Coming Up Roses

by Catherine R. Daly

“No way!” I yelped. Dad gave me a quizzical look.

  “I mean, we wouldn’t want them to think we were spying on them or anything,” I said quickly.

  Dad didn’t know this, and hopefully never would, but I had actually spied on Fleur. Not once, but twice. I didn’t want to take any chances that Hamilton’s mom would recognize me. Or, even worse, that Hamilton would be there and introduce me to his mom, who would then recognize me as Secret Agent Bloom.

  This seemed to make sense to Dad, and thankfully, we went directly to the phone store.

  Grown-ups are always complaining about the DMV, but I think phone stores are the most painfully slow places ever. I put my name down on a list and browsed through all the fancy phones I couldn’t have, until my name was called. Luckily, it was time for an upgrade for me and I picked out my new phone (pink, cute, flip, decent camera). Our salesperson, Missy, who wore bright red lipstick and had long, jet-black hair, activated the phone. She was about to ring us up when she noticed something on her computer screen.

  “Can I see your phone?” she asked Dad. He fished into his pocket and handed it to her.

  “Whoa! Look at this!” she called to her coworker. “When’s the last time you saw a phone this humongous?” They both laughed out loud. “You haven’t had an upgrade since you bought this dinosaur!” Missy told Dad. “Are you ready for a new phone?” She peered at his phone from under her bangs. “Who knows how long the duct tape is going to keep that battery in place?”

  Dad shrugged, but then allowed himself to be led over to the display of smart phones. And before I knew what was happening, he was the proud owner of a brand-new iPhone. I looked down at my new phone and frowned. It didn’t look quite so fun or sleek anymore.

  With a shrug, I turned on my phone. Two seconds later, it started ringing! I cringed — it was one of those embarrassing ringtones that the phone came programmed with. I’d have to play around with it and fix that right away.

  The number calling was one I didn’t recognize. Who could it be? My heart skipped a beat. What if it was Hamilton?

  I flipped it open. “Hello?” I said uncertainly.

  “Hey, Del,” said Mom. “I guess you got your new phone.”

  I felt a weird combination of disappointment and relief.

  “I did!” I said. “And you’re never going to believe it — Dad got one, too!”

  “I guess that’s why my call didn’t go through to him,” Mom said. “That’s good. That old one was as big as a walkie-talkie. Listen, can you guys pick up some dinner tonight? I’m going to stay a little late at the store to work on the Homecoming bouquets. Mrs. Kelly will stay with the girls until you and Dad get home.”

  “Munchbox?” I suggested hopefully.

  “Sounds good to me. Don’t forget to order extra drumsticks. I hate when you girls fight over them.”

  “Sure,” I said, hanging up. “That’s crazy,” I told Dad. “That was Mom calling from Petal Pushers. I didn’t even recognize the number.”

  “That happens to everyone,” said Missy. “Nobody knows anyone else’s numbers anymore. We’re all used to speed dial.”

  Dad laughed. “I still remember my best friend’s number from grammar school,” he said. “Five-five-five-three-eight-two-three!”

  “Impressive, Dad,” I said, rolling my eyes. I was glad I’d gotten all my friends’ numbers from Becky and had copied them into my binder.

  “When I was a kid we had rotary phones,” Dad explained to Missy. “None of this pressing a button. If you missed one number, you had to start dialing all over again. If there were a lot of nines or zeros it could take forever!”

  Missy looked puzzled. “What’s a rotary phone?” she wanted to know.

  Dad sighed. “Man, I feel old,” he said.

  As we walked out of the store, Dad immediately began worrying. “I think I spent too much on my phone. I don’t need all these special things. Maybe I should return it.”

  “But now you can check your e-mail from anywhere,” I explained. “It will be really helpful for work. Plus, there are all these cool apps you can download….”

  “Apps?” he said, looking confused.

  I gave him a look. Did he live in a cave or what?

  “You know, games and stuff,” I explained.

  “Oh, I don’t need any of those things,” he said. “Aren’t they just for kids?”

  “No way! You can get online dictionaries and Bartlett’s Quotations!” I told him.

  He brightened. “Oh, that could be fun. I guess I’ll read the manual and see what it’s capable of.” He thought for a minute. “Hey, I know it’s almost dinnertime, but you want to split a soft pretzel?”

  “Of course!” I said. You didn’t need to ask me twice if I wanted my favorite mall snack of all time. We headed toward the food court, which was pretty empty. Dad sat at a table and pulled out his phone and the manual. I knew he would read it cover to cover. The man loves reading so much he would read anything he could get his hands on.

  I got in line behind a tall, blonde woman at the pretzel stand, who was talking on her cell phone. Her voice sounded familiar. I was reaching into my pocket for my money when I overheard something that gave me pause.

  “That’s right,” the woman said. “I need five hundred sixteen-inch red rose stems and two hundred yellow ranunculus. They need to be here by next Friday, the latest.”

  Tall. Blonde hair. Ordering flowers. Was I standing right behind Hamilton’s mom? As she paid for her pretzel and coffee, I stole a quick look at her profile. Yup. I’d recognize her anywhere.

  Luckily, she didn’t notice me. When I got back to the table with the warm, buttery pretzel, Dad was fully fixated on his new phone.

  “I just downloaded this game,” he told me excitedly. “And it’s free! It’s called Gnomeland! Look at all those cute little guys! They all have different-colored hats, and they each have a different power. This guy in the purple hat is the musical gnome. He plays his glockenspiel and it helps the beans grow. And I get points when I harvest the beans so I can buy things!”

  I gave him a look. Was he for real? “Gnome things?” I said.

  Dad nodded excitedly. “Yes! Like hoes and shovels and tractors and stuff like that!”

  “Sounds fascinating, Dad,” I said sarcastically.

  But apparently it was. He was so preoccupied with the game that I got to eat the whole pretzel myself. No complaints there. And then he stayed in the car and played when I went into the Munchbox (owned by my classmate Eleni Nikolopoulos’s family) for fried chicken and all the trimmings. Eleni was there doing homework in a booth, so we hung out for a bit while I waited for my order.

  “Tell me more about Trollville,” I said to Dad when I got back into the car with the food.

  “Gnomeland, silly,” he corrected me. I settled back into the passenger seat as he told me about all of the different types of beans you could plant and harvest. It sounded crazy lame to me. But Dad was enthralled.

  MENU. SELECT. ADDRESS BOOK. SELECT. ADD NEW CONTACT. ENTER FIRST NAME. ENTER LAST NAME. ENTER NUMBER.

  Over and over and over. I was sitting at the kitchen table after dinner inputting all my friends’ numbers from my binder. I accidentally put in Jessica’s number incorrectly and had to start over. This was so boring. But now my phone had a ringtone that sounded like a frog croaking, which made me very happy.

  Mom pushed open the kitchen door, a scrap of paper in her hand. She had a big smile on her face. “I was just IMing with Debbie,” she said excitedly. “She gave me Nicholas’s number to give to you. He’s totally excited about spending time with you on the trip and he has a couple of questions. Maybe you could give him a call.”

  I squinted up at her. “Mom, are you kidding? Questions about what?”

  She handed me the scrap of paper with Nicholas’s number on it. “Oh, who knows. Maybe he wants to know if he should bring his Atari,” she said cluelessly.

  “Fine, Mom,” I said. “I’ll call him.” I put
in his number, Amy’s, and a couple of other kids from school as Mom hovered next to me. I blushed like mad as I input Hamilton’s number. Luckily, Mom didn’t notice.

  She smiled. “It means so much to Debbie and me that you and Nicholas are going to spend some more time together,” she said.

  “How much time?” I asked warily.

  “Well, they’ll be here for almost a week,” Mom explained. “I think you guys will strike up a nice friendship!”

  I realized there was no arguing with her. Why do adults think that just because they’re friends with someone, you are automatically going to be best buds with their friend’s kid? I mean, it wasn’t that long ago that she was my age, you know?

  I said good night to my mom and headed upstairs to finish my homework. I passed by Poppy’s room and could hear her jumping on her bed, saying, “I’ll brush my teeth tomorrow instead, Dad. I swear. I’ll shake on it!”

  I walked into my room, sat down at my neat desk, and smiled. The pens and pencils were carefully arranged in a McIlhenny University mug. My laptop was gleaming, my textbooks in a perfect pile. Ah, order.

  I opened up my laptop. I had a couple of questions due tomorrow on the cotton mills of New Hampshire, but first I decided to check my e-mail. Nothing much — some spam that I immediately deleted, and from Heather, a link to a YouTube video of a funny cat who liked to sit in boxes of all sizes. I made a mental note to show it to Poppy the next day. She’d love it.

  Suddenly, a message popped up in the corner of my computer.

  Hey, Del, it’s Nicholas! it read.

  Oh boy, I thought.

  Hey, Nicholas! I typed in unenthusiastically.

  I didn’t get a call from you, so I decided to IM.

  Sheesh, give a girl a minute!

  Totally psyched about our visit, he continued.

  Me too, I typed. Good thing the sarcastic tone in my head didn’t translate on IM.

  Homecoming should be a lot of fun, Nicholas wrote.

  Yeah … just to warn you, our team is not exactly … I started to write.

  But he beat me to it. Though I hear that the McIlhenny Moose have quite a record! Haven’t won a game in ten years!

  I smiled ruefully. He had done his research.

  Actually, I have a couple questions about my upcoming visit, he wrote. You have a minute?

  Sure.

  Where will I be sleeping?

  In the garage, I wanted to write, just to see what he would say.

  Guest room, I wrote.

  Queen bed or twin?

  I had to think about that one for a minute. Full, I wrote. Then I added, just because, actually.

  Should I bring my own pillow?

  IDK, we have plenty here.

  Hmm … maybe I’ll bring mine. Hypoallergenic.

  I had no reply to that one.

  Do you have wireless?

  Of course.

  I don’t want to brag, he wrote, but I’m a bit of an amateur photographer.

  He was thirteen years old, so I doubted he’d be a professional. But I let it go.

  Nice! I typed.

  I’m looking forward to taking some shots of the foliage, and also some action shots at the football game.

  Sounds good! I wrote.

  Just wondering — is there anything at McIlhenny that’s one of a kind that would be fun to photograph?

  I was stumped. The statue of Sarah Josepha Hale? I thought. The Dairy Queen where Elvis Presley allegedly ate three Peanut Buster Parfaits? Then I remembered a random piece of information that Dad had shared with me on my last visit to the university. I was sure this was something that Nicholas wouldn’t be able to be an expert on. With a smile I typed: You’re in luck! McIlhenny Library has a new exhibit on Tupperware!

  Silence. I grinned. I had stumped him!

  That’s right! he wrote back. Earl Silas Tupper was from New Hampshire!

  Sheesh, is there anything this kid doesn’t know? I wondered.

  Del, you made my day! he wrote. Believe it or not, I love Tupperware.

  Oh, I believe it, I thought. One thing was for sure. Nicholas was still a totally dorktastic know-it-all.

  Ugh. I could hardly wait for his visit to be over and he hadn’t even arrived yet.

  Chapter Four

  “Hello, Hamilton, would you be interested in accompanying me to the Homecoming game?” I asked my reflection in the bathroom mirror.

  No, too formal.

  I tried again.

  “Hey, Hamilton, want to go to the big game next weekend? With me?”

  “Why, certainly, Delphinium,” I replied in a deep, didn’t-sound-very-much-like-Hamilton-at-all voice.

  “Hey, Del,” a voice said from behind me.

  I spun around, mortified. Then I breathed a sigh of relief. It was just Poppy.

  “What are you pretending?” she asked. “Can I play, too?”

  “I … um …”

  Luckily, Mom called up the stairs at that moment. “Girls! Breakfast!”

  “How about later, Pops?” I told her.

  She shrugged. “Okay,” she said and took off.

  I turned back to the mirror for one last glance and frowned at my reflection. I took off the pink scarf I had looped around my neck. Too Ashleyish, I decided.

  My entire family was already at the breakfast table by the time I got downstairs.

  “So what shall we plant this morning, Poppy?” Dad asked.

  The rest of us had thought Gnomeland was cute enough, but Poppy had shown a real interest. “It reminds me of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs,” she’d said. “That’s a movie I saw when I was a little girl.” That made us all laugh, because she had seen it just two weeks before.

  “Lima beans!” she told Dad now.

  “Those take six hours to grow,” Dad replied. He frowned and checked his watch. “I’ll be between classes. Perfect! I can harvest them then.”

  “Yay!” said Poppy, clapping her hands.

  Rose, Aster, and I exchanged glances. Seriously, this gnome stuff was getting out of hand.

  Mom piled Dad’s plate with scrambled eggs and placed a kiss on top of his head. “You’re so funny,” she told him. “I love seeing you and Poppy having so much fun together.”

  “I got this game for you girls,” Dad told all of us.

  “Gee, thanks,” said Aster drily.

  I laughed, looking at my dad hunched over his phone, letting his eggs get cold. “I can tell.”

  After the usual waiting period, I headed to school with my sisters. I was relieved that Rose and Aster were listening to music together on Aster’s iPod so I didn’t have to talk at all. My thoughts kept returning to Hamilton, and whether he would say yes when I asked him to Homecoming. If I asked him.

  But I couldn’t ask him if I couldn’t find him. I searched high and low for Hamilton. Waited at his locker until I got too embarrassed and left. Scanned the cafeteria for him at breakfast.

  At lunch, I sat down at the table and unwrapped my ham and cheese on rye (with mustard) unenthusiastically. “I can’t find Hamilton anywhere,” I told my friends. “Weird, huh?”

  Heather made a face. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. Hamilton wasn’t in math class this morning. It’s kind of gross. Rumor is he has … conjunctivitis.”

  Pink eye? I thought.

  “Oh my gosh!” said Jessica. “Is he going to be okay?”

  “I would think so,” said Amy.

  “But won’t they need to take it out?” Jess asked.

  We all stared at her. Huh?

  “Take out his eye?” I finally asked.

  “No, silly,” she said. “His — you know —” She pointed to her stomach.

  Complete silence. Finally, Becky said, keeping as straight a face as she could, “Not appendicitis, Jess, conjunctivitis.”

  At her blank stare, Becky explained, “Pink eye.”

  “Ewwwwwww,” we all said.

  Pink eye had been making the rounds of Sarah Josepha Hale Middle School
for weeks. It was an uncomfortable infection that brought itchy, watery, pink eyes. Hamilton would be out for a couple of days waiting for the antibiotics to clear it up. I felt relieved for my reprieve, sorry about Hamilton’s itchy eyeballs, and a little grossed out, too. Not a stellar combination.

  That afternoon, I trudged home alone. Rose was at auditions for the play. Aster was, shockingly enough, going to the mall with her new friends. Poppy was at a playdate, and Dad had office hours. I decided to head to Petal Pushers to see how things were coming along.

  I paused to look inside the front window of our cozy little store. Mom’s latest window display was a fun fall combination of cheerful yellow and red zinnias; Chinese lanterns with their orange, papery seedpods; and these fluffy, white flowers called bunny tails. Inside, I saw Mom, a goofy little smile on her face as she finished up a simple yet stunning arrangement of orange orchids. It made me smile, too. The woman totally loved flowers. Just like me.

  I pushed open the door, relishing the cheery jingle the bell made. I took a deep, appreciative sniff. The air smelled like it always did: sweet and slightly spicy.

  “Well, if this isn’t a pleasant surprise!” Mom said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “How was your day?”

  “All right,” I said. “You need any help?”

  Mom glanced around. “Not really,” she said. “We can go home together as soon as I clean up.”

  I felt a little disappointed. I had been hoping to help out with an arrangement. “Maybe I’ll go in the back and start my homework,” I said.

  I headed to the back office, and gasped. Clearly, I hadn’t been here in a while.

  Mom, left to her own devices, had left her mark — with a vengeance. Overflowing files, half-opened desk drawers with papers spilling out. A cold cup of coffee with a ring of mold sat on the desk next to a petrified half-eaten bagel. What a disaster.

  I opened a cupboard, pulled out a garbage bag, and snapped it open. Homework would have to wait.

  I tied up old newspapers and catalogs for recycling (or “Being Good to the Earth,” as Poppy called it). I Pledged the old wooden desk, enjoying the lemony scent. Then I began to tackle the desk drawers. Mom has a terrible habit of shoving mail that doesn’t look urgent or interesting into them, to get to at a later date. Many times, the later date never comes. “Junk mail. Junk mail, junk mail. Junk … Hey, wait a minute,” I said. The return address read BOSTON BEANS, a popular chain of coffee shops. They served expensive coffee drinks and decent baked goods. You either loved them for their convenience or hated them because they were almost everywhere. I myself really liked their fancy hot chocolate, which you could get with both whipped cream and marshmallows. I tore open the envelope, hoping to find some coupons.