Too Many Blooms Read Online Free PDF Page A

in Spanish. I generally humor her, but today was not the day to be hampered by my less-than-stellar foreign-language skills.
    “Hola,”
said Becky.
“Siéntese.”
    I sat.
    “Spanish quiz,” Heather told me, flipping through the latest copy of
Us Weekly.
    Heather looks like a porcelain doll, with her heart-shaped face, corkscrew curls, and dimpled cheeks. She’s tough, though, and doesn’t think twice about telling you exactly what’s on her mind, which always surprises people who are expecting a sweet girly girl.
    “¿Qué pasa?”
Becky asked, taking in my flushed cheeks. She picked up a carton of orange juice and took a swig.
    Hmmm. I didn’t know how to say
I was picking my teeth
in Spanish, but I decided I knew enough words to say, “I was stupid in front of a cute boy.”
    “Era estupido antes de un”
— I searched my brain for the Spanish word for
handsome —”guano muchacho,”
I finished triumphantly.
    Becky promptly spat out her orange juice, showering her flash cards. And me.
    “You were stupid in front of a poopy boy?” she told me when she could finally talk. “I guess you meant to say
guapo
instead of
guano
?”
    “
Sí
,” I admitted, my cheeks flaring again.
    “Sorry, Del,” she said, shaking her head, a huge grin on her face. “But you have to admit, that was really funny.”
    Heather put down her magazine and leaned forward eagerly. “So tell us about Señor Guapo!” she said.
    All thoughts of studying went out the window as Becky, along with Heather, peppered me with questions, thankfully all in English. Before long, the whole embarrassing story was out.
    Becky bit her lip. “Well, that’s not
so
bad …” she said. Heather gave her a dubious look.
    “What planet are you from?” I asked. “I picked my teeth
and
bumped my head. Maybe if I had some toilet paper stuck to my shoe, that would have made my humiliation complete.” I quickly glanced down at my ballet flats. No trailing TP. Thank goodness.
    “Yeah,” said Heather. “That’s about as bad as it gets!” She grinned, showing her matching dimples.
    “Thanks, Heather,” I said sarcastically. “As if today wasn’t bad enough, having to say good-bye to Gran and Gramps.”
    Becky’s face fell. “Oh, Del,” she said. “That’s right. I’m so sorry.”
    “And right this very moment Mom is opening the store by herself.” I sighed. “I’m a little nervous.”
    “Don’t obsess, Del,” said Heather with a wave of her hand as she returned to her magazine. “She’s a grown-up. She’ll be fine.”
    But Becky gave me a sympathetic look. She knew how important the store was to me. And how worried I was that Mom wouldn’t be able to handle it. I gave her a grateful smile back and checked my watch. Fifteen minutes tothe first-period bell. I grabbed some money from my bag and walked up to the counter. It was definitely feeling like a hot-chocolate-with-whipped-cream kind of morning. The nice breakfast lady noticed my wan expression and smiled as she gave me an extra squirt of whipped cream. I was just about to take a big spoonful of creamy deliciousness when I felt a tap on my shoulder. Turning around, I nearly dropped my hot cocoa.
    Just my luck. It was Ashley Edwards, flanked by her two handmaidens — I mean best friends — Sabrina Jones and Rachel Lebowitz. Sabrina and Rachel look almost exactly alike — only distinguishable by a slight difference in the shade of their straight brown hair and the fact that Sabrina says the word “like” like all the time.
    Way back in preschool, Ashley and I were inseparable. But then we had what Becky and I like to call The Teletubby Incident. Ashley and I both showed up on Halloween dressed as Tinky Winky — you know, the tall, purple one. My costume was much better. (Ashley didn’t even have the red purse — what was up with that?) And Ashley has never gotten over it. She apparently likes to be one of a kind, fashion-wise. Rumor has it that she texts herhandmaidens