Violet in Bloom

by Lauren Myracle

Milla shakes her head.

  Violet arches her eyebrows, letting Katie-Rose know she expects better of her.

  “Because of exactly that,” Yasaman says. “We’re really lucky, Katie-Rose, because we have each other. She doesn’t.”

  Katie-Rose growls, though deep down she knows Yasaman’s right. And to show Yasaman she knows that . . .

  “Hey, Natalia,” she calls, projecting her voice.

  Natalia lifts her head and stares at Katie-Rose in alarm.

  “Come here,” Katie-Rose says.

  Natalia tries, unsuccessfully, to hide her Coke behind an apple.

  “You can bring your Coke,” Katie-Rose says, rolling her eyes. “I’m not going to say anything about it. I promise.”

  Natalia gathers what remains of her lunch. With her lunch bag in one hand and her Coke in the other, she approaches the flower-friends’ table.

  “You can sit with us if you want,” Katie-Rose says.

  Behind her enormous headgear, Natalia is wary. “Ith thith a trick?”

  “No, Natalia,” Katie-Rose says. “If you want to sit with us, sit. If you don’t, don’t.”

  Yasaman smiles at Natalia.

  Milla pulls out a chair.

  Violet says, “You have a little, um . . .” She subtly indicates her teeth.

  Flustered, Natalia starts picking at the cracks. “Did I get it? Am I okay?”

  “It’s still there,” Katie-Rose says. “What is it? Omigosh, it looks like a—” Her eyebrows go up to her hairline. “Natalia Totenburg, have you been eating Green Apple Sour Loops?!”

  “No!” Natalia protests, but her wild eyes give her away.

  “Natalia,” Katie-Rose says. “There is green-ness in your braces. There is the distinctive smell of green apples on your breath. You have been drinking Coke and eating Green Apple Sour Loops. Admit it!”

  “Is that your whole lunch?” Violet marvels.

  “No, of courth not,” Natalia says. “I had a pack of . . .”

  “Yessss?” Katie-Rose says.

  Natalia closes her mouth. Her tongue moves around behind her upper lip, and it looks like she’s rolling marbles around in there.

  Katie-Rose makes a go on circle with her hand. “Coke, Sour Loops, and . . . ?”

  “Cheeth and peanut butter crackerth,” Natalia mumbles.

  Katie-Rose slaps the table. “The bright orange ones that come six to a pack? Dude! I love those!”

  “Gross,” Yasaman says.

  “They’re not made by Happy Healthy Farms, are they?”

  “No!” Natalia says indignantly.

  “Excellent,” Katie-Rose says in her president-of-the-world voice. “Then let’s move on.” She lifts the second bag of Doritos. “So, Yaz, can I eat these even though I’ve already had one bag?”

  “Well, Katie-Rose,” Yasaman says, “you need to ask yourself if you really think that’s a good idea.”

  Katie-Rose closes her eyes, concentrating hard. She opens her eyes and grins.

  “Okay,” she announces, ripping open the bag. “I said yes.”

  “You’re going to have Dorito breath, you know,” Yasaman says.

  Katie-Rose munch-crunches, and it’s loud, because Doritos are loud. Then she leans into Yasaman’s face and says, “Yessssssssss, my precious. I just thank my lucky stars you love me anyway.”

  and I’m full to the brim with gratitude. Strike that. I’m not just full to the brim; I am overflowing with gratitude, and it’s bubbly and sweet and never-ending, and yes, it makes me a bit sticky, but these things happen.

  Special fizzy thanks to:

  Girl Scout Troop 814, especially Sophie, Becca, Ashley, Brittany, Sheridan, BreeAnne, Anna, Rhiannon, and Sidney. Wh-hoo! Dead chicken dance! Porkchop the pig! Yeah!

  All the kids, teachers, and staff at Rivendell: Um, can anyone say “total inspiration”?

  My Starbucks peeps, who tolerate my random inquiries and keep me caffeinated to boot: Angie, Seth, Ian, James, Brittany, Michelle, Audrey, Christy, Bre, Carly, Jack, and yes, Terace and Ari, too (because y’all might as well be Starbucks peeps, pint-size or not!).

  My medical expert, Jim “da man” Shuler, who answers my oddball questions without batting an eye, even when they involve the sad event of, erm, something really sad happening to one of God’s wee creatures. (May he rest in peace.) (The wee creature, not Jim. Because Jim is still alive, and may he stay so for ninety-six more years at least.)

  My Girl Squad: Chelsea, Kayce, Brittany, Amy, Sara, Stephanie, Church Lauren, Sieglinde, and Julia (even though she’s still in Thailand, the rat). Thanks for loving my kids, unloading my dishwasher, folding my laundry, and generally keeping my life on track. Y’all are made of awesome.

  My lady friends: Jackie, Nina, Holly, Maggie F., Maggie A., Gini, Julianne, and Sarah. Oh, sweeties, you hold me up. (And praise the Lord, you also ply me with margaritas and peanut butter chocolaty treats! Wh-hoo!)

  My lady friends who are also my writer friends, and who are also sexy-foxy-fab: stylish Sarah Mlynowski and the dignified Emily Lockhart Jenkins. You two are my darlings, and I would be . . . a pea without you. A tiny, sad, shriveled-up pea, crying green pea tears. Y’all make me a better writer and a better person. Best of all, you make me giggle. A LOT.

  My water cooler buddy, Bob, who’s always there to offer sanity and support, hugs and high fives.

  My intrepid agent, Barry Goldblatt, who had no idea what he was getting into when he signed me on, but who has stuck with me through thick and thin, dramas and traumas, tampons and smooching and bras, oh my!

  My Abrams peeps: dashing Chad, debonair Scott, elegant Tamar, cutie-pie Maggie, creative Maria, superfresh Brett, funky Maz, that handsome devil Jason, manly Michael, and—be still, my heart—my glorious, brilliant, wise, and warm editor, the one and only Susan “Pigtails” Van Metre, who looks so adorable in her newsboy cap. (Susan’s parents? Y’all should be soooooo proud of your girl! I know you already are. But I’m just sayin’. Thanks for bringing her into this world!)

  My fam: the whole crazy lot of ya! A bonus shout-out to Susan and Mary Ellen, for keeping our own goofy childhood alive. To Sarah Lee, for making me muffins. To both my dads, whom I will designate as Country Dad and City Dad (though neither of you is mouselike at all): Country Dad, you always nurtured my tomboy spunk and (occasional) fearlessness, which I passed along to Katie-Rose; City Dad, you are a model for unflinching self-examination and the willingness to take on new challenges, even in your dotage. Kidding! +insert City Dad guffaw-slash-wheeze-slash-red-faced-hacking-fit here+

  And Mom, you are everything I aspire to be. Well, except for the tailored outfits, which you pull off beautifully, but which would look really stupid on me, and anyway, I’m happier in jeans. But jeez Louise, Mom, I love you so much. Thanks for loving me back.

  Finally, Jack and Al and Jamie and Mirabelle. How could I exist without you? I couldn’t. Y’all are the moon and the sun and the stars; ice cream and kettle corn and playing in the park; hugs and kisses and nose rubs. But Jamie and Al? Enough with the fart jokes. Really. And Jack, stop encouraging them. As for you, Miri-Potato, come sit on my lap and let me brush your hair, because even though you resemble a street urchin, you will always be my little girl.

  *really* likes tweens and pre-tweens; she’d rather sit at the kids’ table than at the boring grown-up table any day. She’s written squillions of yummy books, including the bestselling Internet Girls series and the Winnie Years series, and she is SO SUPER EXCITED about the Flower Power series that she can hardly stand it. Why? Because at last she’s written books that blend the thrills of social media with the goofy, wonderful madness of fifth grade. And plus there is Cheezy D’lite drama! And adorkable boys!! And cute yellow video cameras that capture everything!!!! (And, um, yes. She is a spaz, that Lauren. She hopes you like her anyway!)

  Visit her on the web at laurenmyracle.com, and come hang with Milla, Violet, Yasaman, and Katie-Rose at www.flowerpowerbooks.com. Unless you have, like, homew
ork to do. Or you have to babysit your little sis. If you do, DON’T let her get into your mom’s perfume!!!

  Mwah!