Best Buds (2 page)

Maybe I can get by without being seen
, I thought.
That would be a nice way to end the school year.
But no such luck.

“Well, hello, Delphinium,” Ashley said. She and her two goons stepped in front of me, stopping me in my tracks. I noticed that Rachel and Sabrina were each holding a small stack of cream-colored envelopes in their hands reverentially, as if they were made of pure gold.

I gave Ashley a dirty look. True, Delphinium
is
my
given name. The girls on my mom’s side of the family all have flower names. We have an Iris (my gran), a Lily (my great-aunt), a Daisy (my mom), a Rose (my younger sister), an Aster (my other younger sister, and Rose’s twin), a Poppy (my littlest sister) and yes, a …
Delphinium.
A delphinium is a very pretty purplish blue flower, but it’s definitely a difficult name. For the most part, I prefer to be called Del. Ashley, who used to be my best friend back in preschool until we had a falling out, knows this and therefore calls me by my full name all the time. Just to annoy me. That’s the kind of person she is.

“Hello, Ashley,” I said. I nodded to her friends, who have such similar looks it is hard to tell them apart sometimes. “Rachel, Sabrina,” I said to them both. I moved to walk past them, but they blocked my way. Frustrated, I turned to Ashley. She had layered two expensive-looking tank tops over each other, looped a thin dark brown belt around her waist, and wore a handkerchief hem skirt and delicate sandals. I glanced down at my white capri pants, colorful Vans, and tie-dyed T-shirt. I had thought my outfit was stylish when I had looked at myself in the mirror
that morning. I shook my head. Fashion-wise, there was just no competing with Ashley,

“Well, this is awk,” said Ashley. She loves to talk in shorthand. Why use a full recognizable word when a confusing abbreviation will do? I find it totally ridic, to be honest.

I gave her a puzzled look.

“Me with a stack of invites.” She gave me a fake sympathetic smile. “And none for you.”

“Oh, are you having a party?” I asked, playing dumb.

“Of course,” she said rolling her eyes. “It’s my thirteenth.” She gave me a condescending smile. “And what are you doing for
your
birthday?” she asked.

“I’m going on vacation,” I told her, though it bothered me that I felt like I had to explain anything to her.

“Europe?” asked Ashley. “That’s where I went for my twelfth. Paris is lovely this time of year.”

I lifted my chin proudly. “No, Maine,” I said. Sabrina and Rachel snickered.

Ashley raised her eyebrows. “Interesting choice,” she replied, making it perfectly clear that there was absolutely nothing interesting about it at all. Then she turned to her
friends. “Let’s go,” she told them. “These invites won’t hand out themselves!”

I stared after her retreating back, shaking my head. Ashley was one of a kind. Thank goodness.

All thoughts of Ashley left my head as soon as I saw my friends gathered together outside. Jessica was hugging everyone like she was never going to see them again. When I broke into the circle she threw her arms around my neck. “I’ll miss you guys so much!” she said.

I patted her on the back. “We’ll iChat,” I promised. “Plus, you’ll be having so much fun learning to surf you won’t even think about us.”

Jessica brightened. “That’s right!” she said. We all rolled our eyes. That was so Jessica! After promising to bring us each back some chocolate-covered macadamia nuts, Jess headed home to finish packing. Amy and Heather left together next, goofily waving and blowing kisses. Finally, it was just me and Becky.

“Hey, guess what I just found out,” I said, remembering Ashley’s party. But Becky wasn’t paying attention to me. She was staring into the distance, a funny look on her
face. I wasn’t used to my very focused BFF spacing out, so it took me a moment to realize what was going on.

Incoming boy, ten o’clock.

“Hey, Becky,” said Matt, grinning goofily.

“Hey, Matt,” said Becky shyly.

“So I was wondering if maybe …” Matt’s voice trailed off and he glanced in my direction, clearly embarrassed that I was there.

I stepped back to give them some privacy — and banged right into someone.

I grimaced, hoping against hope it wasn’t …

“Hello, Delfartcushion,” Bob said. And then he laughed so hard at his own joke he nearly choked. He must have been working on that one for weeks. I watched him, completely unamused.

“At least you crack
yourself
up,” I said, shaking my head.

Bob Zimmer was Matt’s best friend and the Most Annoying Boy in the Entire Seventh Grade. Correction. The Most Annoying Boy in Sarah Josepha Hale Middle School. If there was ever a vote, I’m sure it would be unanimous.

But, I realized, Bob hadn’t quite been himself since Matt started crushing on my best friend. I decided to take pity on him and gave him a sympathetic glance.

He looked at me in alarm. “What, do you have a crush on me, or something?” he said rather loudly.

“As if!” I sputtered. “Go away, Bob,” I said. With any luck I wouldn’t have to see him again until September.

Becky, who had been in deep conversation with Matt, missed the whole thing. She said her good-byes and headed over to me, her face glowing. “Hey, my mom’s here to pick me up. You want a ride home?”

“That’s all right,” I said. “I don’t mind walking.”

“We’ll get together before I leave,” she said. “I promise. And I’m really sorry about not celebrating your birthday today. I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”

“It’s okay,” I assured her. “I’ll talk to you later.”

After Becky had zoomed off in her mom’s bright red car, I scanned the front of the school for stragglers. Not that I was looking for anyone, mind you. But there was one person I wouldn’t mind saying good-bye to before I left….

My face lit up as I spotted him, leaning against the handrail by the front steps. He waved to me and I headed toward him.

“Hey,” I said when I got close enough to Hamilton Baldwin, the newest and cutest boy in the school. I had received text confirmation (from Hamilton himself) that he liked me, but we had never managed to hang out together since then. Now seemed like a pretty good time for him to ask me to do something this summer. And I was totally prepared to say yes.

“Hey, Del,” he said. “Can you believe it’s the last day of school?”

“I can’t,” I said. “It went so fast.” I took a deep breath.
Here goes nothing,
I thought. “So, any plans this summer?” I asked, I hoped, quite casually.

I stole a quick glance at him. Tall, longish sandy-blond hair, and deep blue eyes. Supercute, funny, and nice. There was just one problem, one that was pretty hard to ignore: Hamilton just happens to be the son of the owner of the only other flower shop in Elwood Falls — Fleur: brand-new, sleek, large, and in the mall. The complete opposite
of our store, which is small, cozy, and in the middle of town. I don’t make things easy for myself, do I?

Hamilton frowned. “Oh, I’ll be pretty busy. I’m going to visit my dad for a couple of weeks in August. And we’ll have a few visitors, including my grandparents. How about you?”

“Maine for two weeks,” I said. “Then … the usual stuff.” I didn’t want to mention the time I’d spend working at Petal Pushers. After some near disasters, Hamilton and I had made a promise not to discuss business, ever. It was the only way we could stay friends.

“But I’ll be in town for the next couple of weeks,” I hinted.

“Great!” said Hamilton. “Well, I guess I’ll see you around!”

My heart sank. “See you around, Hamilton,” I replied.

As he turned to leave, I could see something sticking out of his back pocket. Was it his report card? I looked closer and saw the familiar gold lettering.

It was an invitation to Ashley’s party.

Great. Just great.

“I’m home!” I called as I pushed open the front door. I could tell by the haphazard pile of shoes in the hallway that my sisters and my parents were all there, too. I nudged one of Poppy’s bright orange Crocs out of the way and stepped inside.

The kitchen door swung open and Mom stuck out her head. Her light brown hair peeked out from under a green scarf. “Hey, Del!” she called.

“You’re home early,” I said, hoping everything was okay at the store.

“Wouldn’t miss a moment of our” — the paused — “eighth annual last-day-of-school barbecue. Come help us get ready!”

“I’ll just be a minute!” I said. I laughed to myself as I headed up the stairs. Mom was right. We’d been
having this barbecue every year since my last day of kindergarten.

In my tidy bedroom — the only neat room in the entire house, I might add — I emptied my backpack, placing my folders and notebooks on my spotless desk. In the bathroom, I removed Poppy’s squirting rubber octopus from the sink, washed my hands and face, and pulled my hair into a ponytail. Then I changed into a pair of terry-cloth polka-dotted shorts and my favorite, old Hello Kitty T-shirt. Feeling refreshed, I headed down to the kitchen.

“Welcome home, Del!” my sister Rose sang out. She may just be ten years old, but Rose is already a budding actress and does everything dramatically, from brushing her teeth to opening the refrigerator. She was slicing lemons in half on a cutting board, her blonde hair twisted in a bun on top of her head. Her twin, Aster, pale and dark-haired, looked even more serious than usual as she worked the juicer, concentrating on getting every drop out of the lemons.

“Lemonade!” I said appreciatively. A glass of pale yellow lemonade with flecks of lemon pulp, tart and sweet and jingling with ice cubes, means summer to me, no
doubt about it. “Hurry it up!” I told them. “I have a powerful thirst!”

“Easy, sailor,” said Aster sassily. I laughed.

Poppy, my five-year-old sister, held a cucumber in one hand and a big bumpy heirloom tomato in the other. “Can we make a salad together?” she asked me, hopping up and down excitedly. “It will be pondiferous!”

“Pondiferous?” I asked.

“It means amazing,” said Rose with a shrug. “Poppy’s into making up new words now.”

“Oh,” I said. Poppy is always up to something interesting. “Sure!” I told her, though I usually hate being on salad duty. Too much washing and chopping for me. But it was apparently a big thrill for Poppy, so I feigned enthusiasm for her sake. She dragged over the step stool so she’d be at counter level. I hauled out the salad spinner and we began tearing off lettuce leaves for soaking and rinsing.

The screen door opened with a squeal, and Dad came in, an apron tied around his waist.
GRILLMASTER,
the apron proclaimed across his chest in large, red letters. I hid my smile. Well, we’d see about that. Dad was, to be kind,
not the best chef in town. And wouldn’t you know it, he really loved to cook.

“Del!” he said, giving me a kiss on my cheek. “How was the last day of school?”

“Fine,” I said, choosing to keep both my forgotten birthday and my non-invitation to Ashley’s party to myself.

“Good,” he replied. “Hey, have you seen the tongs? I tore the place up looking for them, but nobody seems to know where they are.”

With a sigh I walked over to the drawer where we kept the barbecue utensils, pulled it open, and fished out the tongs. “Here you go,” I said.

Dad grinned. “What would we do without you, Detail Del?” He headed back outside, snapping the tongs together.

“Try the lemonade, DD,” said Rose, offering me a glass.

I took a sip. “Needs a little more sugar,” I said. “Otherwise perfect.”

Mom emerged from the pantry, holding a blue glass pitcher that had belonged to her grandmother Violet and
a bunch of deep purple hydrangeas she had brought home from the store. She filled the pitcher with cold water, a tablespoon of sugar (flower food), and a tablespoon of bleach (to avoid bacterial growth). Then she expertly cut the stems at an angle, removed any of the leaves that might be underwater, and began arranging the flowers.

I felt a rush of joy just watching her; I have always loved the sight and smell of flowers, not to mention the happiness that comes from arranging them just so. I guess it makes sense that I come from a family of florists.

Mom had been running Petal Pushers since my grandparents had left for Florida two months before. Mom loved working again and was super creative with the flower arrangements. But the store was a lot of work. I’d been helping out after school and on weekends, and I’d be able to help out more now that school was out. Dad, a college professor, was off for the summer, too. He’d be pitching in as well, but his main job was going to be Mr. Mom, since summer camp for three girls was just too expensive.

“Nice flowers, Mom,” I said. I especially love hydrangeas — so abundant-looking and cheerful. There’s something old-fashioned about them, too. And if you
change the water in the vase every day they can last for weeks. You know that saying about how the shoemaker’s kids always go barefoot? Well, it’s not true about florist’s families, at least not ours. We nearly always have a bouquet of something colorful and fragrant in our house.

Mom sniffed the air. “Oh no,” she said. “Has Dad overcooked the meat again?”

We rushed out the door to find Dad whistling cheerfully as he sliced the meat. “I hope you like it well done,” he said.

“I think he means incinerated,” Aster said softly from behind me.

So we all sat down to a meal of grayish meat, potato salad, and Poppy’s and my salad. The meat certainly was chewy, but I discovered that extra steak sauce made it borderline edible.

“So?” Mom looked at us girls expectantly. “Last day of school? Grades?”

Everyone had done well. Aster’s grades were a bit better than Rose’s. And mine were the best of all. Not that I’m bragging or anything.

Mom stood up and walked around the table giving us hugs and kisses. “I am so proud of my girls,” she said with a sniff. “We have a lot to celebrate.”

“Hear! Hear!” said Dad. “Three of my girls graduating on one day!” It was true; tomorrow, Poppy would be graduating from kindergarten, and Rose and Aster from elementary. Dad paused, and got that “I’m about to quote someone” look in his eye. “ ‘The roots of education are bitter, but the fruit is sweet.’ “ He took a sip of lemonade. “Aristotle.”