Chapters (34)
- Cover
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- WELCOME TO THE LILY PAD,or A Brief Introduction to Power Jam
- FULL CELIA GILBERT,or the Tragic Fate of My Tennis Racket
- THE CREATION OF THE CHORE WHEEL,or Why You Should Always Travel with a Hammer
- GO, SOUL CRUSHERS,or My Mother’s Take on Power Jam
- A PARTY,or Why I Don’t Eat Tuna in Front of Touchstone
- The Story of Ros, Part I
- A TRIP TO THE TOWN,or the Victor of the Great Flamingo Debate
- TAKING MEASUREMENTS,or the Tale of Oliver Teller’s Sprained Wrist
- THE LAST SUPPER,or the Structural Unsoundness of Veggie Burgers
- The Story of Ros, Part II
- VOYAGE TO THE TOGSHOP,or a Brief History of the Doublet
- LOVE SONG FOR A COPEPOD,or My Mom’s Take on My Tennis Coach
- The Story of Ros, Part III
- AVIAN DEMISE,or Bruised Tailbones and Lost Sunglasses
- NEEDLE AND BONE,or On Losing My Voice
- The Story of Ros, Part IV
- FRYING AN EGG,or a Compendium of Shirtless Blade Scenes
- The Story of Ros, Part V
- THE DROPPED ACORN REVISITED,or French Words That Start with W
- MASTER CLASS: THE BODY IN MOTION
- THE TRIUMVIRATE REUNITED,or Planning a Party
- DINNER THEATER,or a Crash Course in Limes
- EIGHTEEN COURT LANE,or Dog Therapy
- The Story of Ros, Part VI
- RETURN TO THE LILY PAD,or the Hilarity of a Bologna Sandwich
- THE YETI COSTUME,or Power Jam, Season Three
- JUMPING IN,or On Waiting for Guys
- A CHANCE ENCOUNTER,or Lessons I Have Learned
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- Discover More
- About the Author
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Ros said.
Jess smiled. “It’s the only one like it in the country. It was built right around the turn of the twentieth century. The woman who built it was obsessed with ferns because they’re one of the only plants that don’t flower. Sorry,” said Jess. “Am I boring you?”
“Not at all,” said Ros.
I racked my brain for facts about ferns but came up short.
“What do you mean, ferns don’t flower?” I asked.
“Most plants reproduce by creating blooms that then attract bees or other pollinators. But ferns don’t produce flowers, or seeds. They reproduce by spreading spores, which are usually on the underside of their leaves.”
It seemed incompatible that the girl we saw deck someone last night would know so much about the sex lives of ferns. Who was this plant sorceress? And how had she so obviously enchanted Ros?
“Weird question,” said Ros. “You’re not hiring, are you?”
“Not officially,” said Jess. “But we tend to bring on another person as the theater festival really kicks into high gear. Have you ever made bouquets before?”
“No,” Ros said, sounding already disappointed to have not gotten the job.
“It’s not a huge deal,” Jess said. “I’m a pretty good teacher, actually. I can put in a good word for you. And I can give you an application.”
“I can fill it out right now,” Ros said.
“You don’t have to,” I said. This was all happening far too quickly for my liking. “You could take your time.…”
“Celia, you don’t mind waiting, do you?”
“Oh—I guess not,” I said.
While Ros filled out the application on the desk by the checkout and Jess started putting together a bouquet from the flowers kept in the freezer, I wandered around the store, pretending not to be distressed about the potential change that was afoot. So Ros wanted a job here. Big deal. They needed a job; that had been part of the contract. And so what if Jess Orlando also worked here? So what if she knew about ferns? So what if she could reach into the freezer behind the desk and make a bouquet that moved someone to tears (I was speculating wildly at this point)? In the first place, the Hidden Fern didn’t seem to be hiring officially, whatever that meant; in the second place, Ros had no history working with plants, unless you counted using moss and stones to build little fairy villages in someone’s backyard. There was no guarantee they’d get this job.