A response to Thalia Weaver’s prompt: “Write something about a girl named Flora.” It was a drabble, but then it kind of exploded.

Aldora is a tiny, tiny town in Georgia made up of about a hundred people. The high school is regional and its full name is Lamar County Comprehensive High School; it actually has about 800 people in it, but I played with the numbers because I am sneaky. Um. F/F, which was unexpected.

---

“Flora, Flora, queen of Aldora. She always wears an ugly fedora,” sang Mary Ann Woodman, tugging hard on one of Flora White’s braids.

“That doesn’t even make sense,” said Flora. “I don’t wear hats. Get your hands off my hair.”

But Mary Ann had already let go. She wiggled her fingers in Flora’s face. “I’m not touching your hair, am I?” she asked, smirking, and poked at Flora’s naturally bony shoulder blades and spine. She hadn’t cut her fingernails in at least three weeks; they were sharp through Flora’s thin shirt.

“Stop,” said Flora. “No, stop,” she said again, grabbing onto Mary Ann’s wrist and refusing to let go. “Stop.”

-

Mary Ann flopped down beside Flora on the hard wooden bench outside Ms. Huxley’s office. “So what are you doing here?” she asked, one boot on the bench and one on the floor.

Flora shifted very slightly away and crossed her arms over her chest. “Why do you care?”

“Just wanted to know what the golden child was doing outside the guidance counselor’s office, is all,” Mary Ann said.

“College recommendations, if you have to know,” she said. “I need to get my letters out.”

“Figures,” said Mary Ann. “I knew Miss Smartypants would never be down here because she got in trouble.”

Flora rolled her eyes. “Why, what are you here for?”

“Me?” asked Mary Ann. She pointed to the beginnings of what was sure to blossom into a spectacular black eye. “I got in a fight,” she said, grinning (like she always, always did until Flora wanted to yell or hit her or something).

“Charming,” said Flora. She reached instinctively toward the bruise; Mary Ann flinched back. “Looks like it’s going to hurt.”

Mary Ann shrugged, knocking cryptically against her heart. “I’ve had worse.”

-

“Fancy that,” said Flora. “Never thought I’d see you again.”

“Mmm,” said Mary Ann noncommittally. “I guess that’s what happens when you go to class reunions, right?”

They sat awkwardly and drank their (remarkably bad) coffee black for fear of the milk. Only a hundred-fifty of their graduating class had shown up--evidently, good old Lamar County Comp didn’t inspire much school spirit once its students left it behind. The reunion itself wasn’t much to speak of, either; whoever had organized the seating had done a lousy job, and the limp streamers and half-filled balloons did nothing to liven the atmosphere.

Someone’s iPod had turned into an impromptu DJ; couples were starting to get up and dance on the gym’s dirty, scuffed floor. Those who hadn’t brought dates were left to fend for themselves.

“So,” said Flora.

“So,” said Mary Ann. “What are you doing, now? Heard you got into SCAD?”

“Yeah,” said Flora. “Double major in, um, writing and illustration.” She folded her hands together, embarrassed. “You?”

“Nothing so exciting,” said Mary Ann. “I’m a history teacher.”

“I have trouble seeing you as a teacher,” said Flora apologetically.

“Me too,” Mary Ann laughed. “At least it’s a high school. I’m allowed to be as bossy as I want.”

They fiddled with their styrofoam cups for another hour before finally giving up on their flagging small talk.

“I’ll see you around,” said Flora.

“Yeah,” Mary Ann replied. “Okay.”

-

“God,” said Mary Ann. “I can’t believe it.”

“Me neither,” Flora whispered. “Who knew?”

They stared down at Michael Davis’s coffin. The minister had finished and it was being lowered into the ground. Mike had been popular, in his day, and secretly brilliant; had moved to New York City and become a professor; had married and had three beautiful, brilliant children, currently weeping silently under the arms of their mother.

Had killed himself a week ago.

No one knew why, or if they did, they weren’t telling. Flora’d been in town by accident--she’d seen the obituary during her annual week-long stay with her parents. He was thirty-five, only two years her senior; it seemed impossible that he was dead. She’d come to the funeral out of a vague sort of obligation. She hadn’t known him that well, but he was from Aldora, and her sense of community outweighed her fear of her social ineptitude.

Flora shifted closer to Mary Ann as the ceremony drew to a real close and the black-clad attendees started to leave. Mary Ann, eyes wide and scared, clutched at Flora’s hand.

Flora let her.

-

They were sitting on the steps in back of the school, dressed in their dark suits, the night air quiescent around them. Even the mosquitoes seemed subdued.

“I can’t believe it,” Mary Ann repeated. “I mean. God. He’s dead.”

“He is,” said Flora, realizing it suddenly. She started to cry and couldn’t stop. “Sorry,” she said, “sorry,” but it didn’t help.

“Don’t be,” said Mary Ann. She put an arm around Flora; Flora let her face fall onto Mary Ann’s shoulder. Mary Ann started to stroke her hair casually, instinctively. “Sssh,” she said, until Flora had reached the hiccuping stage and lifted her head to wipe at her eyes.

“Sorry,” Flora said. “This is so embarrassing.”

“No, it’s not,” Mary Ann said gently. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Thank you,” Flora said eventually. Mary Ann’s arm was still looped easily around her shoulders. “For not laughing or anything.”

Mary Ann sighed. “I’m not actually evil, you know,” she said. “I was a mean little kid, but I didn’t know how to be anything else. I liked you.”

“Funny way you had of showing it,” said Flora, patting her hand.

“It was either that or not having your attention at all,” Mary Ann said, uncomfortable. She retracted her hand and looked away. “Anyway, I guess I’d better get going.”

“Don’t,” Flora said. “Please.”

They looked at each other until Mary Ann sat back down.

Flora drew her knees up to her chest, glad she was wearing pants. She laid her ear against them and watched Mary Ann out of the corner of her eye. Then, very quietly: “I like you, too.”

“Oh,” said Mary Ann. Her hand migrated to Flora’s foot and she smiled down at her lap. “Well. That’s okay, then.”

Flora unfolded herself, carefully transferring Mary Ann’s fingers from her foot to her own hand. She stood them both up and kissed Mary Ann’s cheek. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s go home.”

“Wait,” said Mary Ann. “Um.”

“What?” Flora asked.

Mary Ann touched the side of Flora’s face, then leaned forward, kissed her for real. Flora blushed and looked down at their hands, fingers tightly intertwined.

“Thank you,” she said again, but for entirely different reasons.

And they lived happily ever after.