فصل 13

CHAPTER 13

Trouble with Flowers

It’s the night of the holiday concert, when we sing about Santa and dreidels and Kwanzaa. The best part is getting a new dress.

I stand in front of a mirror looking at my dress and my first shoes with a heel on them. Thinking about the shopping day I had with my mom. We even went to A. C. Petersen’s for lunch. I liked how she stayed with me in a booth instead of having to go wait on other people.

I love to sing, but I don’t like our music teacher, Mrs. Muldoon. Max calls her Minefield Muldoon because you never can tell when she’ll blow up over something. Oliver calls her that, too, but he acts it out by leaping into the air and yelling, Muldooooooon! as he lands on the floor and rolls. He doesn’t stop, though. He goes from a roll right to his feet again. Like a cat in a cartoon.

Shay is making fun of Albert because his clothes don’t fit. What’s with the pants, Albert? she says. Did you get that outfit in the third grade?

Keisha whips around fast. Why do you always try to pull people down? she asks.

Because some people deserve it, that’s why, Shay answers.

Deserve to be pulled down? Really? Keisha asks.

Albert straightens his tie, which is the only part of his outfit that fits. He’s even wearing his sneakers with the backs cut out. You know, he says, logically, if a person was to pull another down, it would mean that he or she is already below that person.

Keisha lets out a laugh so loud that Mrs. Muldoon shoots her a look. Keisha covers her mouth and tries to squelch the sound. That is perfect, Albert. Man, you really are a smart dude. She turns to Shay. You, on the other hand, are so low, you could play tennis against a curb.

Shay’s eyes narrow, but before she can say anything, Mrs. Muldoon appears and tells us to line up.

For the spring concert last year, before I had a growth spurt, I had to stand in the front row. I liked when Travis called me a dime among pennies. But this year, I get to stand toward the back of the line with the taller kids, right next to Keisha. I look over at her. I love how she stuck up for Albert. She had the guts that I didn’t in the cafeteria. I wish I could be braver.

We all stand, waiting to file into the auditorium. Oh, Mrs. Muldoon, I love your dress! Shay says.

Mrs. Muldoon lights up like a bulb. Why, thank you, Shay. Your parents have raised such a nice young lady.

Oh, thank you very much, Mrs. Muldoon. Shay smiles, but when she turns away toward Jessica, she rolls her eyes. And she keeps glaring at Keisha.

I decide I won’t think about how mad she makes me and I’ll think, instead, about how all the girls get to carry a bouquet of flowers. That’s the good news. The bad news is that they have been donated by Jessica’s father, the florist. It’s nice of him, but Jessica hasn’t stopped bragging about it.

Mrs. Muldoon walks down the line, handing out the most beautiful bouquets I have ever seen. Like the ones that brides carry. Dark red ribbons that wind around the stems like a barbershop light pole. Ribbons dangle from the bottom, too. She hands my bunch to me, and I smile thinking of how much my mom will love to see me with them.

Keisha leans in to smell them and runs her fingers over the tops of the flowers. Then one of the white buds falls off and bounces off the top of her shiny black shoe.

Mrs. Muldoon is there in a second. What do you think you’re doing?

I just . . .

Mrs. Muldoon grabs the flowers from Keisha’s hands.

Keisha looks up. No. Please don’t. I didn’t mean . . .

These flowers are a gift, and if that’s how you’re going to treat a gift—with a complete lack of respect and gratitude—then you, Keisha Almond, will be the only girl without flowers.

But Mrs. Muldoon, Keisha says, I really didn’t—

Mrs. Muldoon holds up her hand like she’s stopping traffic. I don’t want to hear it. You will have no flowers and perhaps you will remember in the future how a lady behaves.

See? Shay says to Jessica. People do get what they deserve.

I stand behind Keisha, but I wish I could see her face. I wait for her to say something back. But Keisha doesn’t say anything. Although I can’t see her cry, I hear her sniff and see her brush her cheek with her fingertips.

And I watch a mind movie of me being the only girl without flowers marching in to see all the parents. And the look on my mom’s face. How she’d be the only sad parent in a sea of smiling ones. And how I’d feel like I was less than everyone else.

No one should ever feel like that.

I feel my fingertips dig into the center of my bouquet to separate the thick stems. It takes some twisting to work half the flowers out of the fancy ribbon, but I put some muscle into it. Stems crack and leaves and petals fall, spinning in the air. Landing all around my shiny new shoes.

Mrs. Muldoon has turned around to stare. Her mouth is open wide enough for a bird to build a nest in.

I hold her gaze as I hand half the flowers to Keisha. Well, she can have some of mine, then.

In the end, neither of us had flowers when we walked into the auditorium.

But we had bigger smiles than anyone else.