Best Buds

by Catherine R. Daly

  Mom slapped her hand to her head. “You’re right! I’ll just hop in the shower.”

  “Great,” said Dad, looking at the ironing board like it was some sort of torture device.

  “Has anyone seen my black dress?” asked Aster, poking her head out of the room she shares with Rose.

  “You’ll have to be more specific,” Mom responded.

  “I can’t find my ruffly socks!” shouted Poppy at the same time that Rose called, “Has anyone seen my purple bicycle shorts?”

  Mom turned to Dad. “It’s all yours, dear,” she said, shutting the bathroom door behind her.

  Dad looked at me, his eyes pleading. “Take me with you,” he said only slightly jokingly.

  “Sorry, Dad,” I said with a grin. “You heard Mom. It’s all yours.”

  He shook his head and picked up the iron. “Three graduations in one day. That’s two too many!” He licked his finger and tapped it on the iron to see if it was hot enough. It made a satisfying sizzle. He started ironing graduation gown number one. I just hoped he wouldn’t scorch it.

  There were two moms, a dad, and a grandma waiting, rather impatiently, outside the store when we arrived. They picked up two corsages, a bouquet, and one funny flower face. Mom had come up with the flower face — a large chrysanthemum with a pipe-cleaner smiley face and a big fat bumblebee on it — just for the kindergarten graduation. It was supercute. That’s my mom for you — always thinking up something new and fun with flowers.

  The morning was busy with pickups and some drop-in customers. Luckily, we had made an extra supply of ready-made bouquets the night before. Finally, at a quarter to ten, we had to close our doors. We would just make Poppy’s graduation if we rushed. Mom was about to lock the door when I remembered something.

  “Our flowers!” I shouted. Imagine if Poppy, Rose, and Aster were flowerless for their graduation. That would be terrible! I ran back inside to get the special flowers we had made — a smiley mum for Poppy, a bouquet of pink roses for the bright and cheerful Rose, and these almost-black roses with yellow stripes for the dark and pensive Aster. Mom locked the door behind me and we hit the pavement running.

  Luckily, kindergarten graduations always seem to start late. There was time to slip into the seats that Dad had saved for us on the aisle in the middle of the auditorium. Mom and I grinned at each other as we caught our breath. We had made it!

  We stood as “Pomp and Circumstance” began to play. I almost started giggling as the kindergartners began straggling down the aisle — such a serious song for such a tiny bunch of kids. They looked so big-eyed and solemn. Poppy didn’t crack a smile until she looked up and realized she was standing right next to me. Then she punched me in the leg. “Hey, Del!” she said excitedly.

  Principal Shaw, who had been my principal way back in elementary school, gave a quick speech about children being our future, yada yada yada. Then the kids walked across the auditorium floor, accepted their diplomas, shook the principal’s hand, and then he asked them each a question: “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

  That’s right! I remembered. The principal always asked each kid that question at graduation day. It was a tradition. I wondered how many kids would actually end up being what they said they wanted to be. I doubted, for example, that Carmine Belloni still wanted to be a cowboy. I realized I had no idea what Poppy might actually say.

  America Anderson wanted to be a ballerina. Jordan Billings, an ice-cream man. Next, it was Poppy’s turn. She solemnly walked across the floor, accepted her diploma, and shook the principal’s hand.

  “And what do you want to be when you grow up, Poppy?” he asked.

  Complete silence. Poppy looked panicked for a moment.

  “Poppy?” the principal prodded. She scrunched up her face, thinking hard.

  Poppy, say something, I thought. A veterinarian. An astronaut. A teacher!

  “Um …” Poppy began.

  The principal was starting to look a little impatient. “Yes?” he said.

  “When I grow up, I want to be …” She looked around wildly.

  I tried sending her brain waves. A doctor. A librarian. A sanitation worker!

  “A … a … a … a zebra!” Poppy finally said.

  “How creative!” said the principal, giving Poppy a gentle pat on her back to guide her toward her class. The auditorium burst into laughter. Poppy’s shoulders sagged as she slumped in her seat.

  Mom and I gave each other quizzical looks. Zebra? Where had that come from?

  The rest of the ceremony went off without a hitch. The other kids all gave human answers and soon all the five-year-olds had a diploma in hand. As they lined up to sing their farewell song, “You Are My Sunshine,” I stole a glance at Poppy’s face. She looked decidedly unhappy.

  After the kids marched back down the aisle, I pushed my way out of the auditorium. I emerged to find a spread of coffee, juice, and a large sheet cake. I grabbed a slice and searched the crowd to find Poppy. This would surely cheer her up.

  “Hey, I said it would be a piece of cake — and here it is,” I said, handing her the plate.

  “No thanks,” said Poppy.

  I’ve never known my little sister to turn down anything with sugar, not to mention frosting roses.

  “What’s wrong, Pops?” I asked.

  “Everyone laughed at me,” she said, her lower lip thrust out.

  “They weren’t laughing at you, they were laughing with you,” I said lamely. Even as I said the words, I knew they wouldn’t work.

  “Except I wasn’t laughing,” Poppy pointed out.

  Soon the rest of the family found us. Mom handed Poppy her mum, which was different from all the other smiley faces because Mom had glued a pair of false eyelashes on in place of the plain old black pipe-cleaner eyes. Poppy was delighted with her fancy flower and gave it a big hug.

  I smiled at Mom. Looked like the crisis had passed.

  We lingered over cake and juice until the kindergartners and their families left and the fifth-grade graduates began to arrive. “Round two!” said Dad. We wished Rose and Aster good luck and headed back into the auditorium.

  I looked around the room, seeing familiar faces from town, as well as some kids from my grade whose siblings were graduating, too. I thought about next year, when I was going to be an eighth grader. And after that, high school. Our middle school combined with the schools from several other towns, so there would be lots of new kids to meet. Exciting. And a little scary.

  Poppy leaned over. “I’m feeling a little blazonky that Gran and Gramps missed my graduation,” she said.

  I frowned. “Um … does that mean sad?”

  “Yes,” she said impatiently. She may as well have added “duh!”

  I nodded. We used to get together with Gran and Gramps once a week for dinner, movie, and ice-cream-sundae night. Plus, I worked in their store every Saturday. This was the first big occasion that they had missed. It felt weird not to have Gran sniffling away next to Mom (they are both total criers) and Gramps handing out hard candies just when we started to feel fidgety.

  We stood for the procession, sat through a song that was translated into sign language, and listened to some speeches. I stared off into space, wishing for one of Gramps’s root-beer barrels while the assistant principal droned on way longer than seemed fair. I’m a little embarrassed to say that I texted back and forth with Becky about how bored I was until Mom gave me the elbow and made me shut my phone off.

  Finally, it was time to hand out diplomas. “This year we’ve decided to try something new,” said Principal Shaw. “Each student will be given the chance to send a personal message to their family and friends after they receive their diploma.” I sat up with interest. Was this what Rose meant when she said that graduation was going to be “awesome”?

  Kenny Aboud thanked his parents and his “peeps.” Grace Adderly shouted “I did it, Mom!” and Chris Balsam spoke of his gratitude to Mrs. Miller for not making him repeat fift
h grade. Asha Bhanghoo thanked her dog, her mom, and her grandfather, in that order, and waved and blew kisses like a beauty queen.

  “Aster Bloom!” called the principal. I leaned forward. What would my silent sister have to say?

  Aster walked across the stage, looking uncomfortable in her pale blue cap and gown. She was probably wishing they were black. She accepted her diploma, shook Mr. Shaw’s hand, and cleared her throat.

  “A graduation poem,” she said.

  “Wearing caps and gowns,

  Now our lives are no longer

  Elementary.”

  The principal looked like he wasn’t quite sure what to say. There was complete silence in the auditorium. Then Dad let out a loud whoop. “Great haiku, Aster!” he shouted. So mortifying!

  Next it was Rose’s turn. After accepting her diploma, she simply said, “Thank you, everyone.”

  Is that it? I wondered. How boring. How unlike Rose.

  Then she put her diploma in her mouth, dropped her hands to the ground, and turned three perfect cartwheels in a row across the stage. I caught a flash of the purple bicycle shorts, which I guess she had located. The crowd cheered.

  I shook my head. Never a dull moment with my family, that was for sure.

  At the end of the ceremony, the graduates simultaneously threw their hats into the air with a huge cheer. One hit the assistant principal, who had given the boring speech, right in the forehead. I wondered if it had been on purpose.

  Poppy clutched her smiley mum the whole way home, touching mailboxes and flowers and our neighbor’s beagle with it like it was a magic wand. Mom and Dad held hands and talked about parent stuff and Rose and Aster walked side by side. I lagged behind, thinking about the summer. I wondered what Hamilton was doing right then. Maybe eating lunch or skateboarding in the park.

  We had a couple hours to kill before dinner, so Dad took a nap and the rest of us watched Ponyo. Then, when Dad woke up, we piled in the car to head to Oscar’s. Great-aunt Lily was going to meet us there. Mom had invited her to the ceremonies as well, but she had opted for dinner only. Smart lady.

  When we pushed open the heavy oak doors to Oscar’s, I was surprised to discover that the usual hushed atmosphere was buzzing with activity. The entryway was filled with students from kindergarten to high school, all there to celebrate with their families. I peeked into the dining room and took in the flickering candles, the gleaming silverware and crystal, the starched white tablecloths, and the tuxedoed waiters bustling about. I felt the familiar awkwardness that always comes over me when I’m in fancy places, like I’m going to trip in front of everyone. And even though I knew it couldn’t possibly be true, I felt like all eyes were on me as I crossed the floor to our table.

  Just my luck. I hadn’t been paying attention as we sat down and ended up with an empty seat to my right. Poppy was on the other side of the empty chair. “Hey, Poppy,” I said casually. “Want to sit next to me?” But Aster, on Poppy’s other side, knew exactly what I was up to.

  “She’s staying right where she is,” Aster said with a tight smile. I looked at my parents to see if they would be willing to trade, but they were both suddenly very interested in their menus. Nobody wanted to be stuck sitting next to Aunt Lily.

  We had already ordered our drinks when the maître d’ led her to our table, my great-aunt nodding to the other diners like she was the Queen of England. It’s true, she does know tons of people through all her charity work. Not to mention her advanced age. Did I say that?

  When Aunt Lily’s drink arrived, Dad proposed a toast. “To our graduates,” he said with a grin. “Rose, Poppy, and Aster. You girls have made us all so proud of you this year!”

  “To our graduates,” we echoed.

  Aunt Lily folded her hands together. “I heard there were some real high jinks at graduation today,” she said, looking pointedly at Rose.

  Rose gulped. Old Lady Mafia strikes again! I wondered which sweet-looking grandma in the audience had immediately phoned Aunt Lily to report that tidbit.

  “The girls were very entertaining” was all Mom said.

  Aunt Lily raised her eyebrows. “In my day, children behaved with decorum, especially at an important event like a graduation,” she said. She next set her sights on Poppy. “And how was your graduation, young lady?” she asked.

  “Good!” said Poppy. “Mommy made me a smiley face!” She reached under her chair and grabbed her flower, which was looking a little worse for wear. Brandishing the long stem like a sword, she bopped Aunt Lily on the head, nearly knocking off her hat. Aunt Lily dresses like someone from a time gone by. No Adidas tracksuits for her like some of the senior citizens in town — she’s always wearing hats and gloves and fancy, tweedy-looking suits, no matter what the weather.

  “Lovely,” said Aunt Lily through clenched teeth. She gazed at Poppy. “So, is it true that you want to be a giraffe when you grow up?”

  “It was a zebra,” Poppy corrected her shamefacedly.

  Oh no. I looked at Mom, my eyes wide. Would Poppy get upset all over again?

  Yes, she would. Her lip began to tremble. “I couldn’t think of anything else,” she whispered.

  Mom gave Aunt Lily a nervous glance. “It does seem a little early to decide what you want to be,” she said. “I used to want to be a zookeeper,” she added with a laugh. “And that didn’t exactly work out!”

  “That’s right,” added Dad. “Nobody needs to know their career when they graduate from kindergarten! It’s absurd!”

  Aunt Lily started at him icily. “It’s an Elwood Falls tradition,” she explained. Dad was the only one at the table “from away” (as we say in New England) and who hadn’t graduated from Elwood Falls Elementary. “I knew I wanted to be a flower shop owner and run various charities when I grew up,” she said. “I don’t think it’s absurd at all.”

  Poppy poked me in the arm. “What did you say when you graduated?”

  “I’m pretty sure I wanted to be a florist,” I admitted sheepishly.

  “And Rose?”

  “I wanted to be an actress,” she said. “Of course.”

  “Poet,” offered Aster.

  “See, you all knew,” said Poppy sadly. “Everyone knew except for me.”

  I opened my mouth to say something reassuring to my little sister, but the waiter had appeared to recite the evening’s specials. Don’t waste your time on me, I thought. I knew what I’d be having: a small mixed green salad and Chicken Oscar, my favorite. It comes with ham and cheese stuffed inside. I know I should try new things, but it’s just so good. Rose, I knew, would order the weirdest thing on the menu.

  Sure enough. “I’ll have the escargot for my appetizer. And I think I’ll try the steak tartare!” She smiled and handed the waiter her menu.

  I looked at her, horrified. Did she know she just ordered snails in butter sauce and raw beef? Mom leaned over and whispered in Rose’s ear. Rose made a face and grabbed her menu back. She consulted with Mom and decided on French onion soup and filet mignon.

  Once everyone had ordered, silence fell over the table. My overly talkative family was very quiet in Aunt Lily’s presence. I sighed. If only Gran and Gramps were here.

  “So, will you be attending the Fourth of July festivities, Aunt Lily?” Dad asked politely.

  “I haven’t missed them in seventy years,” said Aunt Lily. “I won’t be starting this year.”

  “Rose is going to sing at the pre-fireworks show,” said Mom.

  “ ‘America the Beautiful'!” Rose squealed.

  Aunt Lily looked suitably impressed. “That’s quite an honor, Rose,” she said.

  “We’re going to have a picnic dinner on the field before the show,” said Mom. “You’re welcome to join us.”

  Don’t say yes, don’t say yes, I thought.

  “Mom makes the best fried chicken!” Rose offered. I sent her a death-ray glare.

  “Thank you,” Aunt Lily said stiffly. “But I don’t enjoy picnics.”

 
; I gave her a funny look. How weird. Fourth of July is my favorite time of year. I like it almost as much as Christmas-slash-Hanukkah, as we call it in my house, since we celebrate both. And I can’t think of a better place to celebrate the Fourth of July than Elwood Falls, New Hampshire. It’s just so … all-American. Kids weave red and white and blue ribbons in their bicycle spokes. The high school band marches with the big drums pounding so deep you can feel it in the pit of your stomach, and high-stepping majorettes throwing their batons so impossibly high in the air that you hold your breath until they catch them. Plus, Fourth of July is so close to my birthday that I feel like the fireworks are just for me. I couldn’t wait.

  The waiter returned with our appetizers and set my salad down in front of me. It looked delicious. There was just one problem. I had no idea which fork I was supposed to use. There were several lined up on the left side of my plate. Did you start with the outside fork or take the closest one and work your way out? I actually broke out into a cold sweat. I usually don’t care about this stuff at all, but sitting next to Great-aunt Lily, chief of the manners police and a pretty scary old lady to boot, will do that to you. I stared hungrily at my salad. Then someone kicked me. Not hard, but hard enough. I looked up to see Mom grinning at me from across the table. She looked pointedly at my forks. I put a finger on the inside fork. She shook her head. I moved to the outside, smaller fork. She smiled. I gave her a grateful grin back.

  The rest of dinner went on without incident. Mom told Aunt Lily all about our vacation, and I was relieved when Mom didn’t invite her along. The food was crazy delicious and I polished off my whole entrée. Even though we were stuffed, we all ordered dessert. I had something called floating islands, which sounds more interesting than it actually is, trust me. But it tasted pretty good, anyway.

  “We totally forgot to tell Aunt Lily our good news!” said Dad as he poured cream into his coffee.

  “Yes?” said Aunt Lily.

  “We have a party in July!” he told her.

  “Oh,” said Aunt Lily, leaning forward. “Whose party? The Edwards girl?”