David laughed. “My taste is better.”
Laurel raised her eyebrows. “I think anyone who has kissed me would have to agree that I have the best taste of all.”
“Not all of us can taste like nectar,” David said teasingly, his hand at the back of her neck as he kissed her. “You have an unfair advantage,” he murmured against her mouth, his hand sliding down her back and pressing her against him.
“Ow!” she said, pulling away.
David looked down at her, confusion plain on his face. “I’m sorry?” he said — both a pronouncement and a question.
Laurel glanced around the hall. “I’m getting ready to blossom,” she whispered. “Another two or three days, I think.”
David grinned, then coughed to try to hide it. It didn’t work.
“It’s okay,” Laurel said. “I know you like it. And since I know what it is this time around, it doesn’t bother me, really. It’s just sensitive.”
“Well, I’ll be careful,” he promised, leaning in for another kiss.
They both jerked as the door to the chemistry lab flew open, smacking loudly against the wall beside it. The earsplitting clang of the room’s smoke detector filled the hall as blue smoke billowed out of the doorway and several students emerged from the cloud, coughing. “Out, out!” Ms. Pehrson’s voice sounded above the din as she shooed a bunch of sophomores from the classroom. The blue haze spread down the hallway and somebody pulled the fire alarm, setting off the entire building’s cacophonous alert system.
David looked at the blue haze and the students running toward the exits. He stood and helped Laurel to her feet. “Well,” he said wryly, his mouth close to her ear, “whose experiment do you think that was?”
They looked at each other and burst out laughing.
Laurel stood in front of the mirror in her room, staring at the pale blue petals that rose just above her shoulders. After her dad’s return from the hospital last year, their family had decided that home would be a safe haven for Laurel — that she would never have to hide what she was. But agreeing to that and actually walking downstairs without hiding her blossom were two very different things. She had to leave for school in half an hour; maybe it would be understandable if she came down with her petals already bound.
But her dad would be disappointed.
Of course, her mom might be relieved.
Laurel looked down at the sash in her hand. This year she was spared the fear of having some strange disease, but for some reason, the trepidation she associated with her blossom hadn’t really abated.
Clenching her teeth, Laurel wound the sash around her wrist. “I’m not ashamed of what I am,” she said to her reflection. But her stomach still twisted as she turned the doorknob and opened the door, her petals spread out behind her for everyone to see.
She tiptoed halfway down the stairs, then changed her mind — not wanting to appear as though she were sneaking around her own house — and clomped down the rest of the steps.
“Wow!”
Laurel’s eyes shot up to meet David’s. His gaze flitted to her exposed navel and snapped back up to her face. Leaving her petals unbound had a tendency to slightly raise the front of her shirt as well as the back. David seemed to appreciate the effect, but Laurel had forgotten how uncomfortable it was to have her shirt bunched up around her ribs, crowding the tiny leaves at the base of her blossom. Several of the tops she’d brought back from Avalon had low-cut backs, perfectly suited for wearing while in bloom, but what she needed today was concealment.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I’m glad to see you too,” David said, raising one eyebrow.
“Sorry,” Laurel said, squeezing his hand. “You surprised me.”
“I knew you were close yesterday; thought I’d stop by and offer support. Or whatever.”
Laurel smiled and hugged him. It did feel better to have him here. Even if he was really here to get an early peek at her new blossom.
In the kitchen, Laurel’s mother fussed with the coffeemaker, studiously avoiding Laurel’s gaze. From the corner of her eye, however, Laurel caught her mother sneaking furtive glances as she poured fresh coffee into a take-along cup. Nothing had changed after their fight at the store. No apology but no added awkwardness, either. It was as if Laurel had never showed up that day, which was somehow worse. Their relationship seemed to increasingly revolve around ignoring problems in hopes that they would go away. But they never did.
“Where’s Dad?” Laurel asked.
Her dad shook his paper from the couch, just out of sight through the living room doorway. “I’m here,” he said distractedly.
“She blossomed,” David called.
Laurel brought one hand to her forehead as she heard her father get quickly to his feet. “Oh, yeah? Let’s see.”
“Tattletale,” she whispered to David.
Her mom grabbed a canvas tote and passed by as her dad was coming through the doorway. “I’m headed to the store,” she said, her eyes avoiding his.
“But don’t you—?”
“I’m late,” she insisted, though her voice wasn’t sharp. It sounded strange to Laurel, almost like she wanted to stay and couldn’t bring herself to. She and her dad both watched her all the way out the door.
Laurel’s eyes stayed glued on the door, willing it to open; for her mom to come back.
“Whoa,” her dad said, refocusing on Laurel. “That…that’s huge.”
“I did tell you,” Laurel said, knowing that if she were human her face would be bright red right now. Being a plant was not without advantages.
“Sure. But, I thought…” He scratched the back of his neck. “Honestly, I thought you were exaggerating a little.” He circled Laurel as her embarrassment grew. “How did you hide this from us?”
Excellent timing. “Like this,” she said, pulling her sash off her wrist and binding the petals around her ribs and waist. She pulled her blousy peasant top down over it and dropped her waist-length hair over the whole thing. “Ta-da!”
He nodded. “Impressive.”
“Yeah,” Laurel said, grabbing David’s hand. “Let’s go.”
“What about breakfast?” her dad said as she picked up her backpack off the table.
Laurel shot him a look.
“Sorry, habit.”
“My car or yours?” David asked after Laurel shut the door.
“Yours. Driving with a smooshed blossom can’t be very comfortable.”
“Good point.” David held the passenger door open for her. Even after almost a year, he never forgot.
“Well,” David said, firing up the engine, “we’ve got about half an hour before first bell. Shall we go straight to school?” His hand slid onto her thigh. “Or somewhere else first?”
Laurel smiled as David leaned over and kissed her neck.
“Mmm, I have missed that smell.” His lips traveled up her neck to her jawline.
“David, my dad is peeking through the window at us.”
“That’s okay with me,” he murmured.
“Yeah, ’cause he’s not your dad. Get off!” she said, laughing.
David leaned back and shifted into reverse. “I guess I can hold on till I get a block or two away.” He looked at the house and waved at the small gap in the living room curtains.
“David!”
The gap disappeared.
“You are so bad.”
He smirked. “Your parents love me.”
And they did. Laurel had always thought that would be a good thing. Sometimes, though, she wasn’t so sure.
THE NEXT DAY, LAUREL AND CHELSEA SAT ON THE porch swing in front of Laurel’s house, lazily swaying back and forth. “I hate Saturdays,” Chelsea said, her head hanging over one arm of the swing, her eyelids closed against the sun.