Forget-Her-Nots

by Amy Brecount White

  Laurel picked a leaf out of Kate’s hair and hurried up the steps to watch the path the couple must have taken. “They’re old. They can’t waste any more time.”

  Kate sat down and spread her arms along the back of the kissing couch. “But none of this would be happenin’ without your tussies.”

  “It must be just coincidence, right?” Laurel said, hoping Kate would contradict her. Rose followed them into the gazebo and sat down on the railing.

  Kate smiled. “C’mon. I don’t believe that and neither do you.”

  Laurel had to smile back, because Miss Spenser’s life was forever transformed. There was a power in her blooms, in her words—a force that could awaken and sway sleeping emotions.

  “You think he kissed her?” asked Laurel.

  “Why do you think it got all quiet?” said Kate.

  “Passionately?” asked Laurel.

  “Passionately.”

  “Stop,” said Rose. “Enough with the girly-girl talk. Will someone please explain to me what all this flower crap has to do with my brother freaking out?”

  Laurel and Kate exchanged a glance.

  The couch creaked as Kate moved. “Laurel makes bouquets that are like magic.”

  “Magic?” Rose folded her arms on her chest.

  Kate nodded. “Luv magic.”

  “Not really magic,” Laurel said, leaning against a post. She knew Rose would never buy that explanation. “The flowers just seem to—to influence people’s feelings.”

  “Their romantic feelings,” interjected Kate.

  Rose shook her head. “So you actually tried to make Robbie fall in love with Tara?”

  “No way.” Laurel straightened defensively. “Tara was after someone else.”

  “Those flowers were meant for another guy,” Kate added.

  “Enough with the flowers,” Rose said angrily. “My brother acted like a total ass in front of the entire school!”

  Kate waved her arms. “Whoa. Rose, please try to open your mind.”

  “I am completely open-minded,” said Rose. “About rational things.”

  Laurel took a deep breath. “Remember that language of flowers project I did for English?”

  “Not so much,” said Rose.

  “So, I made this bouquet following the language and gave it to Miss Spenser.”

  “Actually, you gave her three,” said Kate. “And now they’re happily ever after in luv.”

  “It’s like the flowers were saying the things she was too shy to say,” Laurel explained. “And the professor could sense that—the flowers speaking.”

  “Flowers speaking,” repeated Kate. “I like that.”

  Rose walked to the other side of the gazebo. “Okay, maybe some pretty flowers got his attention, but you can’t make someone love another person.”

  “Not just pretty,” whispered Kate. “Powerful.”

  “Oh, I get it.” A huge grin spread across Rose’s face as she looked around. “Major prank, right? You guys are doing a great job for newbies.”

  “This is not a prank,” said Kate. “You’re smart, but you don’t know everything.”

  Rose crossed her arms. “I never said I knew everything.”

  “Stop,” Laurel said. “Rose, you know people have always used flowers for medicines and messages. Greek mythology has tons of flower stories.”

  Rose lifted one eyebrow. “So?”

  “Right,” said Kate. “People are always turnin’ into flowers or constellations or something.”

  “And my name, too,” said Laurel. “Apollo fell in love with Daphne, a beautiful huntress—”

  “A virgin huntress,” added Kate.

  “And he chased her until she cried out to her river-god father, who changed her into the laurel tree,” Laurel said.

  Rose circled her hand impatiently. “Then the laurel was Apollo’s favorite, and winners wore wreaths of laurel. Blah, blah, blah . . . It’s just a myth.”

  Laurel bit her lower lip. She couldn’t bear Rose’s scorn. “Look, one time my mom took me to hear a scientist who lived in the rain forest. He talked about how the natives use plants and flowers to heal people.”

  “Those shamans use plants as cures, not to play around with emotions,” said Rose.

  “But the Victorians believed flowers were magic,” Kate said, “didn’t they?”

  “I think so,” Laurel said.

  “The Victorians were also fond of tight corsets and bleeding with leeches,” Rose said.

  Laurel scoured her mind for proof. “Think about how Robbie was—a different person. The only explanation is that he inhaled Tara’s love bouquet.”

  Rose frowned across the meadow. “That was scary.”

  “What about Kate and all those guys?” added Laurel. “You even said something about pheromone perfume.”

  “I was joking.” Rose’s face twisted in disgust. “You didn’t buy some pheromone crap on the internet, did you?”

  “No way,” said Laurel. “But it’s like that, except it’s the natural scent of the flowers.”

  Kate shook her hair. “You’ve lost me. What are pheromones?”

  “Chemicals released by an organism that allow it to communicate with other members of its species,” Rose recited quickly.

  “In English, please,” said Kate.

  Rose sighed. “Okay, so scientists have discovered that animals release certain chemicals, like smells, that signal other animals that danger’s near or that they’re ready to mate.”

  “For real?” said Kate. “Do humans do it, too?”

  “Yep.” Rose nodded. “Big research topic now. Biologists are trying to figure out how it all works.”

  “So.” Laurel stepped forward. “Scientists think that what you smell can affect your behavior, right? Tara had a gardenia, which means ‘ecstasy and transport’ in the flower language and some purple lilac, which means ‘the first emotions of love.’ And that’s exactly what happened. Robbie acted like he was ecstatically in love with her.”

  “Ecstasy?” said Kate. “Like the drug? Can flowers make you high?”

  “Poppies can,” said Rose. “That’s where opium comes from.”

  “High on luv?” Kate giggled.

  “No,” said Rose, “just stoned. Opium fries your brain, and it’s seriously addictive.”

  “Please. Let’s focus here.” Laurel took a deep breath. “Rose, you know my mom used to give people flowers all the time.”

  “She always had so many,” Rose said wistfully.

  “But I think it was more than that,” said Laurel. “I think she was speaking to them—to their souls—in this language. Maybe trying to make their lives better.”

  “With flowers?” said Rose.

  Laurel nodded solemnly. “And the messages can come true.”

  Rose’s eyes were cool with skepticism. “Did she tell you this? I mean, before—”

  “No,” Laurel said. “But I’m positive she knew it and that she wants me to know.”

  Rose hesitated. “Just don’t use Robbie as a guinea pig next time.”

  Laurel lifted her right palm. “Promise. That was a total accident, but we could use your help figuring this all out.”

  Rose rubbed her forehead. “It’s a little outside my range of expertise.”

  “But what about that fern you told me about?” said Laurel. “The one that takes poison out of the soil?”

  “Arsenic,” said Rose. “The fern absorbs it. Phytoremediation.”

  “Exactly,” said Laurel. “Plants have tons of powers we don’t understand yet.”

  Kate stood up. “And Laurel has powers, too.”

  Rose held her palms outward. “C’mon. How do you know Miss Spenser and the professor wouldn’t have fallen in love anyway?”

  “You kinda had to be there,” Kate explained. “The flowers did something. Laurel felt it.”

  “He couldn’t stop sniffing them,” said Laurel. “We believe my flowers helped make it happen.”

  �
��Believing is completely different from knowing,” Rose said. “And why would anyone use flowers to communicate? It’s totally inefficient.”

  “It’s retro,” Kate said with a smile. “Laurel’s flowers are beyond retro.”

  Rose was fighting back a smile. “Okay, so there’s nothing weird about carrying flowers on May Day, but what about the other three hundred sixty-four days?”

  “Flowers are always part of special occasions,” said Laurel. “Valentine’s Day, Mother’s Day, lilies for Easter—”

  “And corsages for prom,” added Kate. “Everyone’s gonna want flowers like mine.”

  Prom? Laurel wasn’t sure if the feeling that rippled through her was excitement or fear.

  Later that evening Laurel pasted blue violets—for faithfulness—to another note for Grandma. She’d promised herself that she’d send them until Grandma responded, but it seemed like an “exercise in futility”—one of her dad’s favorite expressions about life on Capitol Hill.

  When someone knocked on her door, Laurel put a heavy book on top of the note. “Come in,” she called out, and immediately regretted it.

  “Hope you had a good laugh,” Tara sneered, and shut the door behind herself.

  “What?”

  “Don’t act all innocent,” said Tara. “You and Rose set up the whole Robbie thing to make me look like an idiot. Congrats. You win prank o’ the month.”

  “But Rose would never want Robbie to—” Laurel hesitated.

  “Never what?” asked Tara.

  “She’d never want Robbie to look like an idiot, either. He was in the wrong place, and he smelled—” She stopped herself before she gave anything else away. “I mean, he saw . . . the flowers. Maybe if you had shown them to Everett first.”

  Tara lifted one palm. “It’s not a wise move to treat me like I’m stupid. And, BTW, that old book is missing from the library tower.”

  Laurel cleared her throat to make her voice light. “What book?”

  “The really old flower one.” Tara squinted at Laurel’s bookshelf. “Is it here? I told the librarian it was gone, but I didn’t tell her you stole it. Not yet.”

  “I didn’t steal it.”

  “Then where’d it go? Nicole saw it awhile ago.” Tara picked up a remnant of purple lilac from Laurel’s desk. “There’s more of this in the garden, right?”

  “We’re not supposed to pick them,” said Laurel.

  “You do.”

  “Uh, Ms. Suarez gave me special permission,” said Laurel. It was almost true.

  “Ms. Suarez? Is she involved in this, too?” Tara asked.

  Laurel wished she could keep something to herself. “She just likes flowers.”

  Tara plopped down on Laurel’s bed. “Alan’s called Kate like six times, and other guys asked her out.”

  Other guys? Laurel thought. Would Kate tell me if Justin called her?

  “I never got close to Everett.” Tara punched Laurel’s pillow. “He followed Whitney around, and she has a boyfriend. I’m totally in love, and Ev hardly knows I exist.”

  Staring at Tara’s curtain of dark hair, Laurel wished she could read her mind. Any pity, any help she offered could be twisted to explode in her own face.

  “You have to help me,” Tara pleaded softly. “You’re my only hope.”

  Laurel wanted to laugh and kick Tara out, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. “Maybe there were too many people around. Maybe if we tried it again—”

  “Then he’ll get the message?” Tara finished. “That would be so awesome.”

  “Yeah.” But Laurel’s own thoughts moved back to Justin. Would fresher flowers have worked? Different flowers? She had no idea how long the effects of Kate’s tussie would last. The love between Miss Spenser and the professor had taken root, but maybe Justin’s feelings for Kate wouldn’t—not if they weren’t reciprocated.

  Tara sat up straighter. “So promise me that your flowers will work right next time.”

  Laurel stood up. “I can’t. Besides, they worked perfectly this time.”

  “On the wrong person,” said Tara.

  “I can’t control that,” said Laurel.

  “Why not?” said Tara.

  Laurel opened her mouth but didn’t have a satisfying answer. “You have to go now,” she said, suddenly flustered. “I have a huge project for . . . Latin.”

  “Fine.” Tara spun around at the door. “Is Robbie going to stalk me next time I see him?”

  Laurel shook her head. “He’s fine now.”

  Tara took a step closer. “What I really want is for Everett to ask me to prom.”

  “But he’s a freshman. He can’t go, can he?”

  “Yes, he can,” said Tara. “Edmund du Valle thought all ‘proper’ young men should dance. You missed the ballroom dance classes in PE last fall. The guys have to go to two dances a year, and lots go stag.”

  Laurel had never been to a real dance, not one with a date. “So why don’t you invite Everett, then?”

  “Duh,” said Tara. “It’s Willowlawn’s dance, not ours. Ours was the semi-formal in December. We switch off every year.”

  Laurel frowned. “But you just said Everett doesn’t know you exist.”

  Tara’s look was steely as she left. “We’ll have to fix that, won’t we?”

  Laurel locked her door. She wanted sharp thorns and dead leaves for Tara’s tussie, but that would be too obvious. Her head throbbing, she walked back to her desk and picked up the heavy book that had pressed the violets onto her note. She tossed the book onto her bed, picked up a pen, and scrawled across the back of the envelope:

  Lily doesn’t want you to be like this!!!

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Flower Fame

  Forty-eight hours after May Day nearly everyone at the school knew that Miss Spenser was engaged, and strange rumors about Laurel’s flowers were starting to fly.

  “I didn’t tell anyone,” Kate insisted. “I mean, I didn’t mean to. Everything’s happenin’ at once, and everyone wants to know all about Alan. Ally thinks we’re nuts.”

  “Really?” Laurel asked, disappointment creeping into her voice.

  The hum of voices paused and heads turned when she and Kate entered the dining hall for dinner. She heard her name whispered as she slid onto the bench. She bowed her head during the blessing, but her skin prickled with the thought of eyes watching.

  “Is it true?” several girls finally asked. “Spinster Spenser’s really getting married?”

  Kate nodded. “We heard it all . . . .” Two seniors suddenly appeared at their table.

  “Which one of you is the flower girl?” asked Whitney. Her thick dark hair and pale skin reminded Laurel of Snow White, but Whitney always wore lots of eye makeup and red lipstick. She dated Ricky Pavotti, a popular senior at Willowlawn, and his letter jacket hung on her as low as her uniform skirt. Her tall friend Amanda was with her.

  “You must mean Laurel.” Kate flipped her hand across the table.

  “Hi.” Laurel waved the fingers of one hand.

  Whitney’s voice was low and hoarse. “You gave Spinster Spenser flowers, right?”

  “She’s the one,” said Kate. “We heard the—”

  Laurel kicked her under the table.

  “Ow,” Kate said.

  Whitney scanned the freshman faces that were straining to hear every syllable. She leaned closer, and Laurel inhaled an unpleasant mix of cigarettes and mint gum.

  “We need to talk,” the senior whispered. “Alone. Meet me at Bill’s bust at seven.”

  “Tonight?” Laurel’s voice squeaked.

  “Past your bedtime, punkin?” Whitney said, unsmiling.

  Laurel blushed. “No, I have to have tea with Mrs. Fox. It’s my turn.”

  Whitney frowned. “Dorm mothers are a major nuisance. So tomorrow afternoon?”

  “I’ve got soccer practice.”

  “Aren’t we Little Miss Everything!” said Whitney.

  Tara laughed. “Hard
ly.”

  Laurel glared at her. “What about Wednesday? I could get there by six.”

  “Okay,” Whitney said. “Bill’s bust. Wednesday.”

  “I’ll be there,” Laurel said.

  Whitney whispered something to Amanda, who snickered as they walked out of the hall.

  “They didn’t even eat,” Nicole said. “No wonder she’s so skinny.”

  “She’s skinny because she smokes,” said Tara. “My mom smokes like a chimney when she’s trying to lose weight. It takes away your appetite.”

  “That’s brilliant.” Rose squeezed onto the bench between Laurel and Kate. “Pump your body full of carcinogens just to lose a few pounds. What’s a few years off your life span, anyway?” Her fist pounded the table. “Better to be thin.”

  Tara glowered at her, but Rose smiled widely. “Hello, Tara, and how are we today?”

  Tara and Nicole picked up their trays and moved to the other end of the table.

  Rose shook her head. “It’s such a drag being popular. What did Whitney want?”

  “She says we haaave to talk,” Laurel said. “I’m meeting her Wednesday.”

  “Why?” Rose shook her chocolate milk carton.

  Kate leaned around Rose to whisper to Laurel. “I told you everyone would want flowers. You’re famous now.”

  Rose frowned. “Princess Whitney’s not known for her benevolence. She must want something baaad to talk to a lowly freshman.”

  “Thanks a lot.” Laurel elbowed her.

  “You want me to come?” asked Rose.

  “That’s okay,” Laurel said. Rose was sure to say something to irritate Whitney.

  “I’ll go,” announced Kate.

  “Hey,” Laurel whispered to Rose. “You didn’t tell Robbie about the flowers, did you?” She was dying to know if anyone was talking about her at Willowlawn.

  Rose sniffed. “How can I begin to explain what I don’t comprehend myself?”

  Laurel held on to one question until Rose left. “So, Ally thinks we’re nuts?”

  Kate nodded and took her last bite of cherry pie. “She tries to be so frickin’ rational all the time. Typical math geek.”

  “Like Rose,” Laurel said. “What about you? Do you think my flowers are illogical?”