I’ve never really gotten the appeal of flowers. I mean, one, they’re super fleeting. Every time my mom’s gotten flowers, I swear they’re dead within three days. Feels like a major waste of money. Of course, my mom’s flowers probably came from the man she was having an affair with, so it’s entirely possible my perspective is tainted. Even so, what do flowers say about a person’s feelings for someone else?
I like you enough to pop into the grocery store and pick up this pre-arranged bundle of plant clippings wrapped in plastic.
I mean, yeah. Flowers are pretty and shit, but there are a lot of things that are pretty. Cakes are pretty, and you can eat those. A perfect three-pointer drained within seconds, nothing but net . . . that’s a thing of beauty. Art, a really hot red dress, or hell, a puppy! All of that is as aesthetically pleasing as a bundle of flowers. Yet here I am, clipping the stems off some weedy-smelling plant shit over my kitchen trash while my best friend June tells me what a good idea this is.
“She’s going to love them,” June assures me while she reaches toward my bundle, tugging on the stem of something. She pulls it free and dumps it into the trash with the stems I chopped off at an angle because “angles take in the water better” or whatever.
“She won’t love that one?” I cock a brow and laugh. I’m still not sold on any of this.
“That one’s dead.”
I form an O with my mouth and drop my chin to stare at the drooping flower where it lies in the trash.
“Huh.” I nod.
June giggles then wraps her hands around the bouquet, holding it steady so I can slip the giant band around the stems again. I never thought my best friend would be a girl, let alone June Mabee. I’ve pretty much picked on her since she got boobs, probably before that if I’m being honest. I still call her Maybe Mabee. June and I collided in epic fashion a couple of months ago. We kicked off our senior year on a strange note, going through some really awful shit together. We’re kinda honeymooning at the whole best friend thing, I guess, but she’s not sick of me yet and turns out Maybe Mabee doles out some pretty solid advice. Though, I’m not totally sold on the whole flowers thing.
“You sure this isn’t stupid? I feel really stupid.” I’m sweating, and I’ve already showered from basketball practice, changed my shirt twice and put on a whole lot of deodorant. This is strange territory for me. To put it succinctly, I have a fucking crush. It’s bizarre because hooking up with any girl at Public High—or in our whole town of Allensville, really—has never been an issue for me. June says it’s because I’m used to being chased, and maybe that’s true. But I also think it’s because the girl I’m trying to impress has never, not once, shown an ounce of interest in my presence. In fact, if I had to make a guess, I would bet on her hating me.
“Abby is going to die . . . in a good way!” June’s said that a lot, that little add-on of in a good way. Feels like a hedged bet to me.
Abby Cortez is June’s other best friend.
Fine.
She’s her real best friend, and I’m the new guy June hangs out with sometimes while she waits on her boyfriend, Lucas. My real best friend. Along with my twin brother, Hayden, we’ve become our own clique. Except for the little part about me being pretty sure Abby hates me. Oh, and me wanting to kiss her candy lips and wrap her legs around my waist just before I lay her back on the hood of my car.
This is complicated. But flowers is the key. June swears by it.
“You look amazing,” June says, stepping into me and brushing something from the shoulder of my shirt. I went with a button down, mostly because this shirt is snug on my arms and chest, making me look a little bit beast-mode. I don’t need June to tell me how much Abby likes man candy. She was digging on the new guy, Cannon, for a while, and she noted his arms and chest a few times. Apparently, though, he’s moody as fuck. Thank God!
“Where’s your brother?” June asks.
“Job interview,” I answer, bending down to catch my reflection in the glass front of the