Flower Feud Page 2

  Aster, her twin, was clad in black tights, black boots, and a black dress under a moth-eaten mustard yellow cardigan that I think used to belong to Gramps. I couldn’t help but smile at my sisters, who were complete opposites, yet somehow shared a room and got along just great. Go figure.

  I left the “Get Well Soon” arrangement for Mom to finish, knowing she would add something interesting to it. People had really been remarking about the change in the flowers since Mom and Dad took over. Don’t get me wrong, Gran and Gramps did beautiful arrangements. But Mom had lots of fun, creative ideas with stuff that you wouldn’t imagine putting into a bouquet. For instance, she had placed a pale blue plastic dinosaur from the toy store in the middle of the “Baby Boy” arrangement she’d sent out yesterday. The new mom had called to tell us how cool and different it was.

  I took a deep breath and faced my sisters. I knew this was going to be difficult. It always is when you’re sharing something special that once belonged just to you.

  “Welcome to Flowers …” there I went again! “Petal Pushers,” I corrected myself. “Today we’re going to learn Flower Shop 101.” I picked up a folder off the counter and took out a sheet of paper I’d worked on that week.

  I saw Rose and Aster glance at each other and roll their eyes.

  “Step one,” I started, ignoring them. “Opening up. This includes sweeping, wiping down counters, and cleaning out the cooler and the buckets.”

  I handed Rose a rag and some spray and she began wiping down the front counter. I pointed Aster in the direction of the broom and she went right to work, making a tidy pile of leaves and dust.

  “Step two,” I went on. “Checking voice mail. New orders may have come in since closing the day before. If there are any emergencies, you deal with them immediately.”

  “A flower emergency!” said Rose, pausing and holding the rag over her heart. “Like when the mayor was allergic to the flowers in all the centerpieces and we had to remove them the night before the wedding?”

  “That’s right,” I said. “Or once, when Gran and Gramps were still here, an arrangement was accidentally delivered to the wrong address. The guy who got it was so excited to get flowers that he refused to give them back. So we had to make a whole new one really fast. You never know what will come up.”

  “When do we start designing arrangements?” Rose asked.

  I sighed. “We have more work to do. One of you can clean the bottom of the cooler of any leaves, petals, and stems, and the other can clean the buckets out.”

  “I’ll take the buckets,” said Rose quickly. She gets cold easily and wanted to spend as little time in the cooler as necessary.

  Ten minutes later Rose was kneeling over a bucket and giving me a very dirty look. “You didn’t tell me this would involve a toilet brush,” she said. I laughed. It’s the easiest way to clean the flower buckets, along with a squirt of soap and some bleach. But it’s not one of my favorite tasks, either.

  When the cooler was cleaned and the buckets were scrubbed, Rose and Aster looked at me eagerly.

  “Step three,” I said. “The fun part! Our supply of premade bouquets is pretty low. We need to arrange them.”

  Aster and Rose cheered. “What are premade bouquets?” asked Rose.

  “For people who are in a rush,” I replied. “Who don’t have the time or the money for an arrangement to be made especially for them.”

  Rose smiled. “A man rushing to meet his long-lost love at the bus station,” she said dreamily.

  “A mourner on their way to the cemetery,” said Aster.

  “Someone running late to a birthday party,” I said, bringing them both down to earth.

  Rose made a face at me. “Bo-ring.”

  Aster laughed.

  We made an assembly line and ended up with these bright, springtime bouquets of purples and yellows, and cute round yellow flowers called billy balls for an accent. Mom nodded her approval as she put the finishing touches on Mrs. Stanley’s arrangement. “Nice work, girls!” she called. Rose and Aster both grinned.

  Aster wrapped the bouquets in colorful tissue paper and cellophane, and Rose was on ribbon duty. We made short work of the task. I blinked. Maybe having some help around here wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

  “Look at my girls working together!” cried Dad. We looked up. We hadn’t even heard him come in the back door. Poppy, her favorite velvet evening bag looped over her shoulder, sat high up on his shoulders, eating a very large muffin and getting crumbs in Dad’s hair. She waved merrily from her perch.

  Dad deposited my littlest sister on the far end of the counter, where she finished her muffin, happily kicking her feet. Dad kissed Mom hello and rested his elbows on the counter, Saturday’s paper fanned out in front of him. Poppy fished her new doll, Blanche, out of her evening bag and started grabbing leftover floral, tissue, and ribbon odds and ends to make a tiny bouquet for her.

  “Blanche is getting married today,” she said out loud, to no one in particular.

  I was going to say something about how unprofessional it was to have Poppy sitting on the counter, but I held my tongue. I had more important things to focus on. Finally, everyone was there, together, and I could share my news!

  I cleared my throat. “Guess what?” I began, and my family swiveled around to face me. “My school is having a prom. It’s called A Night in the Tropics.”

  “Sounds like fun, Del!” said Mom.

  “OMG, what?” Rose shrieked. “You’re going to get your very own prom? You’re so lucky!” She reminded me of Heather and Amy.

  Aster rolled her eyes. I was glad one Bloom sister was being sensible.

  “Um, not really,” I replied. “I mean, Ashley is in charge of the whole thing, so you can imagine how annoying it’s going to be. But,” I added, glancing around at my family, “Petal Pushers is lucky. Because now we’ll get twice as much business!”

  “That’s true!” Mom said, beaming at me. “We’ll have kids from the high school and the middle school coming in for corsages and boutonnieres.”

  Dad let out a low whistle. “That’s great!”

  “I know,” I said. “How many prom orders have we gotten so far?”

  Mom wrinkled her nose. “Two or three, I think,” she said.

  Two or three? “Are you sure, Mom?” I asked. “The prom’s in a couple of weeks. That doesn’t sound right at all.”

  Mom shrugged. “I’m sure all the kids are procrastinating,” she said.

  Hmm. Mom is the number one procrastinator in the world, so of course she’d choose that as the reason.

  “Well, I can work on the middle schoolers at least,” I said. “Some of them might not even know they should buy prom flowers. I’ll remind them where the best place in town is.”

  “Thanks, hon,” said Mom.

  “What’s a prom, anyway?” Poppy wanted to know.

  “Only the coolest thing ever,” answered Rose. “They’re held your junior and senior years of high school. You get to buy a gorgeous dress. A boy asks you to go. He buys you a corsage to wear on your wrist, and you buy him a boutonniere.”

  “That’s a flower to wear on the lapel of his suit,” I explained to Poppy.

  Rose continued. “Sometimes there’s a theme. Like Under the Sea, or A Night on Broadway.” She smiled. “That’s what I hope mine is.”

  Mom and Dad glanced at Rose, clearly amused by her enthusiasm for an event that she wouldn’t be attending for at least six years. Unless the middle school prom tradition continued … which meant Rose would get her wish in a mere two years.

  Ugh.

  “I don’t understand,” I said to Rose. “How do you know so much about proms?”

  “Totally obsessed,” explained Aster. She knows her twin better than anyone.

  Rose wasn’t finished yet. “You get your hair done. You should get a manicure and pedicure. You get beautiful shoes to match your dress. And some places, the prom is in a fancy hotel.” Her eyes were shining, as if thi
s was the most wonderful thing she could think of. Besides getting a standing ovation at curtain call, of course. “There’s a band or a DJ and they play all this great music and you dance the night away with your friends and you slow dance with your date. It’s a beautiful, romantic night,” she concluded.

  Mom and Dad looked like they were trying hard not to laugh.

  “So how were your proms?” I asked them. “Beautiful and romantic?”

  Mom grew up right here in Elwood Falls. Dad is originally from Long Island in New York. They met at a party when Dad was in grad school in Boston, and Mom was visiting a friend. Dad was standing in the corner when he saw Mom by the refreshment table. He walked over, picked up a piece of fruit and asked, “‘Do I dare to eat a peach?’” And luckily, my mom did not run screaming. Instead, she turned to him and said, “‘I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.’” Well, that was it for Dad. She was beautiful and she could quote from “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,” a poem by T. S. Eliot. They fell in love and a year and a half later they were married.

  “I actually never went to my prom,” Mom replied. “I bought this totally cool vintage dress and I borrowed some amazing rhinestone jewelry from Gran. And Gramps made me an extraspecial corsage as a surprise, which my date was supposed to bring over. So I was sitting in the living room waiting for my date to come get me. Finally, his mom called — he got food poisoning from some bad clams and couldn’t go.”

  “Ew,” said Rose, making a face.

  “Why didn’t you just go on your own?” I asked.

  Rose looked aghast at the very idea.

  Mom shrugged. “None of my friends were going stag and I didn’t want to be the only one,” she said. “What a waste of a beautiful dress. And I never got to see my special corsage, either.”

  Rose was frowning. Then she brightened and turned to Dad. “How about you?”

  I was fairly certain she was barking up the wrong tree. And I was right. Dad shrugged. “Who had time for proms? I had a big project due the next week. I spent the whole weekend in the library doing research!”

  “Oh, Dad,” Rose groaned. “Really!”

  “It was for extra credit!” he protested. “I graduated high school with a four point four!”

  Rose looked totally disappointed. “One night, Dad. The most magical night ever.”

  Ring-a-ling-ling! The bell over the door rang as a customer pushed it open. I wiped my hands on my apron and turned to Rose and Aster, forgetting the prom issue for a moment. “Our first customer of the day!” I whispered. “When a customer comes in, you should greet them almost immediately. Make them feel welcome, but don’t pressure them. Rose, would you like to do the honors?”

  Rose smiled. This was her favorite thing to do. But before she could speak —

  “So it’s true!” said a thin, familiar voice belonging to an elderly lady. “What in the world is going on here?”

  This was no customer. It was our Great-aunt Lily. And she didn’t look very happy at all. She was angrily pointing at the painter standing in the window, who was now looking a little nervous.

  Aunt Lily has that effect on people. Me especially.

  “Aunt Lily!” said Mom, heading over to give her mother’s sister a kiss on her papery cheek. “How lovely to see you.”

  Aunt Lily snorted. “Are you telling me that there has been yet another change made to the store that I own one third of?” she said in her icy, clipped tone. “One third, Daisy! And no one had the decency to tell me?”

  Eek. I gave Mom and Dad a baleful look. Aunt Lily did have a point. I knew I should have reminded them to tell her about the name change. They’re so forgetful sometimes.

  “I’m sorry,” Mom said. “We should have called you right away. We discussed it with my parents and …”

  “And to find out about it the way I did! At the Ladies Auxiliary Luncheon! By none other than Gladys Hockenpfeffer.” Aunt Lily made an irritated face. “She’s such a busybody. I was completely taken aback!”

  I gulped. I had to step in and try to fix things. “Actually, Aunt Lily, the new name was inspired by you.”

  Aunt Lily turned around. “Delphinium,” she said with a curt nod.

  “Remember those clothes you lent Rose for the play she was in? We all liked the cute little pants — the pedal pushers — and when Poppy called them petal pushers, we realized that would make a great new name.”

  For a second it looked like Aunt Lily might actually smile. But she regained her composure and shrugged. “Fine,” she said. “What can I do with you all? Anyway, we have a much bigger issue than the store name.”

  My stomach jumped. Oh no. What could it be now?

  “May I ask how many prom orders you’ve gotten so far?” Aunt Lily asked.

  “We were just discussing that,” said my mom. “Not so many. But Del just told us there’s going to be a middle school prom, too, so we’re feeling optimistic …”

  Aunt Lily cut her off. “As I suspected,” she said. “It seems as if our rival is trying to take away our business. Again.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked. My heart sank. I knew this couldn’t be good.

  “Benjamin, would you please hold up the paper?” commanded Aunt Lily.

  Dad complied, lifting the paper so we had a full view of the front and back pages. And what we saw made us gasp.

  The entire back page of Saturday’s paper was an ad. An ad for Fleur. There was a photo of a girl’s wrist with a simple orchid corsage on it. Under the photo were the words:

  FLEUR.

  ELEGANT. SOPHISTICATED. STYLISH.

  WHY GO ANYWHERE ELSE FOR YOUR PROM FLOWERS?

  Fleur is our competition. The new, fancy florist in town with software so you can design virtual bouquets. Fleur is in the mall, is twice as big as Petal Pushers, and has tons of flowers we didn’t normally carry.

  And there’s one more part of the Fleur story. The store is owned by Hamilton Baldwin’s mom. Yes, Hamilton Baldwin — the new guy in school who I think is cute. The guy in gym class who Ashley has a crush on. But Hamilton doesn’t know I know his mother owns Fleur.

  As if things weren’t complicated enough.

  Mom took a closer look at the ad. “Oh my,” she said in a small voice. “It says ‘Become a Fleur Fan on Facebook’!”

  So Fleur was at it again. Last month they had tried to steal away our first big job — a large wedding. Luckily, we had managed to keep it. Now they were taking out newspaper ads and creating Facebook pages. I glanced around our store. It was sweet, small, and very old-fashioned. We had no website, no virtual bouquets, and certainly no Facebook page.

  “So you think everyone is going to Fleur instead of us?” Dad asked with a frown, putting down the paper.

  “Yes,” said Aunt Lily. “Especially if they’re doing a lot of advertising.”

  Mom cleared her throat. “I’m sure all the kids will start coming in this weekend.”

  “I am, too,” said Dad optimistically. “I’ll bet we have a line out the door this very afternoon!”

  “I hope you’re right,” Aunt Lily said. But she didn’t look convinced. I didn’t feel convinced, either. “Good day,” she said. She gave us a curt nod and marched out the door.

  We all stared at each other after she left.

  “Well, I think that proms sound bee-you-tee-ful,” Poppy pronounced. “Mommy, can you make me a corsage?”

  “Another time, my love,” said Mom. “I have to start another arrangement. Del, can you help me?”

  I busied myself cutting flowers for the new arrangement. But inside I was fuming. I couldn’t believe Fleur was trying to take away our prom business.

  This means war! I thought.

  Chapter Three

  After dinner that night, I was more determined than ever to beat Fleur at their own game. Despite Mom’s and Dad’s optimism, we hadn’t had a single prom customer that day.

  While Rose and Aster went to their room to read, and Mo
m put Poppy to bed, I headed straight to my room — and the computer. I had never been on Facebook before, but I figured it had to be pretty easy since so many people, including my friends’ parents, spent so much time on it.

  I typed FACEBOOK into the search engine, and the page popped up. Did I want a personal page? No. I clicked CREATE A PAGE. This was easy. LOCAL BUSINESS. What did I want to name my page? Why, PETAL PUSHERS of course!

  Next, I had to review the terms of use. So much to read! It all seemed fairly straightforward until one thing jumped off the page at me: YOU WILL NOT USE FACEBOOK IF YOU ARE UNDER 13.

  Of course. I should have known that. None of my friends are on Facebook yet. I thought about Hamilton. Was he thirteen already? He could have been. I didn’t know when his birthday was. Maybe he’d even been the one to suggest creating a Facebook page for Fleur! I gritted my teeth at the thought.

  I asked my parents to come to my room. Mom was in her pale yellow chenille bathrobe, rubbing almond moisturizing cream into her hands like she does every night. It smelled good. Dad was in a T-shirt and the goofy pajama bottoms with big red hearts my sisters and I had chipped in to give him this past Valentine’s Day.

  “What’s up, sweetie?” asked Dad, yawning.

  “I want to set up a Facebook account for Petal Pushers,” I explained.

  “That’s a good idea,” said Dad. “If Fleur can do it, why can’t we?”

  “My thoughts exactly!” I replied. “But I need someone thirteen or older to log in.”

  “Well, I am definitely older than thirteen,” Mom said with a smile.

  I punched in her e-mail address and we came up with a password. After we filled in all the info, I stared at the blank page. I felt seriously overwhelmed and wasn’t sure where to start.

  “Maybe I’ll look up Fleur’s page to see what they did,” I said.