Authors: Catherine R. Daly
I focused on the goofy
GOT ROSES?
bumper sticker on Gran and Gramps’s Buick, staring hard so my tears wouldn’t fall. As the car pulled away, I stole a glance inside and saw Gran waving from the passenger seat while Gramps frantically pushed buttons on his brand-new GPS.
We all waved back until the car, packed to the gills with suitcases, fishing poles, and lawn chairs, became a tiny dot in the distance. Then I looked down at my red patent leather ballet flats, avoiding eye contact with the rest of my family. I
would not
cry.
This was really happening. Gran and Gramps were gone.
We stood in silence. Finally, Dad cleared his throat. “‘Parting is such sweet sorrow,’” he said solemnly. “William Shakespeare.”
Dad loves to quote authors. He says it’s an occupational hazard, all those words popping into his head to describe every life event. It’s sometimes interesting and sometimes annoying. Like a lot of things are, I guess.
Then Dad sighed. “I’d better get Poppy to kindergarten,” he said, and gave my mom a hug and a kiss. “Good luck, Daisy Bloom,” he added.
“Yeah, break a leg, Mom,” said Rose. She never gives that theater thing a rest, I swear.
Mom, who has no problem crying in public, wiped her eyes with one of the olorful bandannas she always carries. This one was bright red, to match the big gerbera daisy on her T-shirt. She gave us a shaky smile — a combination of sad, nervous, and excited. Then she placed her hand on her stomach.
“Butterflies?” I asked. I knew she was nervous to open the store for the first time all by herself. But Dad had class that morning and couldn’t be there.
She nodded. “It feels like the first day of school,” she said, puffing out her cheeks and blowing out a stream of air. “And I’m the new girl,” she added.
“You’ll be great, Mom,” I said. I didn’t add
I hope,
although I certainly was thinking it.
Gran and Gramps had spent the past two weeks teaching Mom and Dad the day-to-day operations of a flower shop. How to take orders, how to put together floral arrangements, how to contact vendors, etc. I hoped my parents had been paying attention.
The semester was winding down, so Dad would be around to help — both with the store and with house chores. I’d still work Saturdays and pitch in after school if needed. Mom had suggested that Rose and Aster could also help, but I’d vetoed that idea. After all, I’d explained,
I
was the responsible Bloom sister, and I hadn’t even officially been on staff until I was eleven. The twins could wait a year. It was only fair.
What I didn’t mention to my family was that even in a year’s time I didn’t think my sisters would be ready. Besides, with my help, why did we need anyone else? They would just mess things up.
Poppy stepped up to Mom. “For luck,” she said, handing her something.
“Oh, Poppy!” said Mom as the tears began to flow
again. “Thank you!” She held up Poppy’s gift — a tiny, plastic windup dog that did flips. “I’ll keep it on the counter where I can see it all day,” she said.
Poppy looked very pleased.
After Mom hugged and kissed each of us (she has been known to give us kisses when we leave the living room to get a glass of water, I swear), Dad and Poppy took off for the elementary school. They were followed by Rose and Aster, who linked arms, their blonde and dark brown heads bent together. I felt a slight twinge of envy at their closeness. But then, I reminded myself, they had to share a room. Not so fun. Not to mention a birthday. Even worse.
I headed in the opposite direction toward my middle school, sticking my cold hands in my jacket pockets. I was so distracted that morning, I had left my hat and gloves at home. And now I was paying for it.
I arrived at school, walked up the granite steps, and pushed open the front door. It was still on the early side, so my shoes made hollow sounds as I walked down the empty hallway toward my locker. I breathed in the baby aspirin smell of the cleaning spray the janitor used. I love that sweet orangey aroma. If someone created a perfume
called Freshly Cleaned Sarah Josepha Hale Middle School Hallway, I’d be first in line to buy it.
I came to a stop in front of my locker and opened it with a snap. I smiled. Neat as a pin, just the way I liked it. I hung my jacket and placed my books in the top section, in alphabetical order, of course: English, health, history, math, science, Spanish. I selected the books, notebooks, and folders I needed for my morning classes. I was about to swing the door closed with my hip when I had a thought: Spinach and Swiss cheese omelet for breakfast equals possible green stuff in teeth. Middle school suicide. I placed my books on the floor and checked myself out in the magnetic mirror I had stuck in the top of my locker. I smiled widely and spotted a largish piece of green in between my two front teeth.
Nice catch, Del!
I thought, relieved. I removed the piece of spinach and bared my teeth again. All clear.
“Dental hygiene is a very important part of my day, too,” said a voice behind me.
Startled, I swung my head around, clocking it on the edge of the locker door.
Oof!
Clutching my forehead, I blinked at the person who had spoken. It was a boy. An unfamiliar boy. A very cute, unfamiliar boy. A very cute,
unfamiliar boy who had just seen me picking my teeth! I stared at him.
“Hey,” he said.
Though I wished the freshly polished floor would open and swallow me up, I found myself taking in his longish, sandy brown hair, lazy smile, even teeth, and piercing blue eyes. That’s right, I said
piercing.
“Hey,” I managed to squeak out. And then, what did I do? I scooped up my books and took off down the hall.
Not one of my finer moments.
As I got farther down the hall, away from Mr. Dental Hygiene, I had to laugh at myself. Imagine me, Delphinium Bloom, getting all flustered by a boy. That just doesn’t happen to me. Or to my best friend, Becky. We’re not like some of the other girls in our grade who have a different crush every day, who doodle hearts and arrows in their notebooks when they should be taking notes in class.
Not, I must mention, that Becky and I are social misfits or anything. We may be serious about school, but we are fashionable. Becky is definitely the prettier of us two: she’s tall and slim, with dark brown skin, brown eyes, and black curly hair that comes to her shoulders. But I’ll admit
that I can pass for cute, too. I have wavy light brown hair, hazel eyes, and pale skin that freckles in the summer.
Still, being distracted by boys has always seemed kind of … frivolous. So I was surprised that I felt like I was about to burst if I didn’t tell Becky what had just happened.
When I reached the cafeteria table we sit at each morning, my heart sank. Becky, who sat across from our friend Heather Hanson, was studying from her Spanish flash cards, which meant she was having a quiz that day. Which also meant Becky would only want to converse in Spanish. I generally humor her, but today was not the day to be hampered by my less-than-stellar foreign-language skills.
“Hola,”
said Becky.
“Siéntese.”
I sat.
“Spanish quiz,” Heather told me, flipping through the latest copy of
Us Weekly.
Heather looks like a porcelain doll, with her heart-shaped face, corkscrew curls, and dimpled cheeks. She’s tough, though, and doesn’t think twice about telling you exactly what’s on her mind, which always surprises people who are expecting a sweet girly girl.
“¿Qué pasa?”
Becky asked, taking in my flushed cheeks. She picked up a carton of orange juice and took a swig.
Hmmm. I didn’t know how to say
I was picking my teeth
in Spanish, but I decided I knew enough words to say, “I was stupid in front of a cute boy.”
“Era estupido antes de un”
— I searched my brain for the Spanish word for
handsome —”guano muchacho,”
I finished triumphantly.
Becky promptly spat out her orange juice, showering her flash cards. And me.
“You were stupid in front of a poopy boy?” she told me when she could finally talk. “I guess you meant to say
guapo
instead of
guano
?”
“
Sí
,” I admitted, my cheeks flaring again.
“Sorry, Del,” she said, shaking her head, a huge grin on her face. “But you have to admit, that was really funny.”
Heather put down her magazine and leaned forward eagerly. “So tell us about Señor Guapo!” she said.
All thoughts of studying went out the window as Becky, along with Heather, peppered me with questions, thankfully all in English. Before long, the whole embarrassing story was out.
Becky bit her lip. “Well, that’s not
so
bad …” she said. Heather gave her a dubious look.
“What planet are you from?” I asked. “I picked my teeth
and
bumped my head. Maybe if I had some toilet paper stuck to my shoe, that would have made my humiliation complete.” I quickly glanced down at my ballet flats. No trailing TP. Thank goodness.
“Yeah,” said Heather. “That’s about as bad as it gets!” She grinned, showing her matching dimples.
“Thanks, Heather,” I said sarcastically. “As if today wasn’t bad enough, having to say good-bye to Gran and Gramps.”
Becky’s face fell. “Oh, Del,” she said. “That’s right. I’m so sorry.”
“And right this very moment Mom is opening the store by herself.” I sighed. “I’m a little nervous.”
“Don’t obsess, Del,” said Heather with a wave of her hand as she returned to her magazine. “She’s a grown-up. She’ll be fine.”
But Becky gave me a sympathetic look. She knew how important the store was to me. And how worried I was that Mom wouldn’t be able to handle it. I gave her a grateful smile back and checked my watch. Fifteen minutes to
the first-period bell. I grabbed some money from my bag and walked up to the counter. It was definitely feeling like a hot-chocolate-with-whipped-cream kind of morning. The nice breakfast lady noticed my wan expression and smiled as she gave me an extra squirt of whipped cream. I was just about to take a big spoonful of creamy deliciousness when I felt a tap on my shoulder. Turning around, I nearly dropped my hot cocoa.
Just my luck. It was Ashley Edwards, flanked by her two handmaidens — I mean best friends — Sabrina Jones and Rachel Lebowitz. Sabrina and Rachel look almost exactly alike — only distinguishable by a slight difference in the shade of their straight brown hair and the fact that Sabrina says the word “like” like all the time.
Way back in preschool, Ashley and I were inseparable. But then we had what Becky and I like to call The Teletubby Incident. Ashley and I both showed up on Halloween dressed as Tinky Winky — you know, the tall, purple one. My costume was much better. (Ashley didn’t even have the red purse — what was up with that?) And Ashley has never gotten over it. She apparently likes to be one of a kind, fashion-wise. Rumor has it that she texts her
handmaidens her outfit choice every morning so there will be no inadvertent clothing cloning.
And talk about boy crazy. Ashley played spin the bottle at her fifth-grade birthday party. (And no, I wasn’t there. But everyone talked about it for months.) Ashley is also spoiled rotten — she has all the latest clothes and accessories. Despite myself, I realized I was admiring her outfit that morning. Midnight blue crushed-velvet leggings, tall suede boots, and an off-the-shoulder crocheted sweater over a tank top. A cute beret completed the look. I once tried wearing a hat indoors and the whole time I walked through the halls thinking,
Look at me, I am wearing a hat.
I stuffed it into my backpack in third period. And that was the end of the Great Hat Experiment.
I am
so
not jealous of Ashley, though.
Okay, so maybe I’m a little bit jealous of her clothes, her Brazilian-straightened blonde hair, and her social life. So sue me.
“Hello, Ashley,” I said coolly.
Ashley stared at me for a moment, then spoke. “My cousin tells me that she’s considering letting your family do the flowers for her wedding,” she said as if this had to be a mistake.
“Um, your cousin?” I said.
Ashley rolled her eyes. “Well, this is totally awk,” she said to her friends. Ashley is always talking in shorthand. Terrif. Gorge. Fab. You get the picture. It is so totally obnox, as she would say. “Olivia Post?” She looked back at me. “Um, the biggest wedding of the year?”
Suddenly, it all made sense. No wonder Bridezilla had seemed so familiar. Of course, the two most spoiled rich girls I had ever met were related!
Ashley stepped closer to me. “This is the most important wedding this town has ever seen,” she added, sounding just like Olivia had yesterday. She smiled. “And
I’m
going to be a junior bridesmaid!” Sabrina and Rachel oohed and ahhed as if they were hearing the news for the first time, which I was absolutely certain they were not. Ashley narrowed her eyes at me. “So do you think you can handle it, Delphinium? Hmmmm?”
“Don’t you worry, Ashley,” I said, as dignified as I could be. “Flowers on Fairfield has been serving your floral needs since 1912.” I cringed as I said it.
Good one, Del,
I thought.
You sound like a brochure! A lame brochure.
Ashley rolled her eyes. “Whatev.” Her two handmaidens
nodded their heads. Then, in unison, they turned and flounced off.
“What a jerk!” I muttered under my breath, frustrated that I hadn’t come up with anything good to say back to her. I never can. It annoys me so much.
I sighed. As if this big wedding without Gran and Gramps wasn’t bad enough. Now I had the added pressure of my enemy watching over the whole thing. Yikes!
By the time I got back to the table, I was disappointed to see that the whipped cream had already dissolved into my hot chocolate. I gulped the cocoa down just before the bell rang. My friends and I gathered our books and headed to class.
Thankfully, my day ended up getting better. I got a tough answer right in math class. My teacher handed back our English papers, and I got an A-minus. And the cafeteria served pepperoni pizza at lunchtime. But I still couldn’t stop thinking about the wedding. And Ashley. And Mom all alone in the flower store. What a recipe for disaster!