Goddess of the flowers. The words echoed as Laurel watched and realized that her mom must have danced on this green. And she kept dancing all her life, she thought.
The tempo of the music quickened, and the senior girls nearly tripped over one another to keep up. Then one did. One of the popular seniors, Whitney, plummeted forward, dropping her ribbons. Several girls almost fell on top of her, and the tambourine player stopped jingling.
“Oops,” whispered Rose. “That doesn’t bode well for the harvest.”
A loud guffaw escaped from the professor, who cleared his throat and smiled appreciatively at Rose. Principal Westfall came tearing across the green, and Ms. Suarez appeared out of the crowd with a large pink flower behind one ear. Like puppet masters, they set the dance in motion again.
Laurel had a sudden thought. “Professor, do you know anything about Native Americans doing flower dances?”
“That’s not my area of expertise, but I’d be interested in knowing more,” he said.
“I think they’re called the Hupas. They do flower dances to welcome girls when they—” Laurel hesitated. “When they become women. Ms. Suarez told me about it.”
The professor nodded. “Cultures in all times and places have drawn connections between maidens and flowers. Most of their ceremonies include dancing, too.”
Ceremonies, thought Laurel. My mom made up her own on the vernal equinox.
“Look, there’s Robbie,” said Rose. “He’s such a goober. What’s he doing, eating Tara’s flowers?”
Uneasiness rippled through Laurel as she stood on her tiptoes to see. “What?” Robbie was standing close—too close—to Tara. Tara stepped away, but Robbie followed like a smitten puppy.
“Uh-oh,” said Laurel. “I think Robbie might—um—need us.”
Rose squinted at her. “He’s irritating the heck out of Tara. No worries there.”
“I have to check it out,” said Laurel, jogging down the steps. The crowd was swarming in every direction now.
“So, what’s the deal with all these flowers?” said Rose, right on her heels.
“Later. This way.” Laurel shot through an opening, twisted around clusters of people, and froze.
Robbie, a dreamy smile glued to his face, was centimeters away from Tara. When she moved, he followed as if attached by strings.
“Robbie, man,” said Rose. “Whassup, dude?”
“Hey,” Robbie said in a deep voice that didn’t sound like his own.
Tara scowled at Rose. “Call off your brother. He’s like Velcro.”
Rose grinned. “You should be flattered.”
“Hardly.” Tara looked at Laurel. “Did you put him up to this?”
Laurel shook her head, but she thought it served Tara right for wheedling the gardenia from Kate. From her.
“He’s messing up all my plans.” Tara tried to pull away. “Call him off.”
“I’m not my brother’s keeper,” said Rose. “Hey, Robbie, you hungry? I’m buying.”
“Sure.” Robbie’s eyes didn’t leave Tara’s face. “I want a hot dog.”
“C’mon, dummy.” Rose pulled his arm. “You have to come with me to get it.”
“Can Tara come, too?” said Robbie.
“No! Can’t you turn it off?” Tara yelled at Laurel.
“Wow.” Rose put her hands on her hips. “Tell me this is not my brother. Do you understand what’s happening?”
Laurel’s shoulders rose toward her ears. “Kind of.”
“Then make it stop,” said Rose. “Puh-leeeze.”
Tara tried to hide behind a huge oak tree, but Robbie chased her around it. “Go away!” she shrieked at him.
“Okay. You tackle him, and I’ll tell her to bolt,” Laurel said to Rose.
“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,” the principal’s voice boomed across the quad. “IT IS NOW TIME TO ANNOUNCE THIS YEAR’S MAY QUEEN. THE AVONDALE MAY QUEEN EPITOMIZES THE VIRTUES . . .”
“Now!” Laurel whispered.
Rose grabbed Robbie and locked him in a half nelson as Tara dove into the crowd.
“Let go or I’ll scream,” hissed Robbie, trying to twist away.
“THIS YEAR’S MAY QUEEN IS . . .”
Robbie opened his mouth, but the cheering drowned his cries. As soon as Rose loosened her grip, he took off after Tara again.
“Um, Laurel,” Rose began. “Why is my brother acting like a total moron? Be straight with me now.”
“I will, I will.” A brilliant idea was taking shape. Maybe Laurel could turn it off. “I’ve got to check on something—for Robbie.”
She spotted Justin with his friends as she hurried across the quad, but she couldn’t stop now. Robbie had fallen deeply under the spell of her flowers, and Tara’s anger could be dangerous. The silver conservatory key bounced against her chest as she ran into her room and grabbed her flower book. There had to be something in the garden that could help—some antidote to her love flowers. She sped out of the dorm, past the cedars, and into the center of the garden.
A heady, plumlike fragrance scented the air, and Laurel’s nose led her down a windy path to a tree. Its branches held hundreds of white blossoms, and its perfume streamed into her like mist. All her worries seemed to loosen as she exhaled. She wanted to lose herself in this scent and flit from flower to flower like a butterfly. She wanted to dance on May Day.
Spreading her arms, Laurel pointed her toes and sprang lightly down the path. She felt free and floating as she whirled in a blur of color and sensation. Again! she thought. Again! She was dancing—like her mom and the maidens. Again! Again! She spun and spun, but suddenly there was only brownness. Her hands barely caught her before she fell face first. She stared at the dangling key and tried to remember why she was in the garden.
May Day! She brushed the mulch off her hands. Robbie was making a fool of himself, and Rose would be livid. Tara would be out to get her. Laurel dug her fingernails into her palms, held her breath, and headed away from the tree.
A shiny watering can sat near rows of tender plants in the herb garden. She knelt and read several names on the markers: lemon thyme, marjoram, basil. She picked one of each, rubbed its leaf, and lifted her fingertips to her nose. The scent of basil was the most familiar, but she couldn’t remember where she’d last smelled it. She flipped through her paperback. Basil was for “hatred.”
“Hatred?” Laurel said in astonishment. Her mom had cooked with the herb and grown it outside their kitchen in the summer. How could it mean that? But it might be perfect for Robbie. She plucked several leaves, sniffed them again, and remembered. Basil was the herb on her plate in the diner with her dad.
Weird, she thought as she sprinted back to the quad. Rose was scouting from the library steps.
“Where’s Robbie?” Laurel said, panting.
Rose shook her head despondently. “I lost him. He’s possessed.”
“Not exactly.” Laurel pressed some of the basil into her hand. “Here. Find him and make him smell this.”
“What is it?” Rose lifted the leaves to her nose, but Laurel pushed her hand down.
“Basil, but it’s for him, not you,” Laurel said.
Laurel took a direction opposite Rose’s. Just ahead, a girl shrieked, and Laurel was nearly knocked over by Everett, who zipped through the crowd holding a senior wreath above his head like a trophy. A flowerless Whitney was chasing him.
Following the path they’d created in the crowd, Laurel found Robbie on the outskirts and grabbed his arm. “Here. Tara wants you to smell this.” She held the basil leaves under his nose and said her words quickly.
Robbie batted her hand away. “I can’t find her.”
“No, seriously,” said Laurel. “Tara really wants you to smell this.” She bent a leaf and rubbed it against his upper lip.
“Yuck,” said Robbie. “What is it?”
“Basil. Tara really likes it.”
“She hates me.” Robbie rubbed his forehead. “My head hurts.”
“Sniff again,” said Laurel. “It’s good for headaches, too. You want something to eat?” She led him to the food tables and pressed a hot dog into his hand. She crumpled the rest of the basil and pushed it close to his nose.
“Cut it out!” Robbie pulled away from her.
“Where’s Tara?” Laurel asked.
“Who cares?” Robbie’s mouth was jammed with hot dog. “Can I have ’nother?”
“Have all you like.” My antidote worked perfectly, she thought.
“Laurel!”
Turning toward the voice, Laurel saw Kate waving both hands at her. She was standing in a group of five boys, including Justin and his curly-haired friend. Laurel’s stomach fluttered, and she dropped the basil as she threaded her way to them.
Kate sidled close. “Your flowers are awesome.” Then she turned to the curly-haired boy, twirling her bouquet. “Alan, have you met Laurel? And this is Justin. And Ben. And Casey. And Hugh.”
Omigod, Laurel wanted to say. The guys were literally hovering around Kate, jostling for her attention. Laurel’s hands were empty and smelled like basil. She wiped them on her jean skirt.
“Hey, Justin?” she said, leaning into his line of vision. “How’s it going?”
Kate noticed her and smiled mischievously. “Here.” She pulled out one of her lilac fronds and tucked it behind Laurel’s ear. “You need a flower, too.”
Laurel’s face flushed, and her hand shot up to catch the bloom as it fell from her hair. She could kick herself for not grabbing something in the garden.
Justin turned toward her. “Is that lilac?”
“Yeah,” Laurel said. For the first emotions of love.
“My mom has lilac bushes,” he explained. “She puts the flowers all over the house.”
“Cool.” Laurel raised the flower to her nose, but its scent seemed muted.
Kate touched Alan’s arm as she laughed. He’s winning, Laurel thought. Suddenly jealous, she wanted to move closer to Justin, to touch him and laugh together at private jokes, but he’d turned back to Kate. Laurel frowned at his ponytail as someone grabbed her from behind.
“Robbie ditched me,” Rose whispered. “I can’t find him anywhere.”
“I took care of that problem,” said Laurel, keeping an eye on Justin. “He’s fine.”
Rose’s eyebrows drew together. “You’re positive? He’s totally not himself.”
“Positive,” said Laurel. “I’ll explain later.”
“You’ve got an awful lot to explain,” Rose said. “This better be—”
Justin lunged to grab a yellow Frisbee that had shot across the quad.
“Did someone just aim that at my head?” Rose craned her neck.
Laurel stepped back to Justin’s side. “Nice catch,” she said.
Justin flipped the Frisbee between his hands. “I play Ultimate sometimes. It’s all in the wrist.” He flicked his hand, and the Frisbee glided smoothly away.
“Cool,” said Kate. “Can you teach me to toss like that? I stink.”
“Sure,” said Justin, smiling only at Kate. “When do you want a lesson?”
“I play Ultimate, too,” said another boy, whose name Laurel had already forgotten. “I’ll teach you.”
“Or I can,” said Alan, putting his arm around Kate’s shoulder.
Kate was beaming, but Laurel felt a wicked glare rise up. This was too much. Kate’s smile faltered when she met Laurel’s eyes.
“ATTENTION WILLOWLAWN STUDENTS. THE FIRST SHUTTLE BUS WILL DEPART IN FIVE MINUTES.”
“Uh, sorry, Kate,” said Justin. “We’ve got to go. Alan and I have a massive project due Monday, but we couldn’t skip May Day. Can we do a lesson later?”
“For sure,” said Kate. “And Laurel will come, too.”
“Yeah, sure,” Justin said, but he didn’t even glance Laurel’s way. He punched Alan’s arm. “Yo, Alan. We got to go, man.”
“I’ll catch up,” said Alan, his eyes on Kate.
“You can’t,” said Justin. “We have to meet with Snarly Yarley in half an hour. Chemistry project?”
“Why are all these guys hanging on Kate?” Rose whispered to Laurel. “It’s like she has pheromone perfume.”
Laurel blinked at the tussie. Pheromone perfume? Chemistry project?
Kate waved to Alan as Laurel stood frozen. Justin had never even looked back.
“Oh, Justin,” Rose said in a high, mocking voice, and clasped her hands together. “You’re so big and strong and talented. Will you teach little me to play Frisbee?”
“Shut up,” said Laurel. Kate lifted her tussie to her face, but Laurel pushed it down. “Careful. That thing is dangerous.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Ivy for Matrimony
“Don’t you think Alan’s adorable?” Kate said between bites of hamburger. She’d used the I-have-to-go-to-the-bathroom excuse on the leftover guys, but she, Laurel, and Rose were hiding behind some bushes anyway. Laurel didn’t want to be harassed by Tara, either, and she made Kate throw away her tussie.
Kate went on. “He’s so funny and—”
“But does he have good teeth?” asked Rose.
“Huh?” said Kate.
“She’s making fun of you,” said Laurel.
“Am not,” protested Rose.
Laurel scowled at her.
“Okay, a little.”
Laurel was finishing an ice cream cone, but she felt ready to snap at anyone. Part of her was excited that their experiment had been a success, but most of her wasn’t. She tried to convince herself that Justin was attracted to Kate only because of the flowers, but Kate was tall and blonde and gorgeous. The flowers were like icing. Laurel couldn’t help wondering if her life would be entirely different now if she’d kept that gardenia.
Rose bumped Laurel’s arm. “So start explaining. What happened with Robbie?”
Laurel held up her palm for silence. “Wait a sec.” The professor and Miss Spenser were walking toward the forest. She was still holding her tussie, vibrant with gardenia magic.
Kate clapped her hands. “They’re goin’ to the gazebo—to the kissin’ couch.”
“You’ve got kissing on the brain,” said Rose.
Kate grabbed Laurel’s arm. “Let’s follow. Aren’t you dyin’ to see if he got the message?”
“Yeah,” said Laurel, but she couldn’t shake her disappointment. Romance and love were swirling all around, yet nothing seemed to touch her. “I just—”
“Come on.” Kate tugged on Laurel’s arm. “We have to get there first to hide.”
“Stop!” Rose said. “Will someone puh-leeeze explain what’s going on?”
“Later,” said Laurel impatiently.
“But—but—” Rose sputtered.
Laurel and Kate ducked low behind the bushes and hurried toward the gazebo.
“This path is shorter,” said Kate. The pine needles were soft beneath Laurel’s shoes, and the crisp scent of the trees was energizing. She took a deeper breath. A stick snapped behind her, and she turned to see Rose rushing after them.
Laurel felt a pinch of guilt about spying, but she was too curious to stop now. She plunged into the high meadow moments after Kate. Pastel wildflowers dotted the knee-high grasses. At the top of the slope, the green-and-white gazebo stood unoccupied.
“Quick,” said Laurel. Kate squealed as they scrambled into a tangle of branches.
Rose arrived seconds later. “What are we doing?” she begged breathlessly.
“Spying,” Laurel whispered. “Shhh.”
With its privacy and views of the Blue Ridge Mountains, the “kissing couch” was the most romantic spot on campus. Tales of amorous conquests—of both victories and defeats—zoomed through the corridors with fiber-optic speed on most Mondays.
Just then they heard voices, and footsteps echoed on the wooden steps. The wicker couch creaked above their heads, and they all hunkered low.
“This is a lovely spot,” Professor Featherstone said in his genteel drawl.
“It is,” said Miss Spenser, whose voice had more of a lilt than usual. “You should see the sunsets from here.”
Laurel longed to peek even though she could picture Miss Spenser sitting ladylike straight with her knees pressed together and her feet crossed.
“There’s also a marvelous view of the valley from the other side of that hill,” added Miss Spencer. “Would you like me to show you?”
“Some day, Sheila,” said the professor. “But not now. Now we have something far more important to discuss.”
Kate’s mouth sprang open, and she squeezed Laurel’s hand too tightly. Laurel pressed her index finger to her lips.
“Sheila . . .” The professor cleared his throat. “After Dolores died, I had few expectations for the rest of my life. But when I first saw you in the dining hall with that bouquet, you looked like a portrait. You look like one today with these gardenias.”
Kate pumped her fist, but Laurel was concentrating. Bright cut flowers, leaves of green, bring about what I have seen. She closed her eyes and imagined a wedding in a grand church, with sunlight slanting through stained glass windows.
“My soul smiles whenever I see you,” he said. “This may be sudden and impulsive, but Sheila Spenser, will you honor me with your hand in marriage?”
There was complete silence. Neither Laurel nor Kate nor Rose dared to breathe for fear of interrupting the spell.
“Of course, Luke.” Miss Spenser’s voice quivered with emotion. “Of course.”
Laurel clamped both hands over her own mouth to keep from exploding with delight.
“Omigod,” Kate mouthed silently to her.
“Now, now,” said the professor. “No tears. Aren’t you happy?”
Miss Spenser was sniffling. “So happy.”
The girls below squeezed themselves into silence as the crying above transformed into a peal of laughter. Rose huddled quietly, tracing patterns in the dirt with a stick. Footsteps echoed down the stairs, but Laurel held Kate back and counted to a hundred before peeking out. “All clear,” she whispered.
Kate popped out, trailing a stray vine from her shoelaces. “I can’t believe they’re gettin’ married already. Your flowers are awesome.”
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