The Lilac Gardens

Mr. Jenkins

Mission: Erica
Target: Get Flowers to Impress Erica
Agent: Will the Hot and Almighty

Will ran around the house, stuffing cereal into his mouth as milk dripped down his chin. He'd promise himself he'd wake up at seven o'clock, the next Saturday, but he ended up spending the entire night playing Fortnight. The next thing he knew, he woke up at 9:30 with zero Wins, 33 Losses and drool all over his face

"Mom!" Will yelled, struggling frantically to get his arms and head through the holes of a random shirt. "Why didn't you wake me up earlier!?"

No answer. Will groaned, stumbling to the bathroom to check his reflection. His sandy hair stuck up in all directions. His brown eyes were tinged in red, bloodshot from staring at his TV screen for hours straight. His socks were a mix of batman symbols and polka dots. He had two left shoes on.

Today was great.

Will had a mission. He wanted to impress Erica, as a make up for his terrible, terrible, dancing. Yes it wasn't a big deal, but he wanted a way of apologizing to her for making her watch him look like a tarantula on roller skates. So far, it wasn't looking good.

Well, if you can't impress them with your dress choice, baffle them with your memorization of all the lyrics to Despacito, Will thought glumly, looking at his wardrobe choice. He studied the mirror, contemplating ways to make up for his mess of clothing.

Flowers! Flowers were what girls wanted, right? They were pretty, smelled good, and were the epitome of a relationship.

Unless, they both had allergies and sneezed at any nature related thing within a 2 mile radius.

Will rushed toward the front window, looking at the front yard for something that resembled the bane of his existence. He scanned the grass and dirt, until he remembered he accidentally uprooted all the flowers last year when playing with the weed whacker.

Present and past Will was an idiot.

He sighed and glanced over into his neighbor's yard and spotted something that made his hopes fly.

A group of tiny purple flowers.

Will's heart pounded. It was his chance! He ran and grabbed the first pair of scissors he saw and crept through the entrance, climbing over the white fence that separated the two yards. He searched for the blooms and noticed them under the front window.

Right in front of where Mr. Jenkins was sitting.

Will gulped. Mr. Jenkins was not a nice man. Especially when you were stealing his flowers. Or a teenager. Or a sixteen year old boy named Will.

Will immediately crouched down in an attempt to hide.

He did not want to revisit what happened last year, or any encounter with Mr. Jenkins.

Will began to crawl slowly on his knees, grasping the red scissors. He started to feel uneasy, his stomach churning with his quick meal of cereal. If Will was caught, the mission would be a bust AND Mr. Jenkins would have his butt. He would make sure that Will wouldn't be able to leave his house for 60 years, plus.

Will glanced up into the window to Mr. Jenkins. He was still reading his paper. Will shuffled quickly into the dirt until he reached the purple flowers.

The flowers had tiny violet petals sticking out of long green stems, the ration of stem to flower uneven. They were short, the shape of the stems in a very slight cone. They were unlike any flower Will had seen before.

Will laid on his stomach in front of the flowers, pulse quickening out of fear or being caught. He hastily cut the long stems of the blooms. Suddenly, a putrid stench filled his nostrils.

Why did they smell like onions?

"HEY!" a voice jarred Will from his thoughts. His heart dropped. He recognized the voice.

Mr. Jenkins.

Boy, was he dead.

He looked up and saw Mr. Jerkins' wrinkly old face staring at him in the eye from the door of his front porch, holding his newspaper. His face contorted in fury, it was like a bat smushed against a windshield. Will was terrified of that bat-face.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING BOY?!" he screamed. Will frantically snipped the rest of the stems of the onion smelling flowers, heart pulsing. He might as well die from fear now rather than by the hand of an angry Mr. Jenkins.

"ARE YOU STEALING MY PLANTS?!" Mr. Jenkins screeched. Will scrambled to his knees, holding the flowers in one hand and scissors in the other.

"Uh, hi Mr. Jenkins!" he said weakly, barely breathing. "I was just-"

"GET OUT!" roared Mr. Jenkins, waving his newspaper angrily, about to throw it like a brick to kill Will. Will immediately dropped and rolled to his side, onto the dewy grass, trying to avoid the bullet-like newspaper. He jumped to his feet and sprinted like his life depended on it (mostly because it did). He ran around the fence to his house as Mr. Jenkins continued to yell at him. He didn't look back.

Will reached the corner of his house and hid behind the panels, breathing hard. He looked down at his shirt.

"Aw man, come on!" he groaned. His shirt was wet and covered in dirt. And the flowers still smelled like onions.