Flower Feud (3 page)

“Ew,” said Rose, making a face.

“Why didn’t you just go on your own?” I asked.

Rose looked aghast at the very idea.

Mom shrugged. “None of my friends were going stag and I didn’t want to be the only one,” she said. “What a waste of a beautiful dress. And I never got to see my special corsage, either.”

Rose was frowning. Then she brightened and turned to Dad. “How about you?”

I was fairly certain she was barking up the wrong tree. And I was right. Dad shrugged. “Who had time for proms? I had a big project due the next week. I spent the whole weekend in the library doing research!”

“Oh, Dad,” Rose groaned. “Really!”

“It was for extra credit!” he protested. “I graduated high school with a four point four!”

Rose looked totally disappointed. “One night, Dad. The most magical night ever.”

Ring-a-ling-ling!
The bell over the door rang as a customer pushed it open. I wiped my hands on my apron and turned to Rose and Aster, forgetting the prom issue for a moment. “Our first customer of the day!” I whispered. “When a customer comes in, you should greet them almost immediately. Make them feel welcome, but don’t pressure them. Rose, would you like to do the honors?”

Rose smiled. This was her favorite thing to do. But before she could speak —

“So it’s true!” said a thin, familiar voice belonging to an elderly lady. “What in the world is going on here?”

This was no customer. It was our Great-aunt Lily. And she didn’t look very happy at all. She was angrily pointing at the painter standing in the window, who was now looking a little nervous.

Aunt Lily has that effect on people. Me especially.

“Aunt Lily!” said Mom, heading over to give her mother’s sister a kiss on her papery cheek. “How lovely to see you.”

Aunt Lily snorted. “Are you telling me that there has been yet another change made to the store that I own one third of?”
she said in her icy, clipped tone. “One third, Daisy! And no one had the decency to tell me?”

Eek. I gave Mom and Dad a baleful look. Aunt Lily did have a point. I knew I should have reminded them to tell her about the name change. They’re so forgetful sometimes.

“I’m sorry,” Mom said. “We should have called you right away. We discussed it with my parents and …”

“And to find out about it the way I did! At the Ladies Auxiliary Luncheon! By none other than Gladys Hockenpfeffer.” Aunt Lily made an irritated face. “She’s such a busybody. I was completely taken aback!”

I gulped. I had to step in and try to fix things. “Actually, Aunt Lily, the new name was inspired by you.”

Aunt Lily turned around. “Delphinium,” she said with a curt nod.

“Remember those clothes you lent Rose for the play she was in? We all liked the cute little pants — the pedal pushers — and when Poppy called them
petal
pushers, we realized that would make a great new name.”

For a second it looked like Aunt Lily might actually smile. But she regained her composure and shrugged.
“Fine,” she said. “What can I do with you all? Anyway, we have a much bigger issue than the store name.”

My stomach jumped. Oh no. What could it be now?

“May I ask how many prom orders you’ve gotten so far?” Aunt Lily asked.

“We were just discussing that,” said my mom. “Not so many. But Del just told us there’s going to be a middle school prom, too, so we’re feeling optimistic …”

Aunt Lily cut her off. “As I suspected,” she said. “It seems as if our rival is trying to take away our business. Again.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. My heart sank. I knew this couldn’t be good.

“Benjamin, would you please hold up the paper?” commanded Aunt Lily.

Dad complied, lifting the paper so we had a full view of the front and back pages. And what we saw made us gasp.

The entire back page of Saturday’s paper was an ad. An ad for Fleur. There was a photo of a girl’s wrist with a simple orchid corsage on it. Under the photo were the words:

FLEUR.

ELEGANT. SOPHISTICATED. STYLISH.

WHY GO ANYWHERE ELSE FOR YOUR PROM FLOWERS?

Fleur is our competition. The new, fancy florist in town with software so you can design virtual bouquets. Fleur is in the mall, is twice as big as Petal Pushers, and has tons of flowers we didn’t normally carry.

And there’s one more part of the Fleur story. The store is owned by Hamilton Baldwin’s mom. Yes, Hamilton Baldwin — the new guy in school who I think is cute. The guy in gym class who Ashley has a crush on. But Hamilton doesn’t know I know his mother owns Fleur.

As if things weren’t complicated enough.

Mom took a closer look at the ad. “Oh my,” she said in a small voice. “It says ‘Become a Fleur Fan on Facebook’!”

So Fleur was at it again. Last month they had tried to steal away our first big job — a large wedding. Luckily, we had managed to keep it. Now they were taking out newspaper ads and creating Facebook pages. I glanced around our store. It was sweet, small, and very old-fashioned. We had no website, no virtual bouquets, and certainly no Facebook page.

“So you think everyone is going to Fleur instead of
us?” Dad asked with a frown, putting down the paper.

“Yes,” said Aunt Lily. “Especially if they’re doing a lot of advertising.”

Mom cleared her throat. “I’m sure all the kids will start coming in this weekend.”

“I am, too,” said Dad optimistically. “I’ll bet we have a line out the door this very afternoon!”

“I hope you’re right,” Aunt Lily said. But she didn’t look convinced. I didn’t feel convinced, either. “Good day,” she said. She gave us a curt nod and marched out the door.

We all stared at each other after she left.

“Well, I think that proms sound bee-you-tee-ful,” Poppy pronounced. “Mommy, can you make me a corsage?”

“Another time, my love,” said Mom. “I have to start another arrangement. Del, can you help me?”

I busied myself cutting flowers for the new arrangement. But inside I was fuming. I couldn’t believe Fleur was trying to take away our prom business.

This means war!
I thought.

After dinner that night, I was more determined than ever to beat Fleur at their own game. Despite Mom’s and Dad’s optimism, we hadn’t had a single prom customer that day.

While Rose and Aster went to their room to read, and Mom put Poppy to bed, I headed straight to my room — and the computer. I had never been on Facebook before, but I figured it had to be pretty easy since so many people, including my friends’ parents, spent so much time on it.

I typed
FACEBOOK
into the search engine, and the page popped up. Did I want a personal page? No. I clicked
CREATE A PAGE.
This was easy.
LOCAL BUSINESS.
What did I want to name my page? Why,
PETAL PUSHERS
of course!

Next, I had to review the terms of use. So much to read! It all seemed fairly straightforward until one thing jumped
off the page at me:
YOU WILL NOT USE FACEBOOK IF YOU ARE UNDER 13.

Of course. I should have known that. None of my friends are on Facebook yet. I thought about Hamilton. Was he thirteen already? He could have been. I didn’t know when his birthday was. Maybe he’d even been the one to suggest creating a Facebook page for Fleur! I gritted my teeth at the thought.

I asked my parents to come to my room. Mom was in her pale yellow chenille bathrobe, rubbing almond moisturizing cream into her hands like she does every night. It smelled good. Dad was in a T-shirt and the goofy pajama bottoms with big red hearts my sisters and I had chipped in to give him this past Valentine’s Day.

“What’s up, sweetie?” asked Dad, yawning.

“I want to set up a Facebook account for Petal Pushers,” I explained.

“That’s a good idea,” said Dad. “If Fleur can do it, why can’t we?”

“My thoughts exactly!” I replied. “But I need someone thirteen or older to log in.”

“Well, I am definitely older than thirteen,” Mom said with a smile.

I punched in her e-mail address and we came up with a password. After we filled in all the info, I stared at the blank page. I felt seriously overwhelmed and wasn’t sure where to start.

“Maybe I’ll look up Fleur’s page to see what they did,” I said.

“Hey,” said Mom suddenly. “Could you look up Elizabeth Hennessey?”

“Who?” I asked.

“She was my best friend in elementary school,” explained Mom. “I’ve always wondered what happened to her.”

“Really, Mom?” I said. “Right now?”

“Why not?” she said eagerly. “I’ve never been on Facebook before.”

I typed in the name and several Elizabeth Hennesseys popped up. Mom squinted at the screen, trying to determine if one of them was her long-lost friend. “Here, let me sit,” she said, all but pushing me out of the seat.

Mom clicked on a couple of pictures before she found one that looked familiar. “I think this is her,” she said. “But I can’t see all her info. Should I … ‘friend’ her?” She looked at Dad.

“Why not?” he said.

“Oh, this is very exciting!” she said with a giggle.

Dad leaned over her shoulder, a smile on his face. “Let’s look up Manny Elgarresta,” he suggested.

“Enough, you guys,” I said. “We have work to do!”

“It will just take a minute,” said Dad. “Manny and I started the Dungeons and Dragons club at my high school,” he said. “I don’t want to brag, but I was a Level Twelve Dwarf Fighter!”

Mom and I gave each other alarmed looks. Just when I think I know every nerdy fact about my dad, he goes and surprises me.

Then Dad got that look on his face he always gets when he is about to quote literature. He’s an English Lit professor, so it goes with the territory. “‘The companions of our childhood always possess a certain power over our minds which hardly any later friend can obtain,’” he said. “Mary Shelley.”

“Hmmm, I wonder if Matt Whelan is on here,” Mom considered aloud.

Dad smirked at Mom. “Wasn’t he your boyfriend in ninth grade?” he asked. Mom bristled.

Enough was enough. “Let’s look up Fleur’s page,” I told Mom.

I changed places with her and checked it out. Fleur had a link to their website and pictures of some okay-looking arrangements. Then I laughed.

“Well, now we know they’re not stealing away customers with their Facebook page,” I said.

“How can you tell?” Mom asked curiously.

“Look at the number of fans,” I said, tapping the screen. “Three. And two of them have the last name Baldwin.”

I did notice that none of the Baldwins was Hamilton, which made me feel somewhat better.

It was clear that Facebook was not the answer we were looking for. I told my parents good night and gave them each a kiss, and they left me to my planning. But I was too tired to think much more, so I went to sleep.

I wasn’t in the best mood as I trudged to school on Monday morning. But it was a sunny day, so it was hard to stay sour. The birds were singing, the flowers were blooming, all that good stuff. I took a deep sniff — relishing that springy smell of fresh dirt and newly mown grass. Then I stepped over a bunch of extra-large earthworms writhing on the
sidewalk. Yuck. I wondered if Dad would be able to get Poppy to school in time — she is fascinated by the creepy-crawly things and would want to stop and study each one.

When I got to school, I made my way to the cafeteria. I liked to avoid the mad morning locker rush and hang out with my friends over a hot chocolate or orange juice.

I spotted Becky, Heather, Amy, and Jessica at the table already. I wondered if Amy would have a funny story about Amber, or if Becky had some gossip from her mom, who works at the local paper. I’d be happy to talk about anything, just as long as it wasn’t the middle school prom. I had been thinking about it, one way or another, all weekend.

“You have to help us decide,” Heather said breathlessly as soon as I sat down. “Prom dates — do we wait for someone to ask us, or do we ask someone ourselves?”

I fought back a groan. I looked at Becky, but my BFF was buried in one of her notebooks again. We had had a long conversation about the prom insanity that weekend. She
had
said that she wanted to go, just to check things out. And we had heard that Ashley had confirmed that you could go stag if you wanted to. So I’d reluctantly agreed to go, too.

“Amber’s friends are doing both,” said Amy. “But Amber, of course, was asked out by the captain of the football team.” She looked around at us. “She’s the head cheerleader — it’s like a rule or something.”

“If you could go with anyone, who would it be?” Jessica asked Amy.

Amy was silent for a while, but finally confessed that she thought Brian Kilpatrick was cute. “He’s got blond hair and blue eyes and he’s really funny,” she said. “I think he’d be the perfect date. What about you, Heather?” she asked.

Heather lowered her voice and leaned forward conspiratorially. “I’ve been thinking about this all weekend. I’ve decided I want to go with Billy Walters,” she said. “I hope he asks me.”

Billy Walters?
He may have been the captain of the soccer team now, but I would always remember him as the boy who, in third grade, asked the school librarian where to find books on World War Three. She had been completely aghast.

“Heather, I had no idea you were so old-fashioned,” I joked. “That’s very traditional of you. You could ask him yourself, you know.”

Heather looked embarrassed. “I know. But I just can’t.”

Becky finally looked up from her notebook and we smiled at each other. Thank goodness for Becky. She was my port in the storm of girly girls gone boy crazy.

Jessica, in a surprisingly practical way, announced that she was going to ask Jackson Bates. Their moms had gone to college together so Jessica and Jackson had been friends since they were in diapers. “I don’t
like
him like him,” she said. “And he doesn’t
like
me like me. But we’ll have so much fun!”

“So what about you, Becky?” asked Amy. “Are you crushing on anyone?”

I snorted. “No way!” I said. “Becky doesn’t have time for crushes! And neither do I.”

“Wait a minute,” said Heather, scrunching up her face in disbelief. The table went silent. Then I realized that everyone was looking at me.

“What?” I said, feeling uncomfortable.

“Well, what about Hamilton?” Heather asked.

My cheeks reddened.
Hamilton.
He’d been on my mind all weekend, too — but not in an asking-him-to-the-dance way.

“There’s something I have to tell you guys,” I said, my
voice low. I hadn’t yet told Jessica, Amy, and Heather about the Hamilton–Fleur connection. (I had already shared the news with Becky, of course.)

They all leaned in, their eyes wide.

I took a deep breath and blew it out before I spoke. “You’re never going to believe this,” I said. “Hamilton’s mom is the owner of Fleur.”

Three pairs of shocked eyes looked back at me.

“You mean the new flower store in the mall?” Amy gasped.

“Well, it’s no wonder he knew that a delphinium was a flower!” said Heather.

I nodded.

“Does he know your family owns Flowers on Fairfield?” Jessica asked.

“Petal Pushers,” Becky and I corrected her at the same time, then grinned at each other.

“Whatever,” Jessica said impatiently. “Does he?”

“I don’t think so,” I said slowly. “I certainly didn’t tell him.”

“I don’t see why it’s such a big deal,” said Heather. “Ask him!”

I looked at her in shock. “Even if I wanted to, I can’t,” I
said. “He’s the competition. Did you see the ad Fleur took out in Saturday’s paper? They might as well have said ‘Don’t go to Petal Pushers, we’re so much cooler.’” I shook my head. “I’m not even sure I should be friends with him anymore.”

Everyone stared at me worriedly.

“Hey, who died?” asked a snotty-sounding girl behind us. We all spun around.

Ashley Edwards stood there, her long, blonde hair gleaming, her plaid, drop-waist dress adorable and wrinkle-free. She looked, as usual, like she had stepped right off a runway and had somehow ended up in a New Hampshire middle school.

“Why the long faces?” she went on. “Aren’t you all totally psyched for my middle school prom?” She turned to her two best friends who stood slightly behind her like bodyguards. “It’ll be just like a real prom, only better. Totally brill if I do say so myself.”

“Right,” Sabrina and Rachel said in unison. I blinked at them. They were so interchangeable it wasn’t even funny.

Ashley put her hands on her hips. “So are any of you asking anyone in particular?”

“As if we’d tell you,” said Heather, tossing her corkscrew curls.

Ashley leaned in over my shoulder. “How about you, Del, hmmmm?”

“None of your business,” I said.

“Look, girls,” she said to her friends. “Del is being mysterious.” She narrowed her eyes and stared at me for a moment, then laughed. “Ta-ta, see you around.”

Amy turned to me, all serious. “You should get over this Hamilton problem,” she whispered. “Otherwise Ashley’s going to ask him to the dance.”

“Fine with me,” I said between gritted teeth. “Becky and I will go stag together, won’t we, Becky?”

Becky glanced at me, looking slightly bewildered. “Um … sure,” she said.

“But what if Hamilton tries to ask you, Del?” Heather pressed on. “Are you going to turn him down?”

I crossed my arms and squared my shoulders. “Hamilton is not going to ask me because he’s not interested. End of story.”

Heather sighed.

“But just in case your crazy idea happens to be right,” I added defiantly, “he won’t be able to ask me. I’ll just avoid him. I don’t want to talk to him, anyway. It won’t be hard.”

Famous last words.