Rosalinda’s attitude about homework was rather casual. She told Rose that she would learn much more from working beside her in the greenhouse. And one evening when Rose brought her laptop down to look up some plant information on the internet, Rosalinda was captivated. “Such treasures!” she exclaimed. For indeed Rose found a solution for controlling the bugs that wreaked havoc on her grandmother’s tiny ruby-red carrots, and then five minutes later discovered a special kind of bonemeal as a nutrient for stunted toad lilies. From that point on, Rosalinda insisted that Rose bring her laptop with her every evening. Dinner continued to be served in the greenhouse. As the days began to grow shorter, the night fell earlier, turning the glass house into a starry empyrean, a timeless place of simultaneous seasons and the endless blossoming of flowers. Yet never during their evenings had the cupolas dissolved or the aisles transformed themselves into woodland pathways as they had before. It had been a dream, surely just a dream. Rose had almost convinced herself.

On this particular evening, her grandmother had just gone up to bed and so Rose, as had become her habit, stayed a bit longer and ascended the spiraling staircase to one of the cupolas. Rosalinda had started some winter violets from cuttings, and Rose herself had sown a flat of violets that afternoon that needed to be elevated into the cupola. As she carried the tray, for it was too large for the pulley lift, she heard the ping of a text message—most likely it was Joe, who’d gotten into the habit of texting her with questions about homework. But she didn’t reach into her pocket now—not until she had put the plant tray down safely.

She was in the largest of the cupolas, where they kept the orchids. Orchids were brought down only for brief periods—mostly on holidays to decorate the house. There was also a myriad of lilies, bromeliads, and hibiscus up here, all of which thrived in the warm, moist air in the upper levels of the greenhouse. Rose felt as if she had been transported to a rain forest. She set the rootling violets down and took out her cell. The green text bubble floated up on the screen: I don’t exactly hate you, but if you were on fire and I had water, I’d drink it. She didn’t recognize the number it came from, but it wasn’t hard to guess that it was one of the Mean Queens. Well, she supposed this was bound to happen. Had she really expected them not to bother her once they had her number? She should have changed it.