Best Buds (3 page)

“Are you all excited for tomorrow?” Mom asked.

Poppy’s eyes were shining. “Yes!” she said. “My very first cap and gown ever!”

“I can’t wait to walk across that stage and get my diploma,” said Rose. “It’s going to be awesome, just you wait.” She grinned at her twin. “Right, Aster?”

Aster gave a small nod of agreement.

That reminded me. “How have graduation orders been?” I asked Mom.

I was still worried about something my great-aunt Lily, who co-owns Petal Pushers, had said a couple weeks ago:
Just remember, you’re going to need all the help
you can get to keep the store afloat through the summer!
Aunt Lily is a glass-half-empty kind of lady, but she knows what she’s talking about. I wanted to make sure we were doing okay, especially since we were closing the store for two whole weeks to go on our Maine vacation.

“Pretty good,” Mom said. “The graduation orders are all finished and ready for pickup tomorrow morning. I told everyone we’d be open from eight till nine thirty. Then we’ll close for the day and hit the graduations!”

Our town has almost all of its graduations on the same day, for some reason. Kindergarten, fifth grade, eighth grade, and high school. Poppy would graduate in the morning, Rose and Aster in the afternoon. The eighth graders were right after that, and the high schoolers came last. Luckily, I had reminded Mom to make a dinner reservation at Oscar’s well in advance. It was the fanciest restaurant in town and very popular. The fact that Mom did their weekly flowers probably helped us score a table, too.

“And then two more weeks and we’ll be in Maine,” I said excitedly. I could practically smell the ocean air and taste the lobster rolls.

“When do we leave?” Rose asked.

“July sixth,” I reminded her. “Right after the store closes.”

I noticed Mom’s furrowed brow.

“That
was
the plan,” I said, looking from Mom to Dad in confusion. “Right?”

Mom bit her lip. “I have something to tell you all. I got a call today about doing the flowers for an anniversary party,” she said, gazing down at the tablecloth.

“That’s great news!” said Dad.

“A big party?” I asked hopefully.

“Pretty big,” Mom said brightly. Then she took a deep breath. “There’s only one problem … it’s on July seventh.”

I froze, my lemonade glass halfway to my waiting mouth. It couldn’t be. “But … that’s my birthday!” I cried. This would ruin everything. Instead of being on the road to Maine on Friday, we’d be up late that night assembling the centerpieces. Then the next day we’d have to deliver them, set them up, and take care of any last-minute issues. Not exactly the birthday I had planned. I mean,
one of the good parts about being a kid is that you don’t have to work on your birthday, right?

Mom ran her hand through her hair. “I know, I know,” she said. “But I couldn’t say no. We need the business. Especially since we’re closing for two weeks.” She leaned forward and looked into my eyes. “Delly, I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.”

“That’s the second time I’ve heard that today,” I said in a sharp voice that almost didn’t sound like mine. I could feel my face getting warm. Usually, I am all for putting business first. But it was my birthday. My
thirteenth
birthday. “This is completely unfair!”

Everyone was staring at me like I was a two-headed calf at a state fair. I don’t lose my cool very often, so when I do, people seem to pay attention.

“What’s wrong with Del?” I heard Poppy whisper to Rose.

“She’s totally losing it!” said Rose, looking slightly fascinated.

“I am
not
losing it!” I said defensively, though I kind of felt like I was about to.

“Well, what time is the party?” Dad asked Mom.

“It’s in the afternoon,” Mom said, her eyes trained on my face. “So we could be on the road by four o’clock,” she said. “Five at the latest.”

Dad turned to me. “See? We can be in Maine in time for twin lobsters at Brown’s for your birthday dinner!”

I sighed. They just didn’t get it.

Everyone began chattering away about graduation as we cleared the table. “Let’s play a game before bed!” Rose begged, but I said I was tired and I headed upstairs as soon as the last fork was in the dishwasher.

I lay down on my bed and tried to read for a while. But I couldn’t concentrate. There was a lump in my throat and my heart was heavy. All I could think was:
I’m turning thirteen. And nobody seems to care. Not my friends, not my family … not anybody.

“Wake up, Del, wake up! It’s graduation day!” Poppy’s squeaky voice was even more high-pitched than usual.

I groaned and pulled the sheets over my head. “Poppy, it’s only …” I opened one eye to peer at my bedside clock. “Six thirty!” I sighed. My first school-free day and I was up at the crack of dawn. Plus, I was still feeling cranky about the bombshell Mom had dropped last night.

“Today’s the day I get my dip … dip …”

“Diploma,” I finished for her.

“Yes, that thing,” she said with a nod. “I’m so excited I can’t sleep anymore. Let’s go get some breakfast!”

I tried a new angle. “Wouldn’t you rather have breakfast with your fellow graduates, Aster and Rose?” I suggested.

Poppy considered this for a moment. Then she shook her head. “Nope.”

Oh well. I yawned, stood up, and headed downstairs with my little sister.

“Oh jeez, Poppy,” I said as she began calling out numbers. “Do you really have to count every step this morning?”

Poppy gave me a dirty look and raced back to the top of the stairs. I had made her lose her count. I slipped ahead of her and headed downstairs.

“Twenty-two!” she announced when she made it to the kitchen. By that time, I had already poured her a bowl of Cheerios and a glass of orange juice. As I grabbed a banana to slice it, she said, “Open it like a monkey!”

“Oh, that’s right,” I said, flipping it upside down and pinching the bottom open. Poppy had seen that YouTube video: “How To Peel a Banana Like a Monkey” and now insisted that we all follow suit. I was poised to slice the banana into her cereal when she said, “I don’t eat bananas in my cereal anymore.”

“Now you tell me!” I said. Five-year-olds! I shrugged and took a bite of the banana. Poppy was right. The top
did
make a nice handle.

Poppy settled herself at our old wooden kitchen table.
She picked up her spoon, looked up at me, and smiled. “Today is the most important day of my life, Del,” she said completely seriously. “I’m a little dipsiddish.”

I looked at her quizzically.

“That means nervous,” she explained. I stifled a grin and sat down across from her. I took a sip of juice. “It
is
an important day, Poppy,” I agreed. “But there’s no need to be nervous.” She gave me a look. “I mean dipsiddish. It’s a piece of cake.”

Poppy’s face lit up. “I get cake?”

“That’s an expression,” I told her. “It means it’s easy, nothing to worry about.”

“Oh,” said Poppy, disappointed.

One by one, my family began to make their way downstairs. Dad shuffled in and went right to the coffeemaker without a word. He was useless without his morning caffeine. After a couple of minutes, the rich, breakfast-y aroma of brewing coffee filled the air. Dad magically perked up at the smell.

Rose and Aster came down together, both looking sleepy. Rose was in her pink-and-white pj’s, and Aster was in one of her many black nightgowns.

Mom came down last, just as the coffeemaker began beeping. “Coffee!” she said, her eyes lighting up. Dad poured her a cup first. He added just the right amount of milk and handed it to her.

“Now this is heaven,” he said, pouring his own cup. I swear, I will never understand grown-ups and their need for coffee.

Mom took a sip. “I know,” she replied. She sat down and wrapped both hands around the mug. She stared at me from across the table. “Del, I am so sorry your birthday got all messed up.”

I nodded. I wanted to tell my mom not to worry, but I couldn’t keep the frown off my face.

“So I was thinking that maybe you guys could leave Friday as planned. I could do the party myself and take the bus up Saturday night to meet you,” she suggested.

I was about to consider that when Poppy freaked out. “No, Mommy! We can’t go without you!” she shrieked.

Mom turned to me. “Del?” she said.

I was torn. Obviously, I wanted Mom with us. But I really didn’t like the idea of having to work on my
birthday. Still, I am the reasonable one in the family. And part of that is being, well, reasonable. Even when you don’t feel like it.

“It’s okay, Mom,” I said. “I don’t want you to be by yourself. We’ll still be in Maine in time for an awesome birthday dinner.” I hoped I sounded like I meant it.

“Thanks, Del,” said Mom gratefully. Dad nodded at me and went back to his paper.

Everybody was ignoring our Boston terrier, Buster, who was whining and hitting his food bowl with his paw, so I fed him. He wolfed down his breakfast and then started jumping up and down for his morning walk. I ran upstairs, threw on some sweatpants, a T-shirt, and flip-flops, and headed outside, snapping on his leash.

The house was strangely quiet as I walked back in the kitchen door with the now calm Buster.
That’s funny,
I thought,
for a disorganized household, graduation day is going pretty smoothly.
But then I realized how wrong I was. The kitchen table was littered with dirty coffee cups, juice glasses, bowls, and plates. A bowl of cereal had been knocked over, and milk and soggy Os were dripping onto
the floor. Buster ran over and began lapping it up. I chased him away, picked up a sponge, and started cleaning.

When the dishwasher was loaded and the table was clean, I headed back upstairs to get ready. I found Mom tearing apart the linen closet, Rose, Poppy, and Dad standing there watching her.

“Mom forgot we have to iron our gowns!” wailed Rose.

“Del, have you seen the iron?” Mom asked me, her arms full of towels.

“What’s an iron?” said Poppy.

“Exactly,” I said. I turned to Mom. “I keep the iron in my room,” I explained.
Because I’m the only one who ever uses it,
I added silently.

I set up the ironing board in the upstairs hallway and plugged in the iron. “Dad, you’re going to have to do it,” I told him. “Mom and I have to get to the store. We’re supposed to open in half an hour!”

Mom slapped her hand to her head. “You’re right! I’ll just hop in the shower.”

“Great,” said Dad, looking at the ironing board like it was some sort of torture device.

“Has anyone seen my black dress?” asked Aster, poking her head out of the room she shares with Rose.

“You’ll have to be more specific,” Mom responded.

“I can’t find my ruffly socks!” shouted Poppy at the same time that Rose called, “Has anyone seen my purple bicycle shorts?”

Mom turned to Dad. “It’s all yours, dear,” she said, shutting the bathroom door behind her.

Dad looked at me, his eyes pleading. “Take me with you,” he said only slightly jokingly.

“Sorry, Dad,” I said with a grin. “You heard Mom. It’s all yours.”

He shook his head and picked up the iron. “Three graduations in one day. That’s two too many!” He licked his finger and tapped it on the iron to see if it was hot enough. It made a satisfying sizzle. He started ironing graduation gown number one. I just hoped he wouldn’t scorch it.

There were two moms, a dad, and a grandma waiting, rather impatiently, outside the store when we arrived. They picked up two corsages, a bouquet, and one funny flower
face. Mom had come up with the flower face — a large chrysanthemum with a pipe-cleaner smiley face and a big fat bumblebee on it — just for the kindergarten graduation. It was supercute. That’s my mom for you — always thinking up something new and fun with flowers.

The morning was busy with pickups and some drop-in customers. Luckily, we had made an extra supply of ready-made bouquets the night before. Finally, at a quarter to ten, we had to close our doors. We would just make Poppy’s graduation if we rushed. Mom was about to lock the door when I remembered something.

“Our flowers!” I shouted. Imagine if Poppy, Rose, and Aster were flowerless for their graduation. That would be terrible! I ran back inside to get the special flowers we had made — a smiley mum for Poppy, a bouquet of pink roses for the bright and cheerful Rose, and these almost-black roses with yellow stripes for the dark and pensive Aster. Mom locked the door behind me and we hit the pavement running.

Luckily, kindergarten graduations always seem to start late. There was time to slip into the seats that Dad had saved for us on the aisle in the middle of the auditorium.
Mom and I grinned at each other as we caught our breath. We had made it!

We stood as “Pomp and Circumstance” began to play. I almost started giggling as the kindergartners began straggling down the aisle — such a serious song for such a tiny bunch of kids. They looked so big-eyed and solemn. Poppy didn’t crack a smile until she looked up and realized she was standing right next to me. Then she punched me in the leg. “Hey, Del!” she said excitedly.

Principal Shaw, who had been
my
principal way back in elementary school, gave a quick speech about children being our future, yada yada yada. Then the kids walked across the auditorium floor, accepted their diplomas, shook the principal’s hand, and then he asked them each a question: “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

That’s right!
I remembered. The principal always asked each kid that question at graduation day. It was a tradition. I wondered how many kids would actually end up being what they said they wanted to be. I doubted, for example, that Carmine Belloni still wanted to be a cowboy. I realized I had no idea what Poppy might actually say.

America Anderson wanted to be a ballerina. Jordan Billings, an ice-cream man. Next, it was Poppy’s turn. She solemnly walked across the floor, accepted her diploma, and shook the principal’s hand.

“And what do you want to be when you grow up, Poppy?” he asked.

Complete silence. Poppy looked panicked for a moment.