Too Many Blooms (6 page)

The next morning, over hot chocolates in the cafeteria, I filled Becky and Heather in on what happened in the hallway with Ashley — and Hamilton.

“I can’t believe you didn’t call and tell us last night!” Heather cried, slamming down her copy of
Us Weekly.

I blushed. I hadn’t called Becky or Heather because after dinner I’d done my homework and then stayed up late reading about Alexander Hamilton on Wikipedia.

“I’m just impressed you stood up to Bob,” Becky said, her brown eyes widening. “You usually never come up with comebacks until days later!”

“I know,” I said. “Isn’t that weird?”

Becky beamed. “I’m proud of you, Del!”

But Heather just studied me, a funny look on her face.

“What?” I said.

“I recognize the signs,” she said, nodding solemnly. “You’ve got it bad.”

“Got what?” I asked warily.

“A big old crush,” she said, smiling at me.

I shook my head at her. “We’re just friends, Heather!” I exclaimed.

Heather just kept smiling at me. I sighed. Heather had a new crush every few weeks, so she thought she was an expert. Becky, on the other hand, looked a little disappointed in me. But she had nothing to worry about. I didn’t
like
like Hamilton. He was a boy friend. Not a boyfriend. End. Of. Story.

After school I decided to call the store to see if Mom needed any help. Dad answered the phone instead.

“Flowers on Fairfield,” he said. “Serving Your Floral Needs Since, um …”

“1912,” I finished. “It’s me, Dad,” I said. “How’s everything going?”

“Pretty good,” he said. “I’ve been working on the books and I’m happy to say that your grandparents left things
in great order.” Then he lowered his voice. “Del, did you clean up your mom’s work space again?” he asked. “She’s a little annoyed.”

I winced. I
had
stopped by the store as Mom was closing up the night before and secretly organized her space. It was such a mess — piles of discarded ribbon, soaking-wet floral foam, shears, hot-glue gun all in a jumble. But it seemed as if Mom wasn’t very grateful. Not one bit.

“Yes,” I said. “I guess she doesn’t want to thank me?”

“On the contrary,” said Dad. “She’s going crazy looking for her shears. And her floral tape.”

I explained where she could find them and refrained from adding
Where they belong.
No need to rile anyone up any further! I also decided to skip going to the store that afternoon. I might be tempted to do some more organizing and I knew how well
that
would go over!

In the middle of breakfast the next morning, Mom’s cell phone rang. It was the theme from that old movie
Jaws —
you know, da-Dum, da-Dum, da-Dum, da-DUM! Just before the shark attacks.

Mom reached over to the kitchen counter and picked the phone up, looking confused. Her eyebrows rose as she recognized the name on the display.

“Hello, Olivia,” she answered. “Of course this isn’t a bad time …” We all watched as she made a “sorry” face at us and wandered out of the kitchen.

I stared at my sisters. Which one was the ringtone culprit? Rose looked innocent, but she was an actress, I reminded myself. I turned to Aster. She tried to look really busy cutting up her rock-hard waffle, but I could see the mischievous look in her eye.

I glowered at the two of them, since the twins rarely worked alone.
“Jaws
?” I said, shaking my head. “Very unprofessional.”

Rose shook her head back at me. “You are no fun,” she said.

“Totally,” added Aster.

That stung. Who wants to be thought of as un-fun?

I looked at Dad. “May I be excused?” I asked.

He put his hand over his heart. “‘All happiness depends on a leisurely breakfast’!” he quoted dramatically. “John Gunther.”

I apologized and left the kitchen, grabbing Buster’s leash from the doorknob. Sometimes I just needed a break from all the Blooms.

That was not the last family meal that Olivia would interrupt. She called a few times a week, sometimes every day. Even though she had her wedding planner, she liked to run things by Mom, too. She said she “trusted her taste.”

It turned out that Mom liked the idea of a special ringtone just for Olivia so she was always mentally prepared when the phone rang (or, I suspected, so she could send her calls straight to voice mail). So I helped Mom change it to the more appropriate “Here Comes the Bride.” We were all pretty sick of that song after a while. One day, Olivia had flipped out because she hated her headpiece and couldn’t find one that she liked. The next day she didn’t like the song she and her fiancé had picked for their first dance. And she changed her mind about the shade of the flowers in the centerpieces a million times.

One night I heard Mom on the phone, saying to Olivia: “Well, I don’t know if the roses will match the exact shade of pink in tonight’s sunset. But we’ll try our best.”

Olivia really
was
a Bridezilla. Though we never used that word in Poppy’s presence again, just to be safe.

One rare phone call–free morning, we sat at the kitchen table finishing up breakfast. We had opted for cold cereal despite Dad’s insistence that he would make “tasty French toast.”

“So I was thinking tonight felt like a
Muppet Movie
kind of night,” said Dad, looking up from the newspaper.

“Huh?” I said.

“For Movie Night,” Dad said. “And how about some rocky road?”

I stared at him. Was he for real?

“Movie Night,” he repeated. “You know, we do it every Friday?”

Mom spoke up. “Well, maybe Dad’s right,” she said slowly. “There’s no reason not to continue with Movie Night …”

I stood up, feeling a lump in my throat. “No way,” I said. “Movie Night is what we do with Gran and Gramps. End of story.”

Everyone stared at me.

After a moment, Dad shrugged. “Okay, okay,” he said. “But it would be a lot of fun …”

I sat back down and shook my head. And then we all went back to eating our Rice Krispies in silence. Though I did notice Rose and Aster exchanging glances. I don’t understand Twin, so I had no idea what they were saying to each other. Maybe they thought I was being unreasonable. But I didn’t care.

At school that afternoon, I sat on a bench in the locker room, tying my sneakers. My gym uniform was freshly laundered (and ironed!) and smelled like fabric softener. I was even wearing matching yellow socks.

Not that I was trying to look good for anyone.

I marched into the gymnasium and sat down in my spot. I turned around and waved to Hamilton, who gave me his trademark lazy grin back.

Tweet!
Mr. Rolando blasted his whistle. “I have an announcement to make,” he said when he had everyone’s attention. “It seems that one of our students has broken his leg skateboarding and will be excused from gym class until his cast is off.”

I scanned the room to see who was missing, and realized it was Bob the bully.

“So that means that Ashley Edwards needs a new partner,” Mr. Rolando added.

Ashley tried to look concerned about Bob’s well-being, but couldn’t hold back the big smile that spread across her face. My heart sank. I knew what was coming. There was only one student in class who didn’t have a permanent partner.

“Hamilton, would you please partner up with Ashley?” said Mr. Rolando. “Places, everyone. We’re going to start with ‘Duck for the Oyster.’”

We all rose to our feet, but I just wanted to disappear.

“Howdy partner,” said Ashley flirtatiously as Hamilton ambled up to her. She slipped her hands in his.

I tried not to cringe as Rodney placed his clammy hands in mine. This was going to be a long afternoon.

After school I stopped by the store. We had just gotten a delivery of roses and Mom was removing the thorns and lower leaves. I cleared my throat. “You know, Mom, when Gramps de-thorned roses he always —”

“I’m fine,” Mom snapped.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

Mom closed her eyes. “I’m sorry, Del. I’m just on edge. Olivia was supposed to come in hours ago to drop off her deposit.” She looked at her watch, and grabbed a rose stem. “Ow!” she cried. She put her thumb in her mouth. “It just doesn’t make sense,” Mom went on, reaching for the first-aid kit to retrieve a Band-Aid. “She called me four times yesterday. The wedding is in a couple of weeks. So why isn’t she here today? I wonder if there’s a problem.”

“Oh, there’s a problem all right,” said a familiar voice. We both looked up.

Aunt Lily, perfectly pulled together as always, stood in front of us. She looked even more serious than usual.

I stared at her. “Where did …”

“I came in the back entrance,” explained Aunt Lily, cutting me off. “The problem is that there’s a new florist in town. It’s called Fleur.”

“Floor?” I scoffed. “That’s a dumb name.”

Aunt Lily gave me a withering glance. “Fleur,” she repeated icily. “As in the French word for ‘flower.’”

“Oh,” I said sheepishly. “I take Spanish.”

Aunt Lily shook her head, annoyed. “It’s in the mall. Where the Nut Hut used to be. And apparently Olivia Post is considering them as her florist for the wedding!”

“What?”
I cried.

Mom looked stricken. “But how …” she started to ask. “Ethel Murray had lunch with Olivia’s grandmother today and she mentioned it. Ethel called me immediately, of course.” Aunt Lily looked at me sharply. “What’s so funny, Del?”

I couldn’t help myself.
Old Lady Mafia strikes again!
I thought to myself, but I quickly wiped the smile off my face. “Nothing is funny, Aunt Lily,” I said. “Nothing at all.”

Mom groaned. “This is terrible!” she cried, burying her face in her hands.

“This is disastrous,” clarified Aunt Lily. “What are you going to do?”

“What
can
I do?” said Mom.

“Call her right now,” said Aunt Lily.

Mom picked up the phone and dialed Olivia’s number. She snapped the phone shut after a minute. “Straight to voice mail,” she said. My stomach tightened. It was official. Olivia was avoiding us.

“Call her again,” demanded Aunt Lily. “Leave a message.”

Mom sighed and picked up her phone.

An idea came to me then. The mall was close by. And what could be so special about this Fleur place, anyway? There was only one way to find out.

I hated to leave Mom with mean Aunt Lily (and a shipment of roses) but I knew what I had to do. “I’ll be right back,” I said. Mom just nodded.

I ran home as fast as I could. My bike was in the shed. It hadn’t been ridden all winter, but luckily I didn’t have a flat. I hopped on my bike and rode straight to Becky’s house. She answered the door in her jeans and slippers.

“Hey, Del,” she said. “What’s up?”

“There’s a new florist in town and they’ve stolen away our Bridezilla,” I said quickly. “I need you to help me spy on them.”

“Okay,” said Becky, quickly ditching her slippers and pulling on her sneakers. One of the many reasons Becky is my best friend: She is always up for an adventure, no questions asked. “Sounds cool.”

Minutes later, we were pedaling over to the mall. Once we got there, we locked up our bikes in the rack and went inside. I could smell freshly baked soft pretzels, my favorite snack of all time. But I managed to walk right by the stand. I was on a mission.

Aunt Lily was right. The Nut Hut, which had been out of business for at least six months, was now a flower shop. A big
GRAND OPENING
sign hung in the window. An arch of white and silver balloons framed the door. I shook my head. After all these years, Flowers on Fairfield finally had some competition. And the timing could not have been worse.

Becky and I huddled in front of Kiddie Kasuals, whispering to each other. “We’ve got to come up with a story,” I told her.

She was excited. “Right! Our cover!” She thought for a moment. “Let’s say we’re adopted sisters who are buying a birthday present for our mom,” she said.

“Creative,” I replied. “But potential for disaster. We don’t have a lot of time to get our story straight.”

Becky nodded, disappointed.

I thought for a moment. “Let’s say your grandma’s
birthday is coming up and you are thinking of sending her flowers.”

Becky frowned. “That’s boring because it’s true!” she said.

“But it’s easy,” I said.

“We’re spying, Del,” said Becky. “It’s not supposed to be easy.”

I was about to argue with her (since when was Becky a spying expert?) but it was getting late. So I took a deep breath and headed inside.

My heart sank as I looked around. The place was huge, at least twice as big as my family’s store. Sleek and shiny with lots of polished chrome. The floor was made of dark cement slabs that looked unfinished and dirty to me, but were probably the height of interior design. The flower cooler was gigantic, and packed with a dozen different kinds of roses. There were some blooms so exotic I had never even seen them before. There were also aisles and aisles of gifts — designer chocolates, retro-looking handmade stuffed animals, scented candles, and a whole row of potted orchids so beautiful (and expensive) they took my breath away. It was the exact opposite of Flowers on
Fairfield. Even the name —
Fleur
— was sleek and cool compared to the unwieldy and old-fashioned
Flowers on Fairfield.
Flowers on Fairfield was the rotary phone to Fleur’s iPhone. Flowers on Fairfield was the horse and buggy to Fleur’s …

“Can I help you?” My dark thoughts were interrupted by a tall woman with blonde hair, who stood smiling at us.

“It’s my birthday!” Becky burst out. “I mean it’s my grandmother’s birthday!” She glanced around wildly. “She likes flowers!”

I looked at Becky in alarm. My friend had a lot of talents, but espionage was apparently not one of them.

Once Becky had gotten her story straight, the woman took us over to a brand-new computer sitting on a shiny table. “Now, obviously, we can design a beautiful bouquet for your grandmother,” she said. “But any flower shop can do that. What makes Fleur so special is this …” She clicked the mouse and a page opened up. “This is where you can design a virtual bouquet,” she explained. “You click here” — she demonstrated —”to pick your container — vase, basket, planter, jar, you name it. Then you fill your virtual vase with your flowers and arrange them
however you want to. Then you can add ribbons, balloons, stuffed animals, or candy, if you like. Then you hit the
CREATE
button, and we will design your bouquet to your exact specifications. Part of the service here at Fleur, the florist for the twenty-first century!”