Cold As Ice (7 page)

“Oh no? Then what is it like? Because I have a feeling you know more than you're saying.” Mrs. Carmichael takes a seat on the couch directly in front of me and continues. “Chance also told me what you said to him about having black blood.”

“Does he tell you everything?” Damn, Chance is more talkative than I gave him credit for.

“Not everything. For example, he never told me he had a new girlfriend. And when he finally did tell me she wasn't you, I was quite surprised and disappointed.” Mrs. Carmichael takes a large gulp of her white wine, now noticeably tipsy.

“Nellie is one of my best friends. You'll love her,” I say, speaking up for my girl even though it's clear Mrs. Carmichael favors me as her son's choice. The last thing I need is for another homegirl to accuse me of trying to get in good with her boyfriend's mother. Mickey's already gone off enough about that. The truth is, I'm usually the one mothers hate; Carla and Mrs. Weiner—Rah and Jeremy's mothers—are prime examples of that fact. KJ's mom liked me, but KJ was an ass, so I'm not counting that lapse in judgment.

“I don't know about that,” she says, glancing at her Rolex, which matches Chance's Christmas gift from last year. These two really are close. “Punctuality is a characteristic I hold in high esteem.” The doorbell rings, saving me from this conversation, and just in time, too. I was looking for an escape route. Finally, Nellie's here, and she can take the night shift because I'm out. Chance races to the front door from the dining room and opens the door for our girl, but it's not exactly the girl we were expecting.

“I'm so sorry I'm late, baby,” Nellie says, walking in and shocking everyone by more than her tardiness. No, this trick didn't go dye her hair blond. Mrs. Carmichael and I walk into the foyer to greet the guest we've all been waiting for.

“Oh my,” Chance's mother says upon seeing Nellie's new do. Oh my? Is she serious? What I know she really meant to say is the same thing that's going through my head.

“What the hell did you do to your hair?” I ask my girl. Has she completely lost her mind? Nellie's bright smile folds into a scowl. She looks like she's going to cry, and I immediately feel bad for my outburst. I didn't mean to embarrass her, but she should've given me a little warning, for real. I just saw her at school a couple hours ago and wasn't expecting this to walk through the door. Chance kisses Nellie on the cheek and closes the door behind her.

“This is for your husband,” Nellie says, stepping inside the dining room and allowing us all to get a better look at her. I can see it's mostly a weave because I know what to look for, but she also dyed her real hair blond, too. What was she thinking?

“So you heard about my husband's love for cognac. Nice gift,” Mrs. Carmichael says, eyeing the bottle of brown liquor like it's a dirty pair of panties Nellie just threw in her husband's face, who's enjoying the show. Chance's parents are faded and the jealousy is really starting to show from Mrs. Carmichael. Unfortunately, I can hear every word she's not saying about Nellie, and it ain't pretty. Damn, that's some serious hating, and on Mr. Carmichael's birthday, too. “I'm very interested to know how a sixteen-year-old was able to purchase such an elite bottle of liquor.”

“My dad likes cognac, too,” Nellie says, taking a seat next to Chance, but I remain standing so I can make it out the door that much faster once I say my good-byes. “He gave it to me to give to you, Mr. Carmichael. Happy birthday.” Chance's father smiles at Nellie, taking a large cigar out of the gold box on the dining table and lighting it.

“Well, it's nice to meet you, girl, and thank you for the drink. It'll go to good use,” he says, laughing at his wife's obvious disdain for Nellie. “Let's eat.”

“I hate to leave before the actual dinner, but I've got a study group to attend,” I say, waving. “It was a pleasure, and thank you for having me.”

“No, the pleasure was all ours, dear,” Mrs. Carmichael says, walking from the minibar next to the entryway and giving me a hug and kiss on the cheek. Nellie's anything but happy to see her boyfriend's mother's affection for me. Here we go again.

“Yeah, Jayd, thanks for coming,” Chance says, rising from the table to walk me out, but Nellie snatches his shirt, forcing him back down. So much for me being helpful to my friend.

“You come back and visit us soon, Jayd. I mean that.” Mrs. Carmichael looks sad as she closes the door behind me. I can hear her regret at my departure loud and clear in my mind. My mother's gift of sight allowed her to do more than just see in people's heads—she can also cool their thoughts and provide them comfort. What a beautiful gift to have. I see now why Mama was so distraught her daughter lost it: we're all healers in some way, and by giving up on her path, my mom also gave up a piece of our collective lineage. Maybe there's a way we can salvage my mom's sight through my own visions, but that'll have to wait for another day. Right now it's all about saving my own ass, and passing the AP exams is top on my list.

 

After not having dinner last night, I met up with the study group, but it was almost over by the time I arrived. I guess even with the APs around in six weeks, the South Bay High crew still doesn't miss an episode of
Beverly Hills, 90210.
My mom says it was the same way when the show was on back in her high school days. And for these rich folks up here, it must be like looking in the mirror. Alia even said the original show was filmed at another high school in the South Bay area. It must be nice to live the life so many envy. The group is meeting again after school, and I'm glad for it, even if I'm not pleased with the location.

Charlotte, who undoubtedly volunteered her house so she can show off her daddy's fortune, is hosting tonight's study session. I can't stand her ass, but if I'm going to pass these tests with flying colors, I've got to suck it up and deal.

“Shit,” I say, looking down as my travel speakers for my iPod fall between the car seats. The next time I have some extra cash, I'm buying a radio for this ride. I've gotten pretty good at mastering my mom's stick shift, but these steep hills in Redondo Beach are a killer. I make my way up the winding road and look at the addresses for Charlotte's house. All the lawns are perfectly manicured, with various alarm signs posted near the picturesque flower beds present in each one.

When I arrive at the correct residence, I find a spot that's almost level, so I don't have too much trouble parallel parking, even though it's several houses away from my destination. I'm not ashamed of my mom's car, but parking it in the same driveway as the BMWs, Mercedes, and Audis the other students on my AP track drive doesn't make me feel my best.

I finally reach Charlotte's house and ring the doorbell. Her next-door neighbors eye me carefully before they step out of their black Range Rover, probably wondering what I'm doing here, which is none of their damn business. I ring the bell again, and this time a woman in a black-and-white maid's uniform answers the door. I didn't know people actually wore the blouse-and-skirt combination with the headgear and apron to match, aside from on Halloween.

“May I help you?” the Latina sister asks, also surprised by my presence.

“I'm here for the study group,” I say. She looks me up and down, sizing up my Old Navy jeans and Baby Phat long-sleeved shirt, focusing on the large gold bamboo hoops hanging from my ears. When she sees my Lucky bag, her stern face softens a bit, now satisfied that I'm not an imposter, I suppose.

“They're in the great room,” she says, gesturing straight ahead of us to what looks like a living room. Great or not, I'm sure it's the same thing.

“Did anyone bring any coffee? Our maid forgot to drop by Starbucks this morning, and my daddy's gourmet brand is off-limits. Good help is so hard to find these days,” Charlotte says, loud enough for their employee to hear, who is still behind me, making sure I don't swipe any of the expensive decorative art on the round table in the foyer. I step down a single step into the most spacious room I've ever seen in person. Now I see why they call it great. Her living room sits off a cliff overlooking the ocean. The glass doors and windows lining the wall allow me to fully absorb the breathtaking view. I don't even want to know what the rest of the house looks like, for fear I might secretly become a hater.

“I'll go and pick it up now, Miss Charlotte,” the housekeeper says, closing the door. Charlotte looks at me and smiles, satisfied that the fact that I've shown up to her multi-million-dollar home is a symbol of my acceptance of her superiority. Whatever. Let's just get on with it already. The sun is already setting, and we have work to make up from last night and new territory to cover before it's all said and done. Mama's less than happy that I'm missing work again for a study session, but what can I say? I need the help, and if this is how I can get it, so be it. I also didn't have a chance to tell Mama that I've retained some of my mom's powers, although they seem to come and go when they please. I tried using them today when Nellie started hating on me about reacting to her hair last night, but I couldn't shut her up with my thoughts, so I had to use my mouth instead.

“Come on in, Jayd. We're just about to get started,” Charlotte says. I wave to the other fifteen or so students in the room and claim a space on the comfy couch, placing my backpack and purse next to me. Ella, Seth, and Matt are in attendance, and I'm shocked. With the auditions for the spring musical coming up in May, I'm surprised they let themselves leave the theater for a night. But I guess everyone needs to pass these exams. Charlotte's girls Laura and Cameron are also present, solidifying the bitch crew's presence in the room. “Oh, Consuela, could you be a dear and pick us up some snacks, sparkling water, and more pens? It looks like we might be here all night, and we should be prepared,” Charlotte calls after an already frantic Consuela, who looks like she's trying to get away as fast as she can.

“Yes, Miss Charlotte,” Consuela says, grabbing her coat from the hall closet before opening the front door. What a job it must be working for mini bitch and her family.

“Hey, Consuela, how's it going?” Jeremy asks, surprising Consuela and me both. What's he doing here? His AP days are a thing of the past. The homework apparently interfered with Jeremy's surfing schedule, though, being the golden child he is, he still gets all the love from the AP teachers, even if he is not on the Advanced Placement track.

“Oh, just fine, Mr. Jeremy. It's nice to see you again.” Jeremy holds out one arm of her jacket so she can slip her arm through and complete her escape, shutting the antique wooden door behind her.

“What's up, people?” Jeremy asks, entering the great room and tossing a pound of French roast coffee Charlotte's way; she clumsily allows it to fall to the ground.

“Jeremy!” Charlotte shouts, picking up the bag and inspecting it for damage. “You're lucky it didn't bust. Otherwise, Consuela would have a very hard time getting grounds out of my daddy's prized Persian rug.”

Jeremy shakes his head at her vanity and spots me sitting all alone on the love seat across the huge room. “Fancy meeting you here, Lady J,” he says, walking over to me as I move my things down to the floor so he can sit.

Now I'm looking forward to this session more than ever. “Funny. I was just thinking the same thing,” I say. Jeremy makes himself comfy next to me and kisses me in front of my classmates, causing Charlotte to become unnecessarily agitated.

“Excuse me, Jeremy,” Charlotte says, placing the bag down on the long glass table she and several other students are seated at, including her girls—like they're Supreme Court judges. “But you're not on our track this year, or has your pot-induced coma finally taken over your memory?” Ooooh, it sounds like there's some historical drama between these two. I'll have to get the lowdown later.

“Don't get all bent out of shape, Charlotte. I've decided to take the APs this year after all.”

“But you haven't been in the classes all year. How's that even possible?” Candace, another misplaced AP student from our speech class, asks. I'm with her—how is it possible?

“Taking the courses isn't mandatory for test participation, counselor. Besides, Mrs. Bennett and my mom ganged up on me after the practice exam Tuesday, so here I am,” Jeremy says, turning his baseball cap backward, ready to study. As intelligent as he is, he'll probably get a five on any exam he chooses to take. It must be nice to be a genius without too much effort. Unlike him and the rest of the students on my track, I haven't been prepping for standardized tests all my life.

“Whatever. Let's get started, please,” Charlotte says, sitting down at the head of the table and announcing our schedule for the evening. I love that they're serious about their time. My friends could learn a thing or two from this uptight crew. “All in favor of starting with economics, moving on to history, and then finishing with English, please raise your hand.” Everyone's in agreement, and we all retrieve the proper study materials.

“So, just like that, you're taking the Advanced Placement exams?” I whisper to Jeremy, who's opening a fresh spiral notebook for his notes. He pulls a mechanical pencil from behind his ear, ready to work.

“Just like that,” he says, smiling his bright whites at me and winking. “I didn't object too much, because I knew my girlfriend would be at the study sessions, and because she's always working, I thought it might be a good way for us to spend some quality time together.” Jeremy zips up his backpack and kisses me on the cheek.

“I hope she knows how lucky she is,” I say, leaning over and returning the quick peck before we get too far off into microeconomics, which everyone present specializes in. If nothing else, we all have a love of our money in common.