Aurora 2024

Sara Allard

of that ridiculous backpack of hers. It’s a ratty, tattered paperback that looks like it’s been through at least 3 flooded basements. She opens it towards me and flips through all the pages in a flash, which reveals a dandelion in motion. It pops out of the soil, swirls up into its cocoon, and releases seeds—just like I’ve seen happen a thousand times over in my greenhouse. “I found this book at a yard sale when I was a kid,” Layla says while flippin’ through the book again. “I asked the old couple selling’ it what kind of flower it was, and all they did was sigh and give me the book for free. And I was so obsessed with it, that my mom tried to take this book away just so I would read something else! But flipping through this book wasn’t enough. I wanted to actually hold one in my hand. Then I find out that some place called Miss Annalyn’s Nursery and Tea Parlor was the only place where dandelions still grew, and I promised myself that someday, I’d see a dandelion for myself. Maybe I could even brin’ one back home, keep it in a little pot on my apartment’s window!” With a quick snap, Layla closes her book. “But then I get here and on my first day, you have me bussing tables for $40 dollar salads. Arranging’ spoons for tea parties. Keeping’ little kids from even breathing’ on a dandelion, unless their parents are willing’ to pay up.” She slowly kneels back down to the dandelion and looks at it with resolve. “So, during’ my lunch breaks, I’d steal some seedlings from the greenhouses. Then I’d climb up to the roof and let them fly.” The girl might as well have slapped me. This

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