kept track of its growth, what it looked like through the different stages of its development, what conditions made it grow better, and noting what didn’t work.
I’d been growing the water hemlock for a month and trying different variables. Damp, sandy loam worked better than rocky dry soil, and when I dug my fingers into the earth near its roots, the bush would grow fuller, taller. If I concentrated hard enough, new blooms sprouted, though not as easily as they did in plants that weren’t poisonous. It took a lot more effort to grow the water hemlock, and I had to concentrate harder to make sure nothing went wrong. The exhaustion and dizziness that came after was so much more intense. That should’ve been enough to make me abandon the treacherous work, but I couldn’t. I was drawn to it.
My phone buzzed. A text from Mo hung at the top of the screen.
Mo: We’re getting takeout later. You want pad Thai?
Bri: Sounds good. Veggies only please!
I slipped my phone into my pocket and took a plastic grocery bag from my backpack. This was what my month of work had come to. I was going to harvest one of the smaller stalks and take it home to study. I’d only keep it long enough to take some notes, write down my observations, and then I’d get rid of it. A few hours. That was all I needed to do the research.
Running my hand down one of the stems, a cool, tingling sensation blossomed in my trembling fingertips. The petals and leaves stretched toward me with an urgency I didn’t see in other plants. It was as if the water hemlock couldn’t wait to make contact with my skin. I plucked the entire thing out of the ground, being careful not to touch the root, and placed it in the bag.
I left the Ravine with the bagged plant hidden in my backpack and walked home. I peeked in at Mom and Mo, who were busy loading premade arrangements into the floral cooler, before heading up to my room.
I’d debated cultivating the hemlock for months before I actually worked up the nerve to do it. I worried about being in the park and not being able to keep the other plants from noticing me. On top of that, I was scared my parents would find out. I was pretty sure that growing a poisonous bush in the park wasn’t what they had in mind for how I should spend my summer. They wanted me to hang out with the few friends I had and do whatever it was they thought other kids my age were doing. Except I didn’t think they understood how hard it was for me to balance friendships with the need to be near my plants, keeping what I could do a secret, and navigating the world in a way that didn’t draw the attention of every single blade of grass, every tree, every shrub.
In my room, I closed the door and set my backpack on the bed. I thought about locking the door, but I pictured Mom taking it off the hinges and decided not to. I flipped on my microscope and sat at my desk. I switched out my glasses for a pair with a built-in magnifier and pulled on a pair of plastic gloves. Removing the hemlock from the bag, I broke off a sprig and tossed it into a metal tray on my desk. I opened a notebook to write down my observations.
The taller plants could grow up to seven feet tall, but this sample was only about a foot, its leaves six inches long with alternately arranged oval leaflets. It was sharp-toothed and its leaf veins terminated at the bottom, not the tip.
The root was the deadliest part. Over time, as the blossoms grew taller, the poison pooled in the bottom third of the plant, leaving the leaves and flowers fairly harmless as long as they weren’t ingested.
I pulled the roots apart. They looked like small, pale carrots and smelled like them, too. They oozed a thick straw-colored liquid as I sliced into them with a scalpel. This was the substance that would bring on nausea, vomiting, seizures, and ultimately, death.
A set of hands clamped on my shoulders.
The scalpel slipped and sliced through my glove. Into my thumb.
“Oh shit, Briseis! I’m so sorry!” Mo blurted out. “I was trying to scare you a little. I didn’t know you were studying.”
I ripped off my glove. The