Dear Poppy

by Ronni Arno

  Until next week.

  Love & friendship always & forever,

  Daphne

  There’s a photo of Mom and Brian included in the envelope. Mom has that huge Mom smile (and that huge Mom hair), and she’s holding the rose that Brian gave her. She’s wearing a floral-print dress with a denim jacket over it. Either Mom had huge shoulders, or her jacket has some serious shoulder pads. Either way, she looks like she’s glowing. I hold the photo close to my chest for a minute, then pull out my notebook so I can write her back.

  Dear Mom,

  You and Brian looked so cute! And it was so nice of him to give you a rose. I really hope you’re right about Tammy. I hope she’s realized that bullying you won’t work. Maybe that’s how you become friends. Maybe after you win the blue ribbon, she apologizes and all is forgiven.

  I hope so, because that means there’s hope for Kathryn and me to become friends. If Dad’s going to date her mom (sorry ), then we certainly can’t be enemies.

  I’ve been hanging out a lot with Britt and Brody. You’d really like them. They’re both excellent gardeners and they’re both nice to me. Britt and I didn’t start out as friends, and look at us now.

  I can’t wait to hear if that’s what happened with you and Tammy.

  Love ya,

  Poppy

  PS: I really like the outfit you wore for the square dance. Very country chic.

  Dad’s already in the kitchen by the time I get there. He’s cooking French toast with apples and cinnamon. I drool a little.

  “Good morning, sweetie.”

  “Hi, Dad. Smells good.”

  “Almost finished.” Dad flips a piece of French toast in the pan. “Oh, I found a bunch of books in the attic that I thought you’d like. I put them on the kitchen table.”

  Piled in the middle of the table are books on gardening. There’s The Gardener’s Encyclopedia, Great Gardens, and A Popular Guide to Roses.

  Wait.

  A Popular Guide to Roses. Wasn’t that the book Mom mentioned in her letter?

  I quickly grab the book by the spine and shake it out.

  “Easy there, Poppy.” Dad looks up from the French toast. “Those books are about the same age as your old man, you know.”

  Sure enough, a dried rose falls out of one of the pages. I look at it for a second, then put it back before Dad can see.

  “Thanks, Dad.” I grab the books and run up to my room. “I’m going to put these on my shelf.”

  “Okay, but come right back down,” Dad yells after me. “Breakfast is almost ready.”

  I neatly stack the books on my bookshelf, and gently take the rose out of A Popular Guide to Roses. I hold it in my palm. It’s browning on the ends, but otherwise it’s held up pretty well. I bring the flower up to my nose. There’s still the tiniest hint of fragrance, almost like a memory. I pull the metal box out of my underwear drawer and add the rose to it. Then I go downstairs for some of New Dad’s French toast.

  At breakfast, Dad tells us that Tammy’s coming over for dinner again. And this time she’s bringing Kathryn.

  CHAPTER

  23

  LUCKILY, I’M STILL UPSTAIRS WHEN Tammy and Kathryn arrive. I hear Dad gushing over how much he’s heard about Kathryn, and how helpful it was that Kathryn showed me around school the first day, blah, blah, blah. Dad calls me down in a singsongy voice.

  “Poppeeeeeeeeee. Tammy and Kathryn are heeeeeeeere.”

  I make my way into the kitchen, where Tammy is oohing and aahing over whatever Dad has on the stove. Kathryn’s standing next to Tammy, but she’s not saying much.

  The first thing Tammy does when she sees me is give me a breath-squeezing hug.

  “Oh, Poppy.” Tammy makes her frowny face. “Your father told me what happened to your roses. I’m so sorry.”

  I politely remove myself from her grip, and step back. “It’s okay. I’ve replanted.”

  Tammy’s frowny face gets frownier. “You did?”

  “Yes.” I smile. “The garden looks even better than before.”

  “Well.” Tammy’s frown turns upside down. “I’m so happy for you. Kathryn, isn’t that great news?”

  “That’s great news.” Kathryn is standing behind Tammy. Her voice sounds genuine, but her smile is pure fake Kathryn.

  “You sure got that done quickly,” Tammy says. “What’s your secret?”

  I glance over her shoulder at Kathryn. Before I could answer, Dad chimes in.

  “Poppy had some friends over to help.”

  Why does Dad have to pick now to be so involved in my life?

  “That’s wonderful.” Tammy looks back at Kathryn. “Anyone we know?”

  “Those Fuller kids,” Dad says. “The twins.”

  Tammy’s face looks like someone stung her with a Taser. “Britt and Brody?”

  “Nice kids, those two.” Dad adds some spices to the pot.

  “Well, David . . .” Tammy tucks her hair behind her ears. “Brody is fine, but you really need to watch out for Britt.”

  Dad stops stirring. “Why?”

  “She’s trouble.”

  I’m just about to open my mouth and defend Britt when Dad steps in.

  “She’s been good to Poppy.”

  “Okay.” Tammy shakes her head. “Don’t tell me later that I didn’t try to warn you.”

  The room falls silent until Troy comes barreling down the stairs.

  “Smells great. When’s dinner?”

  I’ve never been so happy to see Troy in all my life.

  “We have a few more minutes until the spices merge to perfection,” Dad says. “Poppy, why don’t you go show Kathryn your garden?”

  “Yes, Poppy.” Kathryn looks like a cat who’s cornered a mouse. “I’d love to see your garden.”

  The thought of showing Kathryn my garden—Mom’s garden—makes my stomach churn. But Dad and Tammy are looking at us like we just told them we got into Princeton, so I lead Kathryn outside.

  “Here it is,” I mumble, and point to the line of itty-bitty rosebushes growing out of the ground.

  Kathryn snickers.

  “What?” I know I should ignore her, but I just can’t. Not when it comes to this.

  “There’s no way these will be ready for the fair.” Kathryn crosses her arms. Her fingernails are painted red.

  “Maybe not,” I say. Even though I know they will be.

  “Why do you even bother?” She doesn’t say it in a mean way, but more like she’s really wondering.

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “You never grew roses before you moved here. These will never be ready in time. And I win the blue ribbon. Every year. So I just want to know. What’s the big deal with roses?”

  “You should know,” I answer. “You grow them.”

  Kathryn snorts. “I only grow them for my mother.”

  I think I gasp a little. But before I can tell Kathryn that’s exactly why I grow them too, she goes on.

  “My mother makes me. I swear she’d kill me if I didn’t win the blue ribbon.” She picks at her nail polish.

  “I’m sure that’s not true. I’m sure—”

  “Trust me,” Kathryn interrupts. “You don’t know my mother.”

  Kathryn’s lower lip starts to quiver the tiniest bit, and I actually feel bad for her. But just as quickly, I also wonder if this is another one of her tricks meant to manipulate me. If I feel sorry for her, then I won’t enter the fair, and she’ll win as usual.

  Dad opens the windows and yells out, “Girls. Dinner’s ready.”

  Kathryn turns to walk inside before I can even say anything more.

  Dad outdoes himself at dinner. Eggplant parmesan with homemade marinara sauce, pasta al dente, and homemade cannoli for dessert. I have no idea where Dad learned to make cannoli. The dinner conversation consists of mostly how good dinner was, which is fine with me. We don’t talk about school. We don’t talk about flowers, and we don’t talk about Britt or Brody.

  Kathryn
gives me a weak smile when it’s time for them to leave, and, for the first time since I met her, I sort of feel sorry for her. I come this close to actually giving her a hug good-bye.

  I feel the exact same way toward her all week at school. She’s still not talking to me, but she’s not glaring at me either. I call that progress.

  Britt and Brody come over every day to help with the garden. I don’t tell them what Tammy said about them. Sure, Britt doesn’t finish her homework, and is always late for class, and skips school way more than she should, but she’s amazing with flowers. And she’s a good friend.

  I wake up late on Friday, so I have no time to read Mom’s next letter. I spend all day thinking about it, but Britt and Brody come over right after school to work on the garden, so by the time I’m alone in my room, it’s bedtime.

  Finally! I open the box and pull out the next letter. I wonder where Mom’s hidden the next stack. Or, maybe she—or her ghost—is just going to come talk with me directly. Seeing her again, even if it is in spirit form, would be way better than letters.

  This envelope is different than the others. It’s padded, and when I pull the letter out, I see why. Mom included one of those old-fashioned tapes—I think it’s called a cassette—in the envelope. There’s also a class picture, and I pick out Mom immediately. She’s the one with the brightest smile.

  May 25, 1985

  Dear Poppy,

  The strangest thing happened last night. Dad said he heard noises outside in the middle of the night, so he went to check things out. Someone was in my garden! Dad chased them away, and he said it was too dark to see who it was, but thank goodness he was sleeping with the windows open and heard something. We looked around this morning, and everything looked okay, except for this one rosebush that was trampled.

  I’m sure it was Tammy. Who else would want to hurt my flowers? Especially a week before the fair?!

  I’m totally paranoid to sleep now. What if she comes back to finish the job? I want to sleep in a sleeping bag outside, but my parents won’t let me.

  Everything had been going so well, too. Tammy’s been pretty mellow at school. And Brian gave me the best mix tape ever! It even has “The Power of Love” on it. How did he know that’s my favorite?

  One more week til the fair. Oh, how I wish you were here. Hey! That rhymes (sort of)!

  Until next week (THE FAIR!!!!).

  Love & friendship always & forever,

  Daphne

  I drop the letter on the floor.

  No. Way.

  Somebody tried to ruin her garden, just like somebody tried to ruin mine?

  And “The Power of Love” was Mom’s favorite song? It was on Brian’s mix tape and Brody’s iPod? My heart is about to pound out of my chest and fall to the floor next to the letter.

  Things are really happening now.

  CHAPTER

  24

  EVERY MORNING BEFORE SCHOOL FOR the next few weeks, I check on my flowers. And every morning they look a tiny bit better. But not nearly good enough.

  As we get closer to the fair, I start to get super nervous.

  “They’re not going to be ready in time for the fair,” I say to Britt at lunch one day.

  “No, they’re not.” She hands me a potato chip. “The fair is in two days. But you knew that, Poppy. It would take a miracle for roses to mature that fast.”

  I swallow both the potato chip and the lump in my throat. A miracle is exactly what I’m counting on.

  There’s still time. But just in case, I talk to Mrs. Quinn at the end of Intro to Agriculture.

  “My roses,” I begin, “may not be quite ready by Saturday.”

  “Oh no, are you having pest problems?” The lines in Mrs. Quinn’s forehead wrinkle.

  “Something like that,” I say. “Would it . . . If I had to, can I change my project?”

  “It’s a little late, I’m afraid.” Mrs. Quinn taps her pencil on her chin. “But I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you take a look at this list and see if perhaps you already have something you can put together? Just in case.”

  Mrs. Quinn hands me a list of project ideas, and I smile at her. “Just in case.”

  I practically leap off the bus and straight to my garden after school. I’m fully expecting to see mature, blooming roses, the prettiest ones ever.

  But I don’t.

  They look exactly the same as they did this morning.

  I sit at the kitchen table and pull the sheet Mrs. Quinn gave me out of my backpack. I scan the list for just-in-case ideas.

  Photography, woodworking, sewing, global education, composting. There’s no way I can do a project about any of these things in two days.

  And then something catches my eye.

  “Yes!” I jump up off the kitchen chair, run up the stairs, and get started on my backup project.

  Just in case.

  I wake up on Friday morning, throw the covers off me, and go to grab Mom’s last letter. I pull the envelope out and in big red letters it says, POSTFAIR LETTER! What does that mean? Do I have to wait until after the fair to read it? Or did she write it after the fair? My thoughts swirl around in my head. I’m dying to read it now, but what if Mom is trying to tell me that I have to wait? Spirits are so vague.

  Just in case, I slip the letter back inside my drawer. I guess I can wait one more day.

  Maybe she found another way to send me a message today.

  Maybe . . .

  I have to get to the garden. I fly down the stairs and bolt out the side door.

  My heart sinks into my toes when I step outside. My roses haven’t changed. Not even a little bit.

  I sit down on the grass, my back against the barn.

  “There’s still one more day,” I whisper to myself.

  I drag myself inside and get ready for school. Brody can tell something’s wrong the minute I get on the bus.

  “What happened to you?”

  “My roses still aren’t ready.”

  Brody gives me a little shove. “Of course not. You knew they wouldn’t be.”

  I don’t answer him.

  “Poppy?” Brody nudges me again. “You did know they wouldn’t be, right?”

  “It’s okay,” I say, avoiding his question. “I did a just-in-case project last night. I think it’s really good.”

  “What is it?” Brody’s smiling. He loves this 4-H stuff.

  “It’s a surprise,” I tell him. “Maybe you’ll see it tomorrow.” Or maybe not, because I’ll get my miracle roses.

  Kathryn’s absent today, and Britt mentions that she’s absent the day before the fair every year. Apparently, it takes her a long time to prepare. This, of course, makes me more nervous. Even if my roses blossom overnight, will I have time to “prepare?”

  After school I sprint to the garden.

  There’s no change.

  “Come on, Mom.” I say. “We only have one more day. We can do this.”

  CHAPTER

  25

  I WAKE UP TO DAD shaking me by the shoulders.

  “Poppy. Poppy. It’s time to get up. We’re going to be late.”

  I open my eyes and bolt upright. “Is it Saturday?”

  “Yes,” Dad says. “We overslept. We’ve got to go.”

  I push Dad aside and fly down the steps. I don’t even bother to put shoes on as I fling open the side door and run out to the garden.

  My mouth hangs open when I see it.

  My roses look exactly the same.

  Tears pour from my eyes. I don’t understand. I thought this was the deal. Our deal. I’d plant the garden, and Mom would be sure the flowers were ready for the fair.

  But no, there are no flowers.

  I must have done something wrong somehow.

  I failed Mom.

  Mom. Today’s fair day! Today’s the day I read her last letter.

  Dad peeks his head out the kitchen window. “Poppy, what are you doing out there? You’ve got to get dressed and get your project into the truc
k. We have to be out of here in three minutes.”

  I run back inside and tuck Mom’s last letter into the back pocket of my jeans so I can read it the minute the fair ends.

  I throw my poster board in the truck (I tell Dad it’s on plant genetics), and Dad and I eat granola bars in silence.

  We pull into the packed fair parking lot—which is just a giant muddy field—and find a spot at least half a mile from the entrance. I decide to leave my poster board in the truck rather than lug it around with me to the flower exhibit. I can come back for it later.

  We plod across the mucky terrain until we enter the gates of the fair. A man wearing a plaid shirt gives us a program. Dad opens it up and searches for the flower exhibit. We still have to be there to support Kathryn.

  “Looks like it’s in Barn A,” Dad says.

  I look up at all the buildings and tents. I have no idea where Barn A is, and I don’t care. I can’t believe that my roses aren’t ready. Why would Mom put me through this and then not come through with the roses?

  I kick a rock off the path, and it rolls to a wooden sign with arrows going every which way. One of the arrows says, BARN A. I follow it and, sure enough, Barn A is right next to us.

  I look at Dad, who’s intently studying the map in the program. I should probably just tell him that Barn A is directly to our left, but the later I am for the exhibit, the better. Maybe we’ll even miss the ribbon ceremony, which Kathryn is guaranteed to win.

  Dad holds the program up and turns his body in the opposite direction. “It says we are here, so Barn A must be—”

  I can’t stand it anymore. “It’s over there.” I point to our left.

  “So it is.” Dad rolls the program up and puts it in his back pocket.

  We head over to the barn. I trudge behind Dad. Even though Kathryn’s not the total monster I thought she was, I still don’t want to see her win the blue ribbon.

  Dad and I walk into the barn, and Tammy waves us over to the front of the exhibit. I have to admit—the flowers are spectacular. Tammy and Kathryn are standing next to the table with the roses. Tammy gives Dad a peck on the cheek (ewwww) and smiles at me.