by Sandra Byrd

Sarah whistled as she pulled on her old overalls. Sunshine streamed through the slats in her window, inking crisscross shadows on her bedroom floor. She grabbed the cordless phone and dialed as she walked down the hall.

Why doesn’t anyone answer? I know they’re home.

"We can’t come to the phone right now, so please leave a message. Beeeeep!"

"Amy, where are you?" Sarah squawked into the mouthpiece. "Meet me in front of your house in 10 minutes."

"Dad! We’re working this morning," she called, grabbing some cold Pop-Tarts on her way through the kitchen.

"Park Street Planters strike again?" her dad asked.

"Yep. We’ve got six customers on our street, so I won’t be far."

"I wish I had a job," Sarah’s 6-year-old sister, Margaret, said, peeling the crust off her toast. "I want some money, too."

"When you’re my age, you can start a business with your best friend." Sarah opened the door to the garage. "I’ll be back for lunch."

Once outside Sarah loaded plastic pots rich with flower buds into her wagon. Next she piled in a watering can, hoe and hand rake. The wheels wobbled as she tugged the wagon down the street.

When she reached the foot of Amy’s driveway, her best friend was nowhere to be found. Sarah stomped up to the door. When you have a job, you have to be on time!

Amy’s mother answered the door. "I’ll get Amy."

Sarah checked her watch impatiently. Finally Amy appeared. Sarah started to speak but stopped short when she caught a glimpse of Amy’s splotchy cheeks.

Beautiful Arrangement

They walked down the driveway together. "Nobody answered your phone," Sarah said.

"We were having a family discussion."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Sarah asked.

Amy shook her head. "I don’t want to cry again. I’ll tell you later."

Sarah put her arm around Amy’s shoulder as they headed up the Changs’ driveway.

"Okay. The Changs want us to dig out dandelions and plant pansies in the giant barrel by the mailbox," Sarah said.

"I’ll dig the dandelions," Amy offered.

Sarah shook her head. "You’d do a better job with the flowers because you’re so creative. I’ll dig the dandelions while you plant."

Sarah whistled as she dug the hoe into the dirt, rocking it back and forth until the weed’s roots popped out in a large, hairy-looking clump. She glanced up once and saw Amy wipe a tear from her cheek. Sarah’s tune wavered.

An hour later, the girls stood back to admire their work. "I guess we should knock on the door," Sarah said.

Mr. Chang answered the door.

"We’ve finished the work, Sir," Sarah said.

"It looks all right, doesn’t it?" Amy blurted.

Mr. Chang stared at the smooth blanket of green grass and the rainbow swirl of flowers in the oak barrel. "It looks better than all right," he said. "It looks great!"

He pulled a few fresh dollars out of his wallet. "Mama Chang can’t get out much anymore. But she likes to sit in the soft chair by the window and look outside. You girls have planted some sweetness in her life."

Wilted Hopes

The girls collected their stuff and hauled the wagon to Becky Johnson’s. Mrs. Johnson was a single mom. They planned to clean out her tulip beds for free.

"Strange." Amy knelt in the dirt, raking up rotten leaves.

"What’s strange?" Sarah looked up.

"Tulips. They’re not like regular flowers that you see right when you plant them. They’re way down deep, then all of a sudden something happens." Amy sniffled.

Sarah kept hoeing, but she looked at Amy’s face. "You’re not really talking about tulips, are you?"

Amy shook her head. Tears slid down her face. "We’re probably moving. Far away. My dad will know for sure next week."

Sarah set down her hoe.

"My parents have been talking about it for a while, but I didn’t see anything happening," Amy said. "And now suddenly it might happen. When I think about things they said, I should have known all along."

"But how can they do that?" Sarah protested. "We’re best friends, and we just started our business! There’s no one else my age in home-school group. You can’t go!"

"I don’t want to go, either," Amy said. "We just have to pray that I won’t."

Mrs. Johnson stepped out of her doorway. "Amy? Sarah? What are you girls doing?"

Sarah spoke up so Amy wouldn’t have to.

After she explained to Mrs. Johnson that they were cleaning out her flowerbeds, she brought them each a glass of orange juice.

"Some goodness for your insides to match your good deeds," she said. Sarah thanked her and drank the pulpy juice. She didn’t feel good on the inside.

They finished their last four jobs, laughing a little, then laughing a lot. They planned a trip to WaterLand so they could spend some of their hard-earned cash.

"I guess I’d better go home for lunch," Sarah said.

"Yeah, and I’ve got to wash my hands," Amy said, flicking some grit from between two fingers. "Disgusting. Next week I’ll wear gloves."

Sarah stopped for a minute before she turned for home. "I’ll be praying."

"Me, too," Amy said.

Please, Lord, don’t let Amy move. Not next week. Not ever.

Painful Transplant

Four weeks later, Sarah watched out the window as a big orange and white moving truck parked in front of Amy’s house. Sarah slammed her window shut and closed her blinds. She squashed herself into the space between her bed and her dresser with a box of Kleenex. A few minutes later, she heard a knock on her door.

"Who is it?"

"It’s me, Amy."

Sarah pulled herself up and opened the door. Amy stood there with a giant clay pot topped off with rich soil. "Wow, your room looks great. Did you rearrange things?"

"Yeah," Sarah answered. "I guess your creativity must have rubbed off."

Amy held out the pot. "Here. This is for you."

Sarah twirled the pot around. Amy had painted flowers on the sides. Sarah smiled. "It’s so pretty. I’ll plant some pansies in it."

"No!" Amy blurted. "Don’t plant anything in it! At least . . . not yet. Just set it outside on your front porch. Call me when, or if, something happens." She tacked a slip of paper on Sarah’s bulletin board. "Here’s my new phone number."

Sarah nodded.

"We’ll call each other all the time, right?"

Amy nodded. "You can have the Park Street Planters without me," she offered. "You’re the brains behind it."

Sarah shook her head. "I may be the brains, but you’re the heart. I don’t want to find anyone else."

"Don’t forget about me," Amy said as they hugged.

Flowering Friendship

At first the girls called each other once a week, and then once a month. In September the home-school group started again and there was a new girl, Anna. Sarah liked her. She wasn’t Amy, and she didn’t live on Park Street, but she was fun.

After Christmas Sarah spent more and more time with Anna, and she thought about Amy less and less—until the day when the clay pot sprouted its surprise. Margaret saw it first.

"Sarah! There’s something growing in your pot!" Sure enough, the soil was dotted with little green buds.

Amy must have planted bulbs, hiding beneath the surface, Sarah thought. She dialed Amy’s new number.

"Did you see your surprise?" Amy asked.

"Yes, the plants are growing."

"Whew! I’m glad they worked, I wasn’t sure I knew what I was doing. They’re flower bulbs. I wanted to leave you something to remember me by. Remember when Mr. Chang said we planted sweetness?"

"Yeah."

"Well, you planted good things in me. Friendship and faithfulness and fun. Even though we can’t really be best friends anymore, you put those in my heart. Forever."

Sarah’s heart warmed and ached at the same time. "You planted good things in me, too. Gentleness and creativity—which you know I didn’t have." They both burst out laughing.

"Sarah?" Amy said. "Would it be okay with you if I started a planting business with a new friend?"

Sarah’s heart twinged. "Sure."

"I want to plant good things here, too."

"In yards or in hearts?" Sarah teased.

"Both," Amy said. "Enjoy your plants. I’ll think of you in my new business."

"Okay. Bye."

"Bye."

Sarah hung up the phone. It WAS fun to have the gardening business. But who else lived on Park Street? And what other hearts could she plant good things in?

Of course!

Sarah whistled down the hall. "Hey, Margaret! I’ve got a great idea! Do you still want a job?"

	Q: What do you get when an antelope and a caribou collide? A: A cantaloupe. Jacy and Joe C., 8 and 6, North Carolina Clubhouse Jr. Click here to subscribe