Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 24266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 121(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 121(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
“Come,” she said. “Show me the rest of this amazing penthouse you’re leaving behind for farmland and donkeys.”
Carmen laughed, and I followed them out of the room, locking the door behind me.
I didn’t want them to find anything else.
Later that night, I pulled a blanket over Carmen as she slept on the couch. I adjusted her mother’s pillow and ensured my pilot was still on track for our upcoming flight.
Shutting myself inside my office, I took out the yearbook and carried it to my desk.
I peeled back the cover, finding folded pages I’d once torn out in a rage, ones that Leo had prevented me from setting afire.
Unsurprisingly, they were the other superlatives that featured Dahlia and me: Cutest Couple, Most Likely to Get Married, Most Likely to Live in Eads River for Life.
On her own, she’d won “Most Likely to Stab Someone,” and “Most Creative.”
I flipped to the last page, where the inscription she wrote me on graduation day stood alongside floral stickers.
Dear Everett,
I don’t care what anyone says about “young love” and how it never lasts. YOU are UNDOUBTEDLY the love of my life.
As my mother would say, you’re my “evergreen,” and I’m yours, too. <3
Whether you stay here for college or go to the same one as me, I won’t go more than a day without talking to you. Or maybe we could keep writing since my mom makes us do all the calligraphy for her top bouquet customers?
(Yes, let’s do that :-) )
Forever Writing You,
Dahlia
Ishut it before the unresolved pain could swell and swallow me whole.
She taught me everything I knew about gardening, and we were far from evergreens.
We were limited perennials.
Our final bloom had fallen off and died seasons ago.
GROWING SEASON
BACK THEN
Dahlia
Snip. Snip. Snip!
I glance at the camera that watches the east side garden, wondering what the hell that sound is. It’s too loud to be a rabbit, and if a deer has somehow managed to jump our new eight-foot fence, I’ll have to let him enjoy a few blooms before kicking him out.
Snipppp. Snippp. Snip.
The camera rotates, revealing a Central High School varsity sweatshirt and…Everett Anderson.
He’s the most popular guy at my high school, and as much as I want to act like his cocky self doesn’t deserve it, he does.
It’s hard to look at his perfectly structured face without getting turned on, without envisioning what his full lips would feel like pressed against mine.
He keeps his ink-black hair short, but he always let a tendril fall over his left eye. His dimples deepen whenever he smiles, and whenever someone gets close enough—which I never do—his grey and blue irises could probably take their breath away.
I snap out of the trance with another “Snipppp!”
What the hell is he doing?
He cuts sunflower stems, and then he moves to another row, aiming his scissors at the neck of a red rose.
Rushing out of the house, I run down past the vegetables and catch him red-handed.
“Why are you trespassing here, Everett Anderson?” I exaggerate every syllable in his name.
“Dahlia?” He looks up, smiling at me as if this is some type of joke. “Aren’t you supposed to wear a shirt under overalls?”
“It’s laundry day.”
“Good to know.” He glances at my blue bra, and I make a mental note to always wear a shirt from here on out. “Am I bothering you?”
“Yes, and this is private property.” I pick up a nearby pitchfork and aim it at his head. “Get off or else.”
“Or else what?”
I make a stabbing motion with the pitchfork, and he laughs.
“If it’s alright with you, Psycho,” he says, “I’m picking some flowers for a bouquet, since my dad is coming home to visit me today.”
“You mean, you’re stealing?”
“Borrowing. I told your mom I’d pay her back when I get paid next week.”
I eye him as he plucks a few more roses, wondering why my mother didn’t mention this arrangement to me. Then again, she gives away flowers to high schoolers pretty often, so I shouldn’t be surprised.
“Why does your dad need flowers?” I ask. “Wouldn’t he prefer a tree or some specialty grass?”
“He’s a clothing designer,” he says. “He gets inspired by flowers.”
“Don’t get those then.” I drop the pitchfork. “I’ll show you where the best ones are.”
“You’ve decided to be nice to me now?”
“Only because I’ve also decided that you’re going to pay my mom back by helping me pull weeds.”
“Deal.” He stands to his feet. “How hard is it?”
“You’ll see…” I motion for him to follow me through our cutting station.
“Can I tell you something personal, Dahlia?” he says from behind.
“No.”
“I’ve always thought you were the prettiest girl at our school.”
I stop walking and look over my shoulder. “What’s your angle, Mr. Popular?”
“No angle.” His smile could probably end wars. “I’ve had a crush on you since—”
“You broke up with Ashley Yardley? Then Maria Jenkins? Or was it before or after you were with Chelsea Tatum?”