Even Thistles Bloom, page 5
Todd tried to cover his paper, but Minh snatched it.
“‘My Admirable Qualities,’” she read. Apparently, his list warranted a double eyebrow raise. “The only thing listed is ‘nice hair.’”
Cathryn squinted at him. “Is that a popular style among guys?”
“Cat, we need to get you out of the library more often,” Minh said. “But to answer your question, Todd’s hair won’t win him any dates.”
“My hair is lush and manly,” Todd said, realizing too late how unmanly that sounded. This was why Adam talked to girls, not him. “If girls aren’t attracted to great hair, what is attractive?”
“Have you tried being a decent human being?” Minh’s words sliced sharper than scissors.
Before Todd processed that statement, Oliver arrived, carrying a recycling container that was bigger than he was.
“Okay class. Today we will delve into the beautiful world of upcycling. We’ve made art from feelings. Time to make art from trash. Pick something and get creating.”
Todd waited for his classmates to choose before he ambled to the bin and grabbed an empty pop bottle. He stared at it, but no magnificent transformations occurred to him. Maybe some things were irredeemable. Maybe he was irredeemable.
“You don’t think Claire will give me a second chance?”
Minh unwound the cardboard toilet paper roll she’d grabbed. “The redheaded chick who can’t talk?”
“She talks fine.” Todd surprised himself with his harsh tone. He was sick of people describing Claire as “C-c-claire,” but he didn’t have the right to defend her, even to her friend’s little sister.
“Some people don’t deserve second chances.” Minh said as she attacked the cardboard roll with her art pens.
“How can you tell the difference between someone who deserves a second chance and someone who doesn’t?” Cathryn said as she painted her washed-out potato salad container a bright orange. Her tone possessed a childlike innocence that suggested her question was genuine, but Minh shot her a glare as if they’d started an argument.
“Only decent human beings deserve a second chance.” She grabbed scissors and snipped the ends of her roll.
Todd smashed the top of his pop bottle, but it did nothing to add to its aesthetics. “Okay, how do I become a decent human being?”
Minh looked like he’d just asked how to swim to the moon. “You want lessons?”
“Is that a thing?”
“No.”
“I don’t know, Minh,” Cathryn said. “If you can turn a toilet paper roll into a dragon, can’t you turn Todd into a decent guy?”
Minh unfurled her project, revealing an Asian-style dragon drawn in intricate detail along the cardboard coil.
Todd’s jaw dropped. “Holy shit, that’s amazing.”
Minh tilted her head. “Lesson number one: Don’t curse at a lady.”
“You curse all the time, Minh,” Cathryn said.
“Fine. Lesson one: Don’t swear until you hear her swear.”
“Okay,” Todd said. “I can handle that.”
Minh tapped her chin, warming to her new role as instructor in decency. “Lesson two: Take an interest in her interest.”
Todd puzzled over that as he poked a pencil through his pop bottle, but Oliver appeared behind him before he could ask a follow-up question.
“What is that?” The teacher gestured to Todd’s creation.
“It’s, uh, symbolic.”
Oliver drummed his fingers on his chin. “I see. The pencil represents the power of art to pierce through our definitions of trash and treasure.”
“Sure, let’s go with that.”
Oliver grinned and, after gushing for several minutes over Minh’s creation, turned to Cathryn’s orange painted container.
“It’s a traffic cone,” Cathryn said. “A piece of trash is now a protective safety device.”
Oliver sighed with enough exasperation to make a drama teacher proud. “My dear girl, somewhere inside you is a fierce artist. We just need to help her escape the boring librarian holding her hostage.”
Cathryn’s mouth dropped open in an appalled protest, but Oliver moved to the next table before she could voice it.
Minh laughed. Todd waited for her to finish before speaking.
“So my next step is to learn Claire’s hobbies?”
Minh shrugged. “I wouldn’t date someone who hated art, and if Cathryn ever pulled her head out of her books, she wouldn’t date anyone with a vocabulary of less than a billion.”
“The average college graduate has a vocabulary of only twenty to thirty thousand words,” Cathryn said.
Minh held up her hands. “I rest my case.”
Todd eyed his pencil-stabbed pop bottle. I hope Claire isn’t into art.
Chapter 7
Todd snuck past his mother as she paced, phone to her ear, but her angry voice carried.
“It’s a photo of my body. I have every right to keep a copy, and I’ll show it to whomever I please, even if your face appears in the corner.”
Some women ate ice cream after they got dumped. His mother preferred blackmail. Todd pushed out the back door, trying not to think about whether his past hookups had involved cameras, though it would only matter if Claire gave him a second chance.
The air bit with a chill, warning of the impending frost. Todd would harvest Old Man Caesar’s crop later, but first he needed to help Noah transition the greenhouse to hardier winter plants. The short walk felt great on his stiff legs. Adam was networking, so Todd had taken advantage of having sole possession of their room to study. Hours at his desk only hurt his brain and stiffened his muscles.
The greenhouse’s muggy air offered a return to summer. Todd patched a few holes he’d spotted the last time he was here. Once he was certain winter wouldn’t breach the barrier, he pulled up the dead and diseased summer plants and prepped the soil for the carrots, spinach, and leeks to come.
By the time he finished, his muscles were stiff for entirely different reasons, but he didn’t return home. Some days, he wished he were Noah. He’d spend whole days here, digging in the dirt, not caring about girls or grades or gossip. At home, he spent hours studying and had nothing to show for it. Here, he saw the fruits of his labor both immediately and at harvest.
Claire likes to cook. Would she like some fresh vegetables? Minh had advised him to take an interest in her hobbies, and he already liked plants, especially the kinds he could smoke or eat.
As if hearing his thoughts, his stomach rumbled. Todd removed his gloves and wiped the sweat from his brow, wondering if Mrs. Thompson had felt well enough to cook today. Her chicken and dumpling soup beat the frozen burritos he had at home.
Fifi yipped, grabbed one of his gloves, and trotted toward the cash register.
“Fifi, no,” Todd called, but she ignored him. Todd forced his tired legs to jog after her, but she moved fast for a three-legged dog. He crouched as he ran, trying to grab her, but he ran into someone’s feet instead.
Todd scanned up, way up, until he met a hostile pair of eyes. Claire’s friend Maite stood with Fifi in hand. The girl had caused more black eyes than any guy wanted to admit. She’d also warned Todd to stay away from Claire—before last year’s drama. She must really hate him now.
“Absolutely not,” said an older woman at the register, chatting with Noah as if WWIII weren’t about to begin nearby. She shared Maite’s gold-toned skin and black hair, but lacked Maite’s height and Spanish accent. “I will pay full price, even if you haven’t watered them today. I won’t have it said I mistreat my providers.”
Noah accepted her credit card. “You are my favorite florist.”
The woman beamed, apparently not struggling to understand Noah’s imprecise speech. “How is your mother?”
“The same. She liked the tea you brought.”
“Good, because I brought more.” She dug through a large canvas bag and handed some to Noah. “Like I said, add lemon juice and honey, and you’ll never suffer a sore throat again.”
The woman finished her transaction and turned, blinking when she spotted the two teens’ silent glare-war. She cocked her head and regarded Todd, recognition in her eyes. No doubt Maite had told her about his role in the attack on Saafi.
The woman addressed Noah. “You do have a knack for working with strays.”
Noah nodded and smiled at Todd.
Todd should have been offended—he helped Noah, not the other way around—but he couldn’t muster negative feelings. Most people regarded him as a miscreant deserving discipline. It was refreshing, for a change, to be seen as a stray needing rescue.
Maite didn’t share her relative’s assessment, but she set Fifi on the floor and pulled their cart out the door. Todd gave Noah an update on his progress and fled, hating that school drama had invaded his sanctuary. He trekked home to meet up with Adam, forcing himself to look on the bright side.
He finally had something to contribute to his and Claire’s economics project.
Todd sprinted to economics. His classmates gave him strange looks, but he didn’t care. For once, he’d arrive on time.
He burst through the door a full minute before the bell rang, but Mr. Patel gave him a disapproving look.
“This is economics, not P.E.”
Had he not been panting, Todd would have made a snarky comeback. He collapsed into his seat, gulping air and hoping his face wouldn’t be beet red when Claire showed up. He’d just caught his breath when she and her friends strolled through the door.
Instead of her usual disapproving frown, Claire greeted him with wide eyes. I guess that’s an improvement.
“You’re early,” she said as she slipped into the seat beside him. Her nose wiggled, not in the cute laughing manner, but in the something-stinks way. Todd recalled Cathryn telling him he reeked from smoking. His sweaty sprint wouldn’t have helped. He’d have to make up for it with whatever charm he could fake.
Mr. Patel started class, giving Todd time to plumb the depths of his social skills for something that might please Claire. When the teacher at last released them to project work, Todd leaned back in his seat casually.
“I got something you’ll like.”
“I don’t smoke,” Claire said, deadpan.
Shit. He was aiming for “cool and intriguing,” but he’d obviously misfired, wasting the preparation during Mr. Patel’s droning. Off balance, his fingers fumbled his pencil, and it clattered to the ground.
“No, no. I have an idea for the project.” He scrambled to retrieve his pencil, but bumped his notebook off his desk.
“Oh?”
“Yeah.” He scooted closer to her and put his notebook on her desk, drawing as he spoke. “That farm-to-table stuff is popular, right? I figure we add a greenhouse to the restaurant and grow our own produce. We wouldn’t need that much space if we opt for some vertical planters.”
Claire leaned over his drawing, moving so close to him he smelled the strawberry scent of her shampoo.
“We’ll nnnnnneed at least twelve square feet for a chicken c-coop.”
“Chickens?”
“Fresh eggs,” she said, as if this were obvious. “Just a couple, and just chickens. Roosters can be a pain. Also, I don’t think corn can grow in a vertical planter, so we’ll have to d-designate some ssss-space for a few rows.” She added a square next to his.
“Well, we don’t have to grow cor—”
Claire’s glare shut him up. “Corn is a must.” Her eyes grew distant. “God, I miss fresh corn.”
Todd eyed their blueprints, which seemed to have grown into a micro-farm. “How did you become an expert on roosters and corn?”
Claire’s expression suggested he was a moron for wondering how a Minneapolis teenager discovered roosters were a pain.
“I grew up on a farm in the middle of nowhere, Wisconsin.” She exaggerated each word, though he suspected that was more to benefit his idiot brain than to prevent her stutter.
“Really?” Why hadn’t he known that?
“Reed the rooster was my alarm clock. We had c-cows and everything.” Claire leaned back, leaving him achingly aware of the empty air near him.
“Oh.” Todd scrambled to recover from what he was sure Minh and Cathryn would label an obvious gaff. “So…you like my idea?”
“I love it.” She spoke softly, as if loath to admit it. The bell rang, and she darted from the room, so keen to flee his presence she didn’t even wait for her friends.
Todd reviewed that interaction throughout his next classes, but he couldn’t qualify her running away from him as progress. By the last bell, he was dying for a smoke. Fortunately, he had a backpack full of the Ides of March to sell with Adam.
He navigated the twisty halls of the over-renovated school to the oldest wing. It had most recently housed home ec—before the program fell prey to budget cuts—but the wing must have served a dozen functions over the years. Rumors claimed the stoves still worked.
Todd rounded the corner, only to bump into Maite. She crossed her arms over her chest.
“Stay away from Noah.”
“Believe it or not, I work at that greenhouse.” The truth slipped out before he thought to lie. Hanging out with marigolds wasn’t exactly good for his tough-guy reputation. Fortunately, Maite was no gossip. Unfortunately, she defended her friends with her fists.
She shoved him against the wall. “Noah is a good man. If you hurt him…”
“I would never hurt him, but I’ll hurt you if you do.” The scenario played out in his mind: Maite and her florist relative conning Noah into giving them a deal on flowers.
“I did not attack an innocent girl last year.” Maite tightened her grip on his shoulder.
Todd wilted.
“Stay away from Clara,” she said, using her nickname for Claire. She released him roughly and strode down the hallway, long legs taking her around the corner before Todd collected himself.
“Bitch,” he said, but his stomach sided with Maite. His hope parasite drowned in the tumultuous acid her rebuttal had disturbed.
Todd strode to the old wing, needing a smoke more than ever. Adam, three guys, and a girl he didn’t recognize leaned against the old sink stations.
“You’re late,” Adam said.
Todd threw his backpack to his brother, not in the mood to discuss what had delayed him. Money changed hands, lighters ignited, and soon Todd drifted in a pleasant high, oblivious to the surrounding conversation.
It wasn’t until the guys departed that he realized he should have paid attention.
“See you tomorrow night,” Adam said as he waved them out.
“Wait, what?” Todd said.
Adam laughed. “This is why I handle the business.” He inhaled from his own joint. “We’re meeting Joey at Old Man Caesar’s to give him some Ides of March to sell, and he’ll give us a discount on chalk. That way, we both expand our offerings.”
“Speed? You want to sell speed? That’s…” Todd trailed off. Marijuana was arguably innocent, but meth? They could go to jail for that.
“You should see your face.” Adam laughed. “Relax, bro. I got a failsafe in case Principal Stick-Up-His-Ass decides to monitor us stoners. You just keep those thumbs of yours nice and green. I’ll handle the rest.”
Todd followed his brother to their car, thinking he’d rather use his green thumbs to grow corn and feed chickens.
Chapter 8
The autumnal night’s icy fingers clawed Todd’s back. His breath fogged, and he mistook screeching brakes for a wolf’s howl. He shook off his superstitions as their contact parked next to Old Man Caesar’s. Adam’s white teeth glowed within his grin as he shook hands with Joey.
Todd shivered, the cold stiffening his already sore muscles. He’d skipped school to harvest and process the marijuana before the early season frost. They’d doubled last year’s harvest, so even after giving the boys their cut, Caesar had ample for himself. The old man agreed to continue this arrangement next year, expressing renewed interest in Todd’s suggestion to add row covers to protect the plants from frost.
While Adam brokered the deal, Todd leaned against the car, aiming for a casual pose that wouldn’t reveal his exhaustion. Next time, he’d tell Adam to handle the deal himself so he could go straight to sleep. Even if Adam needed him for backup, Todd would be more useless in a fight than a paper plane in a forest fire.
Gravel spat and popped down the road, no doubt another of Adam’s contacts arriving. Todd raised his eyes to the sky, where the stars recorded the proceedings like a thousand camera lights. He wished he could skip school again tomorrow, but he didn’t want Claire to think he was a flake.
“Who called the cops?” one guy shouted.
“You set us up!” Adam’s contact shoved him to the ground.
The police turned on their headlights and blared the siren. The quiet, if eerie, night erupted into chaos. The guys scattered, tripping over one another as they fled to the woods. Todd hesitated, but the officers swept flashlights around the grounds. He disappeared into the woods, running blindly until he stumbled upon a deer trail.
Roots grabbed at his feet and branches snagged his clothing, but he forced his fatigued legs along the trail to a clearing. A dumpster loomed like a hungry monster next to a large brick building. Several boxes lay folded in a neat pile beside it. Thinking he ought to hide, Todd dashed toward them. He picked one up, contemplating how to best build cover. The moonlight caught the label: Lewis Library. Guess that explains Cathryn’s obsession with books.
“Todd.”
Todd whirled as Adam emerged from the woods like a shadow come to life. “You save the stash?”
“The cops won’t care about a little weed,” Adam said. His lower lip puffed out as if holding a grudge. “They will care about the chalk, which Joey still has.”
He seemed upset, but Todd figured they’d dodged a bullet, literally.
“How long will they search before giving up?”
“We’re small-time,” Adam said, his tone indicating he’d like to change that. “They’re probably already gone, but let’s wait a couple of hours, just in case. Remind me to search the car for bugs and stuff before we leave.”
