“In mythology, Amaryllis fell in love with a—with a man who loved flowers…” I think this is where I’ll die. I think I’ll just lie down and wait for death. He can use me to fertilize the flowers. I can’t look at him, but Hazel is smiling at me with a romantic haze in her eye. “What’s the myth?” she asks. “Well…” I hesitate. “She stood in front of his house every day, carving a golden arrow into her heart. On the thirtieth day, a crimson flower sprouted from her chest. And he finally noticed her.”
