Flower Feud (11 page)

A lightbulb went off. “But — but — but — I thought you came to the store to steal my family’s prom flower ideas. So you weren’t spying?”

“Spying?” said Hamilton, frowning. “What am I, one of the Hardy Boys? Spying on what? I just wanted to talk to you. I kept missing you at school.” Then he paused. “Wait … what did you say about your family?”

“So you really don’t know?” I asked.

“Don’t know what?”

I took a deep breath. “We’re rivals,” I finally said.

“Rivals?”

“Petal Pushers, the store you came to visit me at, is owned by my family.”

Hamilton looked surprised. Very surprised. “I didn’t know that,” he said.

I believed him.

He grinned. “I guess that explains your name,” he said.

I nodded. “And I know that your mom owns Fleur,” I added.

“How do you know?” he asked curiously.

Oh, I shouldn’t have said that,
I thought. How was I going to explain that one? I decided to go with complete disclosure. “Well, um, when Fleur first opened, I went to check it out and I met the owner. Then when I saw you with her at the video store I realized she was your mother.”

Hamilton nodded. “So you spied on Fleur,” he said, trying to keep a straight face.

“I’d prefer to call it a friendly visit,” I said, my cheeks getting hot. This next part was going to be hard, but I felt like I had to come totally clean. “Then, when I thought that you had spied on our ideas, I went to your mom’s store to check.”

“So you’re constantly casing the joint, I see,” he said with a smirk.

I gave him a dirty look and soldiered on.

“And I heard your mom say that she had an idea to get the high school kids into the store, so I assumed you had told her secret information.”

Hamilton laughed and laughed. “Wait till you hear what her brilliant idea was. Prom hats!” he said. “Straw hats with flowers attached. They didn’t exactly fly off the shelves.”

I grimaced, wondering if my disguise had been the inspiration. Well, that was final confirmation that no spying had occurred. On his part, anyway. As for myself, it was definitely time to hang up my magnifying glass.

He shook his head. “That’s pretty funny,” he said. “Rival florists — ooh.”

“It’s not funny at all,” I bristled. “It’s weird. And awkward.”

“Weird how?”

“Because we’re in competition with each other,” I explained. “We both want the same business. Like we were just both competing for the prom.”

Hamilton shrugged. “I don’t know why you think it’s such a big deal. I don’t have anything to do with the store,” he said. “My stepfather bought it for my mom when we moved here. I mean, sure, sometimes I hear them talking about flowers at the dinner table.” He grinned. “Weren’t you impressed when I knew what a delphinium was?”

“I certainly was,” I said.

“But I’m a boy, Del. Flowers are just not my thing.”

Whew. I hadn’t considered that before. I thought about the situation for a moment. “Well, how about if from now on we never discuss business with each other?”

“No problem there,” said Hamilton.

“And we stay away from each other’s stores. Just to be safe.”

“Agreed,” said Hamilton.

There was one more thing. I narrowed my eyes at him. “So where’s your date?”

“My date?” he said. “Enlighten me. Who’s supposed to be my date?”

“I heard you were going with … Ashley,” I said, looking at the ground.

“Ashley?” he said. “What makes you think I asked Ashley? I didn’t ask anyone.” He looked at me and took a deep breath. “Actually,” he began. “Actually …”

“Yes?” I said.

“Actually there is someone I wanted to ask …”

I gulped. “Oh yeah?” I said warily.

Just then Jessica and Jackson and Amy came running over. Mr. Rolando had gone into the gym supply closet and taken out a high jump bar. He held one side and
Ms. Studdert held the other. The DJ put on some calypso music. And we all lined up to do the limbo.

“How low can you go?” Mr. Rolando started the chant.

The bar started out pretty high, and we all made it underneath. As the bar got lower and lower kids started dropping out. I was on line in front of Hamilton. As I began to inch forward, Hamilton grabbed my hand and we limboed together. We high-fived when we emerged on the other side — we’d made it!

I can’t believe it,
I thought to myself.
Hamilton held my hand!

Ashley stood to the side, looking disgruntled. I wasn’t sure if it was because she couldn’t limbo in her expensive designer dress. Or maybe it was because Hamilton and I were having such a fun time together. Possibly both.

But I didn’t give her another thought.

As a new song started, I looked around at my friends, all dancing and laughing. Becky and I were best friends again. Hamilton and Ashley hadn’t gone to the prom together. And Petal Pushers was going to be okay.

There was just one problem. Hamilton never finished his sentence. And I was too embarrassed to ask him to.

The next morning, my feet ached. We had danced and laughed and eaten way too many pigs in a blanket. I had taken several pictures on the surfboard: one with all my friends, one with Becky, and one with Hamilton as Ashley glared from across the room.

I had to admit it. Despite my reservations and all of the drama, A Night in the Tropics had been a pretty cool idea. I even told Ashley so on the way out. She stood there, her mouth open like a gasping fish, unsure how to react to a compliment from me. I’m sure she thought I was being sarcastic. But I wasn’t, not at all. It had been one of the most fun nights of my life.

I hadn’t even eaten my breakfast yet and I had already been on the phone with each of my friends. Twice with
Becky. Dad had to call me three times before I finally made my way downstairs to the breakfast table.

“Del, I can’t wait for …” Poppy said.

“Shhhh!” I told her.

Mom looked at us curiously. “What’s going on, girls?” she asked.

I gave Aster a curious look. Was it time to fill them in? My sister nodded.

“Just be prepared to have some fun tonight,” I told them. “We’re foregoing our Sunday Movie Night for something completely different.”

Dad put down the Arts section and leaned forward. “Sounds intriguing!” he said.

“Living room at six o’clock,” I said. “Be there. Wear your eighties best.”

“Our eighties best?” Dad echoed. “You mean outfits from the olden days?”

I nodded, grinning.

Mom laughed. “No fair! You have to tell us what’s going on!” she said. “I can’t wait till six o’clock!”

“It’s a …” Poppy started to say.

Aster put her hand over Poppy’s mouth.

“… surprise,” I finished. “It’s a surprise. You’ll just have to wait.”

Rose returned home that afternoon, looking exhausted.

“How was it?” Mom wanted to know.

“Amazing,” she said. “We did makeovers, and talked about boys, and played Truth or Dare, and gave each other manicures.” She smiled. “It was so cool.” She turned to her twin. “And you were so right. You would have hated every minute of it! I’m so glad you weren’t there!”

Aster smiled. “I am, too!” she said sweetly.

I swear, I’ll never figure out my sisters.

Finally, it was time for my sisters and me to put our surprise plan into action. We sent Mom and Dad upstairs, with strict instructions not to come back down until we were ready for them.

Then we moved furniture, decorated the living room, and argued over the order of our playlist. Finally, I gave Poppy the thumbs-up.

“Ready!” Poppy called up the stairs excitedly.

Their bedroom door squeaked open and Mom and Dad walked down the stairs. For the very first time, I was
glad that my parents never throw away anything. Mom was wearing black leggings, and a lime-green shirt with a bright pink paisley print and huge shoulder pads. She had black rubber bracelets up and down both arms. Dad had on a very large blazer, a skinny leather tie, and these weird shoes that he said were called Capezios. They both had moussed their hair as large as humanly possible. I stifled a guffaw. They looked positively ridiculous. And these weren’t costumes. My parents had actually worn these clothes twenty-five years ago. In public.

They both glanced around the living room, looking confused. The lights were low, the rug was rolled up, and the furniture was pushed into the corners. We had taken down one of Mom’s hanging plants and replaced it with the disco ball I had convinced Mr. Rolando to let me borrow after the dance last night. I had somehow managed to smuggle it home under my bolero jacket without anyone noticing.

“Ready?” asked Rose.

“Ready!” I said.

Aster hit
PLAY
on the iPod and “Forever Young” by Alphaville came on, the first song in the greatest hits of the ‘80s playlist she had put together over the past week.

“This was my prom song!” cried Mom.

“Welcome to the prom you never had!” I told them.

Their eyes brightened as they realized what we had done. Then Mom and Dad grinned and immediately began to slow dance together. Rose handed Mom a pink bandanna so she could wipe the happy tears that were streaming down her face.

We clapped as the song ended. And Dad spun Mom around in a little circle.

“This is so much fun!” said Dad. “I feel like a teenager.”

“Well, just wait for the next song,” said Aster with a grin.

It was an old song called “Rock Lobster” — my dad said it was by a band called the B-52s. My parents immediately started bouncing up and down.

I looked at my sisters, my eyebrows raised. What was
that
all about?

“Believe it or not, this is the way we danced in the eighties!” said Mom. “Come, girls, join us!”

Poppy squealed with delight as she started jumping up and down in place. Rose was next. Aster and I shrugged at each other and joined in.

My phone started vibrating. I had a text message. I stopped dancing for a moment, pulled it out of my pocket, and read the message. It was from an unfamiliar number, and it read:

WHEN I SAID I WANTED 2 ASK SOMEONE 2 PROM — IT WAS U. HB.

HB. Hamilton Baldwin. So Heather was right. He
did
like me. My heart stood still for a brief second. Then a big grin spread across my face. I was ready to admit it. I had a big bad crush on Hamilton Baldwin. And it appeared he felt the same way.

“It wasn’t a rock. It was a rock lobster!” the song blared happily.

I snapped the phone shut and placed it back in my pocket. I grabbed Poppy’s hands and her face lit up as we started jumping up and down together. I was definitely bouncing higher than before.

I looked around at my crazy family. We had done it again, by the skin of our teeth. But Aunt Lily was probably right. There would be another crisis next week, another client to fight for. We wouldn’t be able to rest for a moment.

But if anyone could pull it off, it was us.

Read on for a sneak peek at the next Petal Pushers book!