When I got to the flower shop on Monday, Talia, as usual, was already there. Instead of a t-shirt and leggings, she wore a long pencil skirt and a frilly blouse. Raising an eyebrow, I set down my school backpack by the cash register. Then I noticed... Jack. He sat on a chair behind a stack of crates filled with floral foam and baby's breath—the worst name for a flower ever—and was tapping away on Talia's tablet.

"Alright," she said. "It's time for me to go. Job interview time; wish me luck! Jack, you're working until six, okay?"

He nodded without looking at her.

"Romy," she said, turning to me. "Today, he's here to watch and learn how things work. Show him the basics. He'll be using my tablet so he can start on ideas for our website."

"Great," I droned.

Talia winked and walked out the shop, the bell above our door tinkling. Just like that, she left me here with him, and I watched her head of perfectly-styled waves disappear. This must be a test. The ultimate test of my patience.

Afternoon sun streamed through the window. A strange thing to see, considering how clouds usually shrouded the sky, far from the Hawai'i sunshine I grew up on, but I didn't mind. I liked how the cloudy autumn turned the leaves gold and red. How it felt like city was in the middle of a forest with towering pine trees at every park, the mountains in the distance.

But enough about scenery. I moved a crate out the way so I could face Jack. "Are you working on the website?"

He nodded once without looking up.

I raked my eyes over him, scrutinizing, searching for something to tell me more about him. Maybe a stain on his shirt, indicating he didn't care about appearances. Maybe an expensive jacket, indicating he cared too much. But nothing particularly stood out, other than the bright pink birthmark on his forehead hiding underneath his hair. He was somewhat tall—not a difficult feat when I was barely 5'3"—and not as much of a pasty, looked-like-he-hadn't-slept-in-years white boy as one would expect. His skin had a golden, freckled glow to it, like he'd somehow found the sun.

"So, what made you want to work here?" I asked.

Jack didn't move. I thought he was flat-out ignoring me until he tapped something on the tablet, agonizingly slow, and held his arm out to show me.

I hate flowers.

I snorted. "How can anyone hate flowers? But let me guess. Your mommy made you work here?"

He shifted his posture from slouching over the tablet to leaning back in his chair, balancing it on two legs.

"You know, my parents had me start working here to develop my people skills. I still think it's fucking ridiculous. It's not that I don't have people skills. It's more that I don't care to use them sometimes. For you, though? I think your mom probably understands you have a long way to go."

His eyes—a muddy, brownish green—remained fixed on one of crates. But a muscle in his jaw twitched, and I smiled.

"You can quit whenever you want," I suggested. "I'd actually appreciate that. Talia's cutting my pay by a third for you to be here."

Finally, for the first time, he looked at me. But he didn't scowl like with his mom the other day. Features blank, he reached into a crate of flowers. Pulled out a pink rose. Drew it to his lips. And without breaking eye contact, he tore off a clump of petals with his teeth. Then chewed them. Hard.

I burst out laughing. "Hey, if you're hungry, why don't you take a ten and go get some food?"

He took another bite of the rose. A petal stuck out between his lips. Then his blank expression broke. He scrunched up his nose, bolted up, and ran out the shop. Outside, he spat the clump of petals on the ground, and I couldn't stop laughing. I was holding my stomach as he straightened himself, walked back inside, and returned to the tablet.

"That was repulsive," I said. "And hilarious, but don't think you can do that again. But thats at least $3 off your next paycheck. But that's only if you last long enough to get one, Jack."

Because, let's be real, it was only a matter of time before Talia had to fire him. He'd been in a few of my classes throughout school, and he rarely did his work. The teachers, however, pitied him and let him scrape by. Once, in sophomore year when we had to work together for a group project, he didn't contribute at all. I told him to meet me and Megan at the library the day before it was due, but he didn't show up. I'd tried to talk to Talia and Greta, my stepmom, about this earlier, but they said we couldn't fire him before he got a chance to work. 

And it wasn't that he couldn't talk. He could. According to the rumors, at least. His vocal chords weren't missing or anything. It was more psychological. I'd looked it up after our failed group assignment. What could make a person refuse to talk. Even now, I remembered it:

Selective mutism, also known as situational mutism, is an anxiety disorder in which a person normally capable of speech cannot speak in specific situations or to specific people. Selective mutism usually co-exists with social anxiety disorder.

Since he'd gone to that troubled teens support group—or, more likely, his mom had forced him to attend—there was a good chance psychologists had analyzed him from head to toe by now. Which meant I wasn't the only one in the room with a diagnosis.

"Alright," I began. "Flower arranging 101." I picked a random bouquet and set it in front of him. "First, let's analyze what makes this pleasing to the eye. The colors. The flower choice. A balance of different types, not too overwhelming. You want to make sure..."

Yeah, he was not listening.

"No? Fine. Cleaning 101, then." I went into the back closet. It stunk of mold and bleach. Gross. This place with its cracked walls would probably collapse in less than a month if Greta didn't pester the owner for a renovation. But it was too late to close the shop. We couldn't afford the lag in revenue.

I took out out the smelly mop, duster, and other cleaning supplies. I tried to show Jack where everything went, but he was really focused on that tablet, and it took all my people skills not to break the mop in half.

This was me making an effort. This was me being nice and patient, but maybe he didn't deserve it. Spoiled rich boy who had mommy hold his hand throughout his whole life. No wonder he was so stunted.

The sun sure put everyone else in a good mood today, though. Customer after smiling customer stopped at the shop, bought bouquets or packages of flowers, and left empty spaces in our displays I filled up. 

A large group of tourists came in—why they were sightseeing in this ugly part of the city was beyond me—and I helped them with the biggest smile I could muster. When they left, I turned on the small radio Talia kept, bobbing my head to some cheesy pop song. Better than Jack's silence.

Before the song finished, the music stopped. And there was Jack, finger on the power button.

"Oh, so you hate music, too?"

He turned the radio on, except this time, he twisted the dial until the static cleared and opera music blasted through the shop, so loud the passerby outside would probably hear.

"You're not serious."

He raised the volume, but not before I pried his hand off the radio and turned it down. His gaze flickered to where my fingers met his wrist. "Are you stupid? We'll scare off all our customers if—"

I stopped when I saw what his face was doing. His lips were curled in the smallest smirk.

I turned the dial until it returned to the pop channel, but he turned it off again.

I turned it on. "Stop."

He turned it off.

I turned it on.

Off.

On.

Off.

On.

"What's your problem?"

His finger hovered over the power button. I scowled. "Don't even—"

Off.

I let out an angry breath. Then pressed the button.

But this time, it didn't turn on.

"You broke it," I said through clenched teeth. "Are you trying to get yourself fired?"

He blinked.

My fingers twitched with the familiar urge to, putting it kindly, smack a bitch, but I didn't. I stared him down until he returned to his chair.

Who did he think he was? Showing up on his first day, claiming he hated flowers. Taking a bite out of a rose like some sort of zoo animal, like it was his afternoon snack. Refusing to listen to Flower Arranging or even Cleaning 101 like he was above it all. And then... breaking Talia's cheap radio. All because he was probably some music snob who didn't like—

"Hey Romy!"

The bell tinkled. Seth Borovkov waved at me as he walked in. I forced a sarcastic smile, but it faltered when I saw his posse behind him—Eli Fuentes and Megan Zhao.

"So, it's true?" Seth asked, staring at Jack with a shit-eating grin. "Mute boy's working for you now?"

Jack, posture stiff, stared at his half-eaten rose on the floor. 

"That's right," I said. "Why are you all here?"

Seth got close enough that I could smell the cigarette smoke coming off him. "Thought we'd catch up. We haven't talked in ages, bro."

Megan looked up from her phone. "Not after you missed school for your epic Hawaiian vacation."

Jack's head jerked in my direction. Well. Wasn't this a conundrum. Truth was, I hadn't told my friends I'd gone to juvie. To them, I'd been on a grand pre-summer vacation with my rich Japanese relatives in Hawai'i. It wasn't a total lie, since those relatives did, in fact, exist, but the only people who knew about juvie were my family and the teenagers at the support group. One of which was here now. Sitting by his half-eaten rose. Seeing straight through my lie.

I shrugged and told Megan, "Too bad you couldn't come to Honolulu with me."

Finally, Eli, who was doing a really bad job at trying not to glare at me, piped up: "That was so long ago. We know you spent the summer here. But you haven't answered my texts in a month."

"Sorry you missed me," I said flatly.

"Why do you keep ignoring me? Did you decide we weren't good enough for you anymore? Not good enough for Ms. I'm Better Than Everyone Else?"

Silence. Megan looked at her phone. Seth took it upon himself to sniff the different flowers and made faces at the sharp scents. I looked Eli up and down. I might have rich Japanese relatives in Hawai'i, but he had even richer Mexican relatives in California. Jack might be a bit of a brat, but Eli most definitely took the prize for spoiled rich boy of the year. Unfortunately, with his delicate hands, dark complexion, and perfect cupid's bow lips, he was exactly my type.

"Didn't you tell me you liked boys now?" I asked.

He crossed his arms. "Like I mentioned in my last text you didn't answer, I'm pansexual. Attracted to all genders. And that's including boys. And also you."

How bold of him. Jack, who hadn't cared to listen to me at all before, was now intently watching my drama unfold. I swear to God.

I blew out a long breath. "Thanks for the compliment."

Eli rolled his eyes. Seth gave him a rough pat on the back. "Forget it, bro. She's heartless." Then he looked at me. "You coming to my party this weekend?"

"I have work."

Megan, almost as if to diffuse some of the awkwardness radiating off Jack's silent, watching form, said, "Maybe mute boy should come along."

Jack froze. Seth chuckled. "Yeah, we'll get him to talk in no time."

"I bet all we'll need to do is have him drink a little," Megan said. "Right, Jack? Do you start talking when you're drunk?"

He was tenser than before, and I didn't know if it was just me, but he seemed to be shaking a little. Eli stared out the window, probably uncomfortable at the exchange, but didn't say anything. Just like I didn't. Letting it happen like all the other times.

"Buy something or leave," I told them.

"No gracias, ice queen," Seth mocked, then, grinning, "Looks like Hawai'i didn't thaw your frost."

Megan laughed. "Did you get that line from one of Eli's poems?"

"Hell yeah. I'm his beta reader."

Eli mumbled, "Let's just go."

They left. The shop went silent for several minutes, and I wished Jack hadn't broken the radio. I'd get him to pay for a new one. I figured I could get at least ten dollars off him if I told him it was vintage, even though Talia bought it at a yard sale for five.

But when I spun to face him, Jack Michel was already walking out the door.

❀     ❀     ❀

What do you think about the characters so far? Do you have a favorite? 

Fun fact: When initially drafting this book, I always envisioned the setting to be a big, cloudy city. Several readers pointed out that it seemed a lot like Seattle, which I definitely agreed with. Now, several years later, my life circumstances have taken me to, you guessed it, Seattle. It's pretty cool fleshing out this setting I had in mind before, but now with real experiences. Coincidence?? Or not... 

Thank you for reading! Leave a vote if you enjoyed, and let me know any predictions you have for these characters 👀

❀ flowers mentioned in this chapter ❀

✿ baby's breath ✿

✿ jack's half-eaten rose ✿

This chapter is dedicated to fellow writer Eleven_MA for the brilliant insights into the characters and the psychology behind them. Thank you 💖