Page 3 of Advice from a Sunflower

“Well, that’s what we’ve called her since before she could walk or talk. It’s because she’s as quiet as a mouse.”

She’s right. No one in town calls me by my real name anymore. Even teachers call out the nickname when they take attendance, and I’ve been forced to accept it.

He nods, as if that makes total sense. They move on to talking about school before I get a chance to give him my real name, and I sulk off to the side as I realize that just like everyone else, he clearly likes Marnie more than me. She finds out that he’ll be entering our grade when our break ends and that he has the same teacher as me. Marnie didn’t look too happy about that but she quickly recovers, promising him that she’ll introduce him to all her friends, so he doesn’t have to sit alone on his first day.

Before we know it, the sun has begun to set, and the sky is painted in oranges and purples. I’ve settled down on the grass beside them as they talk back and forth about random things, taking more interest in re-reading the book Marnie stole from me than hearing her go on about how fun the ice cream parlor is to hang out at during the summer or how the public pool is usually overrun by teenagers who shoo us away.

Whenever they say something that catches my attention, I look up and find Eli staring at me as Marnie drones on about whatever it is before he quickly turns away and picks at his shirt or the grass. Marnie doesn’t notice until he goes to say goodbye and reaches his hand out again for a shake, this time only offering it to me.

“It was nice to meet you, Miss Mouse,” he says in an English accent, a nod toward the book I’d been reading in front of him all afternoon.

“You as well, Mr. Eli,” I try to say, stumbling over the words. I’m terrible at accents.

Marnie snickers, reminding us that she’s there. “You’re funny, Eli. I hope we get to hang out more over break.”

When we get back to the house, she grabs the house phone and stomps up the stairs.

“Hi, Mrs. Marshall, can Emma come to the phone?” I hear before our bedroom door slams and I’m left alone in the loud silence.

I decide that maybe living next door to Eli won’t be so bad.

Chapter 2

Lyla

9 years old

The summer sun beats down on my back unapologetically, toasting my olive skin into a dark golden brown. Marnie is off somewhere in the house with Emma, avoiding the outdoors at all costs after an extreme sunburn last week on her fair skin that almost landed her in the hospital. I sip my glass of warm water—the ice cubes melted within minutes—and admire Eli’s handiwork on a makeshift cardboard box clubhouse he’s been working on all afternoon.

His skin is lathered in a thick layer of white sunblock, courtesy of his mom who makes a point to come out every hour and reapply. He begs her not to, but I can see the grateful look on his face every time she walks away, and he knows his snowy white skin will be protected once again. It never helps that his hair is almost jet black now, attracting the sun like a magnifying glass right to his scalp. It’s like instead of lightening in the summer sun the way my hair always does, his goes backward and turns even darker.

“I’m bored. Let’s go inside and play Mario Kart,” he huffs, dropping the box in defeat. It immediately slips into a pathetic heap of cardboard at his feet, mocking his efforts.

Eager to get out of the sun, I nod my head quietly and stand up. Eli’s room is upstairs, so the heat follows us inside but it’s easier to breathe with his fan blowing down on us and the slight effects of the air conditioning working overtime making their way up the stairs.

Our air conditioner went out last week and Denise is still waiting on the repairman to come back and fix it. She seems stressed about money, even despite the hours she’s been picking up at the salon. When he told her how much it would cost, her entire face fell. Right before he left, he told her he’ll take care of it for just the cost of parts, but we’d have to wait until he had a free time slot to stop over. That was a week ago and the heat wave has only gotten worse.

“Do you think Marnie knows she can come here, too?” he asks, settling onto his bed with a Nintendo remote.

I walk over to the console and grab my remote, plopping down on the floor beside his bed with my legs crossed. “I don’t know, probably. I don’t think Emma likes playing with you.”

He looks offended. “Why not?”

“I don’t know,” I repeat with a shrug. “I heard her tell Marnie once that she would rather play Barbies than video games. I like playing video games with you, though, so who cares?”

I think Emma is about as boring as a Barbie doll, especially since I stopped playing with dolls when I was eight. I just turned nine, and Marnie’s ten now. I’m not sure why she bothers with them anymore, either.

“That’s dumb,” Eli grumbles, picking his characters for the game. “I would play with Barbies if they asked me to.”

“Why? They’re for babies.”

“Marnie isn’t a baby, and she still likes playing with them. I think you’re just weird.”

“No, I’m not!” I protest, glaring up at him with heated, reddened cheeks. I can’t feel anything past the hurt that his words send burning through my chest.

I thought Eli was my friend.

“Everyone in school said you were weird when I first started,” he pokes, hitting his start button to begin the race.

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