Paper Flowers

The vibrancy of the fuchsia and violet paper flowers was diminished by the grey light pouring through the cloudy sky. Freya and her cohort had finished hanging the strands of bright flowers along the marbled path through the park. Patrons had yet to arrive for the annual spring festival, leaving the park desolate, the food stands and craft vendor’s stalls empty of personal. A tech crew worked at a constructed stage, performing microphone tests. There would be a concert and the crowning of the Spring Princess upon the stage. Freya thought once the sun set, the flowers strung above, entwined with white lights, would look mystically beautiful, but with dark clouds hanging low in the sky, threatening rain, she feared the paper flowers would dissolve into indiscernible clumps before they could be admired in the twinkling lights of night.

Freya backed down the ladder, her foot slipping off one of the bottom rungs as a scream pierced the air. Her fingers scrambled for a hold on sliver sides of the ladder as she began to topple backwards, her feet dropping at an odd angle onto the ground. She would have fallen if hands on her shoulders hadn’t steadied her.

“Careful,” Trevor said, pulling his hands back. Freya had forgotten for a moment Trevor was holding the ladder for her. She stepped out of the way as he went to fold up the ladder, their task of flower arranging complete.

“The screaming startled me,” she said, adjusting the bright orange vest draped over her turquoise windbreaker, brushing stray locks of blonde hair from her face. “Sounds like someone is being murdered.”

“It’s nothing. Just Vicky.” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder where Vicky, head bent over a cell phone, screamed again. Her brother Davy slapped her on the back and she punched him in the arm. Trevor spread his arms out in a gesture for Freya to lead the way. She headed towards the siblings, who were now scowling at each other, Trevor following, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans, dark hair ruffled by the breeze.

Vicky and Davy constituted of the kind of people Freya would have imagined seeing under the bleaches of her high school, dealing everything to anyone. They were serving their community service hours for stealing jewelry from their neighbor, an elderly woman. Freya knew they had been responsible for several other robberies, but it was stealing from an old lady that got them caught. Trevor had teased them about it the entire morning.

“What were you screaming about?” Freya asked.

“None of your business, your primness,” Vicky drawled.

Freya clenched her fists. “I told you not to call me that.”

“What are you doing time for again? Is it something that should make me afraid of you?”

“Maybe she’s a little murderess,” Davy said. “Is that why we should cower when you make little fists at us? You going to kill us? Slice off our feet and hands and wrap them around your neck?”

“No! That’s disgusting,” Freya said, appalled, taking a step back from them.

“Because that’s what earns you community service time. Murdering people,” Trevor said. “Use your brain.”

Davy scowled. “Do you want to fight me, tall boy?”

“Names again? How basic. I’m not even that tall. And no, I don’t want to fight.”

Freya was surprised Davy backed down, but she imagined he wanted to ditch the orange vest and avoid extra community service hours. She supposed serving the hours wasn’t as bad as she imagined, except for the present company. She had always enjoyed attending the spring festival. Setting up flowers and stalls for the vendors had been easy work, and almost pleasant. What she wasn’t eager for was continuing to wear the vest for the remainder of the festival.

“Well four hours of community service done,” Trevor said, wistfully. “Only seventy-four more hours of joy with you people.”

“I have a knife in my pocket and I’m not afraid to use it,” Davy said, deadpan.

Vicky’s mouth parted in a cruel smile. “He’s going to cut out your tongue.”

“I understood the threat, Vic. No need to overdo it,” Trevor said. “And we agreed no fighting.”

“It’s Vicky, Trev.”

“Sure.” Trevor rolled his eyes, turning his attention away from the siblings, focusing his sight on Freya. “Don’t let them get to you. Their bark is worse than their bite, if I may be a bit jaded.”

Freya nodded, feeling as if the gaze of his dark green eyes was penetrating to the feelings of unease and nerves within her. She thought he had rather lovely eyes, and with that thought, she forced her eyes away, returning her attention to the siblings.

Trevor lifted a hand above his head, grabbing a tree branch. The branches were coated with red buds, not yet free from their winter slumber. The grass had only turned green within the last week and it still had a faint damp mud smell. “What were you screaming about anyways?”

“My boyfriend scored us tickets to the concert happening in a couple days. Front row seats.”

“And you had to scream about it? You almost made Freya fall off the ladder.”

“It’s JRM.”

“Never heard of them.”

“You don’t travel in the right circles, Trev.”

“Or you travel in the weird ones, Vic.”

Freya closed her eyes as the wind picked up, ushering in a cool breeze. She spread her arms slightly, enjoying the pressure on her limbs. She could almost imagine herself flying, being taken away with the breeze. Opening her eyes, she spotted the Community Center coordinator, Carrie, walking in a jaunty rhythm down the dirt path.

“The flowers look great guys. Everyone is going to love the hard work you’ve been putting into this.”

“Like we had a choice,” Davy said.

Carrie regarded him with a leveled look. “We make life choices daily, and yours led you here. Make the most of this opportunity to do something nice.”

“What if we do nice things everyday already?” Trevor asked, hands folded in front of him.

“For some reason, I doubt you, Mr. Simons.”

“You wound me, Carrie.” Trevor folded his hand over his heart, a wounded look pasted on his face.

“If we’re through with this nonsense,” Carrie said, raising her voice. “I will need a couple of volunteers to finish painting the backdrop for the stage. It’s plain blue, nothing special.”

“Cutting it close, aren’t you?” Vicky said.

Freya agreed. The gates for the festival would open in a couple hours. Would the paint even be dry by then?

“It was an oversight, on my part, and a special request by one of our patrons.”

“Let me guess, someone wealthy?” Trevor said.

“Or the wealthy daughter who thinks she will be the Spring Princess,” Freya said. The competition was notoriously rigged, allowing the wealthiest of the young girls their moment to wear a crown. Her mother had tried to convince Freya to enter the last few years. Freya had declined, not only because she thought her looks imperfect, but because she did not wish to be judged on appearance alone, or stared at by a crowd. She was more than a semi-decent looking face and golden blonde hair.

“We’ll do it,” Davy spoke up, nodding towards his sister.

“Good,” Carrie said, inspecting her clipboard. “And for you two, you can go along and pick up litter. A raccoon got into one of the cans last night and made quite a mess.”

Vicky and Davy set off towards the stage, where the tech crew had cleared off. Trevor and Vicky followed Carrie. 

“Is she on speed, or what?” Trevor asked. Carrie had sped feet in front of them, well out of earshot.

“Coffee probably. Those kinds of people love the stuff, I imagine, to set up events like this. To deal with people like us.”

“Fair point.” He smiled. “I imagine those two will start throwing paint at each other before they finish their paint job.”

Freya bit back a laugh, before allowing a smile to form. “It’s going to be lousy. The Spring Princess will be aghast to have her picture taken with their backdrop.”

“She’ll faint with horror,” Trevor supplied.

 “And the crowd will watch as she falls off the stage.” She laughed.

“And the ambulance will burst through the gates.” He studied her for a moment. “You don’t like the Spring Princess competition, do you?”

“I think we may be horrible people,” Freya conceded. “I really don’t want to see anyone get hurt. My mom was a Spring Princess once, and she’s always wanted me to do it. Maybe that’s why I hate it.”

“I can’t say I’m living up to my mom’s expectations either.”

“What did you do?”

“Property damage,” Trevor said, expression grim. “These bullies were attacking a little kid who lives on my street, and their parents didn’t tell them to stop. I knew the apartment complex they lived in, and I may have accidentally set the place on fire after a night out.”

“You were trying to help,” Freya said, as they stopped outside the information tent situated next to the large gothic iron gate. Strands of paper flowers ran down either side of the entrance, a cascade of purples and pinks, oranges and whites.

Trevor stuck his hands in his pockets. “I didn’t end up helping anyone.”

Before Freya could reply, Carrie returned with two wooden sticks and large trash bags. She sent them on their way. On the far side of the grassy area lined with chairs angled towards the stage, they found the upturned trashcan beside a storage shed and got to work.

“What are you doing time for anyway?” Trevor asked, poking a piece of garbage.

“I was slipped drugs at a party and I did some things I’m not proud of.”

“Like what.”

“I went on a rampage through my neighborhood, toppling over garbage cans, attacking some garden gnomes, yelling at the top of my lungs. Indecent exposure,” she finished, blushing.

Trevor gave a low whistle. “Not what I was expecting.”

“What were you expecting?”

“Petty theft. Stealing a goldfish from a pet store or stealing from the makeup counter at the mall.”

“No one goes to the mall anymore.”

“Fair point. My assumptions were assuredly wrong.”

Vicky and Davy chose that moment to barrel into Freya and Trevor, dragging them behind the shed.

“Let go of me!” Freya said, clawing at Vicky’s arms. The siblings were panting.

“You’re not going to believe what we snatched,” Vicky said, holding up a parchment-colored bag. Blue paint speckled her hand.

“I think we don’t want to be part of whatever situation you two are in,” Trevor said. “If you’ll be excusing us.”

“Shut it, pretty boy. You know you want to see.” Davy took the bag from his sister and upended the content into his hands.

“No,” Freya said, voice low and almost whiny. The Spring Princess crown lay cradled in his palms, it’s silver sparkling. Emerald gems glittered at the crown’s points.

“You two are idiots,” Trevor said.

“That crown has been part of the town’s history for over a hundred years. It’s,” Freya gulped. “Very valuable.”

“It’s pretty crap they shove it on the Princess’s head, take some pictures and then seal it back up in the vault,” Vicky said. “But not this year.”

“Carrie is coming over here,” Trevor said, peering around the corner of the shed.

Davy swore and shoved the crown into Freya’s hands. “Keep it safe for us. We’ve got to get back to painting.” The two of them ducked into the woods.

“Toss it in the woods,” Trevor said. “Quick.”

“People are going to wander in their for the egg hunt. Any kid could stumble over the crown. What do we do?” Panic seeped into her voice.

“You stay here, I’ll talk to Carrie.”

“But she’ll wonder where I am.”

“You’re on a bathroom break.” Trevor sprung from behind the shed, picking up trash as Carrie approached.

Freya crouched to the ground. She couldn’t believe Vicky and Davy could be so stupid. The town would go mad if they found the crown missing.

Trevor returned, picking up the bag Davy had dropped on the ground. Freya wondered if the two thieves always kept bags on hand, in case they wanted to steal something. “She said the vendors have arrived. They’ll be opening the gates soon.”

“What are we going to do with this?” The crown dangled from her fingers.

He shoved it in the bag, picked up his own trash bag and stuffed it inside.

“We can’t throw it out!” Freya hissed.

“It’s a safe enough place to stash it for now. I’ll dig it out later.”

*

Freya felt the day passed in a blur. People had crowded into the park. The warm smells of friend food permeated the air. People laughed, ate, danced. In their orange clad vests, Trevor and Freya picked up garbage. Freya spotted Davy and Vicky around the outhouses on one of their passes. It seemed like Carrie had the two siblings doing odd jobs.

An odd pull tugged on Freya’s stomach whenever they neared the stage. She knew Vicky and Davy would be furious, but they had to return the crown before they called the girl’s onstage for the crowning.

Freya pulled Trevor off the path, back behind the shed. “Give me the crown.”

He shot her a quizzical look.

“I’m going to put it back.”

“Someone will see you. You don’t want to get caught. You’ll get more time, or worse.”

“I don’t care,” she said feverously. She didn’t like the competition, but it was part of the community. She couldn’t see the spring festival fall apart if she could do something.

“Vicky and Davy will. I don’t know what they’ll do to us if we put it back.”

“They can’t do anything, unless they want to earn themselves more hours.”

“They are not good people. They could hurt you. He wasn’t joking about the knife.” Trevor ran a hand over the back of his neck. Worry creased his brow.

“I have to do this.”

Trevor sighed, but began to rummage in his trash bag with his stick. He found the parchment bag, it was damp and smelled foul, and handed it to her. “It’s a dumb crown.”

“I know,” she said simply.

They walked from within the tree line, leaving their bags of garbage behind. Freya believed if they approached the stage from the back, there would be less chance of being seen. The bands had cleared out, leaving the stage empty. A black curtain had been pulled across the front of the stage. Freya thought the plan had worked, as the two of them snuck up the stage steps without being seen.

She sighed in relief as she spotted the podium and its velvet box, the box which would hold the crown. Trevor moved towards the side of the stage, to make sure no one was approaching.

As she opened the box, a hand clamped down over hers, forcing the box closed, and the crown was snatched from her hands. Vicky loomed over the podium. Freya glanced at Trevor. He and Davy were arguing in hushed tones, Trevor’s fists balled up and Davy hovering a hand over his pocket.

Freya looked at Vicky. “We have to return it.”

“They don’t deserve anything. This festival is a joke.”

“None of that matters. Give me the crown.”

“Here you go, Miss. Primness,” Vicky said, her mouth twisted in a mocking smile, shoving the crown on Freya’s head. Davy, on the stage side, chose that moment to push Trevor aside and tug on a rope. Before Freya could do anything, she stared in shock as the stage began to tumble around her. The semi-dry blue backdrop, collapsed on itself, and Trevor scurried out of its path, into the tumbling black curtain. He became tangled in it, tripping over a bucket of blue paint, and disappearing in a swirl of black as the curtain fluttered into the crowd. People screamed, fleeing the falling curtain and the falling metal scaffolding.

In the middle of the stage, with the crown perched on her head at a tilting angle and blue paint running down the side of her face, Freya felt like a parody of herself. Where was the girl who had good grades and acceptance to a prestigious university? Where was the girl who had friends destined for the same path and a family that adored her? By the state of her appearance, from the paint to the unearned crown to the bright orange vest, that good girl was a myth, a legend here and gone, never to be seen again. People were staring at her, now that the curtain was gone, and she wanted to disappear.

Vicky and Davy ran by her, a police man in pursuit. Both of them held sacks and Freya did not want to know what they had stolen now. As they darted by, Vicky shoved Freya forward. Slipping over paint, stumbling off her own shoes, in horror, she crashed to the stage and slid off the edge.

She fell onto Trevor, who gave a loud oomph as she rolled off of him. She looked at him, covered in blue paint from head to toe, and herself, splattered with it, the stage in shambles, the crowd gawking at them, and felt the crown, somehow still bound to her head by paint and tangled hair. The irony of the situation hit her gut like a bag of rocks. She burst out laughing, uncontrollable, the situation somehow hilarious and disastrous at once, and Trevor joined in beside her. She liked the way he laughed. She allowed the laughter to carry her emotions high as the clouds parted above, admitting a piece of blue sky and golden light to illuminate the paper strings of flowers she had strung above in a beautiful display of spring blossoms.