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When I open the door, he looks up at me. I can tell he’s angry. But, hey, that doesn’t surprise me. He lives angry. I tousle his hair.
“How was school today?”
The boy moves his head away so I’ll stop touching him.
“Fine,” he responds.
I see his lip is looking better than yesterday, but this can’t go on.
“Flyn, you can’t let the kids keep doing this to you,” I say, crouching down to his height. “You have to defend yourself.”
“Yeah, sure, and when I do, my uncle gets mad,” he spits furiously.
I remember what Eric told me, and I nod.
“Look, Flyn, I get what you’re saying. I don’t know what happened yesterday to make that kid swing at you ...”
“Shut up!” he screams in a rage. “You don’t know anything. Be quiet!”
“OK. I’ll be quiet. But I want you to know I know what’s going on. I’ve seen it. I’ve seen those supposed little friends of yours who go with you in the car, how they push you around and make fun of you when Norbert’s not around.”
“They’re not my friends.”
“I noticed,” I say. “What I don’t understand is why you don’t tell your uncle.”
Flyn stands up and pushes me to get me out of the room. When he slams the door in my face, my first instinct is to open it and give him a piece of my mind, but, after thinking about it, I decide to leave him alone.
I told him what I know. Now I have to wait for him to ask for help. My phone rings. It’s Eric.
Delighted, I talk to him for more than an hour. He asks about my day. I ask him about his, and then we start telling each other pretty hot things. I miss him. Before hanging up, he tells me he’ll call again when he gets to the hotel.
When I hang up, bored and not sure what to do, I go into the room Eric says is mine and start pulling my CDs out of their boxes. When I see the Malú CD that brings me such good memories, I decide to play it on my little stereo.
While I hum the song that’s so important to my crazy love and me, I keep pulling things out of my boxes. I look affectionately at my books and start organizing them on the shelves.
Suddenly, the door to my room flies open.
“Turn off the music. It bothers me,” says an angry Flyn.
“It bothers you?”
“Yes.”
I sigh. The music can’t possibly bother him. It’s not loud enough, but, wanting to be amenable, I turn down the volume on the stereo by two notches. I pick up the books I left on the floor. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the little brat walk toward the stereo and, with a slap of his hand, he turns off the music and starts to walk out.
I leave the books on a table and turn the music on again. The kid, at the door at that very moment, stops and looks at me as if he wants to murder me.
“Why don’t you go home?” he asks.
“What?”
“Go away and stop bothering me!”
His face twisted, he walks up to the stereo again, turns it off, takes out the CD, and, without a word, walks to the French doors, opens them, and throws the CD outside.
Oh God, my Malú CD!
Without a second thought, I rush after it. I pick up the CD from the snow and clean it with my T-shirt, and when I turn around, I hear the door click as it closes.