Hamilton frowned. “Oh, I’ll be pretty busy. I’m going to visit my dad for a couple of weeks in August. And we’ll have a few visitors, including my grandparents. How about you?”
“Maine for two weeks,” I said. “Then … the usual stuff.” I didn’t want to mention the time I’d spend working at Petal Pushers. After some near disasters, Hamilton and I had made a promise not to discuss business, ever. It was the only way we could stay friends.
“But I’ll be in town for the next couple of weeks,” I hinted.
“Great!” said Hamilton. “Well, I guess I’ll see you around!”
My heart sank. “See you around, Hamilton,” I replied.
As he turned to leave, I could see something sticking out of his back pocket. Was it his report card? I looked closer and saw the familiar gold lettering.
It was an invitation to Ashley’s party.
Great. Just great.
Chapter Two
“I’m home!” I called as I pushed open the front door. I could tell by the haphazard pile of shoes in the hallway that my sisters and my parents were all there, too. I nudged one of Poppy’s bright orange Crocs out of the way and stepped inside.
The kitchen door swung open and Mom stuck out her head. Her light brown hair peeked out from under a green scarf. “Hey, Del!” she called.
“You’re home early,” I said, hoping everything was okay at the store.
“Wouldn’t miss a moment of our” — the paused — “eighth annual last-day-of-school barbecue. Come help us get ready!”
“I’ll just be a minute!” I said. I laughed to myself as I headed up the stairs. Mom was right. We’d been having this barbecue every year since my last day of kindergarten.
In my tidy bedroom — the only neat room in the entire house, I might add — I emptied my backpack, placing my folders and notebooks on my spotless desk. In the bathroom, I removed Poppy’s squirting rubber octopus from the sink, washed my hands and face, and pulled my hair into a ponytail. Then I changed into a pair of terry-cloth polka-dotted shorts and my favorite, old Hello Kitty T-shirt. Feeling refreshed, I headed down to the kitchen.
“Welcome home, Del!” my sister Rose sang out. She may just be ten years old, but Rose is already a budding actress and does everything dramatically, from brushing her teeth to opening the refrigerator. She was slicing lemons in half on a cutting board, her blonde hair twisted in a bun on top of her head. Her twin, Aster, pale and dark-haired, looked even more serious than usual as she worked the juicer, concentrating on getting every drop out of the lemons.
“Lemonade!” I said appreciatively. A glass of pale yellow lemonade with flecks of lemon pulp, tart and sweet and jingling with ice cubes, means summer to me, no doubt about it. “Hurry it up!” I told them. “I have a powerful thirst!”
“Easy, sailor,” said Aster sassily. I laughed.
Poppy, my five-year-old sister, held a cucumber in one hand and a big bumpy heirloom tomato in the other. “Can we make a salad together?” she asked me, hopping up and down excitedly. “It will be pondiferous!”
“Pondiferous?” I asked.
“It means amazing,” said Rose with a shrug. “Poppy’s into making up new words now.”
“Oh,” I said. Poppy is always up to something interesting. “Sure!” I told her, though I usually hate being on salad duty. Too much washing and chopping for me. But it was apparently a big thrill for Poppy, so I feigned enthusiasm for her sake. She dragged over the step stool so she’d be at counter level. I hauled out the salad spinner and we began tearing off lettuce leaves for soaking and rinsing.
The screen door opened with a squeal, and Dad came in, an apron tied around his waist. GRILLMASTER, the apron proclaimed across his chest in large, red letters. I hid my smile. Well, we’d see about that. Dad was, to be kind, not the best chef in town. And wouldn’t you know it, he really loved to cook.
“Del!” he said, giving me a kiss on my cheek. “How was the last day of school?”
“Fine,” I said, choosing to keep both my forgotten birthday and my non-invitation to Ashley’s party to myself.
“Good,” he replied. “Hey, have you seen the tongs? I tore the place up looking for them, but nobody seems to know where they are.”
With a sigh I walked over to the drawer where we kept the barbecue utensils, pulled it open, and fished out the tongs. “Here you go,” I said.
Dad grinned. “What would we do without you, Detail Del?” He headed back outside, snapping the tongs together.
“Try the lemonade, DD,” said Rose, offering me a glass.
I took a sip. “Needs a little more sugar,” I said. “Otherwise perfect.”
Mom emerged from the pantry, holding a blue glass pitcher that had belonged to her grandmother Violet and a bunch of deep purple hydrangeas she had brought home from the store. She filled the pitcher with cold water, a tablespoon of sugar (flower food), and a tablespoon of bleach (to avoid bacterial growth). Then she expertly cut the stems at an angle, removed any of the leaves that might be underwater, and began arranging the flowers.
I felt a rush of joy just watching her; I have always loved the sight and smell of flowers, not to mention the happiness that comes from arranging them just so. I guess it makes sense that I come from a family of florists.
Mom had been running Petal Pushers since my grandparents had left for Florida two months before. Mom loved working again and was super creative with the flower arrangements. But the store was a lot of work. I’d been helping out after school and on weekends, and I’d be able to help out more now that school was out. Dad, a college professor, was off for the summer, too. He’d be pitching in as well, but his main job was going to be Mr. Mom, since summer camp for three girls was just too expensive.
“Nice flowers, Mom,” I said. I especially love hydrangeas — so abundant-looking and cheerful. There’s something old-fashioned about them, too. And if you change the water in the vase every day they can last for weeks. You know that saying about how the shoemaker’s kids always go barefoot? Well, it’s not true about florist’s families, at least not ours. We nearly always have a bouquet of something colorful and fragrant in our house.
Mom sniffed the air. “Oh no,” she said. “Has Dad overcooked the meat again?”
We rushed out the door to find Dad whistling cheerfully as he sliced the meat. “I hope you like it well done,” he said.
“I think he means incinerated,” Aster said softly from behind me.
So we all sat down to a meal of grayish meat, potato salad, and Poppy’s and my salad. The meat certainly was chewy, but I discovered that extra steak sauce made it borderline edible.
“So?” Mom looked at us girls expectantly. “Last day of school? Grades?”
Everyone had done well. Aster’s grades were a bit better than Rose’s. And mine were the best of all. Not that I’m bragging or anything.
Mom stood up and walked around the table giving us hugs and kisses. “I am so proud of my girls,” she said with a sniff. “We have a lot to celebrate.”
“Hear! Hear!” said Dad. “Three of my girls graduating on one day!” It was true; tomorrow, Poppy would be graduating from kindergarten, and Rose and Aster from elementary. Dad paused, and got that “I’m about to quote someone” look in his eye. “ ‘The roots of education are bitter, but the fruit is sweet.’ “ He took a sip of lemonade. “Aristotle.”
“Are you all excited for tomorrow?” Mom asked.
Poppy’s eyes were shining. “Yes!” she said. “My very first cap and gown ever!”
“I can’t wait to walk across that stage and get my diploma,” said Rose. “It’s going to be awesome, just you wait.” She grinned at her twin. “Right, Aster?”
Aster gave a small nod of agreement.
That reminded me. “How have graduation orders been?” I asked Mom.
I was still worried about something my great-aunt Lily, who co-owns Petal Pushers, had said a couple weeks ago: Just remember, you’re going to need al
l the help you can get to keep the store afloat through the summer! Aunt Lily is a glass-half-empty kind of lady, but she knows what she’s talking about. I wanted to make sure we were doing okay, especially since we were closing the store for two whole weeks to go on our Maine vacation.
“Pretty good,” Mom said. “The graduation orders are all finished and ready for pickup tomorrow morning. I told everyone we’d be open from eight till nine thirty. Then we’ll close for the day and hit the graduations!”
Our town has almost all of its graduations on the same day, for some reason. Kindergarten, fifth grade, eighth grade, and high school. Poppy would graduate in the morning, Rose and Aster in the afternoon. The eighth graders were right after that, and the high schoolers came last. Luckily, I had reminded Mom to make a dinner reservation at Oscar’s well in advance. It was the fanciest restaurant in town and very popular. The fact that Mom did their weekly flowers probably helped us score a table, too.
“And then two more weeks and we’ll be in Maine,” I said excitedly. I could practically smell the ocean air and taste the lobster rolls.
“When do we leave?” Rose asked.
“July sixth,” I reminded her. “Right after the store closes.”
I noticed Mom’s furrowed brow.
“That was the plan,” I said, looking from Mom to Dad in confusion. “Right?”
Mom bit her lip. “I have something to tell you all. I got a call today about doing the flowers for an anniversary party,” she said, gazing down at the tablecloth.
“That’s great news!” said Dad.
“A big party?” I asked hopefully.
“Pretty big,” Mom said brightly. Then she took a deep breath. “There’s only one problem … it’s on July seventh.”
I froze, my lemonade glass halfway to my waiting mouth. It couldn’t be. “But … that’s my birthday!” I cried. This would ruin everything. Instead of being on the road to Maine on Friday, we’d be up late that night assembling the centerpieces. Then the next day we’d have to deliver them, set them up, and take care of any last-minute issues. Not exactly the birthday I had planned. I mean, one of the good parts about being a kid is that you don’t have to work on your birthday, right?
Mom ran her hand through her hair. “I know, I know,” she said. “But I couldn’t say no. We need the business. Especially since we’re closing for two weeks.” She leaned forward and looked into my eyes. “Delly, I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.”
“That’s the second time I’ve heard that today,” I said in a sharp voice that almost didn’t sound like mine. I could feel my face getting warm. Usually, I am all for putting business first. But it was my birthday. My thirteenth birthday. “This is completely unfair!”
Everyone was staring at me like I was a two-headed calf at a state fair. I don’t lose my cool very often, so when I do, people seem to pay attention.
“What’s wrong with Del?” I heard Poppy whisper to Rose.
“She’s totally losing it!” said Rose, looking slightly fascinated.
“I am not losing it!” I said defensively, though I kind of felt like I was about to.
“Well, what time is the party?” Dad asked Mom.
“It’s in the afternoon,” Mom said, her eyes trained on my face. “So we could be on the road by four o’clock,” she said. “Five at the latest.”
Dad turned to me. “See? We can be in Maine in time for twin lobsters at Brown’s for your birthday dinner!”
I sighed. They just didn’t get it.
Everyone began chattering away about graduation as we cleared the table. “Let’s play a game before bed!” Rose begged, but I said I was tired and I headed upstairs as soon as the last fork was in the dishwasher.
I lay down on my bed and tried to read for a while. But I couldn’t concentrate. There was a lump in my throat and my heart was heavy. All I could think was: I’m turning thirteen. And nobody seems to care. Not my friends, not my family … not anybody.
Chapter Three
“Wake up, Del, wake up! It’s graduation day!” Poppy’s squeaky voice was even more high-pitched than usual.
I groaned and pulled the sheets over my head. “Poppy, it’s only …” I opened one eye to peer at my bedside clock. “Six thirty!” I sighed. My first school-free day and I was up at the crack of dawn. Plus, I was still feeling cranky about the bombshell Mom had dropped last night.
“Today’s the day I get my dip … dip …”
“Diploma,” I finished for her.
“Yes, that thing,” she said with a nod. “I’m so excited I can’t sleep anymore. Let’s go get some breakfast!”
I tried a new angle. “Wouldn’t you rather have breakfast with your fellow graduates, Aster and Rose?” I suggested.
Poppy considered this for a moment. Then she shook her head. “Nope.”
Oh well. I yawned, stood up, and headed downstairs with my little sister.
“Oh jeez, Poppy,” I said as she began calling out numbers. “Do you really have to count every step this morning?”
Poppy gave me a dirty look and raced back to the top of the stairs. I had made her lose her count. I slipped ahead of her and headed downstairs.
“Twenty-two!” she announced when she made it to the kitchen. By that time, I had already poured her a bowl of Cheerios and a glass of orange juice. As I grabbed a banana to slice it, she said, “Open it like a monkey!”
“Oh, that’s right,” I said, flipping it upside down and pinching the bottom open. Poppy had seen that YouTube video: “How To Peel a Banana Like a Monkey” and now insisted that we all follow suit. I was poised to slice the banana into her cereal when she said, “I don’t eat bananas in my cereal anymore.”
“Now you tell me!” I said. Five-year-olds! I shrugged and took a bite of the banana. Poppy was right. The top did make a nice handle.
Poppy settled herself at our old wooden kitchen table. She picked up her spoon, looked up at me, and smiled. “Today is the most important day of my life, Del,” she said completely seriously. “I’m a little dipsiddish.”
I looked at her quizzically.
“That means nervous,” she explained. I stifled a grin and sat down across from her. I took a sip of juice. “It is an important day, Poppy,” I agreed. “But there’s no need to be nervous.” She gave me a look. “I mean dipsiddish. It’s a piece of cake.”
Poppy’s face lit up. “I get cake?”
“That’s an expression,” I told her. “It means it’s easy, nothing to worry about.”
“Oh,” said Poppy, disappointed.
One by one, my family began to make their way downstairs. Dad shuffled in and went right to the coffeemaker without a word. He was useless without his morning caffeine. After a couple of minutes, the rich, breakfast-y aroma of brewing coffee filled the air. Dad magically perked up at the smell.
Rose and Aster came down together, both looking sleepy. Rose was in her pink-and-white pj’s, and Aster was in one of her many black nightgowns.
Mom came down last, just as the coffeemaker began beeping. “Coffee!” she said, her eyes lighting up. Dad poured her a cup first. He added just the right amount of milk and handed it to her.
“Now this is heaven,” he said, pouring his own cup. I swear, I will never understand grown-ups and their need for coffee.
Mom took a sip. “I know,” she replied. She sat down and wrapped both hands around the mug. She stared at me from across the table. “Del, I am so sorry your birthday got all messed up.”
I nodded. I wanted to tell my mom not to worry, but I couldn’t keep the frown off my face.
“So I was thinking that maybe you guys could leave Friday as planned. I could do the party myself and take the bus up Saturday night to meet you,” she suggested.
I was about to consider that when Poppy freaked out. “No, Mommy! We can’t go without you!” she shrieked.
Mom turned to me. “Del?” she said.
I was torn. Obviously, I wanted Mom with us. But I rea
lly didn’t like the idea of having to work on my birthday. Still, I am the reasonable one in the family. And part of that is being, well, reasonable. Even when you don’t feel like it.
“It’s okay, Mom,” I said. “I don’t want you to be by yourself. We’ll still be in Maine in time for an awesome birthday dinner.” I hoped I sounded like I meant it.
“Thanks, Del,” said Mom gratefully. Dad nodded at me and went back to his paper.
Everybody was ignoring our Boston terrier, Buster, who was whining and hitting his food bowl with his paw, so I fed him. He wolfed down his breakfast and then started jumping up and down for his morning walk. I ran upstairs, threw on some sweatpants, a T-shirt, and flip-flops, and headed outside, snapping on his leash.
The house was strangely quiet as I walked back in the kitchen door with the now calm Buster. That’s funny, I thought, for a disorganized household, graduation day is going pretty smoothly. But then I realized how wrong I was. The kitchen table was littered with dirty coffee cups, juice glasses, bowls, and plates. A bowl of cereal had been knocked over, and milk and soggy Os were dripping onto the floor. Buster ran over and began lapping it up. I chased him away, picked up a sponge, and started cleaning.
When the dishwasher was loaded and the table was clean, I headed back upstairs to get ready. I found Mom tearing apart the linen closet, Rose, Poppy, and Dad standing there watching her.
“Mom forgot we have to iron our gowns!” wailed Rose.
“Del, have you seen the iron?” Mom asked me, her arms full of towels.
“What’s an iron?” said Poppy.
“Exactly,” I said. I turned to Mom. “I keep the iron in my room,” I explained. Because I’m the only one who ever uses it, I added silently.
I set up the ironing board in the upstairs hallway and plugged in the iron. “Dad, you’re going to have to do it,” I told him. “Mom and I have to get to the store. We’re supposed to open in half an hour!”
Best Buds Page 2