Tell Me (4 page)

I carry two bouquets past the headstones:

 

BIG MONGREL

FUR E. BALL

MISS BITSY

 

There's a small group of old ladies gathered in a circle. Mrs. Bernstein comes forward, crying. I hand her the bouquet with fresh mint and catnip, her cat's favorite things.

“I'm sorry for your tragic loss, ma'am.”

Mrs. Bernstein sniffs. “I believe Empress is happier up there.”

An old lady calls, “God knows she wasn't happy down here!”

I nod meaningfully and leave. Two down on the Things We've Never Done Before challenge. I walk toward the pickup. A tall woman is talking to Mim.

“If you must know, Mim, it's the Tourism Council. They're concerned.”

“You're the head of that council, Doria.”

This woman goes into all-out snark: “How long have we known each other?”

Mim smiles like it's been too long.

“And in that time, have I ever asked you to do something that wasn't for the benefit of the town?”

Mim keeps smiling.

“Coleman Crudup is protesting his placement in the parade, Mim. He gives so much money to this event, and he feels strongly that last year his float should have won a trophy.”

Mim leans against her truck. “Last year he cheated, Doria. His float design was taken from one in the Rose Bowl Parade. The designs have to be original. You know that.”

This tall lady isn't happy. “Mim, Coleman Crudup is a major force in this town. We need to keep him happy.”

Mim adjusts her purple scarf. “I believe in taking care of everyone in town, and those who respect the rules should get precedence at the festival over those who don't.”

I think Mim needs some help, so I walk up. The tall lady looks at me, not impressed. “You're the granddaughter. . . .”

“I'm Anna, ma'am.” I smooth my Kids Act Out shirt from the Children's Drama Workshop.

“I hear you're amusing. . . .”

I wiggle my nose. People love this in Philadelphia.

This woman stares at me.

“You must show us your full range of talents sometime, dear. I love to be entertained.”

I smile.
Really?

Mim is driving down Rose Street: a man hangs twinkling lights shaped like flowers over Mabel's Cafe, a giant winking sunflower turns on top of Crudup's Country Market, Star Nails is offering 20 percent off on all flower nail designs from now until the festival. I look at my nails, which I've chewed to stubs.

“Everything is bigger than I remember, Mim.”

I haven't been here for the festival in years—I was always at the Children's Drama Workshop summer program.

“And you won't believe the crowds that show up. We spent a lot of time in Rosemont trying to figure out what's the best gift we've got to offer that might bring in some tourism. We always had fine gardens, so we built from there, and now”—she laughs—”we've created a
monster.”

She turns down a winding road lined with bushes shaped like animals.

“Who did those, Mim?”

“Burke.”

“You're kidding!” I look at a bird, a dog . . .

“That boy's got deep rivers.” Mim pulls into the parking lot of the Rosemont Library. We get out of the truck, walk past a bush shaped like a camel and up the steps. “You'll hear a lot more about this while you're here, Anna, but I want to maintain the heart of this town and this festival. Not grow it too big, to where we can't handle things. But some people keep pushing for more. . . .”

“Like Coleman Crudup?”

Mim stops for a second and looks so tired. “He's the richest man in town, and he expects to get his way.”

“I hear you were a cranberry.”

The boy is wearing a T-shirt that reads
POSSIBLE GENIUS
, and he is holding a weird pink hat with petals.

I look at the hat. “Four shows a day on the weekends. I had a nine-week run.”

He twirls the hat. “Winnie Dugan asked me to talk to you. She's in an extra-long meeting with people who drive her crazy.” Mim's in that meeting. Winnie is one of the librarians here and Mim's best friend.

The boy holds up two costumes. Both look lame. “We're trying to get kids to help get out the word about the festival, and Winnie wondered if you'd like to be a flower and pass out information.”

A kid dressed like a sunflower walks by, not doing much with the role.

“Daisy or petunia?” the possible genius asks.

As a professional, I need hard facts to make this choice. I take out my phone, look up daisies and petunias.

Points for daisies: simple beauty, popularity. Daisies cheer people up.

Points for petunias: toughness, they keep blooming in cold weather. You can count on a petunia.

That settles it. “Petunia,” I tell him.

He hands me the pink costume with the weird petal hat and points to the bathroom. “You can change in there, Petunia.”

“My name's Anna. We're doing this now?”

“You have something better to do?”

Guess not . . .

I look at him. He's got dark glasses and dark straight hair that falls in his face. “Do you have a name other than Possible Genius?”

“You can call just me Genius.”

“What does your mother call you?”

“Difficult.”

I would like to say that this puffy pink outfit was not
well thought out.

It bounces when I move.

The hat is shaped like an upside-down trumpet, and the petals fall in my face.

I look at myself in the mirror of this one-person bathroom.

I do not look like a tough flower, okay?

My mind goes round and round like a hamster on its wheel.

What if . . .

My life is going to change and there's nothing I can do about it?

My parents don't love each other anymore?

My parents need me and I'm not there to help them work things out?

Peanut can't cope and isn't eating?

Lorenzo finds a new acting partner?

A petal from the weird hat flops over my eye.

Blow it back, Anna. You're a petunia.

I do this.

More force, Anna.

I lean toward the mirror.

Look, when the other flowers give up, I'm still
blooming.

I laugh at freezing weather.

“Watch me, world, I'm a petunia.”

It's official. I'm now three down on the Things We've Never Done Before challenge.

I open the bathroom door, march into the busy library.

A girl asks, “What kind of flower are you?”

“The toughest one in the garden.”

“Cool.”

I twirl—I think that's appropriate—and walk to the front door. The genius says, “Nice hat.”

“The flower festival is in eighteen days,” I remind people. I dance around at this news. “We are going to party.” I do my break-dance move.

A little moonwalk moment now, walking like I'm moving against gravity—Lorenzo and I practiced this for one entire year.

A man wants to know where the four-day books are. I point.

A woman wants to know if she can return her past-due books to me. “You need a librarian for that, ma'am.” I shake one of my leaves toward the information desk.

I do the slide, the funky chicken. I'm not used to working solo—I keep expecting Lorenzo to show up and dance with me. A boy does the funky chicken with some excellent wing action, but it's not the same.

Six men wearing shirts with cactuses on them march in.

The tall snarky lady I saw at the pet cemetery follows them. “Gentlemen, all I'm asking is that your float bring up the rear.”

One faces her. “You want us to be last, Doria. You want us to give up our number one position for Coleman Crudup? We're cactuses, not pansies.”

Her face gets flushed.

“Tell Crudup to stop pushing the little guys around, Doria.”

They march past me. This Doria woman stares at my outfit.

“Hello, ma'am, we met at the—”

She marches past me, too.

Now a group of kids about my age come in. Their shirts say
ROSEMONT MIDDLE SCHOOL JAZZ BAND.

I bounce from side to side, say, “All rigghhhht . . .
the band is here . . .”

All of them grin except for one pretty blonde girl who is taller than the rest. She walks up to me.

“Who are you?” she demands.

“Ease up, Caitlin,” a boy says.

“Who are you?” she says, like I didn't hear the first time.

“Anna McConnell. Who are you?”

She looks shocked, like I'm supposed to know. Hands on her hips. “I'm Caitlin Crudup!”

Hands on my hips, or my stem, actually. “Welcome to the library.”

She marches past me. The band goes to talk to the genius.

Now more people are coming into the library. I've got a good crowd. That always gives me energy. I'm feeling strong, I'm touching hearts, but it's hot in this suit.

The genius walks over. “Okay, that was good. You're hired—for no money.”

I smile.
Welcome to community theater.

“We need you back tomorrow morning, starting at ten. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“And, look, that girl Caitlin, she's like that. She's the
lead trumpet player.” He whispers the next part. “Her dad owns half the town. Don't worry about it.”

I nod.

He smiles. “I'm Ben. I'm on drums.”

The band walks by. Caitlin glares at me like I'm crawling with bugs.

If I were dressed like a daisy I'd probably keep my mouth shut, but I'm not. I push the pink petals out of my eyes. “Caitlin, if you knew me and decided you didn't like me, that would be okay. But you don't know me. I just got to town, so give it a break.”

Her face turns cranberry red.

The band loves that.

Caitlin storms off.

Ben laughs the hardest. “Nice one, Petunia.”

I wonder what happens when you insult the spoiled-brat daughter of the richest man in town.