Page 123 of Wallflower in Bloom

“Oh my gosh, Vi.” Lily elbowed her as she peeked through the doors. “Look at the third row.”

Three young women sat in a row, excitedly chatting. They all wore shirts with her silly Plant Parent phrases on them. Two were plus-size and dressed in happy, pastel colors like she often wore when filming.

“You have fangirls, Vi,” Lily whispered in awe.

Fangirls. Not possible. She shook her head, unable to process it. “I was just doing what I love,” she murmured.

“But maybe it helped them feel seen,” Lily offered.

Violet’s eyes caught on the next row, and the sight broke her. A mom and little girl were both wearing Weird Plant Mom Vibes shirts. The little girl looked like a carbon copy of Violet at that age; nourished, round cheeks, a round little tummy, and a happy, shy smile. Her glasses were even color-coordinated with her pigtail holders.

What she would have given to have somebody in a bigger body to look up to when she was young. To make her feel not so alone and weird.

But sometimes, to see what you want in the world, you have to be it first.

She thought about how that girl might feel during recess. How she might be self-conscious like Violet was, nervous to play with other kids who might tease her.

I can do this.

She could go out there and be the most herself she’d ever been, especially if she cleared a path for others to be themselves, too.

Because if everyone was the most themselves, maybe the world would be a little happier, a little brighter.

What was the worst that could happen if she bombed? They’d take away her plants? Her sisters? The memories of the most miraculous summer with the man she loved?

Violet threw back her shoulders, murmuring, “Every inch,” and marched out onto the stage.

A thousand hands clapped together as she walked to the mic.

They’re just 500 people I could help. As her smile widened, their smiles brightened back.

She pulled the microphone from the stand and let out a laugh, unable to contain her joy.

“Hi,” she said as the applause died down. “Sorry, I’m kinda nervous.” She tugged at her shirt. Several “woos” sounded back in encouragement.

A smile blossomed on her face as she realized these weren’t mean girls here to laugh at her. These people were here because they loved the same things she did. Several even had plants in their lap as if they’d brought them for show and tell.

“I’m Violet Parker, one of the plant parents of Bloom.” The applause sounded again, and she bit her lip, swallowing another laugh. I’ve got this. “And I’m so excited to help some fellow plant parents today. If you line up, I can take a few questions.”

A woman scurried to the microphone with a dying calathea plant cradled in her hands. The large plant should have had deep green and lime leaves, but instead looked like it’d been tossed in an air fryer.

“Oh no,” Violet cooed with a smile. The audience giggled with her. “She’s so sad. Can I see?” Violet reached down to grab the plant. The woman explained where she’d been keeping it: in a hot, bright sunroom.

“Oh, poor baby.” Violet turned it and examined the soil and the branches. “First, what’s her name?”

The woman had an embarrassed grin. “His name is Plant Daddy. I was inspired.” The audience laughed, and Violet had to nod as if her heart wasn’t breaking because Jack wasn’t there with her.

Violet coached her to stave off further damage by putting the plant in a nice, humid place with a spritzing schedule. “Bye, Plant Daddy,” Violet said, cooing to it as she handed the calathea back.

From there, she answered countless questions, joking back and forth with the crowd.

Maybe she’d found her people.

Her people who loved the same things she did, the things that spoke to the secret part of her heart.

Maybe by finally showing her true self, she’d found the people waiting for her this whole time.

A burly man finished his question about his Monstera seedling, and the girl in pigtails emerged at the microphone with her mom.

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