Coming Up Roses by Catherine R. Daly Page A

dusting and sweeping. Poppy insisted on cleaning the front windows, but after she knocked down the display, crushing some of the Chinese lanterns and spilling water everywhere, I set her up at a worktable. She looked as happy as a clam to be surrounded with a pile of past-their-prime flowers we were going to throw out anyway and some curling ribbon. She immediately opened her purse and began hauling out doll accessories — brushes and barrettes and boots and sparkly minidresses. I gave a little laugh. Poppy could fit an awful lot of stuff into one tiny evening bag.
    As Mom organized the orders for the day, I walked up to her. “You know I am entirely against selling this place,” I said.
    Mom put a cool hand to my cheek. “Of course I do,” she said. “I feel the same way. But what can we do? Aunt Lily is so set on it.”
    “I’ve been thinking. Aunt Lily said that to compete with Fleur we would need to take a new approach,” I said. “But who’s to say it needs to be as drastic as selling our store? Maybe we could take a new approach … to Homecoming.”
    Mom frowned. “I don’t see what we could do. The flowers for the float and bouquets have already gone to Fleur. What’s left for us? The queen and her court can’t carry two bouquets each. We can’t
both
decorate the float.”
    I frowned. “Dad said this parade was going to be bigger than ever. Maybe we can do a new float, like …” I frantically tried to think of something. “Like … a moose made out of roses. Now wouldn’t that be fun?”
    Mom almost choked on her coffee. “Do you know how long it would take to design and make something like that? Weeks! Homecoming is next Saturday!”
    I frowned. “All right. But there’s got to be
something,”
I said. I brightened. “How about wreaths of roses for the queen and her court to wear in their hair?”
    Rose spoke up from across the room. “Brill idea, Del,”she said sarcastically. “No self-respecting queen is giving up that sparkly tiara.”
    “She’s right,” Mom said. “Though there’s no need to be rude about it,” she added pointedly to my sister. She put her hand on my shoulder. “Look, Del, I want to be a part of Homecoming, too, but there’s nothing we can do.”
    Dejected, I leaned on the counter next to Poppy.
    “Play with me, Del,” she begged. I can never resist Poppy’s puppy-dog eyes
    “Sure,” I said. “For a minute. What are we playing?”
    “Dress store,” Poppy told me. She picked up her Barbie doll and walked it up to me. “Hello, madame,” she said. “May I come into your store? I need a fashionable party dress to wear to the ball.”
    I stifled a laugh. Poppy’s doll, as Gran would say, was in her birthday suit. “Ah,” I said. “I see you are unexpectedly naked and in need of some clothing. Well, you have come to the right place. Welcome to my fashionable party-dress store. May I interest you in an evening gown, perhaps?” I picked up a tiny, satiny purple dress.
    “That would be lovely,” Poppy said.
    I struggled to get Barbie’s rigid arms into the slinky dress. Poppy looked at the outfit and frowned. “Too purple-ish,” she decided. “It needs to be fancier.” I fished a little white feather boa out of the pile and draped it around Barbie’s neck. Poppy shook her head. Still not fancy enough. Then she had a sudden inspiration. She hopped off the stool, ran to the tape dispenser, and brought it over. When she had climbed back up to her perch, she started removing rose petals from one of the flowers and taping them to the skirt of the dress.
    “Cute, Pops,” I said absentmindedly. She continued to add layer after layer of sweet-smelling rose petals to the skirt.
    “Voilà!” Poppy said. “Presenting the Flowery Rose Skirt!” She hopped Barbie up and down. “Do you like my fashion?” she asked me seriously.
    I didn’t answer. The wheels in my brain began to turn. A rose-petal dress — would it be possible?
    I grabbed Poppy by the