Forget-Her-Nots

by Amy Brecount White

  Kate crumpled the napkin onto her tray. “Love isn’t supposed to be logical, is it? And I’m havin’ a great time.”

  Laurel matched her smile. “Me, too.”

  The next day Laurel hurried from her class to the library tower. In all the excitement she’d forgotten about Tara’s threat to snitch. Her hands shook as she unearthed the antique book from the newspapers and slid it back into its slot. Now no one could hassle her about the book.

  “Yes, of course,” a familiar voice said from the stairs. “I’ll look, too.”

  Sucking in a breath, Laurel threw her backpack onto a table, grabbed a random book, sat down, and pretended to read.

  “Laurel?” whispered Ms. Suarez, coming around a bookcase.

  “Oh, hi, Ms. Suarez.” Laurel struggled to keep her voice even. “How are you?”

  “Fine.” Ms. Suarez’s beaded earrings brushed her shoulders. “Come here often?”

  “Pretty often.” Laurel giggled nervously. “The dorms get so loud.”

  “I love the scent of old books.” Ms. Suarez walked directly to the shelf, which once again held the antique flower book. “Ah. She has magically returned. The librarian told me this book was missing even this morning.”

  Laurel stared down at the scramble of words on the page, but Ms. Suarez pulled out the chair directly across from her and placed the antique flower book between them.

  “We need to talk.” Ms. Suarez’s face was solemn. “I’m sure you’re relieved that this rare and valuable book has returned.”

  Laurel knew she’d never get away with playing dumb, not with Ms. Suarez. “Yes.”

  Ms. Suarez leaned forward and whispered. “I don’t know exactly what happened, but this book cannot leave this library again. Okay?”

  Laurel twisted a string that hung loose from her backpack. “Maybe it never left the library. Maybe it got misplaced, and then someone found it and put it back.”

  “Ah.” Ms. Suarez seemed to be waiting for more, but Laurel needed to shift the conversation. She lightly touched the book between them.

  “Did this one belong to Gladys du Valle?” she asked.

  “No. She would have had her own copy. What do you know about Gladys?”

  “Not much. I—I think she’s interesting,” said Laurel.

  Leaning back, Ms. Suarez started to toy with a pendant she was wearing. “She was a fascinating woman. Troubled but fascinating.”

  “Troubled?” Laurel pressed. She could feel the tension dissipating.

  “I’ll tell you what I know of her story.” Ms. Suarez took the deep first breath of a practiced storyteller. “Over a hundred years ago there was a family in England with three daughters named Daisy, Lavender, and Gladys.”

  Two flower names, Laurel thought. Like mine.

  “Their mother had the gift of flowers, but she could be careless. She—”

  Gift? Laurel leaned forward on her elbows. “You said something about my gift before—in the woods with the orchid. Should I call it that? The gift of flowers?”

  Ms. Suarez looked down at the table. “Have you heard from your grandma yet? She should be the one—”

  “No.” Laurel jumped to her feet. “She might as well be dead.”

  “Laurel!” Ms. Suarez admonished. “Don’t talk like that. She’s one of our elders.”

  “Our elders?” Laurel sat down.

  “Yes.” Ms. Suarez looked around and lowered her voice. “The elders are ones who have mastered all the flowers and herbs after many years of study and practice.”

  Laurel folded her hands together like she was praying. “Please, Ms. Suarez. I need to know more about the flowers and my gift. I can’t stand this anymore!”

  “Shhh.” Ms. Suarez nodded solemnly. “You are the youngest in an ancient line of Flowerspeakers. Your gift has been passed on through many, many generations.”

  “But what does that mean, flowerspeakers?”

  Ms. Suarez tilted her head. “It means what you know it means. Flowers respond to your summons. You draw forth their scent and true meaning.”

  “In the language?”

  “Yes.” Ms. Suarez patted the book between them. “That’s why this book is so valuable. It holds one key to our gift.”

  “Like a translation? But I found lists of flower meanings all over the Web.”

  “Yes, but many of them are wrong. Besides, just knowing the meaning isn’t enough.” Ms. Suarez held her fist to her chest. “You have to have the magic inside you.”

  “Like you do?”

  “Yes.” Ms. Suarez smiled. “And like your mom did.”

  Like my mom, Laurel’s mind echoed.

  “And like your grandma,” added Ms. Suarez. “Cicely is one of the wisest and most respected Flowerspeakers.”

  “Why?” Laurel said. “She does nothing. She won’t even answer her phone.”

  Ms. Suarez leaned forward. “But you should have seen her before, what she could do. I haven’t given up hope, and you can’t, either. Promise?”

  Laurel shrugged. She didn’t want to ruin this moment with thoughts of Grandma.

  Ms. Suarez spread one hand on the flower book, as if she could absorb its wisdom.

  “And Gladys must have had the gift,” said Laurel, “right?”

  “Sadly, no. It runs in families, but not everyone is blessed with it,” said Ms. Suarez. “Only her sisters, Daisy and Lavender, had it.”

  “But that’s awful,” said Laurel.

  Ms. Suarez nodded. “Gladys was very jealous and blamed her mother for not naming her after a flower. But having a flower name never guarantees the gift. It’s just tradition. I’ve watched Rose, but she doesn’t have it.”

  “Aunt Iris doesn’t, either,” Laurel added. “She doesn’t even have a garden. So, what did Gladys do?”

  “Gladys’s sisters could be condescending,” Ms. Suarez continued. “They teased her, but Gladys was a fighter, and she vowed to master the flowers. When she was seventeen, she met Edmund du Valle, the oldest son of a new American millionaire. He’d come to their estate to meet and court Lavender. Despite Lavender’s best efforts Edmund fell in love with fiery Gladys. Her parents refused his proposal—they wanted to marry off an older daughter first—so Gladys ran away with him. One morning she took her daily horseback ride, galloped off to meet Edmund, and they eloped.” Ms. Suarez’s dark eyes sparkled. “It was quite the scandal.”

  “How do you know all this?” Laurel asked in amazement. “Are you related to her?”

  “No.” Ms. Suarez smiled to herself. “It’s strange, isn’t it, to speak the secrets of the dead? I know her story because of my great-grandfather Juan José Suarez. He was an orchid hunter—Gladys’s orchid hunter. He traveled the world seeking jewels for her conservatory. At home he tended her blooms and listened to her stories.

  “Whenever she visited her flowers, Gladys talked. ‘The flowers are her confessors,’ my great-grandfather wrote. He kept a detailed journal of everything that happened here. I found it behind some rotted boards when I was restoring the conservatory.”

  “Cool.” Laurel pictured Edmund’s handsome face from the portrait in the library. “So, did Gladys really love Edmund? Or was she just dissing her sister?”

  Ms. Suarez laughed. “She must have loved him deeply to risk such scandal. She was disinherited, but Edmund gave her everything, including our splendid conservatory.”

  Laurel nodded. Edmund had filled Gladys’s life with flowers and scents, and the whole campus was fragrant with descendents of those blooms. “So if your great-grandpa worked here, then did your mom and grandma come here like mine?”

  Ms. Suarez shook her head. “Juan José was an employee, so his daughters weren’t the proper social class. It was a different world then.”

  “Oh.” Laurel frowned and traced a ray of sun shining through the slim window onto the table. “So Gladys never got the gift?”

  “No. It can’t be forced. It can’t be bought.”

  “Did Juan José h
ave it?”

  Ms. Suarez smiled broadly. “Yes. He was a rare and talented man. In his journal he even sketched the bouquets he made for Gladys.”

  “Can I see—” Both of them startled as the bell rang for the end of lunch.

  “So much for eating.” Ms. Suarez stood up. “There’s one more thing you might be interested to know. One of your ancestors was good friends with Gladys.”

  Laurel’s eyes widened. “Really? Who?”

  “Her name was Violet.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The Flower Seekers

  “Bill’s bust” was a life-sized statue of William Shakespeare at the front entrance to Avondale. Gladys had named the school after the River Avon, which runs through the bard’s birthplace. Laurel was hurrying from the soccer field with Kate to meet Whitney, and she’d finally worked up the courage to ask Kate if Justin had called.

  “No,” said Kate. “He only sent me one e-mail, about playin’ Frisbee, and I put him off. Alan’s called nine times and we’re texting all the time. I would’ve gone there for dinner tonight, but they had an away meet.”

  “So, you’ve answered all of Alan’s messages?” asked Laurel.

  “Definitely,” said Kate. “He’s adorable!”

  “What about the other guys?”

  “I didn’t answer, and they didn’t write back.”

  “So, it wears off,” Laurel whispered. Thank God.

  “What? You mean the flower magic?” asked Kate.

  Laurel nodded. “It must.”

  “But I wanna keep Alan around.” Kate stopped walking. “Do you think he likes me only ’cause of the flowers?”

  “No way,” said Laurel. All guys seemed to be attracted to Kate.

  “But all the other boys have moved on,” said Kate. “I need more flowers! Now.”

  “Calm down already,” Laurel whispered. “Even if the magic is temporary, I think the feelings only last if they’re really real. Miss Spenser and the professor aren’t going to stop loving each other when my flowers aren’t around.”

  “No way. They’re gaga.”

  “Like you and Alan. Maybe none of the other guys were in love with you, but my flowers made them feel like they were. And Robbie can’t possibly love Tara.”

  Just ahead of them Whitney took a long drag and flicked a cigarette butt into the grass. “Hey,” she said.

  “Hey,” Kate and Laurel responded in chorus.

  “Who’s the chaperone?” Amanda nodded at Kate.

  “This is Kate,” said Laurel. “We’re on JV soccer together.”

  Whitney straightened her lips into a wry smirk. “Can you keep a secret, Kate?”

  “Of course,” Kate said eagerly. “I never tell anybody anything.”

  Laurel had to suck in her lips so no one would see her smile.

  Whitney shoved her hands into Ricky’s jacket. “So you’ve done this flower thing a lot?”

  Laurel shook her head. “Only once.”

  “Nooo.” Kate bumped her. “At least four times. You gave three bouquets to Spinster Spenser, and one to me at May Day. I had guys hangin’ off me.”

  Laurel shot Kate a look of caution. She wasn’t sure how much she wanted these seniors to know.

  “Really?” Whitney’s eyes appraised Kate. “Are the guys still around?”

  Kate shook her head. “Just one—the one I want.”

  “Interesting,” said Whitney.

  “Bogus,” said Amanda. “I can’t even believe we’re listening to freshmen, Whit. I’m calling him now.” She took out a cell phone but didn’t dial.

  Whitney stared hard at Laurel. “This isn’t some moronic prank, is it?”

  Laurel and Kate both shook their heads.

  “’Cuz you can just leave this school now if it is,” Whitney finished.

  “Of course it is,” said Amanda. “You can’t think some stupid flowers—”

  Whitney glared at Amanda. “So. If your flowers can make somebody fall in love, could they make somebody fall out of love?”

  “Maybe,” said Laurel. Basil had cured Robbie’s obsession almost instantly.

  “And is it permanent?” asked Whitney. “What the flowers do?”

  “Permanent enough,” said Kate. “Spinster Spenser’s gettin’ married.”

  Whitney turned to Kate. “You mind giving us space? I need to talk to Laurel alone.”

  Kate’s face fell. “Uh, sure,” she said. “Whatever.”

  Laurel thought about protesting, but she was too curious. She followed when Whitney started down the lane toward school. Amanda stayed behind, as if guarding Kate. The sun was low, and the air was cooling. On either side of the road the trees were covered in snowy blossoms that took on the pink cast of the evening.

  “Promise me no one will ever find out about this,” Whitney whispered.

  Laurel nodded.

  “Say it,” said Whitney.

  Laurel rolled her eyes at the ground. “I promise no one will ever find out about this. You want me to cross my heart and hope to die, too?”

  Whitney frowned. “I’ll know if you tell anyone.”

  “I said I won’t.”

  “Okay.” Whitney took a deep breath. “Everybody says Ricky and I are destined to be prom king and queen. I don’t want to mess with that, but Ricky and I don’t exactly have the same agenda.”

  Laurel shook her head. “What do you mean?”

  Whitney pushed back her thick hair. “Ricky’s dad reserved a hotel suite for after prom, and Ricky says he’s kicking everyone out so we can spend the night together.”

  “Ohhh.” Laurel glanced sideways at the senior. She’s treating me like I’m her best friend or something, she thought.

  “I mean, it’s not like I’m an angel,” said Whitney. “Ricky’s totally fun, but I don’t love him. And my sister got pregnant at her prom. That can’t happen to me.”

  “So why don’t you just break up?” said Laurel. “Or say no?”

  Whitney shook her head. “Everybody loves Ricky. They’ll think I’m a bitch if I dump him, and then no way will I be queen. Trust me; it will be so much easier if he doesn’t want to, you know?”

  Not really, thought Laurel, but she nodded anyway. “So what do you want me to do?”

  “I was thinking”—Whitney stopped walking—“you could have flowers ready and give them to me right after the announcement. Flowers to turn him off.”

  “But I’m not going to prom.”

  “Yes, you are,” said Whitney. “I put your name on the list of freshman hostesses. You can even ask that Kate girl to help.”

  Laurel said little as they walked back to where Kate and Amanda stood. Whitney’s request was bizarre, but she didn’t see a way out of it. The senior’s bad side could be even worse than Tara’s, she’d heard.

  Amanda handed a cell phone to Whitney. “He says two minutes.”

  “Cool,” said Whitney, waving them off. “Y’all run along back to campus. Wouldn’t want you to get into any trouble.”

  Laurel felt too curious to move far. She and Kate walked away and then hid behind a shrub, so they heard and then saw Ricky’s red Wrangler as it crested a hill and screeched to a stop. After the seniors climbed inside, the car did a tight U-turn and sped away.

  Kate stood up and stretched. “How do they get away with leaving campus?”

  “Maybe the rules are different for seniors,” said Laurel.

  “Maybe just for them,” said Kate.

  They started walking back. “How well do you know her?” Laurel asked.

  “Whitney? Only what I hear, but everybody says Amanda does weed.”

  “I thought the school had really cracked down?”

  “They did,” said Kate. “Remember? Everyone has to sign a release form sayin’ they can search our lockers. So what did Whitney want? Another hot boyfriend?”

  Laurel hesitated. “I—uh—promised her I wouldn’t say anything.”

  Kate stopped and put her hands on her hips. “L
aurel Whelan, you can’t possibly be more loyal to her than you are to me.”

  “She made me swear. She’ll kill me if it gets out.”

  “But I thought we were friends now. I thought we trusted each other.”

  “We do,” said Laurel. “We are. But please don’t make me tell.”

  “Can’t you give me a little clue?” Kate pressed.

  Laurel shook her head.

  Kate looked away. “I’m gonna skip dinner. I’m not hungry anymore.”

  “Come on.” Laurel grabbed Kate’s arm. “You’re always hungry. You wouldn’t want me to tell anyone your secrets.”

  “But I don’t have any juicy ones,” Kate said despondently.

  “Sure you do,” said Laurel. “About Alan. Is there movie night this weekend? Want to go together?” Justin was likely to be there.

  Kate shook her head. “Tara already called dibs, and I know you don’t wanna hang out with her. Sorry.”

  Laurel frowned at Kate’s ponytail as she walked ahead toward the dining hall. “Wait a sec!” Laurel yelled and caught up. “Whitney said we could be freshman hostesses for prom.”

  Kate stopped walking. “Both of us?”

  Laurel nodded.

  “Well, why didn’t you say so? That changes everything.”

  Laurel and her flowers were gossip topic number one on campus. Kate and Rose kept her informed on what was said:

  “She made that all up to get attention.”

  “Does she actually think this flower stuff will make people like her?”

  “Are you kidding me? Enough already with the Harry Potter magic crap.”

  “How do I get some?”

  So far, ten notes asking for flowers had been shoved through the slits in her locker or under her door. Most of them wanted to snag a prom date. Laurel had e-mailed back promising to help, even though she’d have to do a lot more research. And Kate was now asking for rosemary before even minor quizzes.

  “You’re Laurel, right?” a voice whispered behind her as she switched books at her locker on Thursday. Susan Monroe, a sophomore cheerleader, was leaning over her.

  “Hi, Susan.” Laurel turned and stood up.

  “I have this favor to ask,” Susan whispered as she ran her fingers through her streaked hair. “I blew off my homework last night, and I just found out we have this chem quiz next period. Someone said you have some lucky flowers or something that makes you remember better. Can I have some?”