The Next Generation: Chapter 16: "My Sunflower"

*~Madge's POV~*

I read my new book silently, breathing the scent. I had finished *East* Saturday, and was now reading a crime novel, *Then She Was Gone*. It was pretty good. I snuggled deeper into the orange beanbag and turned the next page.

My stupid phone inturptted me. “Ding!” it exclaimed.

Ugh.

I slid it out of my super long rainbow jacket pocket. ***James***

I clicked on the notification, revealing his text: ***Be ready, I’m coming to get you for Lunch***

I texted back: **What makes you think I’m not already ready?**

**James: I know you finished east girl you found a new book**

**Me: how do you know that**

**James: I know u**

**Me: ugh, whatever :)**

**James: See? I’m always right**

**Me: sure, whatever**

**James: Hey, you ok? U seem mad**

**Me: Im fine what u talking about?**

**James: nothing…**

**Me: you’d better be here**

**James: lmao**

I bite my lip and pocket my phone. *Am I ok?*

*Of course I am*

I go ahead and check out the book. I’m opening it up again when James pops in, his wonderful hairy head grinning. “Hey Poppy!” He shouts, earning a “SHHH” from the librarian, Miss Rudhouse.

I stomp forward to him, annoyed. “Don’t call me that!” I mutter through my teeth.

“Aww, why not, buttercup?” He says, swinging his arm around my neck.

“Because I said so.” I want to pull myself away from him, but something tells me not too. Odd.

He frowns. “Your..not really mad at me…are you?”

“No…” I lie

Am I lying?

I don’t know anymore.

He takes my pathetic answer. “Hm, ok! If you say so! And just so you know, you look good in that jacket.”

I stupidly blush. “Sure, sure, what’s for lunch?”

“Mashed potatoes, meatloaf, and oranges!”

“Oooh! Potoes!” I say, excited now. School lunch ain’t the best, sure, but I’ll take mashed potatoes and gravy any day!

He laughs. “You can have mine as well, my sunflower.”

I glance away. My father used to call me that. Sunflower. And other flower names, too, but mainly sunflower. As if I was the most important thing in the world to him, and my mother, his little Cherry Blossom, the most beautiful thing in the world.

But he left. I was nothing to him.

He notices my sudden silence. “Hey, you sure you ok?”

“Yeah…” I say. Then on second thought, “James, what is it like without your father?”

He goes quiet, sending every alarm through my body. “I-I mean-i'm sorry-”

He just shakes his head, his voice from loud and cheerful to low and mournful, “It’s…wrong. Fathers aren’t supposed to leave. Their job is to love you, and stay with you forever. Not throw a plate at your cat and *leave.”*

I feel like crying. “You're exactly right.”

He gulps. “When did your father leave?A-and why?”

“I was 8, old enough to understand. They kept fighting, over and over again, over *everything.* I’d come home, happy as a clam, to hear shouts and breaking mugs. I’d have to clean up the mess. One time, I asked my mother, ‘what happened to you two? I thought you were his cherry blossom? And Me daddy’s sunflower?’, she said, ‘I don’t know honey, I don’t know. Loving is hard, but sometimes, moving on is better than anything,’. We cried together that night. They divorced when I was 10. I felt like crap. My world was falling apart, I was loosing grip on everything that felt right…”

“And then?” He asked

The next part was nicer, simpler. I’m surprised how easily my words are flowing together. “We moved to 12. (we used to live in 9). I met mercedes, and she was awesome.” I smile. “Then you guys.”

“Me?”

“Yeah..you..”

I turn around and hug him tight. He buries his head into my shoulder, his arms wrapped tight around me. One on my back, the other on my wrist.

I ignore how right it feels.