Revenge of the Flower Girls

by Jennifer Ziegler

  “But it’s ugly.”

  Lily turned and looked at herself in the mirror over her dresser. “It’s not that bad,” she said. Only, she seemed to be saying it to her reflection, not to me. And judging by the squiggly lines on her forehead, her reflection didn’t believe it.

  I walked into her room and sat down on her bed, watching her as she turned this way and that, studying herself.

  “It’s so big and ugly, I thought you were a ghost,” I said. “That’s why I screamed.”

  Lily laughed a little. “Are you guys still scared of Mom’s bathroom? You know those sounds are just air trapped in the old pipes, right?” She sat down next to me on the bed, and her skirt puffed up real high. She tried to pat it down with her hands, but that didn’t make much difference.

  I didn’t answer her. I was feeling sad and scared. Not the kind of scared like I was of the ghost — I mean the kind of twisted-up feelings you get when you know things are changing and you don’t want them to.

  “Why aren’t you with Alex anymore?” I didn’t realize I was going to ask her that. The words just sort of burst out of my mouth.

  Lily’s face went cloudy and hard to read — like when the screen saver comes on the computer monitor. “People change after high school,” she said. She turned her head and stared out the window toward the hill. I couldn’t see her eyes, but her voice sounded sad. Her voice sounded sad a lot this past year. “They want to do new things, go to new places, make new friends. They leave high school things — and high school people — behind.”

  “Are you saying that you changed or that Alex changed?” I asked.

  She was quiet for a few seconds. “I guess we both did.”

  I stared at her. She looked so silly in the dress, but she was still beautiful. It’s perfect that her name is Lily. She really is a lot like a flower. She likes to be out in the sun and fresh air. She’s sweet and happy and makes everything better just by being there. At least, she used to be. Ever since last Christmas, she’d been quieter and less smiley. And her forehead almost always had those wavy lines.

  A new scary thought popped into my mind. “Are me, Darby, and Delaney going to have to wear big ghost dresses at the wedding, too?”

  Lily laughed. “No way,” she said. “No ghost dresses. I promise.”

  “Really?” This made me feel so much better. Lily always wears pretty dresses (the simple cottony kind, not like Burton’s mother’s dress), and her hair is long and flowy. But Darby, Delaney, and I prefer shorts or jeans. And even though we have long brownish-blondish hair like Lily’s, we always put it in braids. If they made each of us wear a monster dress with seven skirts, and sleeves that pouf up like balloons, we probably wouldn’t know how to move. They’d have to wheel us down the aisle.

  “It’s not fair that you don’t get your own dress,” I said. “This one is so … not Lily-like.”

  “I know, but it means a lot to Burton’s mom. Besides, he and I don’t have a lot of money, and this way we don’t have to buy the dress or the ring.”

  My eyes got big. “She’s giving you a ring, too?”

  “Yep. I haven’t been wearing it because it needs to be resized.” Lily reached into the drawer on her bedside table and pulled out a small velvet-covered box. She flipped open the top, and inside was the most awful-looking ring I’ve ever seen. It was even worse than the dress.

  “I don’t get it. Why does it have a letter U?” I pointed to the stones in a smushed semicircle shape.

  “It’s a horseshoe,” she said. “For luck.”

  It didn’t look like a horseshoe. I didn’t want to say it — but it looked like a toilet seat.

  “How can that ring be lucky?” I asked. “I thought you said his parents are divorced, just like Mom and Dad.”

  “Well … it’s lucky because we don’t have to pay for it,” she said, with a nervous-sounding laugh. “I think his mom is just trying to help.”

  “Or she’s trying to make you turn into her,” I grumbled. The sad, twisty feelings were turning into anger. “You aren’t going to get married on the hill, even though you always wanted to. You aren’t going to have flowers, even though you love them, because Burton gets sneezy. You have to wear a big scary dress and old weird ring and basically not do anything you want to do on your wedding day. Am I right?”

  Lily tucked a piece of my hair behind my ear. “You don’t understand,” she said. “When you love someone, you are willing to give up things that you once thought were important to you.”

  “Okay. I see you doing that. But is Burton doing that, too?”

  She stared down at the ring on her finger, and the squiggles came back to her forehead. Then she turned to face me. “You’re young,” she said. “You just can’t understand. Not until you’re older.”

  Lily never said stuff like that. Lots of grown-ups do, but not her. Only … Lily was doing lots of things now I never thought she would. And she wasn’t doing the things she used to always do.

  I wanted things to go back to the way they were. I wanted old Lily, not new Lily. I wanted the Lily who would come into our rooms to play Presidential Trivia and watch us do reenactments. The Lily who read every single Harry Potter book aloud to us — making different voices for the characters and everything. The Lily who would pick wildflowers on the hill and cry every time we watched the Toy Story movies together. The Lily who loved animals so much, she stopped eating meat when she was twelve years old. The Lily who smiled and laughed all the time and gave the world’s best hugs.

  It was weird, but even though she was sitting right next to me, I was really missing her.

  We had run the sprinklers that morning, and our dog, Quincy, loves to go find mud and roll in it. But since Mom didn’t want the house getting all dirty, with Burton and his mother coming to visit, she put Quincy in his kennel on the front porch until the yard dried out. This always makes me feel bad for him, so I decided to keep him company — even though he mainly just lay there and snored.

  I was stretched out along the porch swing, enjoying the songs of nearby mockingbirds and the whoosh of traffic on Highway 290 a couple of miles away and the snorts and whistles of Quincy’s heavy sleep. I’m the only triplet who can just sit and do nothing. Dawn is always in the middle of some important project, and Delaney has to be bouncing around and talking a mile a minute — even if bugs or a sacked-out dog are the only ones around to listen.

  Then I heard what I first thought was a funny-sounding bird.

  “Yoo-hoo! Hello there! Yoo-hoo!”

  I sat up and glanced about. Ms. Woolcott was standing by the low, wooden crisscross fence that separates our property from hers. As usual, her hair was heavily sprayed and stood up high on her head like a dandelion gone to seed. She was wearing her gardening gloves and clogs and waved a pair of pruning shears as she called out to me. Ms. Woolcott always seems to be dressed up. Even when she’s doing yard work, she wears wide colorful skirts that really stand out and that Dad says he wishes were four inches longer. Today, her skirt was bright pink with embroidered curlicue daisies growing up from the bottom seam.

  I glanced down at Quincy, but he had long ago learned to ignore Ms. Woolcott. I thought about ignoring her, too — of all us triplets, I’m the shyest — but I figured that wouldn’t be neighborly. So I got up and walked to the fence.

  “Good morning, Ms. Woolcott,” I said.

  “Good morning, Delaney,” she said. Or sang. Ms. Woolcott always sings her words instead of just saying them.

  “I’m Darby,” I corrected. “Delaney went to Forev — I mean, Ever’s store to get some shortening for Mom’s cobbler.”

  At my mention of Ever’s, a funny look came over Ms. Woolcott’s face, and she seemed to shudder a bit. Soon, it passed and she smiled real big.

  “Her peach cobbler? Oh? Sounds as if there’s a special occasion coming up. Hmm?”

  It was my turn to shudder a little. That sentence was like part of an opera.

  Ms. Woolcott’s first
name is Josephine and she goes by Josie with other adults, but I’ve heard Mom call her Nosy Josie when she thinks we aren’t listening. Ms. Woolcott is nice, but she really does try to make everybody’s business her own.

  “Sort of,” I said. “See, Lily is getting married —”

  At this, Ms. Woolcott gasped really huge and loud.

  “ — to Burton Caldwell, so we invited him and his mom over to dinner to get to know them better.”

  All the air suddenly popped out of Ms. Woolcott, and her shoulders slumped — as if she were a punctured beach ball. “She’s marrying Burton Caldwell?” she asked, her face as droopy as her shoulders. “You mean the Caldwells who tried to get the city to remove all the flowering trees on Main Street? Are you sure that’s the one?”

  I wanted to tell her that I was darn well sure about who my sister was marrying — and if I had been Dawn, I probably would have (Dawn has a temper). Instead, I said, “ ’Fraid so.”

  “But … what about Alex?”

  “They broke up last year. Then she started dating Burton. Now they’re getting married.”

  “Oh no! I’m so sorry to hear that! What a shame.”

  I tilted my head. “Do you mean it’s a shame that she’s getting married to Burton or that she and Alex broke up?”

  Ms. Woolcott’s cheeks turned as pink as her skirt. “Oh, well … of course, I didn’t mean to imply … Weddings are always a blessing, right? … As long as she’s happy.” She smiled and nodded.

  “I guess.”

  Ms. Woolcott looked over at our house. Her smile faded and her nodding turned into a head shake. “It’s just that … Lily and Alex made the perfect couple. Ab-so-LUTE-ly perfect.”

  It was true. Lily and Alex just seemed to belong together, and it seemed wrong that they would break up. It’s like when you try to have strawberry shortcake without whipped cream. It’s still good, but you can’t help thinking that something important is missing, something that just makes it better.

  With Alex, Lily was better. She was happier. She was Lily-er.

  Ms. Woolcott was still shaking her head sadly. I was thinking how nice it was for her to also be worried about Lily. Then I started thinking about her hair and how incredible it was that neither the breeze nor her movements could jostle it.

  “Well, do tell your family I said hello,” Ms. Woolcott trilled. She turned and started walking back toward her house. After a few steps, I could hear her say “ab-so-LUTE-ly perfect” again.

  I went back to the porch and tried to relax and daydream again, but everything was different now. For one thing, I’d started fretting about Burton and Lily. And also, the sounds were all different. The birds had stopped singing, and I could hear angry voices coming from inside the house.

  “Mom, please!” Lily was saying.

  “No,” Mom replied. “And please do not bring it up again.”

  Quincy wasn’t asleep anymore either. Now he was fidgety and whimpering.

  Just then, the front door slowly opened, and Dawn slipped out onto the porch. She sat down next to me on the swing, her face puckered with worry.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “Lily wants Dad to come to the dinner for Burton and his mother, but Mom’s being stubborn.”

  We both sighed and glanced down at our bare feet. Mom and Dad don’t say bad things about each other, but they also don’t talk to each other much. We hate this more than anything in the world — more than Burton even.

  “Burton’s father isn’t going to be there, so why should yours?” we heard Mom say.

  “Burton’s dad is in South America. He can’t simply fly up for peach cobbler!”

  My toes and Dawn’s toes pushed against the wooden floor planks simultaneously and we started the swing rocking. We didn’t decide ahead of time, we just did it — at the exact same second. Things like that happen when you’re a triplet.

  The back-and-forth motion of the swing made me feel a little better, and probably soothed Dawn, too. Also the creaking sounds drowned out the angry talk.

  “What’s going on?”

  Delaney was coming up the path, holding a cloth grocery sack. She could tell right away that something was up. Like I said, it’s a triplet thing. Or at least a sister thing.

  As she came up the steps, we told her about Lily and Mom arguing about Dad. She looked sad for a moment, and then all of a sudden, she got big-eyed and bouncy.

  “Guess who I saw at Forever’s!” Before we could guess, she said, “Alex! Alex, Alex, Alex!”

  Dawn and I traded surprised looks.

  “He’s in town?” I asked.

  “Lucky!” said Dawn. “I want to see him.”

  “He’s in town for the summer and” — Delaney paused and bounced some more — “he’s still in love with Lily!”

  “He said that?” I asked.

  “Well … no, but I could tell.”

  “Hey, wait,” said Dawn. “I talked with Lily just now, and I think she still loves Alex, too.”

  “Even Ms. Woolcott can’t believe they broke up,” I said. “But what difference does all this make if Lily’s set on marrying Burton?”

  Delaney raised her hand. “I know! I know! I know what we need to do!”

  “What?” Dawn and I said together.

  “We have to get Lily and Alex together. Once they see each other, they’ll realize they shouldn’t have broken up!”

  We all agreed that Delaney’s plan was a good one, but we couldn’t figure out how to do that. Delaney said she’d tried to invite him over, but he would come only if Lily did the asking.

  “We better work out something fast,” I pointed out, “before she gets all busy with the wedding.”

  The three of us put our hands together. Delaney first, then mine on top of hers, and then Dawn’s on top. Then we all repeated after Dawn.

  “I, Dawn Brewster” — only, we all said our own name — “do solemnly swear that we will do everything in our power to get Lily reunited with Alex in some way … and we will continue in our efforts to stop her marriage to Burton … with the flag of our fathers —” She nodded toward the American flag that hung limply on our flagpole in the front yard.

  “And mothers,” I added.

  “And mothers,” Dawn repeated, “as witness, and with all the power and freedom of the republic it stands for … and with our loyal hound as witness …”

  “Get on with it!” Delaney whined, bouncing on her toes.

  “We hereby swear … with justice for all … amen … over and out.”

  “Well, that’s dandy,” I said, sitting back down on the swing. “Now we just need to come up with our next move.”

  My sisters sat down on either side of me, and all three of us started pushing the swing at the same time. No one said a word as we tried to think of a plan.

  After a while, the front door opened and Lily came onto the porch.

  “Hey, gang. Guess what! I have big news,” she said.

  “The wedding is canceled?” Delaney asked.

  Lily gave her a funny look. “No. No, of course not.” She clapped her hands together and smiled a huge smile. “Dad will be joining us for supper!”

  “Wow,” I said, feeling my eyes pop a little. That really was big news. Lily must have actually won an argument with Mom — and that never happens.

  “Just think,” Lily said dreamily. “All of the most important people in my life will be here, eating at the same table.”

  She turned and stepped back into the house, closing the door behind her.

  “Not all the important people,” Delaney muttered.

  “Yeah. The president is important and he isn’t coming,” Dawn said.

  “I meant Alex!” Delaney said in a whiny voice.

  Dawn nodded. “Right. Him, too.”

  The three of us pushed our feet against the porch planks and together we resumed swinging and pondering.

  Burton’s mother doesn’t look like an armadillo. She has the same pointy nos
e as Burton’s, but otherwise she’s as wide-eyed and twitchy as a deer. Darby keeps saying she’s more like a scared rabbit, but that’s wrong. Rabbits are soft, and there’s a toughness about Mrs. Caldwell. She may spook easily, but she’d probably kick you before she ran off.

  Mom usually runs late when she cooks. Sure enough, by the time Mrs. Caldwell rang the doorbell, Mom was busy in the kitchen with three pots on the stove and something in the oven and had already sent Lily and Burton to the store for ice cream to go with the cobbler. That left the three of us to let Burton’s mom in. Since none of us wanted to answer the bell, we decided to all do it together. We put our hands on the doorknob, turned it, and slowly passed the door along to one another as we opened it wide.

  Mrs. Caldwell seemed startled at the sight of all three of us. Instead of saying hi, she said, “Oh, that’s right. Burton said there were triplets.”

  “Welcome,” Dawn said in her best grown-up voice. “Won’t you please come in?”

  As Mrs. Caldwell stepped inside, her eyes darted all around, as if she expected to see six more of us standing about the room. Dawn stepped forward and offered to take the package she was holding, but Mrs. Caldwell almost didn’t want to give it to her. “Do be careful,” she said as Dawn took it from her hands. “It’s a hostess gift for your mother. It’s not a toy. It’s breakable. Please do be gentle with that.” I could see Dawn stiffen up with anger. Darby and I traded worried looks. We could tell Dawn was considering dropping the package on purpose. Or maybe tossing it at Mrs. Caldwell’s head.

  Luckily, Mom walked into the room right at that point. “Hello, I’m Annie,” she said in the soft, gentle voice she uses with her clients. She took the gift and thanked Mrs. Caldwell. “Won’t you have a seat?” she said, gesturing toward the couch and armchairs.

  But before Mrs. Caldwell could sit down, the front door opened beside her, making her jump. Daddy’s head poked in, saying, “Knock, knock!”

  Dawn, Darby, and I were so happy to see him, we literally jumped up and down and squealed. Even Quincy ran circles around him, wagging his tail. Dad alternated among the three of us, throwing us over his shoulder and spinning us. The whole time, Mrs. Caldwell pressed herself against the wall, wincing and saying things like “Oh! Oh my! Watch out now!”