by Ronni Arno
On Thursday, I get dressed and debate whether or not to put my hair in a ponytail. I decide against it, because I don’t want to look like I’m trying to look like everyone else. Instead, I pull my hair into a headband—a pink one that matches the tips of my hair—and add a pair of feather earrings. I throw on some blue jeans and a pink sweater, and take one last glance in the mirror. I think I look perfectly normal, but I’m sure Kathryn will find something wrong with me.
Dad’s already in the kitchen by the time I get there. He’s standing at the stove, doing something—cooking? And what’s he wearing? I get closer and see that it’s an apron, and it says, REAL MEN COOK.
“Good morning.” Dad is way too perky. “I made us some oatmeal.”
I stare blankly at him.
“Want some?” He gestures to the bubbling pot of oats in front of him.
I blink.
“Poppy?” Dad raises his eyebrows. “You okay?”
I nod. “I didn’t know you knew how to cook.”
“Well.” Dad laughs. “It’s oatmeal. I’m not sure if that counts as cooking, but yeah, I’ve been known to whip some things together for a tasty meal.”
“Hmmm,” I say, because I don’t know what else to say. I think maybe Dad’s possessed. This house is haunted, after all. I squint my eyes at him, trying to see if there’s someone else’s aura surrounding him, but he just looks like Dad.
Troy comes running down the stairs and into the kitchen.
“What smells so good?” Troy likes food almost as much as he likes his truck.
“Oatmeal. Want some?” Dad stirs the pot.
“Yeah!” Troy grabs a bowl from the cabinet and hands it to Dad, not the least bit concerned that Dad has never, not once, made breakfast.
Then again, Troy wouldn’t notice if his own eyebrows were on fire.
“What are you staring at?” Troy looks at me and sticks out his tongue.
I roll my eyes and try to force down the oatmeal, which is both undercooked and burnt at the same time. I scrape out the remnants of my bowl when dad isn’t looking. I throw a granola bar into my backpack and trek down the driveway to the bus stop. Another day. I can do this. I’m sure Mom has a plan for me.
As it’s done every day this week, my heart does a little flutter when the bus climbs up the hill. As it stops in front of me, I start my new daily ritual. I take a deep breath, lift my head a little higher, and step on. I slide right into the seat just behind the bus driver, which, thankfully, has been empty since the second day of school.
Bonus: Since I’m so close to the door, I’m the first one off the bus when it pulls into school. I’ve already memorized my new locker combination, and I head straight there. I just have to stay out of everybody’s way until . . . well, until I move out of this town (not likely to happen anytime soon with New Dad making the decisions).
Maybe New Dad will let me homeschool.
For the third day in a row, I’m the first one to homeroom. Mrs. Simmons smiles at me when I walk in.
“Good morning, Poppy. Finding your way around okay?”
“Yes, thank you.” I take my seat and pull out my schedule. Mrs. Simmons nods and goes back to sipping something out of her to-go cup.
First period this morning is Intro to Agriculture. Maybe I’ll learn something about Mom and her roses.
Kathryn and Emily glide into homeroom. I sink down in my chair. Kathryn glances at Mrs. Simmons, and then stops at my desk. This is a first. For the past few days, she’s just smiled (first checking to see that Mrs. Simmons was looking, of course) and continued on to her seat.
“Goodness, Poppy!” She puts her hand on my arm. “I missed you all week. Why haven’t you been waiting for me?”
I look past Kathryn at Mrs. Simmons, who’s looking at us behind her to-go mug.
“Oh, I guess you’ve been such a good host that I already know my way around.” I give her a smile so big, she can probably see my tonsils.
She just stares at me, and I wonder if her mom told her about meeting my dad. I shudder just thinking about it. The thought of Dad dating is gross enough. But the thought of him dating Kathryn’s mom? Chock-full of gross.
Brody walks in and stops at my desk, directly behind Kathryn.
“What’s the matter, I smell or something?” He smiles at me. “You didn’t sit with me on the bus again.”
My ears get hot. “Oh, sorry. Guess I didn’t see you.”
“That’s what you said yesterday,” Brody points out.
“I was just telling Poppy that she should have waited for us,” Kathryn tells Brody.
“Yeah.” Brody nods. “Don’t forget about us next time.”
“Okay,” I say. But as soon as the bell rings, I bolt out of homeroom and sprint to class. I’m the first one there.
“Welcome,” the teacher says. “I’m Mrs. Quinn. You must be Poppy.”
“Yes, nice to meet you,” I tell her. Mrs. Quinn looks like she could be anywhere from fifty to eighty. She wears her glasses on a chain around her neck, and her gray hair is pinned neatly in a bun. She has a warm smile, and I instantly like her.
Mrs. Quinn tells me I can sit anywhere, so I find an empty seat at the back of the classroom. Intro to Agriculture is something I didn’t even know existed until this week, and even though I get a good vibe from Mrs. Quinn, I figure the farther away I am from the teacher for this class, the better.
I pull my notebook open and stare at the blank page. I write Intro to Agriculture at the top, and I doodle some roses in the corners.
I don’t notice Brody until he stops at my desk.
“Cool, you’re in this class,” he says.
I glance around but don’t see Kathryn. Maybe I’ll get lucky and actually have one class without her. “Yep, I thought it would be fun.”
Brody sits down in the desk next to mine. “It’s the best class ever.”
“Really?” I ask. “What kind of stuff do you do? Do you, like, learn about flowers?”
Brody shrugs. “Sure, sometimes. But it depends on what your project is for the 4-H fair.”
I blink. He just stares at me, so I nod like I know what he’s talking about.
“You don’t know what a 4-H fair is, do you?”
My face feels like it’s going to explode. I come clean because I wouldn’t even know how to fake this. The first time I ever heard of it was in Mom’s letter. “Not entirely.”
Brody laughs. “That’s okay, you’re a city girl.”
I smile. He says it in a nice way.
“4-H is kind of a youth group run by the USDA.” When I don’t respond, he adds, “The United States Department of Agriculture.”
“Ahhhh.” I nod. Even though I’m not entirely sure what that is either.
“The 4-H fair is in June, and everybody in this class is assigned to do a project that’s presented at the fair.”
“That’s cool.” I glance past him at the kids streaming in. Still no sign of Kathryn.
“Yeah, I’m doing my project on Peter.”
I try to remember meeting a Peter. “I don’t think I know him.”
Brody pushes his hair out of his eyes and laughs. “Peter Cottontail. My rabbit.”
I raise my eyebrows. “You have a rabbit named Peter Cottontail?”
“Not very original, I know.” Now Brody’s face looks red. I stare down at my desk.
“So what are you going to do with Peter? Pull him out of a hat?”
“Hmmm. Not a bad idea.” Brody laughs. “But no. I’m building him a house.”
“That’s awesome. I have no idea what I should do my project on.” I don’t have any rabbits.
“There are a ton of options,” Brody says. “Thomas does one on dairy production, Cheryl’s is on wind power, and Kathryn’s growing roses.”
My head snaps up. “Roses?”
“Yeah, she does the same project every year.” He rolls his eyes. “And she wins the blue ribbon every year.”
“Can I do that? Can I
grow roses?”
Brody squints at me. “Sure, I guess so. Do you grow roses?”
“Not yet.” I lean forward in my chair. “But I’m going to start.”
And at that very instant I know. I know why Mom sent me here.
CHAPTER
9
“I HATE TO BREAK IT to you,” Brody says. “But there’s no way you could start growing roses now and have them ready for the fair.”
My mouth goes dry as dirt. “I can’t?”
“No, they take way more time than that to grow.”
“They do?”
“Yeah. Kathryn’s been growing roses forever.”
“Did I hear my name?” Kathryn and Emily are right in front of me. I guess I was too interested in the possibility of following in my mother’s footsteps to see them come in.
Brody looks up at her. “I was just telling Poppy about your roses.”
Kathryn crinkles her nose. “Why?”
“Because she was thinking about growing roses for the fair.”
Kathryn looks at me like I just smacked her in the face with her own ponytail. “You grow roses?”
“Well, no,” I sputter. “I just . . . I thought it would be cool to learn how.”
Kathryn just smirks. “Good luck with that.”
She takes a seat on the other side of Brody, and Emily dutifully sits down next to her.
I think about what Brody said, and wonder exactly how long roses do take to grow. I’m positive this is what I’m supposed to be doing. I’m sure Mom sent me here to grow roses, to help her with her flowers that she had so much trouble with.
“Okay, class.” Mrs. Quinn stands up in front of the room. “Today you’re going to work on your 4-H project outline. You can use the computers in the back of the room for reference. But only for reference.”
Most of the kids get up and head for the computers. Some open books, and some whisper to each other.
Just as I’m wondering what to do with myself, Mrs. Quinn calls me over to her desk.
“So, Poppy,” she begins. “Each student is preparing a project for the 4-H fair in June.”
I nod, since now I know what a 4-H fair is.
“Is there something you might be interested in working on?”
“Well,” I say. “I’d like to learn more about roses.”
“Fabulous!” Mrs. Quinn clasps her hands together. “I could partner you up with Kathryn—”
“Oh no. I, uhhhh,” I stammer. “I wouldn’t want to intrude on her project. Is there something I can do myself?”
Mrs. Quinn purses her lips together. “Well, you can certainly grow roses, but they wouldn’t be ready in time for the fair. Is there anything else that interests you?”
“I don’t know much about agriculture,” I say. “I moved here from the city.”
“That’s okay!” Mrs. Quinn smiles. “There are plenty of agricultural activities in cities, too. There are parks, potted plants, windowsill herbs. Lots of exciting projects!”
Mrs. Quinn is obviously very enthusiastic about agriculture. I wish I felt the same way about something other than roses.
“Can I think about it?” I ask. I need more time to figure out what Mom wants me to do, given that roses will take more time than I have.
“Sure,” Mrs. Quinn says. “Why don’t you let me know after spring break? Meantime, feel free to use one of the computers to research ideas.”
I find an empty computer and Google “roses.” There are two hundred and fifty million entries. I sigh.
“You might as well forget about it,” a voice behind me says.
I turn around to find Kathryn standing over me.
“It takes years of practice to grow roses, and clearly you don’t have the first idea where to begin.”
“Well, I’ve got to start somewhere.” I turn back to the computer.
“Don’t waste your time.” Kathryn lowers her voice and bends down to whisper in my ear. “You don’t belong here, Poppy. So don’t try to act like you do.”
Before I can turn around and say something back, she struts away.
I remind myself, for the hundredth time today, that I don’t care about Kathryn. I’m not here to make friends. I’m here because my mom wants me to be here. For some reason that I can’t yet figure out.
Maybe I can plant roses now and be in next year’s fair. Maybe that’s Mom’s plan. I don’t have to win this year’s fair, do I?
Regardless, I have to find something to do for this year’s project. I Google “4-H fair” for some ideas. Let’s see . . . rabbit show, goat demonstration, woodworking, beekeeping . . .
I suddenly realize how useless my city talents—navigating the subway, weaving in and out of crowded streets, finding the Starbucks with the shortest line—are here. I’m pretty sure I’m going to fail Intro to Agriculture. I just hope I don’t fail Mom, too.
The bell rings, and I’m still no closer to finding a project. I quickly gather my books and shoot out the door before Kathryn or Brody can see me. I pretty much make this my goal for the day (and my life), and by the end of the morning I’ve barely spoken to them. I feel a weird combination of sadness and relief every time I manage to avoid Brody. I really want to talk to him, but I’m not sure it’s worth the risk. I have a feeling I’ve seen only a portion of Kathryn’s wicked ways. I’m not sure I can handle the full load.
I’ve been going to the library instead of going to lunch, but today I’m really hungry. Since Kathryn’s been leaving me alone for the last few days, I decide to go to the cafeteria. I sit at the same table I sat at on my first day, but Britt isn’t there. I get the pizza and eat it by myself.
As soon as I take the last bite of pizza, I see Brody walking my way. I check my teeth with my tongue to be sure I don’t have cheese sticking out of them.
“Why are you sitting alone?” He pulls out the chair next to mine and sits down.
“Oh.” I look around the room. “This is just where I sit, I guess.”
“Where’s Britt?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I haven’t seen her all day.”
Brody purses his lips. “She probably stayed home.”
I shrug. Britt is nice to me, and I’m thankful that someone is. But I can’t worry about her or anyone else. I have too many other things to think about.
“Well, you could sit with me if you want.” He looks at me then quickly looks away. “I mean, with Kathryn and the rest of us.”
I try to laugh, but it comes out more like a snort. “Thanks, but I think I’m safer here.”
Brody looks at me like he’s not sure what I’m talking about. Is it possible that he doesn’t even realize how mean Kathryn is?
“Well, the invitation is open.” Brody stands up. “In case you change your mind.”
I glance past him and sure enough, Kathryn is glaring at me. Great. I’m back on her radar. She looks like she’s ready to pounce at any minute, just waiting to stab me in the eyes with the tip of her ponytail.
“Thanks.” I give him a slight smile, and he goes back to his table of popular kids.
I spend the remainder of the lunch period tearing apart my napkin. When the bell finally rings, I scoop up my book, throw my garbage away, and sprint to my next class. I have to stay ahead of Kathryn at all times. If I’m in the classroom and within earshot of teachers, she at least has to be nice to me.
My plan works. I stay away from her all day, and she’s on the bus before I get there. Lucky for me, the seat behind the bus driver is empty again. I crouch down in the bench, take a deep breath, and close my eyes.
Which is why I don’t notice that the bus driver missed my spot until we’re well past my house.
“Excuse me.” I lean forward in my seat so the bus driver can hear me. “I think we passed my house.”
“Yes, but I thought you were going home with a friend?” The bus driver glances at me in his mirror.
“I—what?” I have no idea what he’s talking about.
; “Kathryn back there told me you were going home with Cindy. Hers is the last stop,” the bus driver says.
I turn around to find Kathryn and Emily laughing like hyenas at the back of the bus.
I can feel my blood heating up, and if blood could actually boil, I’m pretty sure mine would be boiling over.
“Oh yes, I forgot,” I tell the bus driver. Two can play her game. “But she had it wrong. I’m not going home with Cindy. I’m going to Brody Fuller’s house.”
“Okay, then,” the bus driver says. “His stop is next.”
I smile. Because I can’t wait to see Kathryn’s face when I walk off the bus with Brody.
CHAPTER
10
THE BUS STOPS, AND I glance back to see Brody standing up. Kathryn and Emily are giggling at each other and waving at him.
“See you tomorrow,” Brody says as he passes by my seat.
That’s what he thinks.
I grab my backpack and follow him off the bus. I turn around just in time to see Kathryn’s nostrils flare to three times their normal size.
“What?” Brody looks around as the bus drives away. “What are you doing here?”
Now that I’m here, I’m not sure myself. What was I thinking? That was really stupid of me. Not only do I have no way home, but Kathryn’s going to make my life absolutely miserable after this.
“Poppy?” Brody waves his hand in front of my face.
I sigh. “The bus driver missed my stop.”
“That stinks,” Brody says. “Why didn’t you just ask him to go back?”
I don’t want to tell him what happened. Then he’ll go back to Kathryn and that will make things even worse than they already are.
“By the time I realized it, we were at your stop. And since it’s the next closest one to mine, I figured I’d just get off here.”
Brody smiles. “That’s cool.”
“It is?” I raise an eyebrow.
“Well, yeah.” He looks down at his foot, which is kicking at a lump of dirt. “You never seem to want to talk to me at school.”