Authors: Catherine R. Daly
I had managed to keep my worrisome news to myself all day at school, under the ridiculous theory that maybe if I didn’t talk about it, it would just go away. But on the walk home together after Yearbook Committee, Becky asked the seemingly innocent question, “Everything all right, Del?” and the story came spilling out of me like water from an open fire hydrant.
Becky shook her head. “Wow, that’s quite the conundrum!” she said.
I smiled despite myself. Becky liked to use new words as much as I did.
“It isn’t a conundrum for me,” I said. “I know what the right thing to do is.”
“But there are a lot of people involved in the decision,” Becky explained. “And it
is
a lot of money to turn down.”
“You can’t put a price on tradition,” I told her. I liked the sound of that and decided to file it away for our next family meeting.
Becky gave me a thoughtful look. “Del. I know how much you love the store and how much it means to you. But a business is about making money, you can’t forget that.”
I scowled. Just whose side was Becky on, anyway?
“But I understand how you feel,” she added. “Honestly. I want you to keep the old store, too. I can’t imagine your family anywhere else!”
That was more like it. I smiled at her and put my hands deep in my pockets. “It’s just … the store feels like my home, you know? When I was little I used to beg my parents to take me there instead of the playground. Before Gran and Gramps left, it was my refuge from my crazy family.”
Becky nodded. “So what’s going to happen next?”
“Aunt Lily is insisting that we start checking out available spaces for the store to relocate to.”
“Well, maybe she’ll find this amazing space that you like even better,” Becky suggested.
I stared at her.
She shrugged. “You never know,” she said. “Stranger things have happened.”
Becky was the ultimate the glass-is-half-full person and, in her case, it was usually half full of something incredible, like strawberry lemonade.
“Don’t you ever get tired of looking at the bright side of things?” I asked her.
She grinned and shook her head. “Nope.”
I sighed. “Well, I guess we just wait and see what happens,” I said, getting that hollow, empty feeling in the pit of my stomach.
When I got home, I was looking forward to some peace and quiet. But I was at home — so what was I thinking? Immediately, I tripped over several pairs of black Doc Marten boots haphazardly discarded by the front door. Then I remembered that Aster was having some friends over that afternoon.
I couldn’t help myself. I lined up everyone’s shoes and placed my own in my usual spot. I was about to head upstairs to my room when I heard Poppy’s voice.
“Awesome!” she cried. I wandered into Dad’s office to find him and Poppy playing that stupid game. Again.
“Del, we just got six snozzleberries!” Poppy shouted.
“Um … great,” I said.
“We’ve moved up to a brand-new level,” Dad told me. “These snozzleberries are going to open up a whole host of opportunities! Nine more and we can get a Gnome wishing well!”
“I’m really excited for you both,” I said sarcastically. They didn’t even seem to notice.
I went to the kitchen to grab a predinner snack. Aster and her friends had completely taken over the rough wooden table, which was littered with opened bags of chips and pretzels, notebooks, and library books. The girls had been chattering loudly, but when I walked in, silence fell over the room.
“Working on your Washington Irving report?” I asked my sister, grabbing a bottle of lemon-lime seltzer from the fridge. “Hi, I’m Del,” I added pointedly.
“Oh, sorry!” Aster said. “These are my friends Maureen, Ellen, Susan, and Monica.”
I waved and smiled at them all. They were all wearing black, just like Aster. Monica had purple streaks in her blonde hair. Ellen was wearing a black cardigan with huge
holes where the elbows should have been. Maureen had safety pins in her ears, and Susan was wearing black lipstick. Aster was fitting right in, that was for sure.
They all stared back at me. “Hey,” said one. Ellen, I think. Or maybe it was Maureen.
“So you guys stole all the snacks?” I teased them.
Susan got up and handed me a bag of Smartfood. “It’s all yours,” she said. “Frankly, I prefer Pirate’s Booty.”
Aster laughed and threw a piece of it at Susan, who expertly caught it in her mouth.
I stared at my sister. Had a playful alien taken over her body or something? This was so unlike her!
I tucked the bag of white cheddar popcorn under my arm and headed out of the kitchen. Then I heard the front door slam shut. I spun around. There stood Rose, looking decidedly unhappy.
“All those ugly boots!” she scoffed. “I guess the goth girls are still here?”
“Yeah,” I said. “They’re in the kitchen.”
Rose made a face.
“Actually, they seem pretty nice….”
Rose dropped her backpack to the ground and roughly
removed her jacket. She let it fall to the floor. I was just about to say something, then thought better of it. “That’s because they worship eighth graders,” she said meanly.
“You should be happy that Aster is making friends,” I scolded her. “It’s about time, you know.”
“Whatev,” said Rose.
I was all set to protest, but then thought better of that, too. “Um, bad day?” I asked her as she marched past me and started up the stairs.
“Don’t even get me started,” she replied.
I tentatively followed behind her.
“Anything you want to talk about?” I asked when we got to the landing. Rose marched to the bedroom that she and Aster shared (it was decorated pink on Rose’s side, black on Aster’s) and closed the door in my face.
Guess not.
When Mom got home and started dinner, I went downstairs to set the table. The last of Aster’s new friends was putting on her battered Docs.
“Good-bye, Del,” Safety-pin Girl said as she slung her backpack over her shoulder and headed out the door. She had lots of holes in her black tights.
“Good-bye … you!” I called after her.
“That was Maureen,” Aster said, shaking her head.
I headed into the kitchen. Mom had already set the table, and in the middle was a sample Homecoming bouquet that she had brought home. The tightly packed apricot, orange, and yellow roses were surrounded by the border of paraffined leaves. She had also added a little sprig of acorns. The ring of shiny leaves perfectly complemented the gorgeous fall hues of the roses.
“It’s gorgeous,” I told her truthfully.
“Thanks, Del,” Mom said as she picked up the pan and expertly flipped the chicken stir-fry. “I think I finally got it right.”
Everyone filed in for dinner. Dad speared a bean and held it up for all to see. “String beans!” he said. “We haven’t planted any of those yet, Poppy. They only take two hours to grow. We can harvest before bedtime. What do you think?”
“Certainly!” said Poppy. “String beans it is!”
“I have a new rule,” said Mom. “No Fairytown at the dinner table!”
“Gnomeland!” Poppy and Dad said at the same time.
I glanced over at Rose. She wasn’t eating, just pushing stir-fry around on her plate.
Mom sighed. “All right, Rose, you’ve got to tell us what’s wrong,” she said.
“Something’s wrong, Rose?” asked Dad. Classic absent-minded professor.
Rose started to say something, then stopped. She dropped her head and mumbled into her shirt.
“What?” we said in unison.
“I didn’t get the part I wanted,” she said.
“Oh, honey,” said Mom, putting down her glass and rubbing Rose’s arm. “That must be so disappointing. But you have to remind yourself …”
“That I’m only a sixth grader,” Rose finished sullenly. “There are no small parts, only small actors. I’ve already heard it from the director. It doesn’t help.”
Poppy leaned forward. “There are small actors in your play? Like gnomes?”
Rose ignored that.
“So who are you going to be?” Dad asked.
Rose knit her eyebrows together. “Townsperson number four. I say, ‘It’s a lovely day for a hayride.’” She laughed
ruefully. “I hope I can remember my
line.
Del, can you help me practice my
line
?”
I winced. There wasn’t much to say to that.
“Sorry, Rose,” said Aster.
“May I be excused?” Rose asked.
Mom looked at Dad, then nodded.
After she left, we all sat in silence. Even though it had been a long shot that a sixth grader would have gotten a big part, it still had to be tough on Rose. She was used to being the star of the show.
Mom changed the subject. “You know, I still haven’t heard a word about Homecoming,” she said. “Can you see what’s going on with Laurie Rice?” she asked Dad. “I left her a message days ago and I haven’t heard back. I can’t wait to tell her about the ideas I have!”
Laurie Rice was a philosophy professor at the university, and she was also the head of the Homecoming Committee. She was the person who made the decisions about the flowers. I knew Laurie would be floored by Mom’s bouquets. How couldn’t she be?
“Oh, that’s right,” said Dad, slapping his forehead. “I totally forgot. Laurie’s on sabbatical this term.”
I felt a twinge of worry. A sabbatical is time away for a professor to do research or write a book. Laurie was clearly not going to be picking the Homecoming flowers this year.
“Oh dear,” said Mom, putting down her fork. “So who’s in charge?”
Dad patted her arm. “I’ll find out tomorrow, sweetie, I promise,” he said.
Mom nodded, but her forehead was creased with concern.
Dad pointed to the bouquet. “Your design is amazing. Whoever is in charge this year is going to be sure to love it!”
Since Rose was off sulking, I helped Aster rinse the plates and stack them in the dishwasher. Then I started on the pots and pans.
The house phone rang. I reached out a soapy hand and picked it up. “Bloom residence,” I said.
“Hello, may I please speak to Daisy Bloom?” a woman’s voice asked.
“May I ask who’s calling?” I said, looking pointedly at Aster and Poppy, who, along with Rose, were lacking in
phone etiquette skills. They simultaneously stuck out their tongues at me. Nice.
“This is Marcia Lewis,” the voice said. “From the Homecoming Committee.”
A big grin spread over my face. I brought the phone to Mom, who was curled up on the living room couch knitting Aster a long black scarf.
“It’s a woman named Marcia Lewis,” I whispered. “She’s from the Homecoming Committee.”
Mom sat up straight and put her knitting to the side. I handed her the phone, then lingered in the entryway to listen.
“Hello, this is Daisy Bloom,” she said. “Hi, Marcia, how are you? Oh, that was so nice of Laurie to ask you to call me. Thank you. I can’t wait to show you our amazing idea for the Homecoming bouquets, I was hoping we could set up an appointment this week….”She paused to listen and a frown crossed her face. “Oh, I see. Well, is that your final decision?” She paused. “Okay, well, thank you for your time. Good-bye.”
Mom sat there, hanging her head. I was too afraid to
say anything. Dad did it for me. “Oh, Daisy,” he said sympathetically. “That didn’t sound like it went so well.”
“It certainly didn’t,” Mom said with a groan. “This Marcia person told me that she already hired another florist to do the bouquets!”
My heart sank. “Fleur,” I said. I felt sick to my stomach. It all made perfect sense. On Monday, at the mall, I had overheard Hamilton’s mom ordering a huge quantity of red roses and yellow ranunculus — McIlhenny University’s school colors. I should have seen this coming.
Mom nodded grimly. “Fleur,” she confirmed.
Dad frowned. “Marcia is the new geography professor. She just started this fall. She probably doesn’t know that Petal Pushers has always done the flowers for Homecoming. Do you think I should talk to her?”
Mom shook her head no emphatically. “She’s allowed to make her own decisions,” she said. But then she dropped her head into her hands. “But she didn’t even give us a chance. This is the first time that our family isn’t doing the Homecoming bouquets in almost ninety years. How am I going to tell Gran and Gramps?”
My head started spinning as the true significance of what had just happened sunk in. No Homecoming business meant we would be behind in our budgeted sales for this month. We had been counting on that money. I put my hand to my forehead. This would give Aunt Lily yet another reason to insist we needed to sell the store.
What I didn’t want to think about was that maybe she was right.
As I lay in bed that night, my phone pinged, which meant I had a new text message. I reached over and picked it up. It was from Heather.
RUMOR IS HB WILL B BACK 2MRW! GONNA ASK HIM 2 HC???????
I shut off my phone and flopped over to my side. With this new turn of events, I didn’t know
what
I was going to do about Hamilton. Fleur had stolen away our business, yet again.
Hamilton and I had agreed not to let business get in the way. But it didn’t seem possible, not this time.
“What are we going to do with all these leaves?” Mom asked sadly, holding a bright red-and-orange maple leaf by the stem.
I had stopped by the store after school and found her contemplating the collection of paraffined leaves, which she had spread out over the counter.
“I guess you could use them in birthday bouquets,” I told her with a shrug.
I wished I could be more upbeat. But school had been bleak. Hamilton was back, his eyes not looking pink in the least. Or at least that’s how it looked from far away. I was keeping my distance, too upset about the turn of Homecoming events to be friendly.
At least I was spared from discussing the store,
Homecoming, or Hamilton in the cafeteria. Becky had warned my friends that all of those subjects were offlimits. That was a relief.
“I don’t know,” Mom said, setting the leaf down. “I just wish there was something really special I could do with them.” She sighed. “Not as special as Homecoming bouquets for the whole town to see, but something.”
“Well, just be sure to use them before Thanksgiving,” I said. “After that, everyone’s going to want nothing but Christmas and Hanukkah colors.”
“You’re right,” said Mom. “You’re always so practical.”
I felt terrible. Not just for Mom, but for all of us. Petal Pushers had been a part of the Homecoming tradition since the college was first founded in 1925. It seemed crazy that our involvement was over, just like that.
“You’re never going to guess who came to the store first thing this morning,” Mom said, walking behind the counter.
I was pretty sure I could guess. “Not …”
Mom nodded. “Aunt Lily. She marched in here, set her
pocketbook down on the counter, and said, ‘So I heard you lost the Homecoming business.’ “
“But how …” I started. I shook my head.
“Old Lady Mafia!” we said together.
Mom and I have this theory. There seems to be a secret society of old ladies in Elwood Falls who pass around bad news seemingly as soon as it happens. It’s like they have gossip radar or something. These ladies rarely have cell phones or even know how to use computers, so it’s a wonder to me how they disperse news so quickly.
“So now she has even more ammunition to convince everyone we need to sell,” I said sadly.
Mom nodded. “She said that Fleur is going to continue taking away our business unless we take a new approach. She wants Dad to start looking at new spaces with her. This Saturday.”
I looked around the store, a lump forming in my throat. The place was so sweet and homey, from the creak of the wooden floorboards to the chipping paint on the walls. It was just so
comfortable,
like a cozy bathrobe or
slippers. It was my favorite place in the world. And there was a really good chance I could be losing it.
It was finally Friday. Another nice thing about being an eighth grader (besides the adulation of the younger students) is the extra free period you get. Luckily, Amy had a free period at the same time, so we had met at the library to catch up on homework and hang out.
We sat at a table in the corner, Amy cramming for a science test. I was all caught up on my schoolwork, so I was inputting the phone numbers I had accumulated all week.
Amy looked up from her notes. “I know I’m not supposed to mention his name, but um, you-know-who is at the checkout counter,” she said softly. “He must have the same free period as us.”
I looked up to see Hamilton and Mike Hurley checking out two big stacks of books.
“And I also think he saw you,” Amy warned me. “Not that I’m mentioning his name or anything,” she added.
Without even thinking, I stood up and darted up the stairs to the balcony.
I had a bird’s-eye view of the entire library. I could see Carmine Belloni and Penelope Peterson passing each other notes and giggling. I spotted Bob Zimmer, the school bully, drawing an anchor tattoo on his arm in ballpoint pen. I stifled a laugh. Who did he think he was, Popeye the Sailor Man? And then I saw Hamilton and Mike heading right over to my table. They chatted with Amy for a bit. I guess one of them asked her a question because I saw her shrug in response. After what seemed like forever, the boys finally left the library.
When the coast was clear, I came back down the stairs.
Amy’s face was bright red. “Oh my God. I made such an idiot out of myself!” she whispered. “I meant to say ‘How are you guys?’ but I was thinking about his conjunctivitis, so I ended up saying, ‘How are your eyes?’ instead. Like he wants to be reminded about his pink eye! And then when I tried to explain, it just made it worse. How embarrassing.”
“I bet he laughed it off,” I said wistfully.
“He did,” she agreed. She looked at me searchingly. “Del, he’s a really nice guy, you know.”
“I know,” I said sadly. He was. That’s why I liked him in the first place. (Plus, there were those piercing blue eyes….) But it was just too complicated for me. And at this point, I wasn’t even sure I wanted to go to Homecoming anymore, anyway. Maybe I’d just admire the Tupperware with Nicholas instead.
“How many appointments do you have with the realtor today?” Mom asked Dad on Saturday morning as we headed out to the store. Rose, Aster, and Poppy were coming, too.
I bent to tie my right, pink shoelace. I had an orange one in my left sneaker. A small gesture, but it cheered me up a little.
Dad looked up from his bean harvest and smiled. “Four,” he said.
“Ask a lot of questions,” I told Dad as I stood up. This whole thing was giving me a major headache.
“I will,” he said, already returning to his game.
“We planted pinto beans this morning!” Poppy reminded him as we walked out the door. “They’ll be
ready to harvest at three o’clock. Don’t let them wither! We need those snozzleberries!”
As soon as we got to the store, I put Rose and Aster to work dusting and sweeping. Poppy insisted on cleaning the front windows, but after she knocked down the display, crushing some of the Chinese lanterns and spilling water everywhere, I set her up at a worktable. She looked as happy as a clam to be surrounded with a pile of past-their-prime flowers we were going to throw out anyway and some curling ribbon. She immediately opened her purse and began hauling out doll accessories — brushes and barrettes and boots and sparkly minidresses. I gave a little laugh. Poppy could fit an awful lot of stuff into one tiny evening bag.
As Mom organized the orders for the day, I walked up to her. “You know I am entirely against selling this place,” I said.
Mom put a cool hand to my cheek. “Of course I do,” she said. “I feel the same way. But what can we do? Aunt Lily is so set on it.”
“I’ve been thinking. Aunt Lily said that to compete with Fleur we would need to take a new approach,” I said. “But who’s to say it needs to be as drastic as selling our store? Maybe we could take a new approach … to Homecoming.”
Mom frowned. “I don’t see what we could do. The flowers for the float and bouquets have already gone to Fleur. What’s left for us? The queen and her court can’t carry two bouquets each. We can’t
both
decorate the float.”
I frowned. “Dad said this parade was going to be bigger than ever. Maybe we can do a new float, like …” I frantically tried to think of something. “Like … a moose made out of roses. Now wouldn’t that be fun?”
Mom almost choked on her coffee. “Do you know how long it would take to design and make something like that? Weeks! Homecoming is next Saturday!”
I frowned. “All right. But there’s got to be
something,”
I said. I brightened. “How about wreaths of roses for the queen and her court to wear in their hair?”
Rose spoke up from across the room. “Brill idea, Del,”
she said sarcastically. “No self-respecting queen is giving up that sparkly tiara.”
“She’s right,” Mom said. “Though there’s no need to be rude about it,” she added pointedly to my sister. She put her hand on my shoulder. “Look, Del, I want to be a part of Homecoming, too, but there’s nothing we can do.”
Dejected, I leaned on the counter next to Poppy.
“Play with me, Del,” she begged. I can never resist Poppy’s puppy-dog eyes
“Sure,” I said. “For a minute. What are we playing?”
“Dress store,” Poppy told me. She picked up her Barbie doll and walked it up to me. “Hello, madame,” she said. “May I come into your store? I need a fashionable party dress to wear to the ball.”
I stifled a laugh. Poppy’s doll, as Gran would say, was in her birthday suit. “Ah,” I said. “I see you are unexpectedly naked and in need of some clothing. Well, you have come to the right place. Welcome to my fashionable party-dress store. May I interest you in an evening gown, perhaps?” I picked up a tiny, satiny purple dress.
“That would be lovely,” Poppy said.
I struggled to get Barbie’s rigid arms into the slinky dress. Poppy looked at the outfit and frowned. “Too purple-ish,” she decided. “It needs to be fancier.” I fished a little white feather boa out of the pile and draped it around Barbie’s neck. Poppy shook her head. Still not fancy enough. Then she had a sudden inspiration. She hopped off the stool, ran to the tape dispenser, and brought it over. When she had climbed back up to her perch, she started removing rose petals from one of the flowers and taping them to the skirt of the dress.
“Cute, Pops,” I said absentmindedly. She continued to add layer after layer of sweet-smelling rose petals to the skirt.
“Voilà!” Poppy said. “Presenting the Flowery Rose Skirt!” She hopped Barbie up and down. “Do you like my fashion?” she asked me seriously.
I didn’t answer. The wheels in my brain began to turn. A rose-petal dress — would it be possible?
I grabbed Poppy by the hand and we walked over to Mom, who was flipping through the day’s orders.
“Look at what Poppy made,” I told her.
Mom glanced up. “So pretty, Poppy,” she murmured.
“No, Mom, really look. What do you think?” Mom looked from the Barbie to me, then back again. “You want me to make a skirt entirely out of rose petals for the Homecoming Queen?” she said in disbelief. “No,” I said.
“Well, that’s a relief,” Mom replied. “I want you to make a dress entirely out of
rosebuds
for the Homecoming Queen,” I explained. “What?” Mom gasped. “Sounds weird,” said Rose.
“I don’t know,” said Aster slowly. “It could be cool.”
“It was
my
idea,” Poppy put in.
I patted her on the head. “Yes, it was. Thank you, Pops,” I said.
I grabbed Mom’s notebook and turned to a clean page. I quickly sketched a long evening gown, then started to draw in rosebuds.
“I just can’t figure out how to attach them,” I said. Mom thought for a minute, her forehead wrinkling. And just when I was sure she was going to say “impossible!” she grinned. She reached into the cooler and pulled out a deep-red rose, flipped it over, and studied the base.
“I think this could work! I would sew them on,” she said. “Glue gunning them would make it too stiff and heavy.” She nodded. “Sewing is the way to go.”
“So we’re going to try this crazy idea?” I said, my spirits lifting.
Mom nodded. “Let’s do it right now!” she said. “I’ll take care of arrangements that need to go out today and you girls run home and get the stuff we’re going to need.” She paused, and I grabbed a piece of paper to take notes. “I’ll need my sewing basket, and a dress to practice on …” Mom thought for a minute. “I have a strapless dress in the back of my closet we can use. Someone spilled a glass of red wine on it at a wedding and I’ve been meaning to dye it black. It will be perfect for this project!” “Anything else?” I asked her.
Mom nodded. “Big needles. Waxed thread. And my dress form. I’m going to need to adjust the dress a bit.” She looked at my sisters and me. “What are you waiting for? Go! Go! Go! We have a dress of roses to make!”