MariGold Blooms

By Victoria Gates

Marigold is just your average teenage outcast. Smart, strong-willed, and unapologetically herself. Her father always taught her not to conform to the expectations of the people around her. Especially those of her mother; an L.A. socialite with plans for Marigold's future, that are far from what sees Marigold for herself.

When h

• Language: English
• Publisher: Crown Books NYC
• Release date: Nov 25, 2022
• ISBN: 9781958869390

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Marigold Blooms

Victoria Gates

Copyright © 2022 Victoria Gates.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author and publisher, except by reviewers, who may quote brief passages in a review.

ISBN: 978-1-958869-40-6 (Paperback Edition)

ISBN: 978-1-958869-41-3 (Hardcover Edition)

ISBN: 978-1-958869-39-0 (E-book Edition)

Some characters and events in this book are fictitious and products of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Book Ordering Information

Crown Books NYC

132 West 31st Street, 9th Fl.

New York, NY, 10001 USA

[e-mail]

www.crownbooksnyc.com

1 (347) 537-690

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

Chapter 1: Schools Out

Chapter 2: A House Two Big

Chapter 3: Déjà -vu

Chapter 4: An Open Book

Chapter 5: Hold on Tight

Chapter 6: Changes

Chapter 7: The difference between a high heel and a hat

Chapter 8: Ready…Set…GO

Chapter 9: Dinner for three

Chapter 10: Not again, Not here, Not now

Chapter 11: Happy Birthday

Chapter 12: Where do I go from here?

Chapter 13: Epilogue

Chapter One

Schools Out

"M

arigold, do you mind coming here for a minute, please," Mr. McGrath stopped me from making my break from school for the summer. I was so close I internally cursed myself.

Sure, I replied. Mr. McGrath. My middle-aged, balding English and homeroom teacher. He has a slight penchant for plaid shirts and heavy dress pants which is hard to comprehend as we live in Los Angeles and it is just way too hot for those types of clothing, especially at the end of June. What little hair he has left is grey, probably from years of handling high schoolers and their faux drama. Let’s face it. I’m seventeen and I am already over their drama.

As far as I can tell he has a natural aversion to razors, all in all, he is kind of a strange man; I’ve thought so for as long as I’ve had the misfortune of knowing him. Far from being the best teacher in the world, he is frequently flustered and forgets something, causing him to backtrack often. Learning from him is a difficult task, not that I personally have too many issues.

I wanted to quickly pull you aside to congratulate you on your success this year, and I look forward to seeing you next year.

Thank you, I said. It was – of course - always nice to hear that you’re doing a good job but I just wanted to get away.

You’re welcome, he said smiling. Have a nice summer.

You too, Mr. McGrath, I said slowly inching away from him towards the door. Once I was sure I was being dismissed, I turned from the class and started down the hall again. I continued not stopping even as a familiar brunette head fell into step beside me.

Hi Renée, I said. Renée is my best friend, she is also my only friend. To describe me as an outcast is an understatement. Due to my being unapologetically intelligent; as well as being a tomboy in the land of the beautiful and glamorous. Being strong-willed, self-sufficient, confident, and capable, were all personality traits my father forced upon me, making sure I would never feel the need to conform to anyone else’s ideals. Particularly those of my mother, who already has four clones in the form of my older sisters.

Renée has been my friend since first grade, we know everything about each other and would never judge each other, which is apparently the great American high school pastime. Renée has the most beautiful auburn hair and comes from the most beautiful and loving average family. I have a lot of respect for them. Her parents are still together, my parents had gotten divorced two years ago. Their divorce was not amicable but messy, bitter, and hurtful for everyone involved. Renée always has a ton of energy to spare with her bubbly and upbeat, personality making you wonder what was going on in that beautiful head of hers. She and her family became my safe haven at the time, even more so than they had been already.

Hi, she responded with a smile so huge it practically lit up the room.

How are you? I asked laughing gently.

Good… as usual, she said, practically skipping down the hall beside me.

How did you do, I inquired about her report card, she knew what I meant, it was the last day of school after all, all you do is get your report card and yearbook before being told to get lost.

About the same as always, she asked.

So ... above average? I clarified gently.

Yes, alas my ‘B plus’ average will never hold a candle to the amazing ‘A’ student that is Marigold Chandler? She dramatically cowered, the back of her hand raising to her forehead.

You know me well, I said bumping her with my shoulder. Can’t have those grades slip if I am going to live up to my sisters. A doctor, dentist, teacher, and future lawyer, are mighty large shoes to fill.

You study too much, Renée declared.

Well, what else am I going to do with my time? You know my mother, she never allows me to do anything, I said. This was also true, she is a little overprotective and smothering, but I was her last kid, and at almost seventeen she was getting seriously close to an empty nest.

I know, she said quietly, before a short silence of unspoken understanding passed between us. Although her protectiveness would imply a maternal side my mother could be self-centered. A conundrum, my mother Sandra E. Steele is the top Florist in Hollywood, or as the magazines refer to her, ‘Florist of the Stars.’ Half of those articles were proudly framed and displayed around the house.

This is why I prefer to simply not tell people who she is. I don’t want the attention it would bring. I want people to see me for me, like my father always wanted, and not who my mother is, and certainly not for my family’s reputation.

Don’t get me wrong my mother isn’t exactly famous – in the traditional sense - except among celebrities and locals. Pretty much anyone who is anyone in Hollywood gets their flowers from her, not to mention all the floral arrangements at the awards shows and red-carpet events are done by her business. So, no we aren’t talking about your everyday grocery store bouquets, a small bunch of flowers by my mother is worth hundreds of dollars, which in my opinion is pure insanity. But my mother says it is worth it for quality. I think it’s a waste for something that is going to die. An opinion, I will not be voicing in her vicinity – ever again.

According to my mother, nothing says ‘Happy Valentine’s Day,’ ‘Happy Mother’s Day’ ‘Happy Birthday’ or anything else like a great big bouquet from ‘Fantasy Flowers.’ A girl in school - one of those popular types, who are happiest when they are putting other people down - once came up to me with a bouquet clearly from my mother’s shop and insinuated that I’d never be able to afford something as beautiful as it. She caressed the petals, a little too harshly, which was going to cause them to turn brown. I refrained from informing her of that. It wasn’t worth the time or the effort required. And for the record yes, I am ashamed that I know that.

So plans for the summer, go? Renée said, as though it was some challenge.

I’m not really sure, probably a lot of reading and more than my fair share of swimming, I said, relishing the thought of being able to sit back and relax for a couple of months. Peace, quiet, and solitude are something I look forward to at the end of every school year.

I wish I had your parents, she said.

Just my mother and no you don’t. It was funny how you really do want what you don’t have. I wanted a happy close-knit family, and she wanted the quiet and a little space more often.

Oh, and of all the luck, here come the popular ladies of this beautiful institution now. I thought to myself observing their long strides, perfect hair, and unnecessarily skimpy outfits as they glided towards me, turning the head of every boy they walked by. The cliché screaming out, like I was looking at a movie not a school hallway. Why did the students of this school think that just because the school was in Hollywood that it needed to be just like the movies?

Hey dork, the ‘leader’ of their little popular group Hillary said. ‘Real original,’ I thought looking past their we’re better than you attitude. The girls beside her laughed, on cue as if it was the funniest thing she had ever said. She reminds me of an Alpha wolf, the way all the other girls follow her around and do what she says as if she is in charge of their entire world, and she would put an end to them – socially – if you dared go against her. I raised my eyebrows as if to ask, what exactly you expect me to say to that.

Renée ran off before they’d gotten anywhere near us, an aversion to confrontation, she tends to avoid well everything. I on the other hand have learned having a thick skin is just another asset in life.

Let me guess, Miss. Honor Roll, flying colors? Hillary said slapping my report card out of my hand, like it was supposed to be some big secret, although, I do believe I sensed a hint of jealousy. Seems to me someone didn’t do so well.

I heard Mr. McGrath talking to her. He was congratulating her on everything she accomplished, Karenna, Hillary’s second in command said with an eye roll.

I mean what is your problem anyway. You live in Los Angeles, you must have something, more than a dreadful sense of style, Hillary said. More than two brain cells to rub together to keep warm came to mind but I refrained from saying it, plus there wasn’t really anything wrong with my outfit, my baggy green khakis and white t-shirt with my sweater tied around my waist were perfectly coordinated. How exactly did you even get into this school?

Hillary, this is a public school, I reminded her. Anyone can go here, they’re legally not allowed to refuse anyone.

You know my parents say that poor people shouldn’t be allowed in L.A. they belong in other parts of the U.S like on the streets in New York, she sneered at me, crossing her arms and cocking her hip.

Well I am happy you and your parents think so, but I don’t think I am in any danger of having to live on any streets any time soon, I smiled. Have a great summer ladies, I told them with a smile, picking up the documents that had been forced from my grip and walked away. Finally, I am free from them for the duration of my summer.

You actually stood up to them, Renée said, coming up behind me.

Yeah, that wasn’t standing up to them. I do that all the time; you just aren’t around to witness it. Where were you this time? I asked, curious as to how she’d managed to hear while staying out of sight.

I hid in a classroom with the door slightly open.

One of these days you aren’t going to be able to hide… I said.

I hope when that day comes, I have a boyfriend to beat them up, she smiled at me.

Yeah… okay, that’s going to go over well, your boyfriend beats up three tiny girls, I said sarcastically. Anyway, we both knew the chance of either of us getting a boyfriend anytime soon was one in a billion. So, I personally wasn’t going to be worrying about it.

So, are you still coming over later? she asked.

Of course.

You can help me pack.

Oh joy, I remarked, sarcastically. I still can’t believe that you’re going to leave me here without you all summer; while you are on a fancy European vacation, I said, we were just about out the school doors now.

It’s not that fancy; I’m going to stay with my Uncle in the South of France.

While I rot here, alone.

Don’t you have your sisters? Can’t you find something to do with them?

Not really… they’re all busy. I might be able to get there a couple of times each but ultimately it’s going to be a long summer, I told her.

You never talk about them, I can only remember ever meeting two of them.

They’re all so much older than me. My entire life they’ve been busy having their own lives.

Still why don’t you talk about them?

I don’t know? Maybe because they are so different from me.

Okay, well why don’t you reach out to your father?

You know why, I stopped stealing her with my gaze.

But you used to be so close.

Yes, operative words being ‘used to be’. Everything changed after the divorce. Remember? The really messy thing, that resulted in my living in your house for months.

Yes, I remember.

Then you know that he met Aimee and had Timothy - the son he always wanted - and now I never see him. I reminded her. I was the closest of all my sisters to him, he hadn’t raised my sisters as he had me. The others were mostly raised by my mother before her business took off. When I came along, we were making more money from the flower shop than from dad’s job. It was always just the two of us, while mom worked late most nights. But like I said now he is too busy with his new family, to have any time for me, but somehow Renée had made it her mission in life to get me back together with my father.

Sitting around and reading all summer it is then.

Finally, we’re on the same page.

Well I wish you luck with that.

"You know your sarcasm hurts,’’ I told her, mockingly putting a hand to my chest.

I could say the same about you, she said. Plus, it’s one of the things you love about me.

Brutal honesty, I said, giving her an awkward sideways hug.

I was thinking you should bring your car to my place after you get home, so we can go out for a goodbye frozen yogurt before I leave tomorrow morning.

Okay, sure, she loves my car. My mother bought it for me for passing my road test less than a year ago; personally, I think it is way too flashy. My mother thinks I should drive it to school rather than taking the bus with what she refers to as the ‘common folk’. Part of me thinks she’d get along well with Hillary and her cohort.

I prefer to take the bus, it’s a lot less ostentatious, and when I remind her, I am saving the planet by taking the bus she kind of loses her argument. A dying planet means dying flowers, which means no more pretty bouquets and no more business. Solid logic.

My car is a Porsche 911 Turbo S convertible. It’s a beautiful shade of dark grey so I’ll give the car that. My mother loves it, so I told her what she wanted to hear, and was gracious, and to be fair it does come in handy. As a sixteenth birthday present, it was certainly a good one, but I am not willing to field questions about it at school.

Long story short, I take the bus. My stop is the last stop on the route and I am pretty solid friends with the driver - it pays to be a nice person. So once again it becomes unlikely that someone will find out exactly where I live and my anonymity is safe. If you are wondering why I keep who I am a secret, it is not just because I am different. I like having all the time that I want to do things like reading and develop my hobbies. I have a friend that’s a lot like me though, she does care more about what people think, but with her, it’s more of a social anxiety thing.

It’s more of a rebellion thing with me. I want to be my own person, and don’t want my parents to define me - very much to my mother’s chagrin. She would do anything for me to accept her plans for my future; it’s too bad that her plans for me have nothing to do with my plans for me. She wants me to take over the family business as her last daughter. My father used to fight for me, unfortunately, now that he is out of the picture, I have to fight my mother’s plans for my future myself.

As I walked up the driveway, I put the code into the gate, did I mention that I live in a gated house, technically there is a giant wall all around it - except for the driveway - that’s the gated part. The house was originally built by a millionaire inventor who wanted to keep his family safe. He was my great-grandfather. Mom says it’s because he married an actress, but she was a nobody, so I don’t know.

I walked up the driveway and got into my car, without going inside – there really wasn’t any point.

Renée lives in a small suburban community between my house and the school. I parked my car in the spot in her driveway that was unofficially reserved for me. I used my key to let myself in giving a sigh and a hello to Renée’s mother and little brother Greg. Who welcomed me warmly, without even batting an eyelash at my intrusion. Renée’s mother Cheryl is a plump thirty-eight-year-old woman with the traditional mom haircut and an ever-present apron wrapped around her waist. Greg is almost eight years old and full of energy and smiles just like his sister. His skin tone and hair color are almost identical to his mother and sister.

As soon as I’d finished my short greetings I went to Renée’s room and plopped myself down on her bed, she didn’t even say hi to me, just turned around holding a dress up to herself, Do you think I should take this with me? The dress was bright yellow with a brown pattern boldly spread across it. With her build, similar to that of her mother’s, about average for a teenager, she would look like a moldy lemon in it.

Now admittedly with my fashion sense, I was probably the last person who should give style advice, but it had been what her grandma had given her and we all know, that most grandma presents are never cool. Once my grandmother gave me a book, in it she’d scratched out all the words that she deemed ‘inappropriate’. Yes, it was my mothers, mother, like mother, like daughter, right?

I stood up and walked over to her closet pulling out a light blue sundress with a white floral pattern and told her that this was what she should take. She folded it and carefully placed it in her suitcase.

After we finished Renée’s packing, we went out and had our frozen yogurts at our favorite Froyo place and simply talked. Did you see what Marine was wearing today? Renée asked me to start off our conversation. Marine is a member of Hillary’s inner circle, she has gorgeous strawberry blonde hair with bright blue eyes and is constantly tanned, I am going to say is not because of the actual sun.

Renée you know, these conversations aren’t really ones I can participate in, right? I asked.

I know, how about this one? Can you believe Savannah Johnathan passed chemistry?

She didn’t pass, I corrected my best friend. I passed twice. I spent the entire semester tutoring and helping her with her chemistry work, while she verbally abused me every chance she got, I said. Savannah isn’t particularly intelligent; though personally I just think she just doesn’t apply herself. She spends most of her time chasing around every boy in school. If she spent half that time working on her school work she wouldn’t have had a problem doing well.

How many times did you get partnered with her?

Every single time we had a lab, project or assignment, I pursed my lips.

That wasn’t fair of Mrs. Patheium, Renée said, around a large bite of yogurt.

No probably not, but my guess is she figured if I worked with her, she’d at least pass or she’d have a better chance of passing, I said trying to defend Mrs. Patheium’s decisions.

And by some miracle, the girl passed.

I just did the best I could, I said brushing it off. What do you think the chances are that my mother is going to drag me to the beach house? I asked my best friend, it had been something that had been dwelling on my mind the last few weeks and this was the last chance I had to voice my concerns to her.

You haven’t been in years, Renée pointed out. Are you even sure it is still standing?

Somehow, I think we might have heard if the beach house had fallen down randomly. But I think my mother has been better lately. There’s just something inside me that makes me believe, she may be thinking about it.

Your mother is a workaholic there is no way she is going to leave everything here to pack up and go to the first house she bought with your father. On the one hand, she was right, my mother is a workaholic, but on the other hand, summer was her quiet season. No major holidays, award season was over and she had staff perfectly capable of handling of the day-to-day goings on without her.

I just nodded. I hoped that she was right, I didn’t want to go back there. It used to be the place my father and I would go every summer, she would be working and barely make it out, for the odd weekend with one or two of my sisters in tow. Sometimes we would take my nephew, in order to give me someone to play with for a week and give my older sister Rosie a break, given we are basically the same age. I’ve never been there however without my father and there were just too many memories I associated with it.

So, I said, enough about me, what about you, aren’t you excited? I really hate being the center of attention even among the two of us.

About what?

Going to France, silly. If I were you, I would be super excited by now.

I will admit, it is going to be great, I haven’t seen my Uncle in years but I am going to be away for two months, she said dragging it out.

Don’t pretend for my sake, I said resting my head in my hand.

Okay, she changed her tune. I am totally excited this is going to be the best trip ever.

That’s more like it, I told her, smiling and sticking a spoonful of frozen yogurt in my mouth. Are you going to do anything particularly interesting while you’re away?

Well, we’re planning on taking some trips to see some castles and vineyards. Of course, I am going to do some shopping. It’s going to be fantastic, Renée smiled.

I knew you were excited, I told her.

I didn’t want to make you feel bad, she said.

I went to London a couple of years ago, I reminded her.

But this is Paris.

I think I’ll survive, I said. I may be a little jealous because of the educational prospects and culture you’re going to get to experience, but I’ll live. You deserve to be excited, and I wouldn’t be a good friend if I wasn’t excited for you.

Really, that is what you are going to be jealous about?

Didn’t you read any of the books I lent you on the culture, art, and history of France?

Honestly, no, she