Forget-Her-Nots (17 page)

Ms. Suarez glanced at her watch. “Oh no! I’ve got to run. My plane leaves in a few hours.”

“Your plane? Where are you going?”

“Costa Rica,” said Ms. Suarez. “They’re building a hotel for ecotourists and have endangered a rare orchid habitat. It makes me furious!”

Laurel suddenly felt forlorn. She wanted to hold on to someone her mom had trusted with secrets. “Can’t somebody else go? How am I going to learn about my gift?”

“I’ll be gone only a week. Luke—the professor—has agreed to care for the conservatory, and you can help. I left instructions.”

Laurel’s forehead wrinkled. “
He
has the gift?”

“No, but he’s decent with flowers,” said Ms. Suarez, squeezing Laurel’s shoulder. “Spend time with the blooms, but make bouquets only when absolutely necessary.
Please
.” Ms. Suarez kissed her on both cheeks and hurried away.

But prom’s next weekend, Laurel thought. Putting her garland back on her head, Laurel wound through the rainbowlike gardens and stopped at the edge of the gathering. A stray program lay in the grass, and she found the Hopkins poem reprinted there. She spotted Justin across the lawn with Mina. Laurel started walking, lifting her hand toward the flowers, and saying, “Bright cut flowers, leaves—”

But she stopped speaking and slowed down as she realized that Mina was seriously flirting with Justin, as she saw him put his arm around Mina’s shoulder. Wearing a low-cut green silk dress, Mina looked exotic and gorgeous as she smiled up at him.

Laurel looked down at the modest dress she’d borrowed. I look like I’m twelve, she thought.

“Hey, flower-power chick.” Tara was at her elbow. “Have you heard?”

“Heard what?” Laurel said shortly.

“Alan just asked Kate to prom,” said Tara. “So please get to work on
my
flowers.”

Laurel gawked at her. “You’re kidding, right? You’ve been abusing me nonstop.”

Tara smiled knowingly. “Of course I have. We don’t want
everyone
to believe in your flowers. We don’t want just
anyone
to have them, do we? They should be reserved for special people.”

“Like you?” Laurel said incredulously.

“Exactly.”

“No way.”

Tara’s face hardened. “Look, Laur-
elle
. You think you’re special, but I can crush you if I want. I want some flowers to make Everett like me, and I want them by Wednesday. Got it?”

Tara walked away, and Laurel looked around for Justin and Mina. They were headed into Ms. Suarez’s garden. That should so be me, she thought.

T
he
conservatory felt light-years from campus to Laurel. An orangey fragrance saturated the bright light streaming through the glass ceiling. Clearing off some terra-cotta pots, she set her backpack on a rustic table far from the orchids. She taped a photograph of herself and her mom before the cancer to the window. It was Sunday, so she could spend the whole afternoon here.

Since the wedding Laurel had avoided both Rose and Mina. If she didn’t confirm that Justin was dating Mina, she could still cling to hope. Strangely, no one had seemed to be talking about it at chapel or brunch that morning. Browsing the aisles, Laurel removed dead blooms and checked for moistness, according to Ms. Suarez’s
notes. Creamy blooms still graced several gardenia plants, so she made a mental note to pick some later for Tara. Laurel had managed to patch things up with Kate, but she wasn’t up to battling Tara. Kate had some bizarre loyalty to that girl that Laurel couldn’t fathom.

She picked up an herb marker from a container:
SWEET BASIL
. Moving down the row, she found another marked just
BASIL
. She carried one of each plant to her table, sat on a stool, and leafed through her paperback. Basil was for hatred, but sweet basil meant “good wishes.” Laurel wasn’t sure if it was luck or intuition that had made her pick the right one for Robbie. And she was positive her mom had cooked with
sweet
basil.

But plain basil had made her feel strong and focused at the soccer game and at the diner. This was the plant that would help her stand up to people like Tara and Susan. Her dad had just caught her off-guard, and she’d let her temper flare as never before. She rubbed a leaf and lifted it to her nose.

I’ll just have to watch what I say, she thought. I can handle basil. Nothing else could be as bad as her dad betraying her mom’s memory. She put the sweet basil back and grabbed another plain one to take back to her room.

A gardenia for Tara; basil for Whitney. The contrast reminded her of Justin’s poem, which she reread last
night along with her mom’s letter.
Swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim
—everything and its opposite. That’s my life, she thought.

The handle of the conservatory door jiggled, and the door began to open. Laurel ducked behind a small tree and watched the professor step inside.

“Professor Featherstone,” she called out. “It’s Laurel.”

“Good afternoon, Laurel,” he said in his leisurely accent. His shoes squeaked across the damp floor. “It’s so refreshing to see a young person interested in horticulture.”

Laurel started walking toward him; she didn’t want him to tell Ms. Suarez she was making bouquets. Off to one side a cascade of fuchsia-colored flowers caught her eye, and she stopped. “Wow. What’s this?”

“Bougainvillea.” The professor gently cupped a bright frond. “It’s tropical.”

Laurel’s eyes drank in the carnival colors as she leaned forward.

“Alas,” he said, “it has no scent.”

Laurel turned to hide her smile at the exotic aroma sweeping through her.

He pushed his fingertips into the soil. “Still moist. May I show you something that
should
have an amazing scent?”

“Sure.” Following him through the tables, Laurel felt a spasm of panic when she realized where they were headed.

“After you.” The professor stopped at the orchid enclosure and extended his hand.

She wrapped her fingers around the cool metal framework and hesitated. Ms. Suarez had said to avoid the orchids, but Laurel’s eyes danced from one extraordinary bloom to another. Small yellow flowers dotted with maroon flung themselves from a tangle of roots. Lacy pink petals pouted, like the orchid in the woods. Silky white blooms glowed ghostlike. She took a shallow breath and stepped inside.

“It’s a remarkable collection,” he said. “Ms. Suarez has over a hundred orchids. I have only a dozen myself. Do you understand what a hybrid is?”

Her eyes followed his finger to waxy leaves above curly roots. Purplish buds were emerging from the center. “A hybrid’s when you combine two things?”

“Correct.” He unwound a hose from its hook. “There are over twenty-five thousand naturally occurring species of orchid and over thirty thousand man-made hybrids. This one is a hybrid Ms. Suarez created. If the bloom is appealing, this plant could be worth thousands.”

Laurel’s mouth gaped. “Of dollars? For one plant?”

The professor nodded. “That one”—he pointed to
another—“is a descendent of one collected in Borneo in the eighteen hundreds for the renowned conservatory of King Leopold of Belgium. Overcollected, I should say. The species is believed to be extinct in the wild.”

Laurel rubbed her nose and smelled basil on her fingertips. “If it’s extinct, then why does Ms. Suarez have it?”

The professor smiled. “You’ve heard of Gladys and Edmund du Valle?”

“Of course.” She was starting to relax; her body felt perfectly normal.

“A descendent of Gladys’s sister is alive in England on the family estate and still tending that conservatory. When Ms. Suarez renovated this one, she implored the woman to send orchids to restock it. The woman sent ten, including the priceless Borneo species. Clearly she had no idea. Ms. Suarez then cross-pollinated it with a very fragrant cattleya orchid. She’s waited five years for the bloom.”

“Five years? You’re kidding.”

“No,” he said. “Ms. Suarez also told me an intriguing legend about that Borneo habitat. This particular orchid is found only in a place called Mount Kinabalu. According to local lore, the spirits of the dead ascend to that mount when they depart their bodies.”

A shudder passed through Laurel’s body. My mom, too?

“You’ve heard of the Galapagos Islands?” asked the professor.

“Darwin went there?”

“Exactly. Mount Kinabalu has a similarly unique ecosystem. Species thrive there that grow
nowhere
else. We’re all very excited to see this bloom. It could be breathtaking.”

The lady slipper orchid in the woods had taken Laurel’s breath away.
Literally
. She rubbed her nose and sniffed basil again.

“Orchids are the most complex flowers in the world,” he continued. “They grow everywhere, from the tropical rain forests to the Arctic Circle. Some have the scent of chocolate. Others reek like roadkill. All to attract a specific pollinator.”

Laurel pointed to the bud. “Could that one reek?”

His face crinkled with amusement. “It’s highly unlikely. Both the parents emit pleasant scents.”

“So this one should, too?”

“It should,” he said. “If you’re in the right place at the right time. Orchids sometimes release their fragrance in a quick burst, and some release only at night. It’s a strange trick.”

Laurel suddenly felt warm, and her heartbeat pulsed at her temples. She turned away from the orchids and passed several tables before leaning on one.

The professor followed her. “Are you feeling all right? You look pale.”

“I’m just tired,” said Laurel, lifting her hand to her face.

“Your generation is far too casual about sleep.” The professor took out his wallet and handed his card to her. “May I ask a favor? Contact me immediately if that orchid opens. Ms. Suarez believed she’d return in time, but the bud’s swelling.”

On Tuesday afternoon Laurel stood at the window of her class and watched Justin walk to his with Alan. She felt her stomach drop, even though she didn’t want it to, but stayed out of his sight. Kate was heading to Willowlawn every chance she got and had invited her along for Wednesday dinner, but Laurel didn’t think she could handle watching Justin and Mina together. She told Kate she was busy.

On Wednesday she gave both Kate and Tara tussies with gardenia and forget-me-nots to take with them. After practice she slipped away from her teammates and headed to the conservatory until she was sure they’d left for Willowlawn.

The basil plants Laurel had brought back were thriving on her sunny windowsill. Basil made her body surge with power, and its scent must have counteracted the
orchids. Still, she was careful not to say her words in her room with basil around. She’d moved one of the plants to her desk and was toying with its leaves when someone knocked.

“Hey.” Kate went straight for Laurel’s mom’s chair. “Where have
you
been?”

“Busy. I had to check on some plants in the conservatory after practice.”

“But I thought you were still comin’,” said Kate. “We almost missed the bus lookin’ for you.”

“Nope.” Laurel sat down backward on her desk chair. “Not this time.”

“But you’re never gonna get to know any guys if you don’t start goin’ to dinner.”

Laurel pulled off a leaf and rolled it between her fingers. “I didn’t think you or Tara really wanted me along.”

Kate almost snorted. “Well, Tara won’t anymore.
That’s
for sure.”

Laurel’s skin prickled anxiously. “Why not?”

“Your flowers messed with her brain,” said Kate. “She’s not even back yet.”

“Is she with Everett?”

“Nope. They decided she had to be feverish or high and took her to the clinic.”

“They? What happened? I
told
her to be discreet.”

“Hardly.” Kate leaned forward in the chair. “So, Tara had the flowers in a shoppin’ bag and went over to Everett and took ’em out. He smiled that lopsided grin of his. Then Tara shoved the flowers at him, but he leaned back and fell off the bench. So Tara yelled, ‘Everett, honey!’ And then the whole cafeteria burst out laughin’. Tara tried to get him to smell them again, but Everett yelled, ‘Get off me, you frickin’ lunatic!’ Then the cafeteria monitor grabbed Tara’s arm and wouldn’t let her near him.”

Laurel let her head drop forward against the desk chair. “She’s going to kill me.”

“Yeah, but she’s the one who acted like a ‘frickin’ lunatic.’”

“But she’ll blame
me
for it.” Laurel lifted the basil leaf close to her nose. What if Tara had spilled everything to some teacher? “Did she mention my name?”

Kate was studying her fingernails. “I don’t know. But there’s no way Everett’s askin’ her to prom.”

“I don’t get it. My flowers should have worked.” I said all the words, she thought.

“He kept turning away,” said Kate. “Maybe he didn’t get a good enough whiff.”

Laurel rubbed her temples, and the scent of basil seemed to strengthen. “But you and Alan are still hot and heavy, right?”

Kate smiled and nodded. “He asked me to come to his track meet on Saturday afternoon. Wanna go with me?”

“Saturday afternoon? But you said you’d help me with the prom tussies then. And it’s going to take all day. You can’t desert me.”

“I’m not desertin’ you,” said Kate, looking at the floor. “Anyone can help you. Admit it: you love all these girls wantin’ your flowers. You love all this attention.”

Laurel was stunned. That last comment didn’t sound like Kate
at all
. She opened her desk drawer. “Look at all these notes. I’ve got to make twenty bouquets, and you promised to help. You said you’d be a hostess with me, too.”

Kate stood up. “You want me to pass up a prom date so I can ladle punch?”

“I didn’t say that,” Laurel said. “It’s just—it’s just that you had a life before Alan. Remember? And now you act like he rules your life.”

“He doesn’t
rule
me.” Kate crossed her arms. “You should be happy for me; you’re my friend. Have you even been in love? It changes everything.”

“Friend?” Laurel’s rising anger felt clean and pure. “Puh-leeeze. You’re spending all your time with Alan and Tara.”

“Well, what do you expect? You’re never around anymore. You’re always in the gardens or at the conservatorium.”

“It’s conserva-
tory
.” Laurel flung the word. “And you’re obsessed with Alan.”

“Well, you’re obsessed with flowers,” said Kate. “You’re turnin’ back into this weirdo hermit like you were when you got here.”

Laurel twisted the basil leaf and tried to calm her breathing. “Look. When will Alan’s track meet be over? Maybe you can help me after? Or in the morning?” It was a long shot. Kate slept until noon on Saturday unless they had a game.

Kate didn’t meet her eyes. “I have to see when the bus is leavin.’ Can’t we just have fun? I mean, we’re both goin’ to prom.”

Laurel snickered. “Not exactly.”

“But Justin’ll be there,” said Kate. “I’m sure.”

With Mina. Laurel looked away. “He’s not really my type.”

Kate threw up her hands. “How would you know? Have you even had a boyfriend?”

Laurel’s anger and disappointment felt like a hot, churning mass she wanted to aim right at Kate. “Get out,” she said. Snarky comments shot through her head, but she pressed her lips together.

Kate let out an exasperated groan as she threw open the door. Slamming it behind her, Laurel clenched her teeth and willed herself not to cry.

Laurel’s eyes scanned the office as she waited for the principal to get off the phone. A dried, dusty flower arrangement topped one bookcase, but there was nothing fresh and living in the room. Laurel had no idea why she’d been summoned. Nervousness spread through her body like an itch. Did Tara snitch on me at Willowlawn?

Mrs. Westfall hung up and pressed her lips into a half-smile. “Thanks for coming in, Laurel. I’m sure you know something about the history of this school?”

“A little,” said Laurel.

“Well, after the unfortunate scandals last year we now require our students and parents to sign a waiver allowing us to search rooms and lockers if drugs are suspected.”

“Drugs?” Laurel was so confused she felt light-headed.

“Yes. I’ll come right to the point. We received a note, searched your locker, and found this.” She set a baggie of something greenish brown on her desk. “Is it yours?”

Laurel stared at it. “I guess so. Can I smell it? I think it’s basil.”

“It is, but what’s it doing in your locker?” Mrs. Westfall pointed to another dried herb. “And rosemary, too?”

Laurel shifted in the chair. “I like the smell, and it helps me focus. My mom had a big herb garden, so it reminds me of her.” There. She’d played the dead-mother card.