Flower Feud

by Catherine R. Daly

  “Hey,” said Mom suddenly. “Could you look up Elizabeth Hennessey?”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “She was my best friend in elementary school,” explained Mom. “I’ve always wondered what happened to her.”

  “Really, Mom?” I said. “Right now?”

  “Why not?” she said eagerly. “I’ve never been on Facebook before.”

  I typed in the name and several Elizabeth Hennesseys popped up. Mom squinted at the screen, trying to determine if one of them was her long-lost friend. “Here, let me sit,” she said, all but pushing me out of the seat.

  Mom clicked on a couple of pictures before she found one that looked familiar. “I think this is her,” she said. “But I can’t see all her info. Should I … ‘friend’ her?” She looked at Dad.

  “Why not?” he said.

  “Oh, this is very exciting!” she said with a giggle.

  Dad leaned over her shoulder, a smile on his face. “Let’s look up Manny Elgarresta,” he suggested.

  “Enough, you guys,” I said. “We have work to do!”

  “It will just take a minute,” said Dad. “Manny and I started the Dungeons and Dragons club at my high school,” he said. “I don’t want to brag, but I was a Level Twelve Dwarf Fighter!”

  Mom and I gave each other alarmed looks. Just when I think I know every nerdy fact about my dad, he goes and surprises me.

  Then Dad got that look on his face he always gets when he is about to quote literature. He’s an English Lit professor, so it goes with the territory. “‘The companions of our childhood always possess a certain power over our minds which hardly any later friend can obtain,’” he said. “Mary Shelley.”

  “Hmmm, I wonder if Matt Whelan is on here,” Mom considered aloud.

  Dad smirked at Mom. “Wasn’t he your boyfriend in ninth grade?” he asked. Mom bristled.

  Enough was enough. “Let’s look up Fleur’s page,” I told Mom.

  I changed places with her and checked it out. Fleur had a link to their website and pictures of some okay-looking arrangements. Then I laughed.

  “Well, now we know they’re not stealing away customers with their Facebook page,” I said.

  “How can you tell?” Mom asked curiously.

  “Look at the number of fans,” I said, tapping the screen. “Three. And two of them have the last name Baldwin.”

  I did notice that none of the Baldwins was Hamilton, which made me feel somewhat better.

  It was clear that Facebook was not the answer we were looking for. I told my parents good night and gave them each a kiss, and they left me to my planning. But I was too tired to think much more, so I went to sleep.

  I wasn’t in the best mood as I trudged to school on Monday morning. But it was a sunny day, so it was hard to stay sour. The birds were singing, the flowers were blooming, all that good stuff. I took a deep sniff — relishing that springy smell of fresh dirt and newly mown grass. Then I stepped over a bunch of extra-large earthworms writhing on the sidewalk. Yuck. I wondered if Dad would be able to get Poppy to school in time — she is fascinated by the creepy-crawly things and would want to stop and study each one.

  When I got to school, I made my way to the cafeteria. I liked to avoid the mad morning locker rush and hang out with my friends over a hot chocolate or orange juice.

  I spotted Becky, Heather, Amy, and Jessica at the table already. I wondered if Amy would have a funny story about Amber, or if Becky had some gossip from her mom, who works at the local paper. I’d be happy to talk about anything, just as long as it wasn’t the middle school prom. I had been thinking about it, one way or another, all weekend.

  “You have to help us decide,” Heather said breathlessly as soon as I sat down. “Prom dates — do we wait for someone to ask us, or do we ask someone ourselves?”

  I fought back a groan. I looked at Becky, but my BFF was buried in one of her notebooks again. We had had a long conversation about the prom insanity that weekend. She had said that she wanted to go, just to check things out. And we had heard that Ashley had confirmed that you could go stag if you wanted to. So I’d reluctantly agreed to go, too.

  “Amber’s friends are doing both,” said Amy. “But Amber, of course, was asked out by the captain of the football team.” She looked around at us. “She’s the head cheerleader — it’s like a rule or something.”

  “If you could go with anyone, who would it be?” Jessica asked Amy.

  Amy was silent for a while, but finally confessed that she thought Brian Kilpatrick was cute. “He’s got blond hair and blue eyes and he’s really funny,” she said. “I think he’d be the perfect date. What about you, Heather?” she asked.

  Heather lowered her voice and leaned forward conspiratorially. “I’ve been thinking about this all weekend. I’ve decided I want to go with Billy Walters,” she said. “I hope he asks me.”

  Billy Walters? He may have been the captain of the soccer team now, but I would always remember him as the boy who, in third grade, asked the school librarian where to find books on World War Three. She had been completely aghast.

  “Heather, I had no idea you were so old-fashioned,” I joked. “That’s very traditional of you. You could ask him yourself, you know.”

  Heather looked embarrassed. “I know. But I just can’t.”

  Becky finally looked up from her notebook and we smiled at each other. Thank goodness for Becky. She was my port in the storm of girly girls gone boy crazy.

  Jessica, in a surprisingly practical way, announced that she was going to ask Jackson Bates. Their moms had gone to college together so Jessica and Jackson had been friends since they were in diapers. “I don’t like him like him,” she said. “And he doesn’t like me like me. But we’ll have so much fun!”

  “So what about you, Becky?” asked Amy. “Are you crushing on anyone?”

  I snorted. “No way!” I said. “Becky doesn’t have time for crushes! And neither do I.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Heather, scrunching up her face in disbelief. The table went silent. Then I realized that everyone was looking at me.

  “What?” I said, feeling uncomfortable.

  “Well, what about Hamilton?” Heather asked.

  My cheeks reddened. Hamilton. He’d been on my mind all weekend, too — but not in an asking-him-to-the-dance way.

  “There’s something I have to tell you guys,” I said, my voice low. I hadn’t yet told Jessica, Amy, and Heather about the Hamilton–Fleur connection. (I had already shared the news with Becky, of course.)

  They all leaned in, their eyes wide.

  I took a deep breath and blew it out before I spoke. “You’re never going to believe this,” I said. “Hamilton’s mom is the owner of Fleur.”

  Three pairs of shocked eyes looked back at me.

  “You mean the new flower store in the mall?” Amy gasped.

  “Well, it’s no wonder he knew that a delphinium was a flower!” said Heather.

  I nodded.

  “Does he know your family owns Flowers on Fairfield?” Jessica asked.

  “Petal Pushers,” Becky and I corrected her at the same time, then grinned at each other.

  “Whatever,” Jessica said impatiently. “Does he?”

  “I don’t think so,” I said slowly. “I certainly didn’t tell him.”

  “I don’t see why it’s such a big deal,” said Heather. “Ask him!”

  I looked at her in shock. “Even if I wanted to, I can’t,” I said. “He’s the competition. Did you see the ad Fleur took out in Saturday’s paper? They might as well have said ‘Don’t go to Petal Pushers, we’re so much cooler.’” I shook my head. “I’m not even sure I should be friends with him anymore.”

  Everyone stared at me worriedly.

  “Hey, who died?” asked a snotty-sounding girl behind us. We all spun around.

  Ashley Edwards stood there, her long, blonde hair gleaming, her plaid, drop-waist dress adorable and wrinkle-free. She looked, as usual, like
she had stepped right off a runway and had somehow ended up in a New Hampshire middle school.

  “Why the long faces?” she went on. “Aren’t you all totally psyched for my middle school prom?” She turned to her two best friends who stood slightly behind her like bodyguards. “It’ll be just like a real prom, only better. Totally brill if I do say so myself.”

  “Right,” Sabrina and Rachel said in unison. I blinked at them. They were so interchangeable it wasn’t even funny.

  Ashley put her hands on her hips. “So are any of you asking anyone in particular?”

  “As if we’d tell you,” said Heather, tossing her corkscrew curls.

  Ashley leaned in over my shoulder. “How about you, Del, hmmmm?”

  “None of your business,” I said.

  “Look, girls,” she said to her friends. “Del is being mysterious.” She narrowed her eyes and stared at me for a moment, then laughed. “Ta-ta, see you around.”

  Amy turned to me, all serious. “You should get over this Hamilton problem,” she whispered. “Otherwise Ashley’s going to ask him to the dance.”

  “Fine with me,” I said between gritted teeth. “Becky and I will go stag together, won’t we, Becky?”

  Becky glanced at me, looking slightly bewildered. “Um … sure,” she said.

  “But what if Hamilton tries to ask you, Del?” Heather pressed on. “Are you going to turn him down?”

  I crossed my arms and squared my shoulders. “Hamilton is not going to ask me because he’s not interested. End of story.”

  Heather sighed.

  “But just in case your crazy idea happens to be right,” I added defiantly, “he won’t be able to ask me. I’ll just avoid him. I don’t want to talk to him, anyway. It won’t be hard.”

  Famous last words.

  Chapter Four

  The next day, I was minding my own business, standing in the lunch line when someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around warily.

  “Hey, Del!” Hamilton said cheerfully. “What’s up? Haven’t seen you in a while.” He grinned. “What, have you been avoiding me?” he said jokingly.

  I gulped. Hamilton pushed his shaggy hair out of his eyes. He has the longest eyelashes I had ever seen on anyone, boy or girl.

  I wasn’t quite sure how I felt — a weird mix of happy to see him, angry at him about the Fleur ad, nervous that he would ask me to the dance, and maybe, oddly enough, nervous that he wouldn’t.

  “Hi, Hamilton,” I replied. Then, not knowing what to do, I picked up a package of chocolate chip cookies and studied the nutritional content like it was the most interesting thing I had ever seen.

  Hamilton laughed. “Fascinating, huh? I prefer reading oatmeal raisin myself.” He picked up a package and pretended to study it as well. I couldn’t help it, I laughed. He was just so goofy. And cute. Goofily cute. Totally distracted, I realized that I was next in line. I grabbed a sandwich and a drink and paid the cashier without even registering what I was doing.

  “Bye, Hamilton,” I said. He waved.

  When I got back to my seat I looked down and saw I had grabbed a grape juice by mistake. I hate grape juice. Too sweet and purply.

  My friends were poring over prom magazines that Amy had borrowed from her sister. My face was still hot from my brief encounter with Hamilton and I couldn’t pay attention. I nodded enthusiastically when Heather asked me what I thought of a certain dress, then wanted to take it back when I realized I had given the thumbs-up to a bright pink fringed flapper-style dress. Becky gave me a funny look.

  “Well, what do you think about this one?” Amy asked the group, pointing to a white dress that had so many silver sequins on the bodice that it looked like an ice skater’s costume.

  No one knew what to say. Finally, Heather broke the silence. “Totally tacky,” she said bluntly.

  “And the bubblegum-pink flapper dress wasn’t?” Amy asked, her feelings clearly hurt.

  “Del liked it!” protested Heather.

  Amy turned to me. “Do you really like the flapper dress better than the sequined one?” she asked me point-blank.

  “Hey,” I said, hurriedly grabbing my books. “Gotta go. It’s the perfect time to start reminding people to buy their prom flowers at Petal Pushers!”

  My last class of the day was science lab. I ran into Albert Bustios, my lab partner, on the way there.

  “I’m really excited about today’s lab,” he said.

  “I know! Acids and bases!” I replied.

  Yes, I like science lab. A lot. I like how organized you need to be to perform the experiments. And when everything is just right, you get the exact result you’re looking for.

  “Totally. I mean, they’re only the key to understanding chemistry!” he said with a smile. “I heard Ms. Studdert is going to use cabbage juice as the neutral.”

  “Nice choice,” I said.

  “I have an idea!” said Albert excitedly. “Let’s take turns testing the solutions and keep them secret from each other so we can guess which is which.”

  “That’s a great idea,” I said. “It will definitely make the lab more interesting.” I smiled at him. That was why Albert was the best lab partner ever. He just got it.

  We walked into the lab room together. Our teacher, Ms. Studdert, is one of my favorites. She’s young and pretty and makes science fun. There’s just one thing I don’t like about science class: Bob the Bully. Make that two things I don’t like: Bob and his obnoxious lab partner and best friend, Matt. The two of them are disruptive and annoying. You’d think that Bob’s broken leg would slow him down a bit. But maybe his cast was itching him or something, because that day he was being even more annoying than ever. If that’s even possible.

  Ms. Studdert, wearing a crisply starched white lab coat, stood in front of the room. She clasped her hands together, hardly able to contain her enthusiasm.

  “Today we’re going to do one of my favorite seventh-grade science experiments ever — acids and bases!” she said with a grin.

  Albert and I smiled at each other. The rest of the class looked bored. Bob gasped loudly like he was crazy excited. “How thrilling!” he cried.

  Matt laughed.

  Ms. Studdert gave Bob a warning look, and held up a red cabbage, neatly cut in half. “We’re going to make cabbage water today and then we’re going to …”

  “Have a party!” cried Bob.

  Albert and I exchanged disgusted glances. Leave it to Bob to try to ruin the best experiment of the school year. I turned around and glared at him. He stuck out his tongue at me. So immature. I faced the front of the room and shook my head. Bob would still be irritating if he were at least funny. But his jokes are always so lame.

  “Robert,” said Ms. Studdert in a warning tone. Her normally kind face had a harsh expression on it. “Please keep your comments to yourself.”

  “Sure, Ms. St-St-Studdert!” he replied.

  Matt snorted with laughter.

  I spun around in my seat, my mouth open in shock. The room began to buzz. Had Bob really just made fun of a teacher? This was shocking, even for Bob. I’m no expert, but that screamed instant detention to me.

  Apparently, Ms. Studdert was taken aback, too. She stared at him in disbelief.

  “Robert, that’s it,” she said sternly. “You will report to detention immediately after school today.”

  Yes! I thought, smiling to myself. Bob would finally learn his lesson.

  “Oh man,” Bob groaned, and Matt said, “Tough break, dude.”

  “And that’s not all,” Ms. Studdert went on, “you and Matt together are a bad combination. New partners for you both. Right now.”

  Oh no! Albert and I exchanged nervous glances. We both dropped our eyes to our notebooks, willing ourselves invisible. Because when teachers split up the bad students, you know who they reassign them to. The good ones. It was like we had targets on our backs.

  There was silence, during which I assume Ms. Studdert was scanning the room, deciding wh
o to torture. I was concentrating on my blank notebook page with all my power. Say someone else’s name, I chanted silently. Please.

  “Albert,” she finally said. “You will be Matt’s new partner. Matt, please go join Albert.”

  My eyes flew to Albert’s face. He looked as stricken as I felt.

  I knew what was coming next, but I still hoped against hope that somehow I was mistaken.

  “Del, you’ll have to move to the back of the room to join Bob, if you don’t mind.”

  I do mind! I wanted to scream, but I knew I couldn’t.

  Albert gave me a doleful look. Matt approached our table and I gathered my books. As I started to walk past Matt, I paused to glare at him.

  He shrugged. “Sorry, Del,” he said.

  “Your apology is not accepted,” I told him.

  I made my way to the back of the room and plopped down on the lab stool next to Bob.

  “Hello, Delfurnit —”

  I raised my finger to his face to silence him. I was not in the mood. “Listen to me, Bob,” I snapped. “I take science seriously. If you mess up this experiment I’ll …”

  “You’ll what?” he said with a smirk.

  “I’ll …” Hmm. He was right in a way; he already had detention. What could I do that was much worse? Break his other leg? Too violent. Tell his mom? Too second grade. Send him a bouquet of dead flowers from the store? Too Aster. Finally, I got it. “I’ll make you do this lab all by yourself,” I threatened. That would fix him.

  But it didn’t.

  Things started out okay. Ms. Studdert handed out safety goggles and materials. I placed several pieces of cabbage into a large beaker and covered them with hot water. But as soon as the water cooled down, my new lab partner picked up the beaker, drank the liquid, and burped. My mouth fell open in shock. This was beyond gross, even for Bob. I had to start all over again, making a second batch of cabbage juice and telling Bob not to dream of drinking it. Then I lined up my solutions — ammonia, baking soda, lemon juice, vinegar, cream of tartar, and seltzer. I stole a glance at the clock. We were running out of time thanks to Bob and his shenanigans. That was a Gran word, and it totally fit.