Tell Me (17 page)

“Oh, Daddy!”

It just seems right: I take off the yellow scrunchie from my wrist and hand it to him.

“I've got another one at home, sir. I'm sorry about the spaghetti sauce stain. I think you can wash it off.”

Coleman Crudup looks at the scrunchie. Caitlin puts it on his wrist. “Thank you, Anna.”

Now, I didn't learn deal-making from my dad, but one thing he always taught me.

Know when it's time to leave.

I shout, “Thank
you
, sir.” I turn to go, take a last look at the photo of Coleman Crudup and the dead deer.

I'm outta here.

A zillion things to do and not enough people to do them, but somehow they're getting done.

Dr. Gudrey puts special composite horseshoes on Zoe so she won't slip on the pavement along the parade route.

Taylor is getting into her role as the queen of the flowers, maybe a little too much.

She's wearing a purple robe and a gold crown, and she's riding around the ring on Zoe, who has a wreath of flowers over her neck. They're going to lead the parade. But some rulers want it all.

“I'll need a scepter of authority, of course, and a small floral entourage to do my bidding . . .” Taylor looks at me.

I'm so much more than part of an entourage!

“We'll find a scepter,” Dad assures her.

I think you're creating a monster here!

Six marching bands come into town.

The bands are practicing on the Rosemont High School football field, but no band is as cool as MSB, the Middle School Blues. They're wearing blue jackets and black shirts, crazy shorts, and matching dark sunglasses.

The Blues are ready to rock hearts.

Caitlin is practicing her big trumpet call.

Merv is practicing his cowboy rope tricks, shouting “Yeee-haaa!” a lot.

Cars drive down the street covered with flowers.

Out come hats with feathers and flowers, sequined outfits, glittery tops.

Ben hands me a pair of dark sunglasses. “You're one of us, Anna, even though you have to watch the daisies.”

Burke keeps bringing more flowers to decorate Taylor's crown. I try to get things going between them, but twelve-year-olds are much better conversationalists than older teenagers.

Believe me, I've done what I can.

Mim sits at home “resting” for as long as she can stand it. Finally she wears Dad down and he drives her to the hangar. I go, too.

You can't believe how good the floats look.

Mim takes the microphone and stands in the middle of it all. “All right, we've got more work than a sane person can even think about, but anyone volunteering for this isn't fully sane.” That gets a laugh. “So, from my heart, from the mayor of Rosemont, from every person in this town, I want to thank you all for being here and wanting to make something uniquely beautiful that's going to delight so many people.” She looks around grinning. “And, oh, you've done it! It's gorgeous. Thank you, thank you!”

A little girl in a yellow shirt runs up to her. “You're welcome!”

Mim pulls the kid up with her. “This is what it's about. I love you all.”

A cheer goes up.

All night long we work—not exactly all night, but way late. Still, I do think it's fair to say that Coleman Crudup's people who were assigned to Get the Big Thing Done didn't sleep at all.

“Good morning, entourage.” It's Taylor, our supreme ruler.

I'm back in the petunia suit, surrounded by a cactus, a sneezing yellow rose, and ten little daisies who aren't
getting along. Roderick von Push, age six, is a dandelion.

“What's my motivation?” he says to Taylor.

“You're a weed, Roderick. You spread.”

Roderick's not sure about the spreading.

“My public awaits,” Taylor says, and raises her scepter. “You may rise.”

“I'm already standing!” That's Roderick.

“Places,” Dad says.

And Taylor and her entourage walk to the front of the parade line, past the miniature cars, the flower- covered bikes, the skateboarders, the seven floats, each one so different. A few of them, like the MSB float, have some bald spots, but that's okay, life isn't perfect.

Past the marching bands and the cactus mobile, driven by an old guy who looks like a cactus, past horses and veterans in convertibles, past majorettes and minorettes, and as we walk past the MSB float, the whole band stands up and shouts, “Yeah!”

I've got on my serious jazz MSB dark sunglasses because I am part of that group and proud to be a cool petunia.

I do a grooving petunia move, and the little daisies follow me the best they can.

The band nods their heads and says, “Yeah,” again.

“Dandelions don't dance,” Roderick tells me.

Whatever.

All the while Taylor is waving, and people are waving back.

Burke comes up to her with this dumb expression on his face, and he escorts her to Zoe like she can't get on a horse by herself.

“You may call me ‘Your Majesty,'” Taylor tells me as she walks by.

I cough. Maybe not.

So, here we are.

There's no more time.

I hope it got done.

I hope, I hope, I hope . . .

A drumroll.

Slowly the parade begins.

Zoe shakes her head and walks forward.

Taylor adjusts her head mic.

“Ladies, gentlemen, children, and all manner of distinctive creatures,” she announces as her voice booms from amplifiers across the parade route. “Welcome to the Parade of Flowers. We have a special theme today. In the middle of all this beauty, we are raising a banner of hope.”

That's Burke's and Dad's cue. They're right behind me. I turn around to see.

They raise a banner high.

It says, OGM.

A teenage girl shouts, “Shouldn't that be OMG?”

“Absolutely not.” Taylor lifts her scepter,

Caitlin Crudup blows her trumpet good and loud.

And banners on all the floats roll down like sails on tall ships. Those banners read,

ONE GIRL MATTERS

Now, thanks to Brad, the smiling picture of Kim Su is raised by marchers. Kids dressed like flowers, and one small, irritable weed, pass out the
HAVE YOU SEEN HER?
cards.

Did I mention that everyone in the parade has a yellow scrunchie on their wrist? Drums roll again.

Another trumpet blast, not as strong as the first one, but people get the idea.

Me, I'm dancing.

I was made to be a petunia.

I suppose Taylor was always meant to be the queen of the flowers. She plays it as if she was born for the role.

“Have you any wishes?” she shouts down to the people. “Is everything going well for you in the kingdom?
Have you met my little flowers and our weed?”

“I spread,” Roderick explains.

I moonwalk, and the crowd loves it. All the hours Lorenzo and I practiced to get this right are paying off now. I throw in a break-dance move.

The crowd loves that, too.

Petunias can do anything.

“Thank you all for coming,” Taylor tells the crowd. “I love being out among the people.”

She jumps off Zoe to shake hands. She orders us flowers around, but not too much.

I nod to the daisies, and they skip off in a perfect line to weave in and out of the floats. I walk alongside them.

“Wave. Be adorable.”

They do this.

Roderick looks disgusted.

“You're a weed,” I tell him. “Look tough.”

He puts his extreme weed face on.

“That's what I'm talking about, Roderick. Who is going to mess with you?”

I can hear the Middle School Blues start up.

I've marched in parades before, but nothing like this.

If I felt any more energy, I swear, I could fly!

Dad and Burke are marching in front of the MSB band holding the
ONE GIRL MATTERS
banner high. The little flowers are everywhere, passing out
OGM
buttons.

“Boys matter, too,” Roderick tells people.

I weave in and out with the daisies and our one irritable weed. All the daisies stop and wave at the waving chipmunk on Harvey Mutt Plumbing, Ltd. Lots of people in the crowd are laughing as Harvey Mutt raises a plunger and shouts, “Life is good!”

I zigzag with the daisies, and we get to the end of the parade. Coleman Crudup's float seems to break all the rules. His name is too big, his music is too loud, but his
ONE GIRL MATTERS
sign is ten feet tall, bigger than his name even, and that is something.

Of course under that is written, “Brought to you by Crudup Country Markets.”

Coleman Crudup walks alongside his float shaking hands and passing out yellow scrunchies.

The daisies and I dance around him.

Back to the front now. “Stay adorable!” I shout as we move alongside the bookworm float. The head of the
worm moves a little—the kids love it. Mim and Winnie are under a reading tree, waving.

Waving is a big part of being in a parade.

Merv rides on a horse and does his rope tricks from high in the saddle.

Volunteers walk along the parade route wearing
OGM
buttons.

Somebody see her, please.

Somebody remember.

Roderick runs up to me. “They want you on the middle school float, Anna.”

I look behind me and Ben is motioning to me. I run over. He helps me onto the float.

“Come on, Anna. We need you to sing.” He hands me a mic.

“No. I can't.”

“Of course you can,” Siri says.

“I haven't practiced for—”

Mr. Cool doesn't wait for permission. He grins at me. “Give it all you got.”

He snaps his fingers. The band gets ready. Mr. Cool says, “One, two, three, four . . .” The band breaks into Ben's song. Mr. Cool nods at me. “Take it.”

Did anyone notice I'm in a petunia suit?

But I adjust my sunglasses, hold the mic, and sing . . .

 

T
ell me how you're doing,

I really want to know.

Are you feeling happy

Or are you feeling low?

 

Tell me if it's bad for you.

Tell me what you need.

 

I throw back my head . . .

 

I'm your friend.

And you can count on me.

Oh yeah . .
 .

 

“Yeah, girl,” Mr. Cool says.

I'm strutting now.

You can count on me!

 

The band is doing it. Ben is grinning at me.

I get ready for the second verse.

I'm singing . . .

 

People make us crazy.

People turn away . . .

Caitlin comes in so true with her trumpet.

I grin at her.

That is good.

The beat is strong,

I'm dancing to the song.

I twirl around, hands in the air.

And this petunia grooves across the stage.

The band nods.

 

Tell me how you're doing,

I really want to know.

Are you feeling happy

Or are you feeling low?

 

Caitlin's trumpet rises.

 

Tell me if it's bad for you.

Tell me what you need.

I'm your friend.

 

Ben sings, “Yes, she is.”

 

I'm your friend,

Oh yeah.

 

I throw my petunia arms out.

I'm going for the big finish. . . .

 

You . . .

Can . . .

Count . . .

Onnnnnnnn . . .

 

Ben does a great drum lick. Caitlin blares her horn.

I throw back my head and belt out,

 

Meeeeeeee!

 

I have never held a note this long, I swear.

People are applauding, and Mr. Cool nods, which is major praise, Ben twirls his drum sticks in the air. It's
just one of those official best moments you want to last forever.

Mr. Cool tells me to take a bow, and he tells the band to stand up.

We wave at the people as petals are thrown into the streets of Rosemont.

Mom waves at me from the crowd, dabbing her eyes.

And suddenly I understand something about what to do when bad things come. You don't hide, you don't look away; you get right up on them, you take the reins and you ride.

Or sing.

Or whatever it is you know how to do.

And I swear, this experience is even better than being a singing radish, but all good things have to come to an end.

Roderick von Push runs up to the float and shouts, “Anna, the flowers are running off!”

I hand Mr. Cool the mic, jump off the float, and try to collect the daisies, which isn't easy in this outfit.

Taylor grabs two giggling daisies and the rose, Roderick screams at the tiny cactus, and Dad and Burke help us get the kids in line.

“That was some performance,” Dad tells me. “I've never heard you better.”

“It's Ben's song,” I say.

“It's everybody's song now, Anna.”

I look at Kim Su's smiling picture hanging down from all these banners.

This has to be enough to find her.

Has to be.

Have you seen her?

Please say yes.

She's my friend.

All day long and into the night, people talk about the girl with the baby animal eyes.

The floats are awarded the trophies—the bookworm takes first prize, the middle school float gets “Best First Effort.” Harvey Mutt Plumbing, Ltd., gets “Most Beautiful,” and he makes a big speech about beauty and plumbing, and at the end he raises his trophy in one hand and his plunger in the other.

Coleman Crudup doesn't get a trophy, but I tell him, “You get the yellow scrunchie award, sir. It's only being given once and won't be given again. You totally deserve it.”

He snaps the scrunchie on his wrist and says he'll take it.

“And there's prize money, sir.” I open my velcro wrist wallet and hand him the fifty-dollar bill he gave me at the library. “I know that's not a lot to you, but . . .”

He takes the money. “Any time you want to work for me, Anna McConnell, you give me a call. Any time, and that includes after college.”

“Thank you, sir.”

We've done everything we know to do, and that's such a good feeling.

Now we wait.