Fat & Bones (7 page)

Tulip and Daisy were best friends. They had been friends ever since they were tiny green sprouts, reaching for the open sky on the edge of the wheat field.

Daisy was friendlier than Tulip, but Tulip was more intelligent. Because each flower had blossomed in her own special way, they did not feel the need to compete with each other. In fact, they agreed that they would rather die than allow anything to come between them.

In their straightness and strength, their richness of color, and their gift for brightening the faces of passersby, they were the epitome of floral beauty.

They grew along the east bank of Puddle One.

Puddle One was not large—it was about the size of a student's desktop—but it served the flowers' needs. They never went thirsty.

“Oh, Tulip,” said Daisy on a sunny autumn day, “how wonderful it is to be alive.”

“Isn't it though?” said Tulip. Her bloodred petals glowed in the sunshine. Not for the first time, she wished someone would paint the pretty picture she made. She and Daisy.

“I just love life,” said Daisy, white petals bright in the sun.

“Life is good,” agreed Tulip.

“It's not just good. It's divine!” Close by, a songbird echoed Daisy's joy with a trill.

“Divine, then,” laughed Tulip. She leaned toward her friend, and they touched petals.

At that moment, on the other side of the puddle, a crack began to form in the earth. The crack was tiny, not more than a pebble long. A green sprout peeked out.

“You are so beautiful,” Daisy was saying to Tulip.

“I was just going to say the same about you,” said Tulip.

“You are more beautiful,” said Daisy.

“If that is true, and it's not, then you are the most lovable,” said Tulip.

“Oh, stop.”

“You stop.”

So devoted were Tulip and Daisy to admiring each other, they did not notice the earth crack again on the other side of the puddle.

Another sprout peered above the ground.

The earth cracked again and again and again. Each time, a sprout peeked out to see if this was a good place to grow. And every sprout saw Tulip and Daisy, strong and beautiful, and Puddle One, presumably the reason why Tulip and Daisy had become so strong and so beautiful. This, thought the sprouts, is a very good place to grow.

So grow they did, stretching their fledgling roots toward the puddle's other side.

And Tulip and Daisy did not notice.

They did not notice until the moment when Daisy could not draw enough water from the puddle to satisfy her thirst.

“Tulip!” said Daisy. “Puddle One is nearly dry!”

“Impossible,” said Tulip.

“Listen,” said Daisy, sucking and slurping, creating a hollow garbling sound.

Tulip's roots made the same sound. She managed to draw up only a thin line of water. It was then she saw the row of healthy green sprouts on the other side of the puddle, chattering and gurgling.

“Why, those thieving infants,” Tulip said. “They're sucking our puddle dry.”

“What!” cried Daisy. “Then what will we drink?”

For the briefest moment, Tulip didn't know what to do.

Daisy looked at her expectantly. Tulip was, after all, the more intelligent flower.

“You must ask them to leave,” Tulip said.

“Me?” said Daisy.

“You are the friendlier flower,” Tulip said.

“Yes, but—” Daisy said. “Oh, very well.”

She formed a bullhorn of her petals and said loudly and clearly, “Excuse me—little friends? This puddle is ours. Please move on to a different puddle, or there will not be enough water for Tulip and me. We were here first, after all. Please understand, we mean no offense.” She paused, then added, “And we wish you the utmost joy in your new life somewhere else.”

One of the sprouts let out a low, gurgling burp, impossibly loud for so small a plant.

Shocked, Daisy pulled back.

“How rude,” said Tulip.

“They sound drunk. Drunk in the way Farmer Bald used to be.”

“Drunk on
our
puddle water,” Tulip said. “But will they move, is the question.”

The sprouts began burping again, as though they were having a contest. Was that giggling? At the burps or at Tulip and Daisy? It was clear, at least, that not a single sprout had pulled under to move elsewhere. The pests were rooted to their spot.

Daisy shook her head. “I don't think they're going anywhere. And without water, soon you and I will begin to wilt, and then our color will fade. And then the stink will come.” She startled herself with this last observation. “Tulip, we're going to stink!”

The thought of her bloodred petals fading sickened Tulip. After a moment, the sick feeling turned to anger.

“Enough,” said Tulip. “I'll handle it.” Her petals already bullhorn-shaped, she hollered, “Keep away from our water, you little squirts!”

“Tulip,” gasped Daisy. “Is that kind of language really necessary?”

A burp came from across the puddle.

“This is too much,” said Tulip. If she only had herself to worry about, that would be one thing, but she had taken Daisy into her care when Daisy's family had all been picked by that big, mean pig. Now, she and Daisy were sisters, two flowers against the world. They needed only three things in life: sun, dirt, and water. But without even one of these things, well … Tulip formed a plan, to be acted upon straight away.

“Daisy,” she said. “We need to take action.”

“What do you mean, take action?”

“We've asked them to leave. They've refused. Now, we've got to put them in our sights.”

Tulip tested her pollen-release capabilities.
Foof.
A small yellow puff whiffed overhead, then drifted lazily down. Not bad for a first try, tighter next time. “We'll shoot them down with our pollen.”

Seeing her dear friend speak in such ugly terms, Daisy grew confused. “You mean …” She lowered her voice. “Shoot, as in, kill them?”

Tulip popped off another blub of pollen, and it dropped like a miniature bomb into the puddle mud. Next time, she'd aim out, not up.

What a bold new feeling this was! Why had she not thought of this before? She might have saved Daisy's family from the pig. She might have protected their water supply. Nobody would mess with them again. Pretty, passive flowers? Not anymore.

“Tulip,” persisted Daisy, “are you suggesting we kill the sprouts?”

Tulip replied, “Please, Daisy, you've got a big heart. That's what I love about you. But don't go having a moral crisis about this, all right?”

Aiming out, not up, Tulip released a round of pollen pellets that riddled the opposite bank. “Did you see that?” she laughed.

Daisy judged the holes to be about four pebbles deep. The sprouts wouldn't stand a chance. “Can't we try talking to them again?”

“Come on,” Tulip said. “Try it. Just
shoot.”

“I don't know.”

The sprouts' heads bopped about on the other side of the puddle. They were babbling happily, as babies do.

“They're so little,” Daisy continued.

“Please. The issue is simple. There's a limited supply of water. It's us or them.”

But having already spoken up, Daisy found she could not back down. “But we're flowers, not”—she searched for the word—“assassins.”

“It's self-defense.”

“You aren't hearing me,” Daisy said.

Tulip rolled her head. “Stop thinking so much! I'm the brains of this operation, remember? The beauty too, if you stop to think about it, because white isn't even a color.” She looked across the breadth of Daisy's head. “Red, on the other hand …” she preened, “Everybody loves red. It's the color of the only thing that matters.” She bent to touch Daisy's petals, but Daisy pulled away. “Blood. Spill it, or have it spilled.”

Daisy knew then that Tulip's mind was made up.

The wheat surrounding them stirred, suggesting an oncoming storm, yet the sky remained cloudless and blue.

Daisy shivered, but even so, she spoke. “I'm not as smart as you, that's true, but I do know the difference between right and wrong, and this is wrong.”

“Suit yourself,” said Tulip. She aimed and, in a rapid-fire burst, blew apart a tiny green sprout.

“Gotcha!” shrieked Tulip. Now
this
was flower power!

The other sprouts bopped crazily about, trying to pull under or run away, but none seemed to remember exactly how it was they had arrived there in the first place. They chattered loudly, like a cadre of angry squirrels.

Daisy couldn't stand by and watch, she just couldn't. Acting on instinct, she swung around and whacked Tulip with her head.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“I'm not going to let you kill those sprouts.” Daisy tucked her leaves in front of her. “So if you want to fight, fight
me.”

Rubbing her bruised stem, Tulip said, “It's hardly fair. I'm so much bigger than you.”