Forget-Her-Nots (2 page)

Everett’s hand waved at her. “Where can I get one?”

“You mean a flower book?” Laurel asked cautiously.

“No, a
luv
bouquet.” Everett’s grin oozed with self-satisfaction, and even the teachers smiled.

Laurel felt a flicker of resentment, but she’d known guys like him at her old school—guys so pretty they could get away with murder. She spoke deliberately, as if talking to a toddler. “If you
really
need one, Everett, like, desperately, you could make one all by yourself.” She
picked up the flower photo and laid it on his desk. “And why don’t you start with this one? A narcissus is perfect for you.”

“Ooooh,” said several kids in the class.

“What’s it mean again?” Tara said.

Laurel ventured a glance at the black-haired boy, who was grinning at her. “I found an antique language of flowers book in Avondale’s library, too,” she added with a sudden rush of confidence. “I’m sure they’d let you use that, if you ask nicely.”

Everett slapped his desk. “I’ll get right on it.”

Tara pointed to the tussie lying on the desk. “What are you doing with that one?”

Laurel looked down at the bouquet, and her breath caught at its loveliness. “I—I don’t know. Maybe I’ll give it to someone.”

“Someone you
luv
?” Nicole’s eyebrows shot above her purple frames.

Laurel dropped her eyes at the scattered giggles so that guy didn’t catch her looking.

“Do the fuzzy-wuzzy thingies actually work?” Tara smiled sideways at Everett, but he didn’t seem to notice.

Laurel shrugged. “I guess if you gave someone certain flowers, and they knew the language, then they could decipher your message.”

“That’s way too complicated,” said Nicole. “I’d rather text.”

“Can I have
that
bouquet?” Tara asked in her most saccharine voice.

In your dreams, Laurel thought. But if she gave Tara the flowers, Tara might be nicer or leave her alone. Her fingers closed around the stems, and the words rose again:
Bright cut flowers, leaves of green
 . . . . Tingling energy pricked at her fingers and swooshed up her arm, but this time she was ready. Within moments the sensation had spread so that every cell in her body tingled pleasantly, warmly—like a deep shiver that didn’t end.
Spizzy, tinny, dingly
.

“I—I’ll give this to somebody,” Laurel said, mesmerized by the mingling scents, which were like honey on her tongue . . . honey to her soul.

Everett’s hand sliced the air. “Me! Oh, oh, give it to me.” Mr. Thomas stepped forward and bent over him.

Phrases from the language of flowers flitted through Laurel’s mind: the return of happiness . . . hope . . . fidelity. She couldn’t give the tussie to the nice guy; she didn’t even know his name. Her eyes alighted on Spinster Spenser, who read them love poems with such passion. Laurel skirted the upstretched arms of Tara and Nicole as the tingling in her hand grew nearly painful. Passing the black-haired boy, she stumbled over nothing and then halted before Miss Spenser.

“These are yours.” Laurel pressed the flowers into her teacher’s hands.

“Mine? Good gracious!” Miss Spenser’s blue eyes widened. “They’re lovely. Thank you, dear.”

A wall of whispers rose around Laurel as she walked to her desk. She could feel Tara’s glare hot on her back.

L
aurel
set her lunch tray at the end of a long wooden dining table and slid her basket underneath; it didn’t fit in her locker. The cavernous hall was crowded with Willowlawn guys, but she didn’t see her cousin Rose anywhere. Laurel guessed Rose was in a lab somewhere, probably eating lunch with her Bunsen burner.

Kate set her tray on the edge of the table. “It’s sooo crowded with all these boys.”

“Yeah,” said Laurel. Her table was almost empty. “Really crowded.”

“Have you seen Tara or Nicole?” Kate scanned the crowd. “Some geeks are sittin’ in our place.”

“Nope,” said Laurel. “Haven’t seen them.”

“I give.” Kate slid her tray across from Laurel. “Can I sit here? I’m starvin
’
.”

“Sure.” Laurel watched Kate take an enormous bite of her sandwich. “So when do we find out about soccer?” It was a conversation starter, as her lobbyist dad would say.

“Two or three weeks.” Kate set down the sandwich and finished chewing. “You all right? You seemed out of it in English.”

Laurel stretched her hand underneath the table, but it felt normal now. “Just fine.”

Kate squeezed ketchup over a mound of fries. “Your presentation was pretty cool. I like flowers.”

“Thanks.” The flowers she’d given Kate that morning were now wilting on her tray.

“Everyone kinda thought you were the shy, wallflowery type, but they’re wrong, aren’t they?” said Kate. “You dissed Everett good.”

Laurel couldn’t help grinning.

“But why did you give that bouquet to Spinster Spenser?” Kate lowered her voice. “Tara is totally annoyed, and she’s sayin’ you’re a little brownnose.”

“I am
not
a brownnose.” Laurel ripped open a package of saltines and crumbled them into her soup.

“I’m just telling you what people are sayin’,” said Kate. “Don’t you care?”

Laurel wished she didn’t. “Am I supposed to do whatever Tara wants?”

“No. But she asked for that bouquet nicely.”

“It wasn’t hers,” said Laurel.

Kate shrugged. “Why not?”

“Because she’s a total pain.” Laurel’s body tensed. What if Kate reported this conversation directly to Tara?

“She’s not
that
bad,” Kate whispered. “But she’s pretty worried about soccer. You’re a decent wing, and that’s her position.”

“You know she plays prissy defense,” Laurel whispered. “What am I supposed to do? Screw up my tryout?”

“No way,” Kate said between fries. “I wanna win.”

Laurel wanted to scream loud and long. She’d imagined that transferring to Avondale, her mom’s dear alma mater, would be exponentially better than this. Several silent moments passed as she stewed in self-pity. Then Kate’s hands moved to pick up her tray, and Laurel realized she was blowing what might be her one and only chance with Kate.

“You
really
want to know why I gave Miss Spenser the flowers?” she said.

“I asked, didn’t I?”

“Okay.” Laurel leaned closer. “So I had this bizarre feeling that the tussie—the flowers—belonged to her. That she
needed
them.”

“For what?” Kate said. “A love bouquet? She’s taught here forever, and I don’t think she’s ever had a boyfriend. Tara says—”

“I’m sure she’s had a boyfriend at
some
point,” Laurel interrupted. She was not about to let Miss Spenser’s love life be dismissed so easily. When her teacher’s voice rose and fell with the rhythms of a poem, Laurel felt a gaping emptiness she wished she knew how to fill. “Maybe Miss Spenser had a
secret
romance. I think she’s pretty.”

Kate’s nose wrinkled. “With all that frizzy orange hair?”

“It’s red.” Laurel held up a strand of her own brown, shoulder-length hair. “And my hair is frizzy, too.”

Kate shook her head. “No, yours is naturally wavy, and it matches your eyes. Mine’s too straight.”

Kate’s thick blonde hair seemed perfect, like everything else about her. Laurel glanced up as a group of guys passed close to their table. Her heart skipped when she pointed discreetly to the black-haired one from class. “Hey. Do you know who that is?”

“Justin Takahashi.” Kate’s eyebrows lifted. “Are you interested?”

“No. I—uh—he seems all right.” Laurel stopped herself, worried that she’d blabbed too much already. She watched Justin until he sat down on the other side of the cafeteria with his back to her. When she’d met his eyes
during English class, she’d felt a twinge of connection, a rare feeling for her lately.

Kate’s face softened into a smile. “Oh, riiight. Justin told Everett to shut up, didn’t he? So you should thank him—maybe send him one of those flower messages.”

“A tussie-mussie?” Laurel asked incredulously.

“Yeah.”

Laurel shook her head. “No way. Maybe an e-mail, or I could text him.”
Merde
. She kept forgetting that her cell phone was locked in the school office with hundreds of others. A drug scandal had roiled the campus the year before, and—Rose had explained—the principal was convinced that cell phones and BlackBerries made “illicit trafficking” of anything too easy. Avondale students were allowed to check out their phones only when they left campus.

“But Justin’s kinda different,” said Kate. “I bet no girl’s ever given him flowers.”

Laurel stared at the now-mushy crackers floating in her soup because she didn’t trust herself to meet Kate’s eyes.

“What does this flower mean again?” Kate pointed at a snowdrop on her tray.

“Hope.” It had been a while since Laurel had dared to hope for anything good.

“What about my flowers?” Kate lifted the drooping bunch off her tray. “Are they a tuzzy-wuzzy?”

“Tussie-mussie, and they look parched. Here.” Laurel scooped an ice cube out of Kate’s water glass and onto her tray. Kate started to put the stems in the makeshift vase.

“Wait a sec,” Laurel said. “You want some myrtle, too? It’s for love.” Pulling her basket up to the bench, she pulled out green sprigs, some ribbon, and scissors.

“Sure.” Kate leaned over. “May I have a few of those little white ones, too?”

“That’s lily of the valley, for the return of happiness.” Like anyone can make that happen, Laurel added to herself. Pulling a few blooms out, she snipped half an inch off the stems, like her mom had always done, and handed the flowers to Kate.

“Thanks.” Kate put them in the water, and Laurel glanced down at her own mystery bouquet in the basket. It was wilting, too. She snipped its stems and put it into her water glass, along with the other flowers left over from her presentation.

“Where’d that one come from?” said Kate, pointing to the mystery bouquet.

Laurel couldn’t quite trust her. “I was just playing around—like for practice.”

“I love that red flower,” said Kate. “Do you have any more?”

Laurel shook her head. She wished she knew where
to find that one, but she hadn’t seen any red flowers in the garden. And if this was a tussie-mussie, she couldn’t translate its message until she knew all the names.

“Hey, look.” Kate pointed across the room. “Spinster Spenser brought hers, too.”

Laurel turned to see the teacher walking toward the faculty table with her tussie-mussie in a vase on her tray. “Why’d she bring it here?”

“Duh,” said Kate. “She
needs
it. You just said that.”

Laurel craned her neck. Directly across the table from Miss Spenser, a man with gray hair and a striped bow tie stood up and extended his hand. Laurel stood up, too.

“Where are you goin’?” asked Kate.

Laurel flexed the hand that was starting to tingle again. “I need to see . . . .” Dodging a noisy group of upperclassmen, she grabbed a mustard packet from the condiment cart as an alibi and walked toward the faculty table. Miss Spenser had placed her flowers in the middle, and the bow-tie man was leaning forward, so that his face hovered over the blooms. Laurel blinked in disbelief. She could practically see the swirl of fragrances streaming up, up, and into his nose.

Now! she thought. Her right hand seemed to lift on its own and reach toward the bouquet. “Bright cut flowers,” she whispered, “leaves of green, bring about what I have seen.” When the last word left her tongue,
her whole body tingled and hummed, as if a note was reverberating deeply inside her. She closed her eyes and pictured the bow-tie man walking hand in hand with Miss Spenser . . . him taking her in his arms.
That
was what she wanted to see.

When Laurel’s eyes opened, the air around the vase seemed to shimmer—like heat rising—with the sudden explosion of fragrance. Someone sneezed twice, and the professor slowly straightened and blinked at the flowers.

At the far end of the table a tall woman with olive-toned skin stood up and looked around urgently. She lifted her nose and then turned toward Laurel, who dropped her hand. The woman’s eyes met hers in a question, but Laurel took a step backward.

“Ow!” cried a voice behind her. “My toe.”

“Oops.” Laurel turned around to face a seventh grader. “Sorry.”

Tara was standing right behind her, holding salt packets. “Hi, Laurel. How’s the weather in la-la land? Find some new friends there?”

Laurel realized that she was standing next to the seventh grade table. Most of the younger girls were staring up at her, and one pointed at her hip. Mustard had oozed between Laurel’s fingers and splattered on her uniform skirt, even though she didn’t remember squeezing the packet. Her face warmed.

“They’re about your speed,” said Tara as she walked away.

“Here.” Another seventh grader handed Laurel some napkins.

“Thanks.” Laurel wiped off the mustard and walked back to her table. Tara was already there, and at her approach leaned toward Kate to whisper. Kate covered her mouth but a loud giggle escaped.

Tara grinned smugly. “Later, Little Red.”

Biting the inside of her lip, Laurel looped the basket over her arm and picked up her tray with the mystery bouquet still in the water glass. Tara’s eyes darted from those flowers to Kate’s, but Laurel swiveled out of Tara’s reach.

Walking to the conveyor belt, Laurel stole a glance at Justin, but he wasn’t looking her way. Hope he missed all that, she thought. At the faculty table the bow-tie man was still talking animatedly with Miss Spenser. Laurel tucked her flowers under her coat and hurried past the cafeteria monitor.

Thwump!
Laurel trapped the loose soccer ball with the inside of her foot. She waited for the defender to rush two steps closer and then tapped the ball left and turned on the speed. She was flying down the sideline with the ball dribbled close. She heard her name and saw Kate
running down the center of the field. Quickly judging the distance to make the cross, Laurel lofted the ball over a fullback’s head. It landed just ahead of Kate, who dribbled around the last defender.

“Shoot!”
Laurel yelled. Kate slowed to aim and then the ball sailed off her cleat. The goalie dove, but the ball landed neatly in the corner of the net.

“Yes!” Laurel threw up her arms and jumped into the air. Kate held out her fist, and Laurel tapped it with her own.

“That was awesome,” Kate said. “Sweet pass.”

“Amazing shot,” Laurel said.

“You dusted Tara,” Kate whispered.

Did I? Laurel thought. On the field she saw only shirt colors, cleats, and the checkered ball while the rest of the world fell blissfully away.

“Nice assist!” A tall girl with cocoa-colored skin yelled from the sideline.

“That’s Tashi, the varsity captain,” Kate said. “She rocks.”

Coach Peters blew a long whistle, and the girls headed to the sidelines. Licking the sweat off her lips, Laurel reached for her water bottle and sat cross-legged in the grass next to a curly-haired forward named Ally.

“Great pass,” whispered Ally. “You’re way fast.”

“Thanks.” Laurel was thrilled that everyone had seen.
That assist had to get the coach’s attention. She’d been a starter at her middle school, and she couldn’t imagine spring without soccer.

“Fabulous practice, girls,” said Coach. “I’m going to have to make some tough cuts, but I’ll have the roster soon.”

Laurel ripped off a fat blade of grass and rubbed it between her thumbs. Making the team was her best chance to break through some of the entrenched cliques. She knew she was better than several other girls—Tara, especially—but the newest building had been donated by Tara’s dad.

“Hey, Laurel,” Kate called. She, Tara, and Ally had started toward campus for dinner, but Kate had turned around. “You comin’ with?”

“Sure.” Laurel jogged to catch up, her spirits rising in a rush of gratitude. As soon as the coach was out of sight, Tara pulled out her cell phone and started texting someone. Laurel was surprised anyone was willing to risk the harsh punishment, a dorm-and-classroom-only suspension, but Tara seemed to get away with more than most.

“Does Everett
ever
answer you?” asked Kate.

Tara narrowed her eyes at Kate. “Not now,” she said through clenched teeth.

Laurel looked away to hide the start of a smile. All was not perfect in Tara-land.

The shortest path to the dining hall took them past several teacher homes. Laurel’s favorite was Miss Spenser’s neat white cottage, with its purple shutters and a porch swing, but looking that way, she froze. Miss Spenser was standing on her porch with the bow-tie man, and the vase with Laurel’s flowers was on a table next to the swing.

Laurel tugged on the back of Kate’s T-shirt and waited for the other girls to move out of earshot. She pointed toward the porch. “Who’s he?”

“I don’t know,” said Kate.

“Doesn’t he teach at Willowlawn? He was in the dining hall.”

“He was?” Kate shrugged. “I don’t recognize him.”

Kate kept walking, but Laurel hurried past the next cottage and then circled around the back to its other side. Ducking, she sprinted across a driveway and crouched behind a bank of azaleas not yet blooming. A piece of gravel skittered behind her, and Laurel turned to see Kate following her.

“What are you doin’?” Kate whispered. “Spying?”