Flower Feud Read online

  Mom looked relieved that we were okay. “Did Poppy decorate the mirror with shaving cream again?” asked my dad warily as everyone joined us in Poppy’s room.

  “No, I’m amazing!” Poppy exclaimed, bouncing on her bed.

  “Tell us, Poppy!” exclaimed Mom.

  Poppy turned to me, confused. “Del, how am I amazing again?”

  I laughed. “Poppy wants to make me a daisy chain to wear to the middle school prom,” I told them.

  Everyone just stared at me.

  “So the reason none of the high school kids are ordering flowers is that they don’t think corsages are cool. But how cool would a necklace of flowers be? Or a …”

  “Bracelet!” said Rose, looking at me admiringly.

  “A ring!” said Aster.

  Mom was nodding, a big smile on her face. “This could work!” she said. She thought for a moment. “We could really be different — add sequins, feathers, beads…. We can go crazy at the craft store tomorrow. Then we can experiment in the afternoon when we’re all at the store,” she said excitedly. “Great idea, Poppy! Thanks.”

  “And thanks to you, too, Del,” said Dad, putting his arm around me. “This is a family that knows how to work together!” he added proudly.

  Poppy beamed. I did, too. I was more than happy to bask in my family’s gratitude for a while longer, but Poppy wanted to get back to Wonderland. “Del — Alice!” she said, pointing to the book. My family said good night and filed out, and I went back to where we had left off. But the whole time my mind was racing with new possibilities for flower necklaces, rings, and bracelets. I couldn’t wait to get started.

  I was back in my own bed, still excited, when my phone dinged with a text message. It was from Heather. And the news was not good.

  I HEARD H. ASKED A. TO THE DANCE AFTER SCHOOL 2DAY.

  So that was why Ashley and Hamilton had been talking so seriously after gym class! My heart sank down to my toes. I took a deep breath and texted back a breezy response: GOOD. NOW I DON’T HAVE TO AVOID HIM ANYMORE!

  But I didn’t feel breezy at all. I felt positively sick about it.

  Chapter Seven

  The next morning as Mom and I walked to the store, I didn’t feel much like talking.

  I had sent Becky a simple text late last night: GOT BAD NEWS. CALL ME ASAP IN AM. Becky sometimes liked to sleep in on Saturdays, but I hoped I’d hear from her soon. But part of me was worried that I wouldn’t.

  “I think you did it again, Del,” Mom was saying. “This is exactly what we need to stand out from the competition and convince the high school kids that flowers are cool.” She smiled. “Plus, all of us creating designs in the store together today is going to be a lot of fun!”

  I nodded. I thought she hadn’t noticed my silence, but moms don’t seem to miss much — especially when you want them to. When we got to Fairfield Avenue, she turned to me. “Penny for your thoughts,” she said.

  I shook my head. “I’m fine, Mom. Really.”

  But Mom did not look convinced.

  I bit my lip. How could I possibly tell my mother I was upset because the son of our competitor had asked my arch-nemesis to the school dance? I wasn’t even sure where to begin, so I just didn’t say anything.

  It doesn’t matter, I told myself. I didn’t want to go with him, anyway. But still, the news smarted, like a paper cut on your finger. Just when you’ve forgotten about it, you move your hand the wrong way and it hurts just as much as when you first got it.

  When we reached the store, Mom asked me to get things ready. She would do all the outgoing orders while Dad, Poppy, Aster, and Rose went to the craft store to pick up the supplies. I felt a twinge of excitement as I thought about reinventing the prom corsage. This was just what I needed to get my mind off my middle school prom woes.

  At the store, Becky finally called and I told her the whole story. “Oh, Del,” she said with a sigh. “I’m sorry.” No “What did you expect?” or “If you had only listened to me.” I hung up, feeling better just having talked to her.

  By the time Dad and my sisters walked into Petal Pushers, each clutching a bulging bag from Creative Crafts, the store was ready. I had cleared off the worktable (and organized all of Mom’s tools, which had been left in a big, messy pile the night before). One by one Dad, Rose, Aster, and Poppy dumped their materials onto the table. Mom squealed with delight as she sifted through the stuff they had bought. Feathers. Glue guns. Snap bracelets. Beads. Jewels. Sequins. And more.

  I held up a small black spider. “I can guess who picked this one out,” I said.

  Aster laughed.

  We all stood around the table, eyeing all the craft stuff. Nobody wanted to go first. I wondered if everyone felt the way I did — overwhelmed by our task and intimidated at being creative on demand.

  But then Mom got the ball rolling. She plugged in the glue guns and carefully chose an assortment of flowers from the cooler, placing the shears next to them.

  “Now, Poppy,” she warned. “One of us will help you with these, okay?”

  Poppy sighed. “Fine,” she said grumpily. I gave her a sympathetic grin. I remembered what it was like when no one trusted you to use sharp things by yourself.

  Mom glued pink gerbera daisies, a cluster of purple jewels, and some lighter pink feathers onto a snap bracelet. After allowing it to dry a bit, she snapped it onto Rose’s wrist.

  We all stared in amazement. Finally, I spoke. “That is the coolest wrist corsage ever, Mom.”

  “Nice work, Daisy,” said Dad.

  “I want one, too!” cried Poppy. Rose generously took off the bracelet and snapped it around Poppy’s tiny wrist. Poppy beamed up at her sister.

  Aster had bought some black spray paint and went into the back to color some daisies. Then, with some help from Mom, she made a very traditional wrist corsage — except for the all-black flowers, and the loops of thin, red ribbons with the tiny skull beads threaded on them. Her eyes were shining as she admired her goth creation.

  Rose, not to be outdone by her twin, took single sweetheart roses and glued them in a row onto a wide white ribbon, interspersing them with tiny rhinestones. When she tied it around her neck, we all gasped. Simple and gorgeous.

  With Dad’s help, Poppy created a pretty corsage of lilacs and some ribbon. She pinned it onto her velvet evening bag and admired it. “Look at my beautiful purse corsage,” she said solemnly. “I am a great idea-er.”

  We all agreed, with straight faces, that she was indeed a great idea-er.

  Mom took the elastic out of her hair and glued a big gerbera daisy on it. “Del, come here,” she said with a smile. I felt like a little kid again as she gathered my hair into a ponytail and wrapped the elastic around it. She held up a hand mirror and I admired my new hair corsage. I couldn’t help but wonder if Hamilton would like the way it looked … but then I pushed the thought away.

  Dad avoided all the girly stuff by making a collection of boutonnieres with all sorts of different flowers — bluebells, one of Aster’s black daisies, even a sunflower! Not a rose or carnation in sight.

  And me? I made a collection of totally serviceable snap bracelet corsages. I stared at them. Nothing really stood out as amazing. If you haven’t figured it out yet, I can be a bit of a perfectionist. I was pretty disappointed in myself that my flowers weren’t the best of the bunch.

  “I wish I had my camera,” Mom said. “Then we could remember exactly how to re-create everything.”

  I realized I could take pictures with the camera on my phone, so I started snapping away. Rose modeled her namesake necklace. Aster held her skull corsage up proudly. Mom tried on one of Poppy’s ring corsages and held up her hand, admiring it. “We are an amazing creative team!” she said happily. “The kids are going to go crazy for our designs.”

  “Hey, I think someone’s here now!” screeched Poppy. I looked up. She was right; someone was loitering outside the door.

  Not wanting a possible customer to get away, I hur
ried over to the door and pushed it open. “Welcome to …”

  My voice trailed off as I stood blinking in the sunlight at our “customer.” Tall. Cute. Sandy-haired. It was Hamilton Baldwin.

  What was he doing here?

  He smiled at me, his dimple showing. “Hey, Del,” he said. “I heard you worked here on weeken —”

  Quickly, I stepped outside, shutting the door behind me. My heart was hammering.

  “What are you doing here?” I hissed.

  “I came by to say hello, since we never seem to get a chance to talk at school!” he said with a grin.

  My mind was racing a million miles an hour. Proms. Ashley. Fleur. Our new designs. Suddenly, I knew exactly what Hamilton was up to — since Fleur wasn’t getting any prom business, either, his mom must have sent him here to see what we were working on!

  This was completely unacceptable! I spread my arms out wide across the store window, hoping to block his view of the goings-on inside. Since Hamilton’s at least six inches taller than me, I am pretty sure my oh-so-cool maneuver didn’t work.

  “You can’t be here,” I said. I glared at him, furious at his brazenness.

  His eyes widened. “Oh, does your boss get mad when friends come by?” He frowned. “I’m sorry.”

  My boss? So he was playing dumb. “Yeah,” I said tersely. “My boss doesn’t like it when people come snooping around.”

  Hamilton looked at me quizzically. “Snooping?” he asked. “You seem a little stressed out, Del. Is everything okay?”

  I just stared at him. I couldn’t believe he was trying to distract me with the nice-guy act. Well, I was onto him!

  “Okay, I’ll go,” said Hamilton, backing up a few paces. “I just wanted to ask you a question first.”

  “Fine,” I said. Whatever it took to get rid of him.

  “So what’s this I hear about Bob?” he said. “Is it true that you guys are really … you know …?” He trailed off.

  I looked at him like he was crazy. Why was he asking if Bob the Bully and I were really lab partners? Why did he care? What a weirdo!

  “Yeah, it’s true,” I said hastily. “Is that it?”

  “It is?” said Hamilton. He looked at me closely. “I just don’t get it. I’m sorry, but he’s such a … jerk.”

  I shrugged. “Like I had a choice?”

  Now Hamilton looked really confused. His brow wrinkled. “You didn’t have a choice?” he asked.

  “It was assigned,” I explained with a sigh.

  He gave me a blank look.

  “By our teacher,” I clarified.

  Hamilton opened his mouth as if he were going to ask me another question. But nothing came out. He shut his mouth and frowned.

  Just then Poppy poked her head out of the door. “Del!” she called. “Wait till you see, come quick! Aster just made a …”

  I shook my head as crazily as Buster does when he’s playing with one of his squeaky toys. “I’ll be there in a minute, Poppy!” I shouted frantically before she could spill the beans. “Go back inside. Right now!” Poppy stuck out her tongue at me. But she listened. I turned back to Hamilton. “I’ve got to get back to work,” I told him.

  Hamilton let out a long sigh. “Okay. Bye, Del,” he said somewhat sadly.

  Without giving him another glance, I marched back inside. The bell rang, mocking me with its merry tone. I was officially ticked off.

  “Look at this, Del!” Aster said, holding up a double ring corsage. She’d glued two plastic rings together and covered them with tiny flowers and sparkling jewels. It was seriously cool looking, but I was still seething.

  “Who came by just now?” Dad asked, glancing out the door.

  “Oh, just some kid I know from school,” I replied through gritted teeth. “Not a customer. At all.”

  “Hey, honey,” Mom said, not noticing my anger. She held up my phone. “Let me take a picture of the ponytail holder.”

  I turned around so she could get a good angle, and realized with horror that I’d worn it in front of Hamilton. Had he noticed it? Would he report back to his mother? Would she steal our cool idea?

  How stupid of me! I couldn’t believe I had ever been interested in a blatant spy like Hamilton Baldwin.

  The war had escalated. Hamilton had gone behind enemy lines. It was time to counterstrike.

  Chapter Eight

  I realized there was only one way to find out what Hamilton had learned from his spy mission. I would spy right back. It was only fair, right? And I would do it alone, I decided, remembering my last spying mission with Becky. She had cracked under pressure, big-time.

  I couldn’t tell Mom the truth, because then I would have to explain about Hamilton. And I just wasn’t ready for that yet. So the next day, I asked for a ride to the mall, saying that I needed to go shopping for the prom.

  Mom smiled. “Oh good,” she said. “Dad and I have some errands to run today and I wasn’t sure what we were going to do with Poppy.”

  I shook my head. I did not want to take my five-year-old sister on a top-secret spying mission! But Mom was firm — if I didn’t take Poppy, I was not going to the mall. End of story.

  So that’s how my five-year-old sister and I ended up being spies together.

  “Now, this is a secret,” I told her once Mom had dropped us off with strict instructions to meet her at the south entrance at four o’clock. “A special, oldest sister–littlest sister secret we have to keep for a while.”

  Poppy nodded solemnly. “Keep it secret. Check!” she said. She reached into her evening bag and pulled out a notebook and a pen. “I’ll take notes,” she told me.

  I rolled my eyes. Poppy doesn’t know how to write yet.

  “Okay,” I whispered. “They don’t know you at Fleur. But I’ve been here before. I don’t want to be recognized, so I’ll have to wear a disguise.” I reached into my shoulder bag and pulled out a floppy hat and a pair of sunglasses.

  Poppy scribbled some jagged shapes in her notebook. “Disguises. Check!” Then she looked at me. “I definitely need a disguise, too,” she said.

  When I told her she actually didn’t need one, her lower lip began to tremble. I looked around wildly. A sporting goods store was nearby. Five minutes later I was ten bucks poorer and Poppy was wearing a fishing cap.

  Poppy gave me a big grin. “I like spying with you, Del,” she said.

  “Good. Now remember, you can’t call me by name.”

  She nodded and scribbled in her notebook again. “Don’t call Del Del,” she said. “Check!”

  “Here goes nothing,” I said. I grabbed Poppy by the hand, plastered a smile on my face, and walked briskly toward the store entrance.

  “Welcome to Fleur,” said Hamilton’s mom as she stepped out from behind the counter. I took a close look at her. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a neat bun. She was pretty, with perfectly applied makeup. She had fine lines around her eyes, which were a brilliant shade of blue. Just like Hamilton’s.

  Poppy looked around at the vast space, her eyes wide. “Wow, what a beautiful store,” she said.

  I gave her a dirty look behind my sunglasses.

  “Why, thank you. And what’s your name, little girl?” Hamilton’s mom asked, bending her knees so she could look at Poppy’s face. “What a cute hat.”

  I stiffened. What would she say?

  “Um … Mercedes,” replied Poppy. “My name is Mercedes.”

  I stared at my little sister. Where did that come from?

  “Hello, Mercedes,” Hamilton’s mom said. She turned to me. “And you’re …”

  “Gertrude!” Poppy answered.

  Gertrude? I didn’t want to be Gertrude!

  “Gertrude, do you go to Sarah Hale Middle School?” she asked. “Maybe you know my son, Hamilton.”

  I totally panicked. “We’d better start shopping!” I said, grabbing Poppy’s hand and dragging her down the orchid aisle. I mentally urged Hamilton’s mom to go about her business so I could hopefull
y overhear some info and get out of there ASAP. I glanced around nervously. If Hamilton showed up, the jig would certainly be up.

  Hamilton’s mom shrugged and returned to her place behind the counter.

  “Mercedes,” I said in a louder than usual voice, “do you like this orchid for Mom’s birthday?”

  “Mom’s birthday isn’t until December, silly,” said Poppy, matching my volume. I gave her the hairy eyeball. “Oh. I mean, I love it for Mom’s birthday. Yes, I do.”

  Just then the door whooshed open. I froze, but then saw it was a tall, middle-aged woman — not Hamilton. Whew. I put my finger to my lips and Poppy and I eavesdropped.

  “Hi, Nancy,” said Hamilton’s mom. “How are things at Children’s Closet?”

  “Pretty good,” said Nancy. “We just had a big sale and we turned over a lot of merchandise. How are things here?”

  Score!

  “Not getting that prom business I had been anticipating,” Hamilton’s mom said.

  Poppy and I exchanged a meaningful glance.

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” said Nancy. “What do you think you’ll do about it?”

  “I just came up with a great idea,” said Hamilton’s mom. “Totally creative. It’s going to get those tweens and teens lining up outside the door.”

  My mouth fell open. What nerve! The only reason she had a great idea was thanks to me and my family. I had heard enough. My worst fears had been confirmed. I grabbed Poppy by the arm and dragged her out of the store.

  “Good-bye, Mercedes! Good-bye, Gertrude!” called Hamilton’s mom.

  “Good-bye,” I said icily over my shoulder as we headed out the door.

  Once we were outside, Poppy straightened her cap. “Well, she seemed like a really nice lady,” she said.

  We had another hour before Mom picked us up, so Poppy and I wandered the mall, window-shopping. My heart wasn’t in it. I could only think about Hamilton’s mom stealing our ideas. And since kids hung out in the mall all the time, she was definitely going to win the prom battle. All she had to do was fill her front window with all of our cool creations.