“And then what, Grandmother?” she asked over her shoulder as she climbed the stairs.
“Won’t bloom in its proper season—it will make a surprise appearance, too early or maybe too late,” her grandmother was saying from below as Rose ascended the staircase. “It will go catawampus. Plants can do that when confused.”
The blossoms of the petticoat plant were lovely, tiny bells no bigger than a baby’s fingernail. They hung on long green strands and swayed in a ghost of a breeze. The tinted glass showered them in an array of colors. Standing at the top of the winding staircase, Rose felt as if she were in the midst of a blooming rainbow. A calm stole through her. All the terrible words, the terrible images etched in her mind since that horrible day when her mom had died seemed to fade away. She felt free, and it was as if for the first time she could breathe again. She didn’t care what those three horrid girls thought of how she dressed. She wasn’t going to change because of them. She might even start writing her blog again. For some reason, her grandmother’s words about spores came into her head: “Let the soil cling—otherwise they’ll wither and die.” She had lost so much, but she couldn’t lose herself. She would wear her favorite skirt, one she had made out of a huge sweater her mom had bought for herself and then never worn. It had big deep pockets that Rose turned inside out, which made flounces on either side. She’d wear it with yet another bow tie—a big floppy one that she had made from a tablecloth she’d found in a vintage shop that specialized in lace. It made her feel good planning her outfit. She just wished the boxes with her sewing machine and other stuff would come. Caroline had promised to send them right away.
Rosalinda was gone by the time Rose descended the staircase. Betty had come to take her upstairs to bed. Outside, however, she thought she saw a fleeting bright shadow. Could it be that cat, September? Her glass was still filled with milk from her snack. She could pour it into one of the little pie tins that were stacked for soaking seeds. She quickly filled the tin and then walked to a door at the back of the greenhouse and set it outside. She couldn’t see the cat, but she sensed it watching her.
Rose left the greenhouse through the passage that connected it to the entry hall, where Betty was helping her grandmother into the stair-lift chair. Her grandmother leaned toward Betty and whispered, “Who’s that girl?”
“It’s Rose, your granddaughter.”
“Oh, of course.” But there was no hint of recognition. Rose sighed, saddened. It wasn’t the first time since she’d arrived that her grandmother stared at her as if she were a stranger. An intruder. The vague look in her eyes had returned. There was a hum as the stair lift began to glide upward on its rail. Just before it reached the big curve, Rosalinda raised her hand and gave a faint wave, opening and closing her palm like a baby might wave bye-bye.
“Bye now,” Rosalinda murmured.
Chapter 3
The Court of the Mean Queens
As soon as Rose set foot in the lunchroom the next day, she saw Carrie, Lisa, and Brianna huddled at a table. Their eyes landed on Rose like vultures spotting carrion, and then Carrie said something that made all of them look to each other and giggle. Rose saw Lisa and Brianna slide their eyes toward her again. They all laughed even louder. Rose turned away and spotted Myles sitting at a table with two other boys. She decided immediately to join them after passing through the cafeteria line.
“Hi, Myles.”
“Hi, Rose. Come on, sit here with us,” Myles said as Rose put her lunch tray down. “Rose, these are my friends Anand and Joe. They’re in Mr. Beatty’s homeroom. Joe’s a champion ice-skater.”
“Junior champion.”
“Cool,” Rose said.
“And I’m a junior tiddlywinks champion.” Anand offered.
“Really?” Rose said.
“NOT!” the three boys said in unison.
“Anand’s a mathlete, and so is Myles. They’re just modest,” Joe said.
“Mathlete? Like on a team?” Rose asked.
“School team,” Anand replied.
“I . . . I’m not on any team,” Rose said. Her voice felt a little quivery. She was actually tempted to say, “I’m an orphan.” But that would be so lame.
“What do you like to do?” Myles asked.
“Uh . . . sew. Design stuff.”
“I knew it!” Joe exclaimed, and high-fived Anand. “That shirt you wore the first day of school. I bet you got it in the boys’ department at Schockman’s, and the bow tie, perfecto!”
“Schockman’s?”
“The department store downtown.”
“Naw, got it in Philadelphia. Gilford’s—boys’ department. Cooler shirts in the boys’ department.” She had sewn three other versions of the shirt and special ordered the snap buttons.
“So you’re not at Court, I see,” Anand said.
“Court?”
Anand nodded toward Carrie, Brianna, and Lisa.
“Court of the Mean Queens,” Myles said, laughing. His laugh sounded slightly more like a hiccup now than the previous bubble laugh had. “That’s what we call them.”
“Or sometimes the Trio of Doom,” Anand added.
“That’s when it goes beyond mere bullying and they cross over into their special-ops mode,” Joe said.
“Special ops. You mean they go to extremes?”
“You got it. They can be very strategic. Myles’s wheelchair batteries were stolen one time. We’re pretty sure it was them.”
“That is nasty,” Rose said, trying not to look over at the girls.
Soul thieves, that’s what they are, she thought.
“Nasty?” Anand said. “That’s an understatement.” He turned to Rose. “You mean you haven’t got your passport yet?”
“What? A passport? What are you talking about?”
“See those two girls just sitting down with them now?”
“Yeah.”
“They must have just gotten their passports.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s like this, Rose,” Myles said. She was becoming accustomed to his way of speaking. “Once you’ve done enough of the Mean Queens’ bidding—like nasty tricks and all—you get your ‘passport.’ It’s a virtual passport that allows you into their small, foul world.”
“Who would want to be in that world?”
“They always have some sixth graders in training,” Joe said. “You know, some kids think it’s cool to be accepted or just noticed by older kids—even the bullies.”
“They long to belong!” Anand said. “See those two other girls trying to squeeze in at the table—those sixth graders?” Anand asked, nodding to two girls.
“Like remoras,” Myles offered, and laughed again.
“What?” Rose had no idea what remoras were.
“Suckerfish,” Myles replied. “They attach themselves to sharks. I did a science report on parasites in nature. Covered a lot—from strangler figs to remoras. Usually the relationships are mutually beneficial, but in the case of strangler figs, they kill their host tree. That one girl with the blond hair and the pink streak? She’s a Carrie wannabe, obviously.”