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secret dream sex god. Tall, with wavy blond hair, blue-green eyes and a husky voice that melts my spine.
    “What did he say?”
    “Just hi. And he asked how you were doing. You know, when you were recovering in the hospital he brought flowers. That was really sweet.”
    She wants me to share. To bare my heart and chat about guys with her.
    I shrug. “I guess.”
    “You can talk to me. About anything.”
    “I know,” I say. But really, there’s so much I can’t tell her without sounding nuts.
    Mom sighs, giving up for now.
    As I snip thorns from the stems, my mind fixes on Ryan. My lord of lust. My doomed crush.
    I met him last year when me and Mom drove out to the greenhouse. She brought me along to take pictures of the new floral varieties they were trying out. When she started talking rose hybrids with the owner, I wandered off.
    The place felt like a jungle, the warm humidity a nice break from the frigid day outside. The air was so rich with oxygen, making everything seem more intense. The smells were dizzying; each breath I took hit me with a dozen different scents. I found the tropical flowers and was stunned by their wild explosions of color.
    One variety caught my eye. On the top of their tall green-blue stalks grew flowers with long, spiky petals of bright orange, yellow, deep blue and violet. Like God used every crayon in the box on them. And they had the perfect name. I was zooming in to take a close-up shot when a voice out of nowhere made me jump.
    “Bird-of-paradise.”
    Turning, I spotted Ryan coming around a corner in the jungle, pushing a wheelbarrow.
    “They’re my favorite,” he said.
    Ryan’s eyes were what grabbed me first. Aqua-green, they seemed to reflect the surrounding colors.
    “You can see why they call them that.” He stopped beside me. “With the tip of the stalk pointing out like a beak, and the orange and yellow petals sticking up like feathers.”
    I saw the bird in them. If I unfocused my eyes a little I could imagine those brightly colored wings taking flight.
    “Not shy with their colors,” I said.
    “In the wild they’re pollinated by sunbirds who perch on the flower’s beak so they can drink the nectar, getting their feet dusted with pollen.”
    I noticed a change in the air right then, from the intoxicating floral overdose to something rank and rotten.
    “What is that smell?” I asked.
    “Oh, sorry. That’s me. My manure.” He gestured to the full wheelbarrow. “Well, it’s not my manure. It didn’t come from me.” He winced, hearing his words. “That didn’t sound right.”
    I laughed. “No. Not really.”
    He started blushing. I felt my own skin warming too, as I stood next to this hot guy in the hothouse.
    “Well, whose manure is it?” I said, teasing him.
    “Comes from sheep. They make the best. Very rich. High in nitrogen, potash and other nutrients. And I’m sure that’s more than you ever wanted to know about fertilizer. Why don’t I wheel this away and let the air clear.”
    I watched him go, wishing he’d stay and tell me more—about sheep poo or anything else.
    The bird-of-paradise became my favorite flower afterthat. Ryan remembered too. There was a bunch waiting for me when I woke up in the hospital.
    “What’s that smile for?” Mom asks now, shaking me from my memory.
    I shrug. “Just … daydreaming.”
    Of paradise.

Lexi lives with her mother and grandmother on the far side of town. It’s a little place that’s too small to hold all their tempers, so Lexi moved into the room above the garage. It’s not like they hate each other. There’s a crazy kind of love between them, but it’s flammable. One wrong spark and boom!
    Right now I’m sitting in front of the computer at Lexi’s desk, with her watching over my shoulder. She wants my review of the rough cut of her next short film.
    It’s another one of her mood pieces. It’s called Breaking Up , and it stars a dead toad. In speeded up time-lapse footage we watch him