Page 2 of Strelitzias in Spring

“Vixen,” Grey grinds out. “Not fucking helping.”

Dante grabs CeCe, wrangling her body behind his and approaching Dylan like an angry wildebeest. Before I can say or do anything, Ava’s arms wrap around me in a tight hold.

“We’ll kill them for you, Rena. You don’t deserve that; you don’t deserve any of this,” Ava whispers, pressing me tighter against her body.

“Wh-why would he do this? He was my best friend,” I choke out, disbelief and sorrow chopping up my words. “I confided in him. I-I told him what happened. I knew he w-was angry, but this?” I say through the tears.

“Serena, are you okay?” Dante asks, coming to stand behind CeCe.

I don’t hesitate to respond. “I just want to go home,” I murmur, dropping my head so that I don’t see the pitying glances on their faces.

“I don’t think that’s a safe option right now. They both know where your apartment is. Why don’t you stay here? Or in my dorm with me?” Celeste asks. Ava responds, probably with something sarcastic, but I tune her out.

“I-I am going to go home. To my mom’s house. I can’t be here. H-he was my best friend. Why would he do this?” I repeat, barely getting out the words. “I-I’m going to call an Uber.”

Ava immediately jumps in, offering to drive me the half hour back home. I protest, but Ava and CeCe keep insisting, and I realize that it’s easier for me just to give in. I feel helpless and embarrassed that my friends witnessed Devin and Dylan’s treatment toward me, that everyone now knows about the greatest mistake of my life, and that I’m now relying on them for a charity ride back home.

Walking away from the circle Ava, CeCe, and Dante created, I walk to the front door and press my body to the wall, trying to make myself as small and invisible as possible.

—

The ride to my mom’s house was silent and tense; not even Ava, who can be clumsy with both her words and her body, attempted to diffuse the tension. But now, less than five minutes from my mom’s house, I break the silence.

“Thank you both. I…” I clear my throat, addressing Greyson and Ava. “I appreciate you bringing me back home.”

Ava turns in her seat, staring at me with her large, dark eyes. “We’re always here for you, Rena. I’m so sorry for what happened back at the house.”

Grey puts the car in park and turns to look at me. “I never would have invited Dylan if I knew he was going to pull shit like that tonight. I’m sorry, Serena. That was fucked up, and he had no right to start shit. Devin’s a little prick, and I’m not surprised by his reaction, but Dylan? Not fucking cool.”

I smile tightly, thankful for their concern but also mortified that I’m on the receiving end of their pity. “It’s okay,” I offer lamely.

“Hell no, it’s not,” Ava yells, and I wince at her volume. “Sorry.” She lowers her voice. “But it’s not okay. He had no right to judge you, let alone spread your business around like he had a right to it.”

“I know,” I whisper. Reaching for the handle, I open the door. Before I slip out of Grey’s Jeep, I lean over the console and grab Ava’s shoulder. “Thank you, Aves. It means a lot to me that you and CeCe were there for me and stood up for me. I’ve never really had that before.” I look to Grey. “You, too. Thank you and the guys for defending me.”

“Always, Rena. Always.” I remove my hand from Ava, hop out of the Grey’s lifted monstrosity, and shut the door behind me.

The short walk from the curb to my mom’s front door feels like I’m walking the plank in a pirate movie. I look behind me and wave at Grey and Ava, who waited to back out until I made it to the door. Looking forward, I take a deep breath and press down on the handle.

“Mamá,” I call out, stepping over the threshold.

“Serena?” my mother’s voice rings out from the opposite side of our small house, a mixture of surprise and confusion at my sudden appearance. “What are you doing home? I thought you were coming next week?”

Walking toward her voice, I round the corner and see her sitting at the kitchen island, wine glass in hand while working on her laptop. Before the divorce, my mother was a stay-at-home mom; post-divorce, she used the teaching degree she spent four years on and started teaching history at the local high school. Two years ago, she became the vice principal of that same school. Now, it seems as though she never stops working.

“Muñeca, what’s wrong?” I smile at the endearment. My mother has called me her “doll” since I was a little girl obsessed with baby dolls.

“Nothing. Why does something have to be wrong for me to come home unexpectedly?”

My mother levels me with an assessing gaze. “Did you forget I raised you? I know you, Serena, and how carefully you plan each move you make. Tell me, what happened?”

“I made a mistake.” I wince. “Several mistakes. And n-now everything feels like it’s imploding.” I release the last of my words with a cry, dissolving into silent tears as I watch my mother set her wineglass down and rise from her stool. Walking toward me, she envelops me in a hug, squeezing me into her petite body.

“Come, talk to me,hija.” My mom leads me to the living room and all but pushes me onto the couch. “Are you hungry?”

My stomach clenches at the thought of food. “N-no, thank you.”

“Serena, what happened?”

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