Forget-Her-Nots (7 page)

“That boy drives me insane,” said Rose.

“I’ve heard this saga,” said Mina. She wound her way back into the crowd.

Rose shook her head. “Last semester Everett and I got assigned to work on a project together because of this math test we both aced. He was less than worthless. I totally carried him, and then he bragged about the blue ribbon
I
won.”

Laurel spied Everett with a red tulip between his teeth. Tara was pretending to be miffed. “So, he’s actually smart?”

Rose threw a popped kernel up and caught it in her mouth. “Irritatingly so. He’s gifted but totally lazy. He just coasts and mooches and gets away with it.”

Laurel nodded, but the word
gifted
caught her attention.
All of us have gifts we are meant to share
, her mom’s letter said.

Kate emerged from the crowd and sat down on the empty chair next to Laurel. “Y’all like the movie?”

“Just super,” said Rose.

Laurel offered Kate some popcorn, but her eyes gravitated back to Everett. The tulip was tucked behind his ear now, and she wondered if he—or Tara—could smell its spicy scent. Is it sending any messages? she thought.

Kate leaned close. “So, what’s up with you and Everett?”

“Huh?” said Laurel, but her face felt hot.

Kate elbowed her. “I saw you two chattin’ it up before the movie. And you were just starin’ at him.”

Laurel shrugged. “He’s . . . entertaining, but you said Tara liked him.”

“She does,” said Kate. “Do you, too?”

“Puh-leeeze.” Rose’s head fell backward. “Say it ain’t so.”

“It ain’t so.” Laurel said as she caught Tara watching them. “Why are you asking?”

Kate sat up straighter. “You talked to him a while, and I didn’t know you knew him.”

“We barely talked.” Laurel felt a sudden flash of doubt about Kate’s motives. “Did Tara tell you to quiz me?”

“No,” Kate stammered. “I was just wonderin’. I thought we were friends now.”

“I thought so, too,” said Laurel. “But ‘friends’ don’t report back to other people.”

Kate’s arms crossed tight on her chest. “So don’t tell me anything.”

Rose stood. “Let’s get out of here, Laurel. It’s too crowded.”

Laurel stood uncertainly and then trailed after Rose. Halfway across the room she turned, expecting to see
Kate chasing after Tara, but Kate was still slouched in the chair.

Mina sat cross-legged on the floor outside the dining hall, and Rose sat down next to her. “You really think Kate’s reporting back to Tara? I thought she was your bud,” said Rose.

Laurel’s spirits sagged as she slid down the wall beside her. “I don’t know.”

“You should have made something up—something juicy about you and Everett.”

Mina leaned forward. “What’s juicy?”

“Nothing.” Laurel let her head fall back against the wall. “My life is not juicy.” It’s nothing like I thought it would be.

“Your life
could
be juicy,” teased Rose. “But promise me you won’t do anything moronic like liking Everett.
That
would send me over the edge.”

Mina laughed. “You’re already over.”

Laurel crossed her heart. “I promise.”

Mina elbowed Rose. “Even you have to give Everett credit for pulling off the mother of all pranks. Bubble gum and helium balloons: pure genius. Mr. Rodriguez was ready to call the SWAT team when the balloons started popping in rapid fire.”

Rose frowned at her. “Just wait. I have two more years to top it.”

Out of the corner of her eye Laurel saw several guys coming toward them, and Rose called out, “Hey, Justin. Alan.”

Laurel’s head snapped sideways.

“Hey, Rose,” Justin said. “Hi, Mina.” He was wearing jeans with holes at the knees and a black T-shirt. His eyes fell on Laurel, and his smile seemed to warm the air. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Laurel said. Her voice sounded squeaky.

Alan held up his hand and slid down the wall on the other side of Mina.

“This is my cousin Laurel,” Rose said. “These guys are on the debate team with me.”

Justin hesitated and then settled onto the floor near Laurel. “Victorian flower messages, right?”

Laurel nodded. “You saw my
amazing
report.”

“Yeah. Tough crowd, but you hung in there.”

“Did I have a choice?”

“Guess not, but Spinster Spenser’s all right, isn’t she?” he said.

“Yeah, I really like her. You should hear her read poetry.” Especially
luv
poetry, Laurel thought, remembering an amazing poem about petals and fingers. She glanced at Justin’s long smooth hands.

Rose tapped Justin’s knee with her fist. “No more school talk, Geek-asaurus Rex. It’s the weekend now. Laurel’s a big jock like you.”

“What do you play?” Justin asked.

“Soccer,” said Laurel. “Left wing. JV. What about you?”

“I run cross-country.” He pointed at the guy with brown curly hair who was talking to Mina and Rose now. “Alan does, too. What the—”

Justin jerked his head back as something flew past his nose and landed in Laurel’s lap. It was a red tulip. Totally confused, Laurel picked it up and looked down the hallway. Everett waved to her, but Tara stood next to him, her face twisted in anger.

A declaration of love? thought Laurel. No way.

Everett gestured toward her. “She’s the flower girl,” he explained loudly. “She gets
all
the flowers.”

Laurel’s face was as red as the tulip, but she longed to breathe in its rich spiciness, for Justin to breathe it beside her. She ignored the question in Rose’s eyes, because Tara was already glowering down at them.

“That one’s mine,” Tara said, holding out her hand.

“Uh, sure.” Laurel thrust the flower up at Tara, who walked off in a huff. One of the petals had fallen into Laurel’s lap.

Laurel’s eyes flicked back to Everett, who was laughing loudly with his friends. “Is he drunk or something?” she whispered as she stroked the soft petal.

“Who knows,” said Justin. “He’s almost always a jerk.”

“Always,” added Rose.

“Great,” said Laurel. “And he’s weird about flowers, too.”

“Hey, my mom’s pretty into flowers,” Justin said. “I should get her that book you mentioned. What’s it called again?”

“
The Language of Flowers
,” said Laurel.

“Can I get it online?” asked Justin.

“I think so. It would make a great gift, like for Mother’s Day. And you could give her a tussie—” She stopped.

Justin was saying something else, but Laurel couldn’t focus on his voice because of the sudden and searing pain in her chest as her own words sank in like a hatchet. I don’t ever have to buy a Mother’s Day present again, she thought. Ever.

Clutching her stomach and pressing her spine against the wall, she managed to stand up.
Merde
. She’d embarrassed herself in front of this crowd too many times already.

“Laurel? You okay?” Justin looked up at her. His hand reached toward her, but if she took it, she might disintegrate.

“I—um—” Her eyes burned as she pushed through a forest of bodies.

“Laurel!”

Rose’s voice was behind her, and she heard Mina call too, but tears already streaked her face. No one could see her like this. She ran outside and collapsed behind a wide tree to gulp the cooling darkness and wait for the pain to weaken.

S
aturday
morning passed in a fog, but that afternoon Laurel crisscrossed the gardens in search of the feathery plant that
somebody
had included in her mystery bouquet. She had no luck there but was determined to resolve this once and for all. Finding an illustrated guide to herbs in the library, she narrowed it down to two: dill and fennel. She was pretty sure she’d recognize the smell of dill—like in pickles. Fennel, the flower book said, meant “worthy of all praise . . . strength.”

“Hope, excellence, praise and strength.” Laurel closed her eyes, but she couldn’t barricade herself against the tidal wave of disappointment. Absolutely no one would choose those flowers for a
luv
bouquet. She blew out the last glimmer of hope she was still carrying for a secret admirer. All day long a tiny piece of her kept hoping
Justin would get in touch with her—to check up on her—but he didn’t. I have too much baggage for anyone, she thought that night.

The next morning she was so wrapped up in her own misery that it wasn’t until chapel was almost over that she noticed Ms. Suarez sitting in the pew next to Miss Spenser and the professor. Staring at the backs of the teachers’ heads, she determined one thing: Ms. Suarez
had
to tell her more about her mom.

After dismissal from chapel Laurel waited by a large holly tree near the back door, but then she saw Ms. Suarez’s golf cart already heading toward the garden. I’ll look like a dork if I run after her, she thought. Miss Spenser’s laugh rang out nearby. The professor was standing close to her, almost whispering in her ear, and her lips seemed about to smile.

My tulips rock, Laurel thought. Her favorite lines from the E.E. Cummings poem Miss Spenser had read bubbled into her mind:

What would that feel like? Laurel wondered. To be opened “petal by petal”? Miss Spenser was definitely blooming under the professor’s attentions.

“Looks like their romance is—uh—
budding
.” Kate gave Laurel a knowing look.

“I think geezer public displays should be banned,” Tara whispered behind them. “Who’d want to kiss someone that ancient? And if I have to listen to another one of her stupid
luv
poems—”

Laurel spun around on Tara. “I
love
her love poems,” she said. “They’re sweet.”

Tara smirked. “Like anyone cares what
you
think. You’re psycho.”

Nicole laughed, but Kate cleared her throat. “I like the love poems, too. It’s not like we
all
have to like the same thing
all
the time.” Kate went on. “That’d be lame.”

All trace of triumph had vanished from Tara’s pale face. “Whatever. Are you coming already, Nicole?” Nicole was trying not to smile, but followed her anyway.

Laurel met Kate’s eyes. “Thanks,” she mouthed.

Kate took a step forward. “I am
not
her puppet.”

“I know,” said Laurel. “Are you hungry?”

“Always,” said Kate.

After brunch they walked back to the dorm together, and so Kate was standing at her side when Laurel found a note taped on her door:

“G.?” said Laurel, unlocking her door.

“Geneva Suarez,” said Kate. “Must be nice. No teacher’s ever invited
me
to dinner.”

“She knew my mom,” said Laurel. And she’s going to tell me
all
about her.

“Really?” Kate followed Laurel into her room. “But you’re not gonna eat
inside
the conservatory, are you?”

Laurel slipped off her uniform skirt and pulled on a pair of jeans. “Why not?”

Kate frowned. “’Cause there’s this rumor it’s haunted.”

“The conservatory? You’re kidding.”

Kate shook her head solemnly. “
Tons
of people think so. Just get out before dark.”

Every winter after the lights and warmth of Christmas had dimmed, Laurel’s mom would stare out at the browns and beiges dominating her garden and throw up her hands.

“I can’t take it!” her mom would cry. “I need colors! I need scents!” As soon as possible, she and Laurel would head to a conservatory. Their color-starved eyes would feast on shades of pink, red, lavender, and green on their
“winter pilgrimage,” as her mom called their road trips.

Over the years Laurel had visited so many conservatories on the East Coast that she wondered, as she walked to meet Ms. Suarez, why her mom had never mentioned Avondale’s. In fact, her mom hadn’t talked about the school much at all, other than to shake her head at the drug scandal that had made national headlines the year before Laurel arrived. They never once discussed her applying, maybe because both of them were clinging to hope for a cancer miracle that never came.

Outside the Avondale conservatory a tall woman dressed in shorts and hiking boots was cutting faded blooms off some bushes. Laurel’s shoes crunched across the gravel driveway. “Ms. Suarez?”

“Excellent,” Ms. Suarez said. She had a smudge of dirt across her cheekbone. “Thanks for coming.” Taking off her gardening gloves, the teacher pulled the conservatory door shut and locked it. She picked up a backpack and handed it to Laurel. “Let’s hurry so we have time to picnic.” Ms. Suarez slipped another pack over her shoulders and walked around the building toward a path into the woods.

Laurel hurried to catch up. “But I thought you were going to give me a tour.”

Ms. Suarez’s pace didn’t slacken. “It can wait. I want to show you something that can’t.”

“What?”

A smile flickered across the teacher’s lips. “You’ll see.”

The trail sloped upward through a meadow and into cool, shady woods. The surrounding silence was broken only by the snap of twigs underfoot and the twitter of birds scattering before them. Laurel’s legs were exhausted from soccer, and her stomach was tight with hunger, but Ms. Suarez’s excitement was catching.

At the crest of the hill the teacher finally stopped and took out a water bottle. Laurel did the same and gazed at the vista spread before them. The valley below and the hills beyond were greening with the rise of spring. Worn to smoothness by seasons of wind, rain, and snow, the Blue Ridge Mountains receded in shades of grayish purple. Strands of white clouds streaked the evening sky like unspun cotton candy.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” whispered Ms. Suarez.

Laurel nodded. A red-tailed hawk glided into view as it rode the warm air currents swirling up from the valley. Ms. Suarez bent to pull a leaf off a plant, crushed it between her fingers, and held it to Laurel’s nose.

Laurel sniffed. “Is it mint?”

Ms. Suarez nodded. “Some thoughtful person planted it years ago for refreshment. And over there’s your namesake. It’s evergreen, but it won’t bloom for a while.” She was pointing to a bank of shrubs covered with clusters of shiny, elliptical leaves.

Laurel walked over and cupped the waxy mountain laurel leaves in her hand. “My mom loved this plant,” she said. “We used to hike whenever it was blooming.”

“You should come back later this spring,” said Ms. Suarez. “It will be lovely then. Speaking of lovely, have you ever seen a wild orchid?”

Laurel let her hand drop. “I don’t think so.”

“Then come on.” Zipping her water bottle into her backpack, Ms. Suarez started down the slope below their feet, expertly zigzagging on a barely visible path. Loose stones rattled down as Laurel’s feet slid, but Ms. Suarez didn’t slow her descent. Like a grounded monkey, Laurel used both hands to grab one branch then another. Ms. Suarez was waiting for her halfway down the slope.

The damp ground sucked at their shoes as they walked across the hill, and Laurel breathed in a tangy, earthy scent. Suddenly the low sun slipped loose from a cloud, and the hillside was flooded with golden light. The sun cast its sheen onto every unfolding bud, every soft petal—enchanting the air. Laurel reached out to caress a fresh leaf on a curving branch.

Ms. Suarez turned around and smiled broadly. “Look.”

Laurel followed the direction of her hand. At the center of wide green leaves, a flower glowed white as a
summer cloud. Its silky petals stretched up from a green stalk like fairy wings unfolding. Its lower lip pouted pinkly. It was like a miracle, pure and luminous against the heavy browns of the forest floor.

“Wow!” Laurel crouched before it.

“Yes, yes!” Ms. Suarez nearly sang the words as she knelt next to her. “She is a queen.
Cypripedium reginae
, a queen lady’s slipper.”

“I’ve never seen one,” Laurel said.

“They’re rare in the wild.” Ms. Suarez put her hand on Laurel’s forearm. “But I’m bringing her back. I’ve colonized queen ladies in several places and protected them over the winter with a mini-greenhouse. This ecosystem just might work.”

Laurel couldn’t pull her eyes from the exquisite blossom, not even when Ms. Suarez started humming a lilting tune.

“She’s blooming early this first year, but if she’s discovered, she could be dug up by amateurs,” whispered Ms. Suarez. “Promise to keep her a secret.”

“I promise,” Laurel whispered.

Ms. Suarez’s fingers grazed a petal. “Unfortunately, she has no scent. The pollinators are already eager, so she doesn’t need to exert herself to attract them.”

Something this beautiful
has
to have a scent. Impulsively, Laurel leaned forward and sniffed a delicate
fragrance. She closed her eyes and pictured a wisteria vine that had twisted through a trellis in her mom’s garden. Purple flowers hung from it like airy grapes, and a delicious scent descended like rain.

“Mmm.” Laurel’s nose touched the orchid as she inhaled deeply.

“No!” Ms. Suarez’s hand was on her shoulder, pulling her back. “Not too much.”

The fragrance had somehow transformed. Its sweetness was cloying, like overripe fruit on the point of decay. Laurel stood up, but her body felt extraordinarily light. The hillside swam before her eyes. She staggered and grabbed the trunk of a small tree.

Not la-la land. Not now. “What’s happening? I feel so weird.”

“Oh, Laurel. I—” Ms. Suarez’s hand covered her mouth, but Laurel could tell from her eyes that she was smiling—widely. “Wow.”

Wiggles and flashes of light danced before Laurel’s eyes, but a hand took hold of her arm to steady her.

“Let’s sit over there,” said Ms. Suarez. “Farther away.”

Laurel took a tentative step forward, because the ground was coming at her in waves. “Whoa.” She bent her knees like she was surfing.

“This way.” Ms. Suarez led her to a wide log. “Okay. Now sit down and breathe slowly.” She pulled off
Laurel’s backpack and handed her the water bottle.

Ms. Suarez’s face hovered above her, single then double. She spread a large cloth near Laurel’s feet. “She’s powerful, isn’t she?”

“Wha-at?” Laurel’s own voice sounded distant.

“The orchid—the queen lady’s slipper.” Ms. Suarez shook her head and laughed. “I think you’re high on her perfume.”

“High? Is this what it feels like?”

Ms. Suarez handed her a sandwich. “Here. You’ll feel much better if you eat something. Now where’s that orange?”

Laurel’s mouth watered at the scent of food, and she bit into the sandwich eagerly. Ms. Suarez squeezed a piece of orange skin so that its zest squirted into the air.

“Perhaps I should have waited.” Ms. Suarez passed an orange section to Laurel. “But the queen is with us such a short time.”

The queen. Laurel squinted back at the glowing bloom, but she could smell only orange now. “But why did you say it doesn’t have a scent?”

“It doesn’t. Not for most people.”

Laurel took a deep breath to clear her head. “What do you mean?”

“Not everyone can smell that orchid. I wanted to know whether or not
you
could.”

“Why?”

Ms. Suarez met her eyes as they ate. “Because that tells me something—something important—about your nose. Yours is very sensitive.”

Laurel rubbed the tip of her nose. “It is? Is that weird?”

“It’s . . . unusual,” said Ms. Suarez. “It’s a real gift to be able to smell such a fragrance when most of the world can’t. Now eat up.”

A real gift
. Laurel dutifully took another bite. Her mom had told her to nurture her gifts.
Only then will you bloom fully
, the letter said.

“Orchids are fascinating flowers.” Ms. Suarez’s dark eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. “Did you know that in Victorian times, professional orchid hunters would travel to the farthest, most dangerous corners of the world in search of exotic new species? The hunters were paid by wealthy collectors who wanted the prize orchids for their personal conservatories. Occasionally the hunters even died on their quests.”

Laurel swallowed. “They
died
for a flower?”

“Not just any old flower.” Ms. Suarez’s eyes were dark and intense. “What if you discovered an amazing bloom that no one has ever seen before, whose scent no one has ever inhaled? Can you imagine the thrill of that?”

Laurel closed her eyes, but her head swirled. She threw her hands on the log to catch herself.

“Have some more.” Ms. Suarez handed her a section of orange and bit into one slowly. “We all need a great love in our lives. Something to arouse our deepest passions. Something we might be willing to die for.”

Laurel looked back at the luminous bloom.
To die for?

“So,” said Ms. Suarez. “Tell me about that bouquet you made for Miss Spenser.”

Laurel sucked in her lips. “I didn’t exactly make it
for
her. I mean, it was for my presentation, but I—it just seemed like the tussie belonged to her, that she’d like it.”

“She did.” Ms. Suarez’s eyes lingered on Laurel’s face. “And your mom told you about this language of flowers, right?”