always do this,” Flynn said angrily. “Every time you want to stay easy for you, you always run.”
“For good reason!” Flynn’s mom said.
“What you say is always a good reason,” Flynn said. Flynn’s mom took a step back, visibly taken aback. “But you said things were different in Mayville, Florida.”
This time, it was Flynn’s mom that looked away. “I know you’re already getting hurt,” she said softly. “Just because you’re not telling me, doesn’t mean that it’s not happening.I’m just trying to keep you alive.”
“THE ONLY ONE WHO’S HURTING ME RIGHT NOW IS YOU!” Flynn shouted, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. He widened his eyes. “Mom…”
Flynn expected his mom to yell back, or at least tell him to watch his tone.
But instead, Flynn’s mom’s expression looked crumpled, tears starting to fall from eyes and streak down her cheeks.
“I know, baby, I know,” Flynn’s mom said, her voice a half-step up from a whisper. “I’m sorry.”
And that was the last thing that Flynn saw of her before she left for the bathroom.
Flynn stood there frozen, hating that he made his mother cry, and hating even more that there was a part of him that she deserved to cry, to feel sad after all that she put him through the last six years.
That night, as he lay awake listening to the air conditioner rattle, Flynn listened to the same sound as the first night. The same smell, the same ceiling, the same air.
Everything has changed. His mom’s voice echoed in his head. I’m trying. I know you’re getting hurt.
Dylan’s voice followed. I can make things better or worse.
Mr. Warren’s voice came last, quiet and steady. One step, one word, one round.
If he’d stay quiet, they’d leave. If they left, nothing would change. They would always be running. Unless Flynn did something to break this cycle of overcautious departures.
The next morning, the school bus hallway was buzzing with the usual students. And Flynn was in front of the sign-up sheet. Mayville Junior High Spelling Bee.
His mom’s voice echoed in his head. We’re leaving.
Flynn thought of the motel, of the rules, of the silence of all the places he had been to in the past six years. He took off his backpack and opened it and took out his supply bag. He opened the supply bag and his hands shook as he picked up the pen.
One step, one word, one round.
One chance to make things different.
Then he finally wrote his name.
Flynn Barnes.
Thank you for reading this chapter!
If you could leave a like and/or let me know what you think in the comment section below, that would be awesome!
The next chapter and final one of this first of seven arcsis coming on Friday, January 16th at 8:00 am.
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