As the new employee at Watson's Flowers, seventeen-year-old Krista knows she has to concentrate on her job and not on the party she is missing at Bayside Beach on Lake Huron. But all she really wants is to have a summer romance with Jeff Wellington, a fellow student, golfer extraordinaire, and well-known jerk.
As Krista ignores Jeff's rather unsavory reputation and immerses herself in lively summer boating and beach adventures with him, she also gets to know her coworkers-Mario Watson, the owner's son and a handsome college student who tests Krista's feelings for Jeff, and Cheyenne, a bizarre and moody girl who seems to know everything about everyone. Even though she is crazy about Jeff, Mario's eyes beckon Krista into his life. But it is not long before Krista realizes Mario is dealing with his own set of problems. Torn between two suitors with vastly different personalities, Krista must decide which one is right for her.
In this young adult story, a teenager must balance a new job with the possibilities of romance as she learns to trust her heart-and her intuition-to lead her to her destiny.
As the new employee at Watson's Flowers, seventeen-year-old Krista knows she has to concentrate on her job and not on the party she is missing at Bayside Beach on Lake Huron. But all she really wants is to have a summer romance with Jeff Wellington, a fellow student, golfer extraordinaire, and well-known jerk.
As Krista ignores Jeff's rather unsavory reputation and immerses herself in lively summer boating and beach adventures with him, she also gets to know her coworkers-Mario Watson, the owner's son and a handsome college student who tests Krista's feelings for Jeff, and Cheyenne, a bizarre and moody girl who seems to know everything about everyone. Even though she is crazy about Jeff, Mario's eyes beckon Krista into his life. But it is not long before Krista realizes Mario is dealing with his own set of problems. Torn between two suitors with vastly different personalities, Krista must decide which one is right for her.
In this young adult story, a teenager must balance a new job with the possibilities of romance as she learns to trust her heart-and her intuition-to lead her to her destiny.
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Overview
As the new employee at Watson's Flowers, seventeen-year-old Krista knows she has to concentrate on her job and not on the party she is missing at Bayside Beach on Lake Huron. But all she really wants is to have a summer romance with Jeff Wellington, a fellow student, golfer extraordinaire, and well-known jerk.
As Krista ignores Jeff's rather unsavory reputation and immerses herself in lively summer boating and beach adventures with him, she also gets to know her coworkers-Mario Watson, the owner's son and a handsome college student who tests Krista's feelings for Jeff, and Cheyenne, a bizarre and moody girl who seems to know everything about everyone. Even though she is crazy about Jeff, Mario's eyes beckon Krista into his life. But it is not long before Krista realizes Mario is dealing with his own set of problems. Torn between two suitors with vastly different personalities, Krista must decide which one is right for her.
In this young adult story, a teenager must balance a new job with the possibilities of romance as she learns to trust her heart-and her intuition-to lead her to her destiny.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781475966466 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | iUniverse, Incorporated |
| Publication date: | 01/10/2013 |
| Pages: | 154 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.40(w) x 8.20(h) x 0.60(d) |
Read an Excerpt
Wake-Up Calls
By Connie Gaertner
iUniverse, Inc.
Copyright © 2013 Connie GaertnerAll right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4759-6646-6
Chapter One
First Job
The buzzing alarm irritates me. Reluctantly, I struggle out of my warm bed. My stomach is in knots. Today I start my new job. Dad says it will be a good learning experience for me, and I want to please him. Mother, however, has been quiet about it.
This afternoon my friends are going to Bayside Beach on Lake Huron to swim and party without me. What a bummer. Jeff will be there, and I think he likes me. But Marcie will be there too, and I think she has her eyes on Jeff. Not good.
* * *
Arriving at my new job an hour later, I push open the heavy glass door of the local flower shop as the new employee at Watson's Flowers, Inc. The door closes behind me with a jingle of bells announcing my arrival. A decal on a wall states, "Say It with Flowers." I pretend the flowers are saying, "Calm down and good luck. Forget about the party."
As I look around, I see several buckets of red roses and many wildly colorful arrangements in a flower cooler. Fuzzy teddy bears are displayed haphazardly on glass shelving. I readjust a soft brown one and give its fat tummy a squeeze. It's comforting to look at the bears, and I smile for the first time today.
A lady bustles down a half flight of stairs. "May I Help You?" is written in bold white letters on her dark-green apron. "I'll be right with you," she says as she puts a shiny yellow corsage box on a shelf in the cooler.
I force myself to concentrate on my surroundings. I refuse to think about Jeff and the party.
"You must be Krista," she says. Her voice reminds me of my third-grade teacher.
"Yes, ma'am," I reply. I can feel my heart beating faster.
"I'm Mrs. Watson. You may call me Sophia. We're really swamped. Follow me and I'll find an apron for you."
It feels awkward to address the owner by her first name, but I do. I follow her into a back design room. It appears chaotic, filled with cluttered counters and shelves holding bolts of ribbons, order pads, racks of cards, and even an open box of chocolates. The walls are bright yellow and covered with signs, price lists, and posters of flower arrangements. I see a poster with daisies that would look great on a wall in my bedroom. I continue to look around and see bunches of dried flowers and wicker baskets hanging from the ceiling. Petals, leaves, and stems litter the floor.
I live in a very orderly home where even the pillows on the sofa are placed exactly like the pictures in my mother's magazines. I sometimes get paranoid when I sit in the living room. This flower shop is the opposite of my home.
"Here's a broom and an apron. No time to chat right now. There's the dustpan and trash barrel," Sophia says as she sorts through a pile of orders.
When Dad dropped me off, he patted my hand and said, "Go in there, be friendly, and do what they tell you to do."
Okay, Dad, I think to myself. I still feel nervous, but I grab the broom and dustpan.
While I sweep the floor, two different phones ring and the bells on the front door jingle. Background music adds to the commotion.
I hear a door in the back of the shop open and slam shut. A huge cardboard shipping box comes around a corner toward me. Somebody wearing a University of Michigan cap is hidden behind it.
"Are the buckets ready? Let's get this shipment into water," a male voice says. He plunks the heavy box down. Without giving me a chance to reply, he says, "You must be new. Never mind, I'll show you what to do."
As he emerges from behind the box, I immediately notice the guy's thick eyelashes and penetrating dark eyes. There is no time to stare, however; we start to lug, sort, cut, fill, and shift. I had no idea flowers needed so much care.
My name is called from the front of the store. I apologize to the guy for the interruption; I'm not one to walk out on a half- finished job.
As I leave the flower processing area, Mr. Penetrating Dark Eyes says, "You're a good worker. This place can be a madhouse, but you'll get used to it. By the way, my name's Mario Watson. Sophia's my mom."
I smile at him. "Hi, Mario. My name's Krista." Our eyes lock for a split second. Suddenly the party at Bayside Beach is no longer important. I love this job! Next time I'll feel different when my alarm clock goes off.
Chapter Two
Visiting Marcie
I'm actually still sad that I had to miss last Saturday's beach party, where I would have seen Jeff. I find it difficult not to think of him at times. However, at work I find it difficult not to think of Mario.
I'm off work today and spending the day at Marcie's house. Her brother, Brad, and Jeff are friends. As I'm getting a soda from her fridge, Brad and Jeff barge in from outdoors. I feel my cheeks flush when I look at Jeff. He smiles at me with one of those silly guy grins. For some reason, he nods. I don't know what it means; however, he appears to be acknowledging a connection between us.
"I missed you at the party last weekend, Krista. We had a blast," Jeff says.
"I really wanted to be there, but I started my new job at Watson's Flower Shop."
"There's another party this Saturday. Are you going to show up, or is your little job going to keep you away?" Jeff says sarcastically.
"Hey, don't be hard on her," says Brad. "At least she's earning money. Not that you'd ever have to." I'm glad Brad is sticking up for me. Marcie's lucky to have such a nice brother.
"If I don't have to work, I'll be at the party," I tell Jeff.
Brad interrupts. "Jeff, that was a long golf shot you had today on number seven."
"I didn't think my ball would go that far," Jeff says. He opens a can of soda and continues. "That was cool when it ricocheted off the cart belonging to the ladies playing in front of us. Bam, bammity, bam."
"You really should've waited to hit your ball," says Brad in a scolding tone.
Jeff laughs. "Man, it was fun listening to the old bags get pissed off."
I smile at the conversation. I've heard Jeff gets out of line at times. Oh well, I think, he's a guy.
"Your old man will hit the roof if he finds out," says Brad.
Both of the boys laugh again as they leave the kitchen.
"Show up on Saturday, Krista!" Jeff yells as the screen door slams behind them.
I walk into the family room, where Marcie is sorting pictures.
"Jeff's easy to look at," I comment.
"You're right," she answers. "Look at this picture taken up north. It's Jeff laughing after he ran a boat up on shore. That's Brad with him."
Jeff's sun-bleached hair is almost covering his eyes. He has a careless and devastating look about him. The boat, which is against a rock, has a dent in its bow.
I can feel Marcie studying me. "You really like him, don't you, Krista?"
"How can a girl not like him? I imagine every girl at our school dreams about him."
"Not me."
"You're kidding!" A feeling of relief sweeps over me. I really thought Marcie was interested in Jeff.
She hesitates and says, "Jeff has a reckless streak in him, and he's not the type of person I want to date. Someday someone is going to be hurt." She keeps sorting through pictures. "You're so conservative, Krista. I didn't think a guy as wild as Jeff would appeal to you."
"Oh, Marcie, you're exaggerating."
* * *
A bit later I leave Marcie's house. I didn't tell her about meeting Mario at the flower shop. I just want to have a summer romance. I'm uncomfortable going to a gathering alone. I suppose it's a weakness on my part. I've noticed girls without a date often talk loud and laugh hard. Maybe they're pretending they're having a good time. I know I shouldn't be critical of them though. Some girls would rather be with each other than contend with a date.
I'm attracted to two totally different guys right now. From what I know, Mario appears to be the opposite of Jeff. I decide I don't want anyone to know about Mario. He's older and probably in control of his life. Jeff seems full of fire and action. I think Jeff may be more fun.
Chapter Three
Cheyenne
I push hard on the heavy glass door going into the flower shop. Sophia is behind the counter. "Good morning, Krista. Are you ready for a busy day?"
"I certainly am. Thanks again for hiring me."
She smiles and nods. "Follow me. I want you to meet Cheyenne."
I walk into the back design room. The floor is already littered with stems and leaves. I'm sure it was swept the day before. To my surprise, I see a strange-looking girl wearing a wild, pink-and-orange flowered skirt, a black striped shirt, a man's necktie, knee-high pink socks, and patent-leather shoes with a strap across the ankle. Her hair's red and spiky, and she's chewing gum. Mother hates to see me chewing gum.
"Krista, I'd like you to meet one of our floral designers, Cheyenne," says Sophia.
Cheyenne gives me a surly look, cracks her gum, and greets me in an unfriendly tone.
"Hi, Cheyenne. Nice to meet you," I manage to say. She probably noticed my critical assessment of her.
"I surprised you, didn't I?" She laughs.
"Cheyenne surprises all of us," says Sophia. "She's a talented designer who has attended a very well-known design school in Cleveland. I depend on her."
I try to conceal my fascination with Cheyenne's outlandish outfit.
Sophia indicates I should read the checklist posted on the wall. "It's time to start working. If you have any questions, Cheyenne can direct you. I'll be in my office if you need me."
Sophia leaves the room. I wonder how Cheyenne will act. She's quiet as she continues filling an order. I begin to follow the list of chores posted on the wall.
Changing the water in the buckets sounds simple, but which buckets? Where do I empty them? How much water do I put in them? Where do I get the water? Should I use hot or cold? I hate to interrupt Miss Weirdo, but it's a necessity. I tell Cheyenne my problem.
"I'll help you," she says.
It appears that Cheyenne knew I was going to need direction. She'd been testing me to see if I'd ask for the help or waste time making my own mistakes.
Cheyenne teaches me how to identify the flowers needing to be thrown out or used and which buckets need the water changed and preservatives added. There's a system I can easily follow, and a chart with directions is on the wall of the cooler.
"Thanks," I tell her. No one inquires if I'm strong enough to lift, lug, and empty the buckets. Fortunately there's a drain and water source in the cooler. The buckets are heavy, and I'm glad I'm strong. Near my parents' cabin in the north there was a huge tree with a heavy vine attached. Growing up, I'd grab that vine, pull it back, run forward, and swing out over a deep ravine. It felt daring, and it was fun. I don't think my parents knew about it, which added to the adventure. That summer vacation pastime helped develop my strength.
I stretch my shoulders and continue to work. If Mario was here, he could be helping me.
I wonder if I'll get a chance to know him.
After I finish changing the water in the buckets, I attempt to straighten the cooler.
"Krista," Cheyenne calls out as she pokes her spiky red head into the cooler, "we need to wire some roses. Come out of there, and I'll teach you."
When I stand next to Cheyenne, I notice she's wearing perfume. I smell a faint scent of lilacs. How strange-lilacs seem old-fashioned to me. Sophia's right; Cheyenne's full of surprises.
"Run this green wire through the thick part of the neck, under the rose's head," she instructs me. "Bring the wire down and wrap it around the stem."
"Ouch." A thorn pricked my finger.
"You'll learn," she says.
"Why do we do wire flowers?" I ask.
"To keep the heavy head of a flower upright. Customers don't want a bent neck. It makes the flower look as if it's dying or dead," she explains.
We're silent for a while and then she speaks, catching me off guard. "Do you have a boyfriend?" she asks.
"Sort of, I guess."
"What kind of an answer is that?" Cheyenne laughs. "You either do or you don't. Your cheeks are getting red. You like someone, don't you? What's his name?"
"Jeff."
Cheyenne raises her eyebrows. "There're many guys named Jeff. Honey, in the flower business if you don't know a last name, you ask for it."
"His name is Jeff Wellington," I say, smiling.
"I was afraid of that." She frowns.
I'm startled by Cheyenne's look and comment. "He seems to like me. Yesterday, his body language indicated he's interested in me. He told me he missed me at a party last weekend and to show up at one this Saturday." Why am I talking so much? I think.
"He told you to show up? What kind of guy makes that comment?"
I can feel my face muscles tighten. "What's wrong with that?"
"Nothing, I guess," I hear her mutter.
I actually don't know much about Jeff. His family moved to our town last year. I'm not sure what to say about him.
"He's a good golfer," I finally tell Cheyenne. "He plays at the country club, and he's on our school's golf team." For some dumb reason, I then describe Jeff's long golf shot that hit the lady's cart.
Cheyenne frowns.
"You said you were afraid Jeff's last name was Wellington.
Why?" I ask.
She shrugs. "I've heard people talk about him. He's probably okay."
I don't like her answer, but I can see by her look that this conversation is over. A dreamy picture of Jeff shoots through my mind. Hopefully I'll see him Saturday.
"Hey, girl, we've got to cut the chatter. Orders need to be filled, and they won't get done if I'm being asked to run an information service," she says.
I'm embarrassed. Why is it that when I'm interested in or have a crush on someone, I rattle on? When I was young, Marcie and I had a crush on a movie star. We talked about him for hours. Now I have a tendency to talk too much about a potential boyfriend. Not good. I've probably gotten off to a rocky start with Cheyenne. She's a puzzling character.
I hear the back door open and close. Mario walks in.
"Hi, girls," he says.
"Hi, Mario," we both respond.
I'm surprised by a funny feeling that brushes over me, like a quick but gentle rush of air. I have to be careful about showing interest in Mario. I don't need Cheyenne scrutinizing me. Besides, I think I like Jeff.
Chapter Four
Decorating with Mario
It's Thursday. I arrived at the flower shop with mixed feelings about Cheyenne. I am going to avoid getting into a discussion about Jeff with her. I don't think she approves of him based on how she reacted yesterday. I am curious to see what today's outfit will be.
When I walk into the design room, I notice Cheyenne is wearing a black, and extremely short, lace dress, black tights, and ankle-high red boots. A large, pink silk flower is pinned to her dress, and a pink sash is tied around her waist. In some weird way, her outfit is coordinated. The reds and the pinks don't seem to clash. Cheyenne has a way with color.
"Hi," she says, most likely noticing my boring attire. Her red spiky hair is spikier today, and it has shades of pink worked into it. It's amazing. I wonder where on earth she gets these clothes.
"Hi, Cheyenne."
Mario walks into the design room. "Krista, you can help me today," he says. "I'm on my way to the basement, and we have some lugging to do."
Yes! I think to myself. "That sounds good," I say aloud. This is the fun of working in a flower shop; every day is different.
I can feel Cheyenne's eyes follow me as I walk behind Mario. I go down the stairway and around a corner into a dimly lighted basement.
"Oh, good grief," I say too loudly as I feel my heart nearly stop beating.
"I'd like you to meet Woody. He lives down here." Mario laughs as he switches on a light that shines down on Woody.
A fully dressed scarecrow is on a chair. He has a big smile made from black chenille pipe cleaners. His eyes and nose are made of black, shiny buttons, and he's wearing a floppy hat. In the poor lighting, he momentarily looked like a real person.
I laugh as I recover from being startled, and I breathe a sigh of relief. "He's impressive. Who made him?"
"I did in one of my more creative moments. Notice his vest; that's class," Mario says.
It's probably a hand-me-down from Cheyenne. The satin material has red lips and martini glasses imprinted on it. A fake Ralph Lauren logo has been cut from white felt and sewn on.
"It has a mark of distinction," I say playfully. Mario's warming up, and I'm pleased he has a sense of humor.
"Woody's one of our Halloween props. The rest of the year he keeps watch over the dungeon," he says as he sweeps his arm and hand around, theatrically referring to the basement.
"Pull that light cord behind you. It's time to get busy."
I pull the cord and a bank of bright lights illuminate large, deep, wooden shelving.
Materials and fabrics of different colors and textures have been placed neatly in one area. Assorted boxes, pots, and vases are stacked nearby. Branches and weeds hang from the ceiling. The air's rather musty, and I sneeze.
"You're not allergic to pollen and dust, are you?" asks Mario. "There's plenty of it down here."
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Wake-Up Calls by Connie Gaertner Copyright © 2013 by Connie Gaertner. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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