Forget-Her-Nots (19 page)

Laurel tried to sound casual. “Uh, trust me. Those aren’t what you need.”

Tara flipped her hair back. “Why not?”

“Because they’re for somebody—something—else.”

“Somebody more important than me?” said Tara petulantly.

“No.” Laurel’s eyes flicked to the basil in Whitney’s tussie. It would make this so much easier. “They’re just wrong for you. Trust me.”

Tara’s fingertips touched a yellow foxglove bloom. “Are they Kate’s?”

“No.” Laurel had to press her hands against her thighs, because the basil was so close, so tempting.

Tara lifted her nose. “What’s that smell? It’s fruity.”

“Just the orange trees.” Laurel pointed toward a corner. “They’re over there.”

“I don’t trust you,” said Tara. “So I’m going to pick my own flowers this time.” She hesitated a moment near the staircase and then headed toward the orchids.

A wave of fear washed through Laurel. No, please, no, she prayed. “There’s nothing good over there.”

Tara ignored her. Laurel hurried after her and gasped.

Tara was stroking a ruffled petal of Ms. Suarez’s orchid. “What is it?”

“An orchid,” Laurel said. “It’s totally rare, but what you smell is an orange tree. I swear. This flower might not even have a scent. I—I don’t know.”

Tara glared at Laurel. “I am sooo tired of you lying to me.”

“I’m not lying,” Laurel stuttered. “I—it’s just—”

“It’s just that you don’t like me, and you don’t want anyone else to like me.” Tara’s sudden smile was strange as she reached for something. “You think you can just walk in and take over the whole school.”

Laurel shook her head. “Why would you think that?”

“Hmm. Let’s see. You stole my spot on the soccer team, and you’re trying to steal Kate, too. I bet you sabotaged my chances with Everett.” Tara turned toward the orchid and opened the pair of scissors that was somehow in her hand.

“Stop!” Laurel yelled, waving her hands. “You can’t! This is the very first time that plant has ever flowered. Ms. Suarez has waited five whole years.”

“Not my problem.”

Laurel lunged for the bloom, but Tara was too quick. The scissors flashed. Watching the orchid drop into Tara’s hand, Laurel felt as if she’d been stabbed in the chest. “No!” she screamed.

“Yes. I’m going to wear this flower tonight.” Tara twirled it between her fingertips. “Everett will just love it.” She slinked past Laurel and headed for the door.

Laurel stared in disbelief at the severed stem. “Ms. Suarez is going to kill me.”

“
I
t’s
here! The bus is here!” yelled Kate. She dashed from the window of Laurel’s room and sat down on the bed to strap on her high heels. “Oh no! I forgot to tell Alan I was gettin’ dressed in your room.”

“He’ll search high and low to find you,” said Laurel. She had French-braided Kate’s hair, pinned it up, and attached a few forget-me-nots. “You look gorgeous.”

“Thanks.” Kate focused on her for a moment. “Now don’t forget lipstick.”

Laurel shrugged and reached for some pink gloss. “I’m just a hostess.”

“But Justin’ll be there,” Kate said in her singsong voice.

Laurel held her finger to her lips. Her feelings for
Justin weren’t common knowledge, and she wanted to keep it that way.

“Oh, I told Miss Sp—I mean, Mrs. Featherstone about the orchid,” said Kate. “She said the professor will be back tonight. They’re chaperonin’.”

Laurel’s insides hollowed with fear. But he doesn’t know what the orchid looks like, she told herself. He can’t recognize it. She wanted to tell Kate about Tara clipping it—Kate could help keep an eye on it at prom—but something stopped her. Kate knew way too much already—more than Ms. Suarez would ever want her to know.

Kate wobbled and then stood straight on her heels. “I can’t believe this is happenin’. I’m Cinderella!” She hiked up her dress and raced out the door.

Laurel’s head had felt clearer after a hot shower, but her stomach was twisted with worry about the orchid and all the tussies she’d given out. With all those floral scents whirling through the ballroom, anything might happen.

“Please don’t let Ms. Suarez find out,” she prayed. “Ouch!” She pricked her finger on a thorn as she pinned her own flowers above her ear. She’d saved the fuchsia bougainvillea—an exotic flower not mentioned in either of her books—for herself. It will mean what I want it to mean, she thought. Romance . . . and fun.

Laurel strapped on her black sandals, which were not
exactly glass slippers. If Kate was the belle of the ball, then Laurel felt more like Cinderella sweeping the hearth before the fairy godmother arrives on the scene. “Belle of the ball.” That was one meaning for orchids. They could also mean “passion.”

Laurel adjusted the flowers in her hair and spun around so that the silky skirt of her strapless black dress billowed out. Outside her window a bus horn honked three times. Holding her breath against the basil, Laurel took Whitney’s flowers out of her refrigerator, slipped them into a shopping bag, and covered them with tissue paper. She felt a little like Whitney’s fairy godmother rescuing her from the handsome prince with ulterior motives. Her phone rang just as she was shutting the door, and she ran back in.

“Hello?” she said impatiently.

“Laurel?” The voice cracked halfway through the name. “It’s Grandma Cicely.”

Laurel sat down in disbelief.

“Are you there? Are you all right, dear?”

“I—I’m fine. I got the book you sent. Thank you.”

“It was yours.”

The horn beeped again, and Laurel jumped up. “Grandma, I’m dying to talk to you, but I have to go. It’s prom tonight, and the bus is leaving.”

“Prom?”

“I’m just a hostess. Can I call you back tomorrow?”

“But I—”

“I love you, Grandma. Bye.” Laurel threw down the phone, grabbed Whitney’s flowers and flew out her door. The bus had already pulled away from the curb.

“Wait!” she screamed. The rain had stopped, but her heels sank into the soft ground.

“Please wait!” The bus lurched to a halt, the door opened, and she ran up the stairs. Kate—sitting next to Alan—waved to her from the back, but all of the seats near them were taken. Panting, Laurel scanned the rows again, but Justin wasn’t on the bus.

“You can sit there,” the driver told her. He pointed to the handicapped seat, and Laurel sat down, her heart sick with regrets.

W
ELCOME TO THE
I
SLANDS
, M
ON
! proclaimed a banner hanging over the entrance to the hotel ballroom. Laurel trailed her classmates through cardboard palm trees and crepe paper flowers on the lookout for Justin, but she didn’t see him.

“Groovy,” Nicole said sarcastically. “A disco ball.” Suspended above the dance floor, the mirrored ball cast dizzying rectangles of colored light. Nicole’s hips swayed to the reggae beat as she and Tara sashayed onto the dance floor.

Laurel found the refreshment table and hid Whitney’s flowers underneath it. Sugar cookies and triangular sandwiches were piled high on plates. Sighing, she filled a few cups with punch and set them in front of the bowl. Some Cinderella night, she thought.

“Good evening, Laurel.” Mrs. Westfall picked up a cup. “How are you?”

“Fine,” Laurel said warily. “How are you?”

Mrs. Westfall looked around. “Where are all the other hostesses?”

Laurel gestured toward the spinning lights. “On the dance floor.”

“Would you mind passing on some information to them?”

“Sure,” Laurel made herself say.

Mrs. Westfall took a step closer. “I’m concerned that someone might try to spike the punch. Would you all keep an eye on it and let us know if anyone’s acting suspicious? We don’t want any car accidents on prom night, do we?”

“No, ma’am.” Laurel scowled at the punch bowl as the principal walked away. Mrs. Westfall wanted her to snitch, as if she had friends to spare. A craving for basil flitted through her body.

“What’s wrong?” Whitney held out an empty cup. She was wearing lots of makeup and a low-cut red dress that glittered when she moved.

“Nothing,” said Laurel as she tipped the ladle over Whitney’s cup.

“You’ve got my flowers, right?”

“Yep,” said Laurel. Nicole was coming toward them.

Whitney hiccupped. “When they announce king and queen, bring them right to me, okay? I’ll be surrounded, but I’ll watch for you.”

“I’m sure you’ll be the queen,” Nicole gushed. “I voted for you.”

Laurel coughed to hide a giggle, because she’d written Rose’s name on the ballot as a joke. Her delight fizzled as she remembered her cousin wasn’t speaking to her.

Ricky walked up and slipped his arms around Whitney’s waist. “Whit, c’mon.”

Laurel couldn’t help staring. Ricky was movie-star gorgeous, and Whitney reached for his hand as they walked away. “They
look
like the perfect couple,” Laurel said.

“He is sooo hot.” Nicole took a sip of punch. “By the way, Tara’s pissed.”

“At me? Why?
She
stole the orchid, and
I’m
going to get busted.”

“But that flower doesn’t smell like anything. I gave her some of my stuff.”

Laurel frowned. She wasn’t up for dealing with Tara. “What stuff?”

“This one.” Nicole pointed to the lemon verbena—for enchantment.

Passion and enchantment, thought Laurel. Pretty potent. But she hadn’t said her words tonight—not over anyone’s flowers—and she wasn’t sure she would. There’s no point if Justin doesn’t show, she thought. She wished she’d never mentioned Justin, even to Kate.

“What about you? Who’s your target?” she asked Nicole.

Nicole shook her head. “Nuh-uh. I know better than to make public pronouncements about my personal life.”

Laurel bit into a sugar cookie. A redheaded senior stumbled and nearly fell into her date as he grabbed a sandwich from the pile. “Hey, um, Mrs. Westfall wants us to make sure the punch doesn’t get spiked and to report if anyone’s drunk,” she said.

Nicole shook her head again. “I think that’s her job, not mine.”

Frowning at the happy crowd, Laurel noticed the professor threading his way toward her. Her stomach clenched. “I have to go to—to the bathroom.”

“Laurel!” He called out before she could escape. “May I have a word with you?” The professor guided her away from the table, but she could feel Nicole’s eyes on them.

“Sheila gave me your message,” he said, his hand on
her elbow. “I’m so eager to see it. We would have gone directly to the conservatory, but there wasn’t time.”

Laurel felt like she was sitting in the first car on a monster roller coaster ascending an alpine peak. In a moment she’d feel the drop into nothingness.

“Would you like some punch?” she asked, not meeting his eyes.

“No, thank you,” said the professor.

“Sandwich?”

“No. Thank you.” He paused. “Is something wrong? You seem agitated.”

Laurel’s stomach was a massive knot, and she couldn’t draw a deep breath. “I have to tell you something,” she said. “About the orchid.”

His breath was minty as he leaned close. “It does have a pleasing scent?”

“I think so. It’s just—” Laurel paused, but nothing intervened to stop the difficult flow of truth. “It’s just somebody cut the bloom.”

The professor stepped back as if struck. “Cut?”

“It wasn’t me,” she added, shaking her head. “I know how much that flower means.”

“You have no idea.” His eyes passed back and forth. “Somebody cut it?
Why
?”

“She wanted a prom corsage.” Laurel’s voice was fast and squeaky. “She followed me into the conservatory.”

“A corsage?” he repeated with disdain. “Ms. Suarez will be livid. She was hoping to win awards with that hybrid.”

“But I didn’t do it!” Laurel protested. She flinched as cool hands came up from behind and covered her eyes.

“Didn’t do what?” Kate giggled behind her.

Laurel pulled the hands off and spun around to see Justin standing directly behind Kate. His hair was down, the way she liked it best. She met his dark eyes but couldn’t copy his smile.

“Look who I just found.” Kate bumped Laurel playfully.

“Hey,” said Justin. “Hello, Professor.” Justin leaned forward to shake hands with the older man, and his body seemed to tug on Laurel’s with the confidence of gravity.

I need to touch him, she thought. Soon.

“Hello, Justin,” said the professor. There was silence for an awkward moment, then he and Kate spoke simultaneously.

“Well, I—”

“You wanna—”

The professor bowed his head to Kate. “Please. After you.”

Kate glanced from Laurel to Justin. “The DJ’s awesome. You two need to dance.”

Laurel met Justin’s eyes again. “Want to?” he asked.

“Yes.” Laurel couldn’t keep the happiness off her face, even as she glanced over at the professor.

“Go ahead and dance,” the professor said gruffly. “It
is
prom.”

“Thank you,” said Laurel, but she felt the professor’s hand grip her arm.

“I have one question,” he whispered. “Is it here?”

Laurel nodded once. She slipped her hand into Justin’s, and a sweet shiver rippled through her body.

His head bent toward her. “What’s he talking about?”

“Nothing,” Laurel said. “Just a flower.”

“Do you always wear flowers?” Justin asked.

Laurel touched the petals above her ear and laughed. “Not always. This is a tropical plant that grows in the conservatory. I work there sometimes.” At least until Ms. Suarez finds out about the orchid, she thought.

“Sweet,” said Justin.

As Laurel followed him through the crowd, she spotted one of her bouquets. Her words began to spill out in her head.
Bright cut flowers, leaves—
but she froze the thought and stopped walking.

Justin turned around. “Something wrong?”

Laurel smiled up at him. “Nothing’s wrong.” She had another chance with Justin, and she’d make sure it was
perfect. It was too noisy for him or anyone else to hear her voice as they neared the disco ball. Holding her right hand near her flowers, she spoke her words and pictured him holding her . . . kissing her.
Again and again.

The tangy burst of sweetness made her stumble. She tugged on Justin’s arm while her tingling hand pushed on someone’s bare back to stay standing.

“Watch it!” Tara spun around so the orchid tied on her wrist was just below Laurel’s nose. Laurel stared down at it, open-mouthed. Oh no, she thought.

“I should have known it was you,” said Tara. “You’re such a klutz.”

“I—I tripped.” Laurel couldn’t take her eyes off the sunny petals, even though she knew she shouldn’t breathe its perfume—not after saying her words.

Justin put his arm around her waist. “You okay?”

Tara’s eyes flashed up to him, and her voice sweetened. “Hi, Justin. We just bumped—no biggie.”

“Yeah. That’s all.” Laurel gulped a breath, but her senses were drowning. Was it the bougainvillea or the orchid? Or the lemon verbena?

“C’mon.” Justin tugged on her arm. “This is a great song.” He led her to the very center of the dance floor and let go of her hand. She looked around self-consciously, but surrounded by the crowd, they were nearly invisible. The music was fast, and the beat was strong. No one was
watching her, not even Justin, who danced confidently, loosely, singing along to the lyrics. Her head seemed to clear, and she relaxed as the persistent beat seeped into her bloodstream.

Maybe this will be my Cinderella night, Laurel thought. She raised her arms and swayed her hips to the beat.

The song ended too soon, and nearby a senior couple kissed. Other couples stood side-by-side, waiting for the first notes of the next song to cue them into motion. Laurel heard a burst of Kate’s laughter. A couple jostled through the crowd, and Laurel stepped closer to Justin to get out of their way.

“Hey,” he said softly. His fingertips grazed the length of her arm.

“Hey,” she echoed, and reached up to tuck his hair behind one ear. He laughed and shook it loose.

The DJ’s smooth voice interrupted. “I usually don’t slow it down this early, but I got ladies here who want to get close to you guys. I got one thing to say. Awwriiight!”

It was a love song played by a hard-rock band. Justin put out his left hand, and their fingers intertwined. His other hand pressed the small of her back as a soulful voice rose above a strumming guitar. Laurel had never felt so alive, so aware of her heart pumping. So aware of
his body brushing hers as they turned under the glittering ball.

“You smell so good,” he whispered. Her neck tingled with his warm breath.