Flower Feud by Catherine R. Daly Page B

on. We had just completed our square dancing unit, so the chances that he didn’t remember it, quite vividly, were slim. “That was not much fun, was it? Boy, I really didn’t enjoy that class. Basketball, I don’t mind. But Steal the Bacon and square dancing are the two worst. For sure.”
    Hamilton was looking at me bemusedly. By this point we were at the girls’ locker room door. “See you!” I said asI yanked the door open and scooted inside. As the door swung shut, I caught a glimpse of his face. He looked confused and could it be … disappointed?
    I got dressed slowly, taking my sweet time. It was the last class of the day so I had nowhere to be. When I left the locker room, I checked to see if the coast was clear. Uh-oh. Hamilton was still there! But then I realized he was deep in conversation with Ashley. He looked pretty serious. I opened the door and sidled out. He didn’t even notice me. I told myself I didn’t care and headed to my locker.
    But I did care. Just a little.
    That night after dinner, I told my family what Amy had said that morning.
    “I-I don’t know what to say,” said Mom, blinking in confusion. “A whole school full of kids who don’t like flowers?”
    Aster, Rose, and Poppy looked puzzled. I knew how they felt. When your family has been in the flower business as long as ours, when a vase of fresh cut flowers on the table is a staple, like milk in the refrigerator, you just don’t get it when someone says they don’t like flowers.Some people don’t like cats. I may not agree, but I get it.
    Some people don’t like broccoli. This I understand. But flowers? It’s like saying you don’t like sunshine. Or chocolate cake. Or babies, for heaven’s sake.
    “So the question is,” I said, trying to keep our conversation on track, “how
do
we make flowers for the prom cool?”
    “How about using fruit?” suggested Dad. “Like your centerpieces?”
    Mom shook her head. “Too messy. One slow dance and there’s fruit salad squashed all over the front of someone’s tuxedo.”
    That made me laugh, in spite of everything.
    “How about using exotic flowers?” said Rose. “Like … birds of paradise!”
    “Or hibiscus,” said Aster.
    I was impressed that my sisters could name exotic flowers. They had definitely been paying attention at the store.
    Mom frowned. “Even if we use the most amazing exotic flowers, I don’t think that’s going to make prom flowers seem cool,” she said. “It’s still a wrist corsage on an elastic band, you know?”
    Nobody knew what to say. So instead, we movedto the family room and watched two episodes of
Cash Cab.
We yelled out answers, but other than that, we didn’t talk.
    When it was over, Mom yawned. “Delly?” she said.
    “Yes?” I said warily. She always calls me that when she wants me to do something she thinks I won’t be interested in doing.
    “Would you mind reading to Poppy before bedtime? Daddy and I are really tired tonight.”
    I sighed. I was just about to ask why Rose or Aster couldn’t do it, but the look of excitement on Poppy’s face kept my mouth shut. “Sure,” I said.
    Upstairs, I rifled through the books on Poppy’s bookshelf as she brushed her teeth and washed her face, and got changed into a ruffled pink nightgown. She had so many of my old favorites.
Harry the Dirty Dog. Charlotte’s Web. Ruby the Copycat. Pippi Longstocking. Ramona the Pest.
Then I spotted an old battered copy of
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.
Poppy had been disappointed when she hadn’t been allowed to see the Tim Burton version, so I thought she might get a kick out of reading the real thing.
    “What about this?” I asked as Poppy sat down heavilyon the rug and began peeling off her socks. She always saved them for last.
    “Cool,” she said. She climbed into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin.
    I sat on the edge of her bed, opened the book, and began to read the first chapter. “‘Alice was beginning to get very tired of