The Forget-Me-Not Summer

by Leila Howland

  “Uh . . . ,” Zinnie said, unable to hide her amazement, “I’m looking for the people who are going to pave over my flower field to make a supermarket. I must stop them before it’s too late.”

  “Well, you’ve found the right chicken,” Marigold said, and added a few more bock-bock-bocks. Then Marigold did some short, quick head movements that made her look like a real chicken. She is such a good actress, Zinnie thought. “That’s where I’m headed,” Marigold said. “See, they’re going to have a big poultry section in that supermarket, but I’m hoping once they meet me and see what a talented dancer I am, they’ll realize that chickens deserve to live and decide to go vegan.” The audience laughed. “I can take you to their home—it’s right down the road—but the only problem is I’m not sure which style of dance will impress them the most. Can you help me decide?”

  “Okay,” Zinnie said. “Let’s see your ballet moves!”

  “Here goes,” Marigold said, and she did some pirouettes, but in a very chicken-like way. “Whoa, whoa!” she said, landing the last pirouette on her butt. The whole audience laughed. Zinnie couldn’t help it. She laughed, too. She’d had no idea that Marigold could dance like that.

  “Hmm. I don’t know if ballet is your best bet. Let’s see some Latin moves,” Zinnie said. “Try a salsa or a tango!” Zinnie heard her dad’s distinctive laugh.

  “Cha-cha-cha!” Marigold said, grabbed Zinnie, and tangoed the full length of the stage, to the delight of the audience.

  Ashley cleared her throat. “So . . . um, the chicken continued to try many styles of dance, including hip-hop, belly dancing, and even Bollywood.”

  To Zinnie’s surprise, Marigold was really getting into it. With every new style of dance that Ashley listed, Marigold became more ridiculous and silly.

  People were laughing so hard that Zinnie broke down and started laughing, too. Trying not to laugh only made her laugh more. But Marigold stayed in character. She kept a serious look of surprise on her face as she hopped wildly around the stage.

  “Then they—” Ashley started, but she had to stop and wait for the audience to quiet down. “Then they met a little girl named Hope. She was practicing her own ballerina moves.” Out twirled Lily. She must have been very excited by all the laughing and clapping, because she completely forgot her lines and twirled until she was so dizzy that she almost fell on her face. But she didn’t, because just as she was about to tumble over, Marigold stepped up and caught her.

  There was an awkward moment of silence until Marigold whispered something into Lily’s ear. Lily regained her balance, sprang to her feet, and said, “Hi there!” The play continued, with Tony improvising on the piano as Marigold, Zinnie, and Lily, as Gus, Forget-Me-Not, and Hope, skipped across the stage to the field of flowers. Miss Melody’s class showed their technique and training as they waved their scarves with grace and expression.

  Lily even got her line right as she called out, “Mama and Papa, you must not build that supermarket or the enchanting flowers will die!” She was supposed to say the lines into the cell phone prop that Zinnie had carefully tucked into the tutu before the show, but Lily addressed her own mom and dad in the audience instead. And when it was time for Zinnie’s closing monologue, Marigold took Lily by the hand and stepped quietly to the side, so that Zinnie could have the spotlight all to herself.

  63. Forgiveness

  After the performance Marigold felt like a Fourth of July sparkler. All her acting experience had been in her acting class and on the set of Seasons. She had never acted in front of a crowd before, and she had found it thrilling to look out and see so many people watching her with great big smiles on their faces. Marigold had glowed as if the audience’s laughter were a great beam of energy shining directly on her. And when she took her bow with the rest of the cast, she was filled with so much lightness, she couldn’t be quite sure that she was touching the ground.

  As she scanned the audience, her heart nearly popped with surprise and happiness when she saw her parents cheering. Mom and Dad were standing up, clapping wildly. Then Aunt Sunny, who was sitting nearby, stood up and clapped. Soon the whole audience was on its feet. Marigold waved to her parents, though she wasn’t sure they could still see her through the standing ovation. After she took her final bow, she ran off the stage, up the center aisle, and right into their arms, not caring if Amanda saw.

  “You’re here!” Marigold said.

  “You were fantastic,” Dad said.

  “You’re such a wonderful actress,” Mom said.

  Her sisters weren’t far behind her. Mom picked up Lily and pulled Zinnie in for a hug. As Jean made some announcements about the judges’ tallying the scores, Dad leaned over to Marigold and whispered, “I was so glad to see you up there. There was a rumor that you weren’t going to be in the play.”

  “Was it in the Hollywood Reporter?” Marigold asked. “I thought you knew better than to believe show biz rumors!” Though she was joking around with Dad, she knew that she had something important to do, and she didn’t want to wait another minute. She leaned over to Zinnie and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” Zinnie said, and though Marigold searched Zinnie’s face for hurt and anger, there was none. Her sister’s eyes were shining, and her cheeks were rosy and round with happiness. It could have been because Zinnie’s play had been such a success that now Marigold’s bad behavior didn’t seem like such a big deal. But when Zinnie went one step further and embraced Marigold in a bear hug, Marigold knew that she had been totally forgiven.

  Marigold was suddenly aware of a big difference between Zinnie and her. Marigold could hold a grudge for days or longer, even after several apologies. She collected her hurts the way Peter collected his sea glass. Zinnie, on the other hand, was quick to forgive. All Marigold had to do was say sorry, and poof! The fight was all over, and Zinnie had her arms around her. This was part of what made Zinnie so, well, so Zinnie. Tony played a few lively chords to get the audience’s attention, and Jean hushed the crowd. And for a split second, as Marigold hugged Zinnie back, their long-standing roles reversed: it was Marigold who wanted to be more like her sister, instead of the other way around.

  64. The Piping Plover Society

  After the prizes had been handed out and the crowd had thinned a bit, Marigold was still riding high. In fact, Marigold didn’t think she had ever felt more exhilarated, even though they had only won second place. Ashley won first place, and Joey and his animal impressions came in third.

  Amanda was long gone. Maybe she was going to tweet about it, but Marigold hoped not. She didn’t have time to look for her and ask, because people kept coming up to her and telling her how funny she was. Aunt Sunny gave her a huge hug and a big kiss on her cheek. “I’m so proud of you,” she said. Marigold put her hand to her face and felt a lipstick mark. Aunt Sunny was wearing lipstick!

  When she turned around to tell Zinnie, she found herself looking right at Phil Rathbone. It was the moment she’d been waiting for. And yet she couldn’t find any words. She stared at him. She smiled weirdly. She wished she had thought to take off the feathery sweater.

  “Uh . . . hi there,” he said. “I’m Phil Rathbone.”

  “I know,” she said. “I’m Marigold Silver.”

  “Nice to meet you,” he said, and extended his hand. She remembered that a firm handshake was sign of confidence and shook his hand heartily. It may have been a little too hearty, because Phil Rathbone shook out his hand a little and said, “That’s quite a handshake you’ve got.”

  “Thanks,” Marigold said. “I’m an actress, you know.”

  “I can see that,” he said, and smiled. “You were very funny. You make an excellent chicken.”

  “Thanks, but um . . . in L.A. I mean,” Marigold said, “I was on Seasons.”

  “Oh,” he said, his eyes twinkling with recognition, “so you were. You do drama and comedy. Very impressive.”

  “Yes,” Marigold said, standing straight and tall. “
And I really want to be in Night Sprites.” She could see Aunt Sunny out of the corner of her eye, lingering by the punch table, within definite earshot of Marigold and Phil Rathbone.

  “I’m afraid it’s totally cast,” he said, and Marigold’s heart dropped an inch. “I suppose I could always use another extra. You don’t want to be an extra, do you?”

  Marigold thought about it. She really didn’t. She was a real actress, and she wanted a real part.

  Phil Rathbone must have gathered this from her expression. “That’s what I thought,” he said. “But tell you what, I’ll keep my eye out for you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to mingle. I built a house here last year, and the locals seem to really dislike me. I wish I knew why.”

  He was about to walk away when Marigold placed a hand on his arm. “It’s because of the piping plovers,” she said.

  “What do you mean?” he asked. “What are piping plovers?”

  “The little shorebirds. When you built your house, you destroyed their nests.”

  “I did? Oh, no. My lawyers didn’t tell me that. They just said there was a problem and they would make it go away. Then I came here and found myself very unpopular.”

  “But . . . how did you not know?” Marigold asked.

  “I have six houses,” Phil Rathbone confessed. “And each house has its own staff. I don’t always know the details. If I did, I wouldn’t have time to make movies.”

  “Well,” Marigold said, “if I were you, I’d think about making a donation to the Piping Plover Society. A big one.”

  “That’s a great idea. I didn’t even know there was a society. Who do I talk to about that?” he asked.

  “That lady right there,” Marigold said, and pointed to Aunt Sunny, who was chatting with Dad. Aunt Sunny smiled and looked away, as though she hadn’t been listening to the whole conversation. “Her name is Sunny.”

  “The truth is, I’m a big environmentalist,” Mr. Rathbone said. “I’ve even hired a producer to help me find an environment-related documentary to produce.” He nodded in the direction of the high-heeled woman they had met in the general store.

  “You see that man Sunny’s talking to?” Marigold asked, pointing to her dad. “He’s just finished a documentary about the tallest redwood.”

  “Really? Hey, thanks for the tip,” he said. “And have your agent send me your stuff.”

  “Okay,” Marigold said. “I will.”

  As they shook hands again (this time Marigold was more gentle), Peter walked right past them. He didn’t even look at her. After Marigold and Mr. Rathbone said one last good-bye, she turned quickly to follow Peter.

  “Peter,” she called over everyone’s heads. “Peter, wait.” He turned around at the sound of his name, but when he saw that it was Marigold, he shook his head and kept walking.

  “I don’t think he wants to talk to you right now, honey,” Jean said matter-of-factly. She put a hand on Marigold’s shoulder. “He’s more sensitive then he looks, and he was pretty bummed out after the dance.”

  “I know,” Marigold said. “I want to say I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t know if he’s ready,” Jean said, giving Marigold a little squeeze. “He’ll come around. Give him some time.”

  But we’re leaving the day after tomorrow, Marigold thought. I don’t have time.

  65. A Piece of Her Heart

  After a dinner of grilled hamburgers and a game of flashlight tag in the pear orchard, Mom and Dad tucked the girls in.

  “I can’t believe you survived sharing a room with these two for three whole weeks,” Dad said as he kissed Marigold good night. Mom was sitting on Lily’s boat bed, brushing her hair.

  “Ugh, me either,” Marigold said.

  “Hey!” Lily and Zinnie said at the same time.

  “Just kidding,” Marigold said. “They weren’t so bad. Except Zinnie never puts her clothes away, and she stays up late reading with her flashlight, and Lily wakes us all up before sunrise.”

  “We weren’t so bad?” Zinnie said. “Please. You’re the one who snores.”

  “No, I don’t!” Marigold said.

  “Sometimes,” Zinnie said. “It sounds sort of like a whistle. Like this.” Zinnie did one of her perfect imitations. Mom laughed, but Marigold did not find it funny.

  “I do not snore,” Marigold said.

  “Okay, girls,” Mom said. “You’ll be back to your own rooms in just a few days. So try to enjoy this togetherness while it lasts. Unless of course you’d all like to move into one room back in L.A. Marigold’s room is the biggest, so . . .”

  “No!” Marigold said.

  “We could turn Zinnie’s room into a gym.” Dad said.

  “No way!” Zinnie said.

  “And Lily’s room into my office,” Mom said.

  “No way, José!” Lily said. They all laughed.

  Marigold was looking forward to being back in her own room with its lavender walls, fluffy pillows, and iPod docking station next to her canopy bed. She needed her privacy. After all, she was starting seventh grade in a month. The thought of it shot a dart of worry into her heart. But then she heard Mom singing Lily the song about the chariots swinging low. As she pulled the sheet up to her chin, she had to admit that there was something about sleeping in the same room as her sisters that made her feel extra safe and cozy inside. Maybe I could share a room with them. Marigold wondered about it as her mom sang. Visions of Zinnie’s clothes cluttering her closet and Lily’s toys on her floor quickly entered her mind. Nah, Marigold said to herself, and curled up on her side, amazed that she’d even had the thought.

  Mom and Dad gave them each one last kiss and went to settle in on an air mattress downstairs. The house quieted down, and the moon cast a pale glow on the bedroom. Usually Marigold fell asleep right away, but not tonight. After several minutes of tossing and turning, she sat up in her boat bed.

  “What’s up?” Zinnie asked Marigold.

  “Can’t sleep,” Marigold said.

  “What are you thinking about?” Zinnie asked.

  “I don’t know what will make Peter forgive me,” Marigold said.

  “What did you do to Peter?” Lily interrupted.

  “You’re still awake, too?” Zinnie asked.

  “Would I be talking if I was asleep?” Lily said.

  “Good point,” Zinnie said.

  “I hurt his feelings,” Marigold said.

  “Say you’re sorry,” Lily said, and sat up.

  “He’s not ready to hear it,” Marigold said. “Jean said so.”

  “Maybe that’s it,” Zinnie said. “He doesn’t want to hear it. You need to think of a way of saying sorry without actually saying it.”

  “What do you mean?” Marigold asked.

  “Like when he gave you the hat, he was saying that he liked you without actually saying that he liked you, right?” Zinnie asked.

  “And when he gave me the rock,” Lily said, “he was saying that he loved me.”

  “Like ‘actions speak louder than words’ kinda thing?” Marigold asked, twirling her hair around her finger.

  “Exactly!” Zinnie said.

  “But what could I give him?” Marigold asked. “He likes baseball. He likes stars and constellations.”

  “Maybe you could get him, like, those sticky stars to put on his ceiling,” Zinnie suggested. “Or a book about constellations.”

  “He likes sea glass,” Lily said.

  “Oh, yeah,” Marigold said. “He does.” She thought about his collection and how he wanted a red piece.

  “Aunt Sunny has a red piece in her jewelry box,” Lily said.

  “I remember,” Zinnie said. “But Ham gave it to her. It was the one thing that we couldn’t pick out.”

  “But maybe if I traded back my sea horse necklace, she would consider it,” Marigold said. “And she was wearing lipstick tonight.” Not only had she been wearing makeup, but Aunt Sunny had had a new look about her lately, something rosy and light about her face. Marigold
had the feeling she knew what it was. She had felt like that once, too, right after Peter had kissed her.

  “So?” Lily asked. “What’s lipstick got to do with it?”

  “A lot,” Marigold said, and stood up. “I need to go ask Aunt Sunny.”

  “Now?” Lily asked. “In the middle of the night?”

  “Yes,” Marigold said. “It’s important.”

  “I’m coming, too!” Lily said.

  “This is so romantic,” Zinnie said, clapping her hands, and hopped out of bed.

  66. The Flower Brigade

  The girls tiptoed past their sleeping parents on the air mattress to Aunt Sunny’s bedroom. She was sitting on her bed in her bathrobe and slippers, reading the latest National Geographic with her glasses perched on the end of her nose. There was a giant red frog on the cover.

  “Knock, knock,” Marigold said.

  “My goodness, what is this, the flower brigade?” Aunt Sunny asked.

  “I have something to ask you,” Marigold said.

  “We all do,” Zinnie said.

  “Even Benny,” Lily said, and held up her bunny. “It’s for Peter. Beautiful Peter.”

  “Beautiful Peter?” Aunt Sunny asked. “I’m intrigued.”

  Marigold held out the sea horse necklace. “I was wondering if I could trade this for something else from your jewelry box.”

  “But you love that necklace,” Aunt Sunny said. “It looks just darling on you. What would you trade it for?”

  “The red sea glass,” Marigold said. “You see, Peter has a collection, and he’s been looking for a red piece his whole life. And I just know that it would mean a lot to him.” Aunt Sunny put her glasses on her head and bit her lip. “I know Ham gave it to you, and it felt like he was giving you a piece of his heart, but . . .” Marigold couldn’t find the right words.