Forget-Her-Nots (20 page)

Then the tempo of the song quickened, and Justin loosened his grip. Grinning, he stepped back and spun Laurel around and then around again. One hand grasped hers in an arc above her head while the other lightly trailed across her back and stomach to steady her as she twirled. Above her, around her, the rectangles of light were spinning . . . spinning . . . and she felt like she was dancing at the center of the world. Like the entire universe was spinning in sync. She ached with happiness.

“Nice of you to show.” Tara was behind the punch table, her arms crossed tight.

“I was here earlier,” Laurel said breezily. She couldn’t be angry with anyone, not tonight. At this moment she loved everyone on the entire planet.

“You and Justin were gettin’ cozy out there,” Nicole said.

“I—we—” A syrupy scent flooded Laurel’s nose. It was too sudden, too strong, and the ballroom swam before her.

“Earth to Laurel,” Nicole said, snapping her fingers. “What are you on, girl?”

“Huh?” Laurel inched away from Tara and the orchid.

“Laurel is a full-time resident of la-la land,” Tara said. “Okay, you and Nicole stay here. Mrs. Westfall said two hostesses at all times. I’m ready for Everett.”

“He’s here?” Laurel asked.

“Duh. You just walked right past him.” Tara smirked.

Laurel downed a glass of punch and grabbed a sandwich as Tara disappeared into the crowd. The sugar on her tongue seemed to dull the orchid’s scent.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN. MAY I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION, PLEASE?”

The DJ was waving an envelope above his head. “I hold in my hand the answer to someone’s lifelong dream. Who will be king and queen of the prom? Senior prom court, please ascend the stage.”

Lifelong dream? Puh-leeeze. Rose’s eyes would practically roll out of her head. Nicole’s eyes were fixed on the court, so Laurel grabbed Whitney’s flowers and tried to push through the crowd toward the stage.

“A DRUMROLL, PLEASE,” said the DJ. “THIS YEAR’S PROM KING AND QUEEN ARE . . . RICKY PAVOTTI and ASHLEY SMITH!”

The crowd cheered and clapped but almost immediately started whispering about the outcome.

“Oh my god. How could they do that?” a senior said.
Laurel watched as Whitney, her face tight with anger, hurried off the far side of the stage, across the dance floor, and out of the ballroom. Ricky was spinning Queen Ashley on the stage.

“Excuse me,” Laurel said, trying to follow Whitney’s trail. She ran out of the ballroom and saw Whitney disappear into the ladies’ room. Laurel followed and found the senior leaning against a huge marble sink, studying herself in the mirror. She scowled at Laurel’s reflection and covered something with her hand.

“What do
you
want?” Whitney said.

Laurel held up the bag. “I have your flowers.”

Whitney turned her back to the mirror, and tears pooled in her eyes. “Are you blind? I don’t even need them. Ricky was all over that Ashley slut.”

“I—uh—” Laurel said. “Maybe he’s just excited to be king.”

Whitney smirked. “I’m sooo happy for him. God, I can’t believe this crap!”

Laurel set the bag on the sink. Whitney dabbed at her face with a balled-up tissue, and her eyes met Laurel’s in the mirror. “You don’t have other flowers with you? The kind that attract guys?” She was staring at the bougainvillea above Laurel’s ear.

Laurel shook her head. “Not anymore.” The night was already too complicated.

Whitney pursed her lips. “I don’t need them. I can get any guy I want.”

Amanda burst into the room. “I can’t believe this, Whit.” Her hands sliced the air frantically. “This is sooo wrong. How could they?” Whitney leaned on Amanda and started sobbing.

Laurel stared at the bag that contained hours of her work and worry. Should I take it back? she wondered. Shrugging, Laurel left the bag and the seniors behind.

Halfway down the hallway, she froze on the patterned carpeting. A girl with a curtain of long black hair was sitting on a guy’s lap. She’d recognize that backless dress anywhere, but who was Tara making out with? One of his hands was buried in her hair while the other spread across her thigh, just below a long slit in her dress. Her wrist was draped over the guy’s shoulder and still had the orchid tied to it. Laurel dashed behind a large potted plant and gawked through its leaves at Everett Buchanan, whose lips were slowly moving up and down Tara’s neck.

“But you don’t even like her,” Laurel whispered. Or do you? Passion and enchantment, belle of the ball. The heavy scent infused the hallway.

A tall boy sauntered by. “Get a room,” he cracked at the couple.

Holding her breath, Laurel crept close and yanked, but the corsage didn’t budge.

“Hey!” Tara pulled her arm back and stared at Laurel. Her eyes seemed glassy. “It’s
my
flower.”

“I just want to show it to someone,” Laurel said sweetly. “I’ll bring it right back.”

“No way.” Tara giggled as Everett kissed her bare shoulder.

Someone cleared his throat loudly behind Laurel, and their heads all turned. Mr. Rodriguez, the towering Willowlawn headmaster, had appeared. Everett stood up abruptly, and Tara slid off his lap, thumping onto the carpet.

“Ow!” she yelled, thrashing her arms.

Laurel stood wider to steady herself against the waves of fragrance.

Mr. Rodriguez helped Tara up. “I’m disappointed, Mr. Buchanan. You don’t seem to remember any of our earlier discussion.”

“Yes, sir. I mean, no. I—I—” Everett’s lips were red and smeary and sparkly.

Mr. Rodriguez sniffed and looked around. “What’s that smell? Perfume?”

“Yes, that’s it,” said Tara. “Exactly. Excuse me, sir.” She took hold of her long skirt and walked somewhat unsteadily toward the dance.

Laurel nodded at the confused headmaster. “Excuse me, too. I’ll go . . . make sure she’s okay.” She had to follow that orchid.

Tara had already merged onto the darkened dance floor when Laurel reached the ballroom. Walking along the edge of the crowd, she spied Tara standing with Kate and Alan. Tara was leaning toward Alan, holding the orchid just below his nose. She stroked his cheek with her fingertip and then pulled him onto the dance floor.

“Nooo,” Laurel whispered. “You can’t do that to Kate.” Now she really wished she’d told Kate everything. Laurel started toward her, but an arm caught her. Irritated, she turned to shake free and then gasped.

“Laurel, dear,” said Ms. Suarez. “It’s so good to see you.” She kissed Laurel on both cheeks. Her hair was long across her shoulders, and her crystal earrings sparkled. The Featherstones were right behind her, looking pinched and anxious.

Laurel tried to swallow the expanding lump in her throat. “You surprised me. W-when did you get back?”

“Just now. Mission accomplished: the orchids are safe!” said Ms. Suarez. “We convinced the Costa Rican developer to create a garden and leave the habitat in place.”

“That’s great.” Laurel frowned at the dance floor but couldn’t see Tara or Kate.

“ . . . possibilities for cross-pollination,” said Ms. Suarez.

Laurel blinked at her blankly.

“The orchids.” Ms. Suarez stepped closer. “We’ll study them soon; I promise.”

Laurel met the professor’s stern eyes and realized he hadn’t told her yet. But the scent—the truth—couldn’t be hidden. “I need to talk to you,” Laurel began. She had to regain Ms. Suarez’s trust even before she lost it. “It’s—”

“It’s like nothing I’ve ever encountered.” Ms. Suarez’s face lit up as she looked around the ballroom. “What is that marvelous fragrance?”

Laurel knew exactly what she had to do. “It’s an orchid,” she said. “
Your
orchid.”

Ms. Suarez stared. “Mine? What do you mean?”

Laurel held her gaze. “The rare hybrid.”

“Geneva.” Mrs. Featherstone put her hands out. “Someone—a misguided student—got into the conservatory and cut the first bloom for a corsage.”

Ms. Suarez’s hands covered her mouth. “No!”

“But we think the plant’s fine,” added the professor. “There will be other blooms.”

Ms. Suarez’s mouth hung open in disbelief. “How did she get in?” When her eyes shifted to Laurel’s guilty face, they filled with disappointment.

Laurel took a deep breath. “She was mad at me. And I didn’t check the door.”

Mrs. Featherstone hugged Ms. Suarez with one arm. “Let’s get you back to campus, Geneva.”

Ms. Suarez stepped closer to Laurel. “My orchid’s here? In this room?”

Laurel nodded, and Ms. Suarez sniffed again.

“Hey,” said a now-familiar voice. “Where’ve you been?” Laurel spun around to see Justin’s carefree smile.

“Does
he
know about this, too?” asked Ms. Suarez.

Laurel shook her head.

“About what?” Justin’s hand rested comfortably, deliciously on her lower back.

Ms. Suarez looked from one to the other, as if making up her mind. “Do either of you know what an aphrodisiac is?”

“Something about Aphrodite?” Laurel was afraid to look at Justin now.

“She’s the goddess of love,” Justin added. “So, an aphrodisiac is something that inspires love.”

“No, no, no.” Ms. Suarez waved her hands. “Not love, necessarily. Lust. There’s a huge difference. Excuse us, please.” She pulled Laurel several steps from the others. Laurel’s back felt cold without Justin’s hand.

“Listen closely, Laurel. You have to understand,” Ms. Suarez said, squeezing her arm. “My orchid shouldn’t be here. Many cultures have used orchids as aphrodisiacs, and this bloom comes from old and potent stock.”

“Oh.” Her flower books had said nothing about aphrodisiacs. “Uh-oh.” Tara and Everett’s public display made sense now.
Merde
. Where was Tara?

Ms. Suarez shook her head. “Laurel, what happened? I
begged
you to be careful.”

Laurel shut her eyes. Too much was happening too fast, and her head was starting to pound. “I’ll bring her to you. I promise.”

“Go,” Ms. Suarez said huskily. “I’m
dying
to see her.”

Laurel walked away from the teachers and tried to breathe clearly, but the scent was inescapable. Even the music sounded exotic now, with a pounding, irresistible beat.

“What’s going on?” Justin’s hot breath on her ear made her shiver.

“It’s complicated,” she said, reaching for his hand. “I have to find that orchid.”

“Wh-y?” Justin turned her to face him.

She trembled as his hands slid slowly from her bare shoulders to her wrists. His voice, his touch, were hypnotic. “It belongs to Ms. Suarez. And she needs it back.”

“Why?” Justin said again, and he stepped even closer. Laurel felt like she was moving through water—warm, pulsating water that pushed her against him. His face bent toward her, and she lifted her chin to meet his lips.

The kiss was perfect. Her fingers threaded through the silky hair at the back of his neck. She held on to him because her world was spinning and not just because of the orchid. She wanted to let go and lose herself in the magic of his lips and his arms around her, but a small, stubborn part of her wouldn’t. I can’t let Ms. Suarez down again, she thought.

“I have to find Tara.” Pulling away reluctantly, Laurel scanned the dance floor and nearly gagged in amazement. Ricky Pavotti’s crown was on Tara’s head, and his hands were on her swaying hips. The orchid was perched on his shoulder as Tara grinned up at him. The song was fast, but most of the couples were slow dancing. Laurel shook her head to try to focus.

Justin put his hands around her waist. “C’mon. Dance with me. Now.”

Laurel hesitated. The heavy scent made everything seem slow and shivery and unreal. Justin leaned to kiss her again, but she turned away. What if it’s
just
the orchid? she thought.

“What’s wrong now?” asked Justin.

“You—you have to trust me.” She pressed her fingers to his lips, and he kissed them. “We have to get the orchid out of here. Everyone’s acting drunk.” She pointed at the dance floor. Whitney was making out with Everett. Nicole was French-kissing some tall guy. Ricky’s hands
were moving all over Tara’s body. What if he takes
her
back to his hotel room tonight? “See? Nobody’s acting normal.”

Justin’s hand slid down Laurel’s back, releasing a cascade of shivers. “What
is
normal?” he said.

“Not this,” Laurel said, biting her lip. “I am not going to be responsible for this.” She frowned at the dangling orchid. “I need scissors.”

“Scissors?” Justin reached into his trouser pocket. “My dad gave me this Swiss Army knife when I was nine. It’s got everything.” He pulled out the little pair of scissors and handed it to Laurel.

“They let you carry this?” she asked.

“Not on planes.” Justin shrugged. “But somebody’s got to be prepared.”

“You’re such a Boy Scout,” Laurel teased. “Can you catch?”

“You know I can,” said Justin. “Why?”

Stifling an impulse to kiss his earlobe as she told him, Laurel outlined her plan.

“But I—” he started.

She pressed her fingers to his lips. “Shhh. Trust me. It’ll take only a minute.”

Justin grabbed her wrist and kissed her fingertips again. Laurel wished she could forget about the orchid and jump into his arms, but he walked away as instructed. She felt a light tap on her arm.

“Laurel, what’s up?” Mina’s nose wrinkled. “I keep—”

“Nothing,” Laurel said shortly, pulling away. “Everything’s under control.” She didn’t want yet another person involved. Hiding the scissors behind her back, she wove toward Tara and the prom king. Swiftly, silently, she grabbed the ribbon and pulled. She felt a responding tug but held tight, snipped, and caught the orchid as it fell. Tara shrieked, but Laurel was off: running toward the entrance, where Justin was standing on a chair.

Please, God, please. She set her feet and threw the orchid. High over the heads of the crowd it tumbled, but Justin caught it deftly with one hand, like it was a Frisbee. He leaped off the chair and was out the door. Laurel quickly zigzagged off the dance floor, picked up the end of a tablecloth, and crawled underneath to hide from Tara’s wrath.

“Everyone can get their own damn punch,” Laurel said, after her breathing had slowed. The rest of her evening was dedicated to Justin. Lifting an edge of the tablecloth, she saw a distraught Tara across the room and dove for another table. Laurel scampered from table to table until she reached the one closest to the door, where she could see Mrs. Westfall frowning and vigilant.