Everyone’s too busy cheering to notice. After a nod from his date, Lauren, a freshly shampooed Drew coaxes the sour-faced Vicky onto the dance floor.
Though I will never be chummy with Vicky, the sight of her giggling gives me a weirdly warm feeling. All it took was a cheerful heart like the one inside Drew to break through the ice. Did I ever think in a million years the most popular girl at school could be BFF with the gamer nerd? No. Then again, I never dreamed that the soccer star would be holding my hand.
A Michael Jackson mash-up hits the airwaves, and that’s my cue. I pull Court to the dance floor and he shows me just how light he is on his feet. Behind him, Kali desperately tries to feed me dance moves, like always. But I’ve found my own groove, and even though it makes me look like a whirling dervish, I don’t fall once. If people wonder why Warrior Sawyer is getting down with the school love witch, no one says anything. Turns out, people care less about me than they care about not tripping on the dance floor.
When the song ends, Court leads me by the hand to the upper deck. The ship lurches as we climb the narrow staircase, passing by the newly crowned homecoming king, Whit, who is snuggling with Pascha. They don’t even notice us pass.
Stars, like sequins, scatter the black cloak of the sky. We find a secluded spot near the bow. The ocean’s so black, it’s invisible, only felt through the shushing of the waves against the hull of the ship. I revel in the velvety sounds, in the way they echo in my ear.
My orchid corsage is open now, its scent so honey-sweet, it even sings to my ordinary nose. Freesia on the front end and muscat on the back. That’s all I can do for now, but with luck, one day I shall smell the hundreds of notes in between.
Mother said some things never die. Inhaling again, I finally see. Layla’s Sacrifice smells exactly like a mother’s love, honed by fire, tested through time.
Paper crackles as Court pulls something out of his jacket pocket. He holds up a brown packet. “When I asked you what three things you would do if you couldn’t smell, you said eat movie snacks and float. M&M’s were easier to fit in my pocket than the Dead Sea.”
He pulls the M&M’s just out of my reach. “You never told me what the third one was.”
My heart begins to applaud in my chest, growing more urgent as the moment stretches out. I tilt my face up to his and just before I kiss him, I whisper, “This.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
“LET US BE GRATEFUL TO PEOPLE WHO MAKE US HAPPY.
THEY ARE THE CHARMING GARDENERS WHO MAKE
OUR SOULS BLOSSOM.”
—Marcel Proust
I have several people to thank for helping me nurture Mim’s story to full bloom: my intrepid agent, Kristin Nelson, and the Nelson Literary Agency, and my publisher, Katherine Tegen, and her vibrant team—in particular my scent-sational editor, Maria Barbo, and her whip-smart assistant, Rebecca Schwarz. A full field of beaming sunflowers for you in gratitude.
To several key plants in my garden: stargazer lilies for Stephanie Garber, purple freesia for Mónica Bustamante Wagner, Creamsicle tulips for Jeanne Schriel, Zahara zinnias for Caitin Swift, and edelweiss for Evelyn Skye. Thank you also to all the people who blow their magic flower dust my way: Anna Shinoda, Beth Hull, Janice Hardy, Kat Brauer, Marieke Nijkamp, Jodi Meadows, I. W. Gregorio, Kelly Loy Gilbert, Virginia Boecker, Alice Chen, Ana Inglis, Adlai Coronel, Sabaa Tahir, Abigail Hing Wen, Parker Peevyhouse, Jessica Taylor, Amie Kaufman, MacKenzie Van Engelenhoven, Dahlia Adler, Rachel Evangelista, Angela Mann, Eric Elfman, Bijal Vakil, Susan Repo, Angela Hum, Jennifer Fan, Ariele Wildwind, and Vasanthi Suresh. May heirloom Damask rose petals ever be strewn in your path.
To my amazing family, Laura Ly, Alyssa Cheng, Dolores and Wai Lee, Evelyn and Carl Leong, and to my sweet peas, Avalon, Bennett, and Jonathan: You are the rare flowers that make my life beautiful.