Coming Up Roses Read online

  Petal Pushers

  Coming Up Roses

  Catherine R. Daly

  To Rebecca and Seamus, my favorite roommates ever.

  Special thanks to James Albertelli of Gramercy Park Flower Shop for his generosity, goodwill, and great ideas.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Also Available

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  WUWH! I texted my best friend, Becky. I really did wish she was here, sitting next to me in my parents’ minivan. Instead, I was sitting next to one of my sisters, Aster, who was listening to her iPod with her eyes closed. Our family was on our way to take our annual fall hike around Lake Winnipesaukee.

  ME 2!!! Becky texted right back. IMSB!

  I laughed. Of course Becky was bored — she was at her six-year-old cousin’s birthday party. Can you say “painful”?

  SO — WHEN U ASKING HB TO HC? she added.

  Seeing those initials made my stomach do an immediate dip, like I had just gone down a big hill on a roller coaster.

  HB was Hamilton Baldwin, a boy in my grade. He was supercute and laid-back, with longish, sandy-brown hair, and deep blue eyes. I wouldn’t admit it to just anyone, but I had a crush on him. And he had sent me actual text confirmation that he liked me back. No kidding.

  Plus, at the end of the summer, he had asked me to go to the movies with him! I had happily accepted. But then my dad lost a filling and had to make an emergency trip to the dentist and I got stuck bringing along my littlest sister, Poppy. Which would have been fine if Poppy hadn’t chosen to sit right in between us and I hadn’t almost sat down on top of her. And if, during the movie, Poppy hadn’t ripped open her bag of M&M’s with such gusto that the colorful candies hit everyone in the row in front of us in the back of their heads. But Hamilton was a good sport about it and said he’d had a great time. Still, you couldn’t call babysitting your little sister at a movie that featured singing pelicans a date, now could you?

  No, you could not. So I figured it was high time Hamilton and I went out on an actual one. HC — Homecoming — was right around the corner. And I had made up my mind to ask him to go with me.

  Before I could text back, Becky wrote: GTG & PLAY HOT POTATO — UGH!

  TTYL! I typed back. I pocketed my cell phone with a grin and resumed staring out the window. Fall is my favorite time of year. And October is my absolute favorite month, with its sunny days, crisp clean air, and the trees with their brilliantly colored reds, oranges, and golds. The picturesque scenery was an added bonus — covered bridges, fields dotted with pumpkins, grazing horses, and weather-beaten old farmhouses…. That’s New Hampshire for you.

  “Poppy, would you please stop poking me?” Rose whined from the seat behind me. Clearly, none of my younger sisters was as captivated by the scenery as I was.

  “No, but thanks for asking,” Poppy replied sweetly, as if Rose had just offered her a cucumber sandwich at a fancy tea or something.

  I snorted and turned to Poppy. People often said she looked “like a little angel” with her sweet face, chin-length golden ringlets, and rosy cheeks. But she was actually the most stubborn creature you had ever met.

  “Mom, make her stop!” Rose said. I was surprised. My preppy, peppy, blonde sister can generally be counted on to let things roll right off her back. But she looked like she wanted to throttle Poppy right then.

  Aster kept her eyes closed and turned up the volume on her iPod. With her dark hair, pale skin, and goth-girl style, Aster has earned Dad’s nickname: “my little Wednesday Addams.” Though she and Rose are twins, they couldn’t be more different.

  Mom turned around, a smile stretched tightly across her face. “Poppy, stop poking Rose, please. We’re almost there. We’re going to have a lot of fun today! By the way, I’m going to need your help on our hike,” she added. “Everyone, keep your eyes peeled for beautiful fall leaves on the ground. I have a great idea for the Homecoming bouquets.”

  Homecoming is a festive reunion weekend at high schools and colleges each fall. At McIlhenny University, which is in my town, there’s a football game against Benton, the rival college. There’s also a big parade, and the crowning of the Homecoming Queen and King and their court. Granted, the McIlhenny Moose are the absolute worst, with a ten-year losing streak. But just about everyone in town shows up. They all wear antlers and paint their faces red and yellow — the team colors. It’s pretty fun, believe it or not.

  And Homecoming is a big deal for my family. My dad works at McIlhenny University and my mom is an alumnus. Plus, our family flower store, Petal Pushers, has always provided the arrangements for the Homecoming Queen’s float and the bouquets for her and her court.

  Rose groaned. “You’re putting us to work?”

  I leaned forward, interested. “What are you going to do with the leaves?” I asked.

  “I’m thinking about bouquets of apricot, orange, and yellow roses, surrounded by fall leaves,” Mom replied eagerly.

  “Sounds nice,” I said. Then I frowned. “But I don’t get it. Won’t the leaves dry out and turn brown?”

  “No!” Mom said triumphantly, beaming. “I have this great idea to dip all the leaves in paraffin to preserve them! They’ll last forever!”

  I nodded admiringly. “That sounds gorgeous, Mom,” I said.

  She smiled gratefully at me. “Thanks, Del.”

  Petal Pushers has been in our family for a hundred years. Until recently, the store was run by my mom’s parents, my gran and gramps. But then they decided to relocate to Florida and left my parents in charge. Things had gotten off to a shaky start. I helped my mom out in the store some afternoons and every Saturday, and we clashed a little: I’m very neat and organized, and Mom, to put it bluntly, is very sloppy. But we’d fallen into a good rhythm, and there was no denying that Mom’s creative ideas were pretty amazing.

  Also, until recently, Petal Pushers was the only florist in our town of Elwood Falls. But then a new flower shop opened for business. Guess who owns it? None other than Mrs. Baldwin: Hamilton’s mother. I know that boy stuff is supposed to be complicated. But I seem to have the special ability to make it even more difficult than usual.

  But HB and I had made an agreement to never talk business and not to let it get in the way of our friendship. (He has no interest in flowers whatsoever, so this is way easier for him than me.)

  “So are you guys excited to see Nicholas again?” Mom asked as Dad made a turn. “I can’t wait to catch up with Debbie. It’s been so long!”

  I rolled my eyes. Mom had invited her best friend from college, Debbie Tompkins, to come to Homecoming this year. I was kind of bummed that Debbie’s son, Nicholas, would be staying with us. Though I hadn’t seen him in a couple of years, I remembered him as being a total know-it-all. With super-big ears.

  “Actually …” Dad said.

  We all snickered. The last time Debbie and Nicholas had visited, Nicholas had started nearly every sentence with that word.

  Even Mom cracked a smile, which she unsuccessfully tried to hide. “Oh, I’m sure he’s outgrown that by now,” she said.

  I was pretty sure he hadn’t, but was in no mood to argue. I steered the subject back on track. “Have you found out what the Homecoming theme is this year?” I asked.

  “One of you girls is really
going to like this one,” Mom replied. “It’s ‘Coming Up Roses.’ Hence, the rose bouquets I’m planning to make.”

  “Perfect choice,” said Rose smugly.

  Poppy scowled. “Why not … ‘Pushing Up Poppies’?” she wanted to know.

  All the girls on my mom’s side of the family are named after flowers. We’ve got a Rose, an Aster, a Poppy, a Delphinium (that’s me), a Daisy, an Iris, and a Lily. My great-grandma’s name was Violet, and her mother’s name was Hyacinth. I’m not quite sure which is worse, Delphinium or Hyacinth. They’re probably equally bad. I prefer to be called Del. Much simpler, as I am sure you’ll agree.

  Rose shook her head at Poppy. “Because roses are the best flower ever,” she said. “Everyone knows that!”

  “‘One may live without bread, not without roses,’” Dad quoted from behind the wheel. “Jean Richepin.” That’s what you get for having a dad who’s an English professor. A literary quote for every occasion. Whether you want one or not.

  “We’re here!” Dad said happily as we turned down a narrow, gravelly road and made our way to the parking lot.

  As we piled out of the car, Mom tied her bandanna over her wavy, light brown hair — the exact same color as mine — and leaned in to unbuckle Poppy.

  Poppy climbed out, yawned, and stretched. Then she reached inside and grabbed her pink, beaded purse.

  I groaned. “Pops, you’re not really going hiking with an evening bag, are you?” I asked her.

  Poppy gave me a look. “I most certainly am,” she replied incredulously. “I never go anywhere without my purse!”

  “Don’t you mean your pocketbook, little girl?” asked Rose. I laughed. My actress sister was doing a spot-on imitation of our great-aunt Lily. Lily is Gran’s older sister and co-owns Petal Pushers with Gran and Gramps. Aunt Lily is tough and no-nonsense. But she can be downright mean and controlling. She dresses like an extra in an old-fashioned movie with her tweed suits, seamed stockings, jaunty hats, and yes, fancy pocketbooks. Never “purses” or “handbags.”

  The worst part? My family loves telling me that I’m just as stubborn and as much of a perfectionist as her. I resent that. A lot.

  “Be nice, girls,” Mom said as she rolled the minivan door shut behind us.

  “Everyone have everything?” Dad asked, then locked the doors. We all smirked at one another. Dad is from New York and he still hasn’t gotten over his compulsion to lock everything tight, even after living in the country all these years.

  I reached into my jacket pocket to make sure I had my cell phone. I wasn’t sure I’d get service on the hiking trail, but I brought it, just in case. I had also packed a small backpack with a compass, Swiss Army Knife, Band-Aids, aspirin, and extra water. Safety first, that’s what my gramps always says. Someone had to be prepared. And in my family, it was almost always me.

  I turned to my father just in time to see him polish his binoculars, place his bird-watching book into one of his cargo pants pockets, and tuck his pants into his socks (to avoid ticks). The ultimate geek ensemble. He smiled at all of us. “‘Perhaps the truth depends on a walk around the lake,’” he said. “Wallace Stevens.”

  “Okay, Dad,” I said as he adjusted his glasses and — horror of horrors — placed his favorite hat with the earflaps on his head. I swear, he looked just like Elmer Fudd.

  Aster elbowed me. “Wabbit season!” she said.

  I almost choked. “Duck season!” I shot back. Count on Aster to crack me up with a Bugs Bunny/Daffy Duck routine. She’s the quiet one, so when she talks, I always listen because it’s usually interesting.

  “Very funny, girls,” said Dad. “Let’s go! Those birds can’t watch themselves! Oh, I hope I see a cedar waxwing today,” he said hopefully.

  Mom gave his shoulder a squeeze. “I hope so, too, honey,” she said.

  She led the way, holding hands with Poppy. Rose and Aster were right behind them. I came next, and Dad brought up the rear, because he likes to take his time, scanning the trees for birds. We hadn’t gone far when Dad tapped my shoulder.

  “It’s a black-capped chickadee!” he whispered excitedly. “Isn’t it beautiful?” He handed me the binoculars and I took a closer look.

  Awww. It was supercute, with white cheeks and gray wings, darting its little black head around. Even though I wouldn’t admit it out loud, I kind of like spotting birds, too. Their movements are very precise, and I like to imagine that they take themselves very seriously.

  I handed the binoculars back to Dad and we kept walking, the leaves crunching pleasantly under our hiking boots. I bent down to pick up a leaf of a particularly brilliant shade of red. This will look great around one of Mom’s bouquets, I thought.

  After a while, we stopped for a rest at a spot near the lake’s edge. I sat on a rock that jutted up from the shore and stared out at the view. The trees that lined the lake were reflected back in the water, affording us twice the brilliant foliage.

  Dad took out his bird-watching book. “We saw three black-capped chickadees, a tufted titmouse, a winter wren, and several cedar waxwings!” he crowed. “Did you hear that? Several!”

  I looked at Rose and Aster, who were clearly trying not to crack up. Poppy was busy fiddling with her evening bag.

  Mom reached inside her backpack and pulled out a couple of the vibrant fall leaves we had collected. “The colors are amazing,” she said. “Who’s going to help me dip them when we get back?”

  Poppy’s hand shot up. “I’ll be your assistant!” she cried.

  “I’ll help, too,” I offered. I had never dipped leaves in paraffin before. It sounded like it could be fun.

  “Hey,” said Dad, stepping back and looking at us all. “Why don’t I take a picture of all my girls? We can send it to Gran and Gramps.”

  Mom’s face lit up. “Great idea,” she said. She fished around in her backpack but came up empty-handed. “I must have forgotten my camera,” she said, looking upset.

  “Dad can take it with my cell phone,” I assured her. I knew there was a good reason I’d brought it!

  I handed the phone to Dad. We all bunched together with the lake in the background, and smiled broadly for Gran and Gramps.

  “Nice one!” said Dad.

  “I wanna take a picture! I wanna take a picture!” shouted Poppy, rushing up to Dad and trying to grab the phone from his hand.

  “Del?” Dad asked.

  “Fine!” I said with a wave. “Just show her how.”

  “I know how to do it,” Poppy insisted. She backed up and held the phone up to her face. We smiled again.

  “Today would be nice,” said Rose.

  Poppy adjusted the angle of her shot. “Say cheese!” she said, and snapped our picture. “See, Del, I told you I could do it!” she shouted, waving the cell phone triumphantly. She came rushing toward us.

  Mom reached out her arms. “Poppy, be care —” she started to say.

  Then, in front of my horrified eyes, Poppy tripped over a rock and crashed to the ground. As she fell, she lost her grip on the phone, which sailed out of her hand.

  “Noooooooooo!” I yelled. Almost in slow motion, the phone flipped over, arcing through the air, and finally landed in the lake with a loud KERPLUNK.

  Chapter Two

  “Will someone please pass me the General Tso’s chicken?” I asked grumpily.

  “Why, certainly,” said Poppy immediately, lunging across the table to grab the cardboard container even though it was right next to Dad’s elbow.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  But she wouldn’t let go of the container. “I’m really really really really really really really really sorry I dropped your phone in the lake, Del,” she said sincerely.

  Once it had been determined that Poppy was fine — but my phone wasn’t — I had gotten pretty upset. And I still hadn’t recovered.

  I tried to wrest the food out of her hand, but Poppy held it with an iron grip. “Did you forgive me yet?” she asked. When I didn’t answer, she
pulled out the big guns. “I’ll let you take my pink purse to school all day tomorrow. It has three pockets inside.”

  I laughed, picturing the look on my mortal enemy Ashley’s face if I showed up at school clutching a pink, glittery purse with a poodle on it. I’d never hear the end of it.

  “Eighth graders use backpacks,” I told Poppy.

  Despite my annoyance, I relished the sound of that statement. Eighth grader. When I had first started middle school I remember thinking that the eighth graders seemed as mature as college students or something. And now I was one of them. I had been for four weeks now.

  I realized that my whole family was staring at me, waiting for my reply.

  “Fine, Poppy, apology accepted,” I said resignedly.

  “Yay!” she said, releasing the cardboard container. Then, “Are you going to eat that egg roll?”

  Shaking my head, I handed it over to her.

  But this situation had not been resolved to my liking yet. My beautiful, bright red phone — with the cute puffy animal stickers I had so carefully applied and the photos I had not yet downloaded to my computer — had sunk to the mucky bottom of the lake, never to be seen again.

  I cleared my throat. “Well, what are we going to do about the fact that I am now phone-less? I could be getting important text messages at this very moment!”

  Rose snorted. I ignored her.

  Dad nodded. “I’ll see if Mrs. Kelly can stay a little late after she picks Poppy up from school tomorrow and I’ll take you to the mall after my last class,” he said. “That work?”

  “Sure,” I said with a sigh. It had taken me forever to convince my parents that I needed a cell phone in the first place, and now I hated to go even a day without one.

  “Is it okay if I have some friends over one day this week after school?” Aster suddenly asked.

  “Sure, Rose,” replied Mom automatically as she fished around in the foil-lined rib bag.

  “That was Aster,” I told Mom.

  Mom looked up and blinked at the twins. “Oh, of course, Aster,” she said. “Sorry.” She gave me a quizzical look. I shrugged. If you were going to place a bet on which twin was going to invite friends over after school, the odds were that it was going to be outgoing Rose. Not silent, spooky-poetry-writing Aster.