Winter White (14 page)

“Ice can remove anything, Mrs. Townsend,” Nicole jumped in, her face a deep shade of scarlet. “It can even, uh, clean emeralds.”

“Emeralds?” Mrs. Townsend said as she tried to discreetly push Lauren off her.

“Yes, my mom uses ice to clean her emeralds all the time,” Nicole said. “Speaking of which, did you know members of the first cotillion class received an emerald pendant when they made their debut? They were a gift from Audrey, Victor Strausburg’s wife.”

Savannah’s gasp could be heard throughout the room. “Mrs. Townsend, what happened to your beautiful Dior suit?” Izzie’s heart sank further. By now, it was probably inside her stomach.

“Savannah, dear, thank goodness,” Brayden’s mom backed away from Izzie and the others as if they were dangerous. “I’m so glad you’re here. Don’t worry about my jacket. I’m sure the cleaners can get the stain out,” she said even as her eyes told Izzie otherwise.

“I hope so! It’s such a gorgeous suit. I remember when you wore it to see Brayden and me off on our first date,” Savannah said, and Izzie felt her blood begin to boil. “How did you stain it?” She suspected Savannah already knew the answer.

“Savannah?” Nicole interrupted sweetly. “Isn’t there something
you
need to ask Mrs. Townsend?”

Thanks
, Izzie mouthed. Her friend winked.

Savannah’s face quickly turned the color of Mrs. Townsend’s raspberry herbal tea. “Well, yes, I…” She inhaled
sharply and started to softly sing their cotillion club song. “We are the members of the Emerald Cove Cotillion Club.” Her voice cracked. “We come from mothers, both near and far. And we’re here to say…”

Izzie started to laugh before she could stop herself. Out of all the assignments, Savannah’s had to be the worst. The girl could not carry a tune, and she suspected their cotillion captain already knew that. At least there was something Savannah Ingram couldn’t do. Izzie was so busy laughing, she didn’t feel the ice bucket lift from her hands.

“I think if anyone needs ice, they can ask the waiters, don’t you?” Mrs. Townsend said, her eyes as cold as the ice in the bucket.

Izzie felt too flustered to respond. If she was caught without her ice bucket, who knew how the cotillion captain would make her pay? But she couldn’t pry the bucket out of Mrs. Townsend’s hands, either. She’d just have to find another one. “Yes, Mrs. Townsend.”

Mrs. Townsend smiled thinly and tucked the bucket under her arm. “Savannah, that was lovely. Why don’t you walk me back to our table so I can get my welcoming speech? The rest of you should take your seats. We’ll be starting shortly.”

Savannah gave Izzie a self-satisfied smile before walking away with Brayden’s mom. Izzie wished she could trip her, but that would only make things worse.
You don’t belong here
, the voice said again.
But she does.
Izzie stared at them
dejectedly, watching as Savannah chatted effortlessly with Mrs. Townsend.

“She’s been talking this talk since she was in pull-ups,” Mira said quietly. “Don’t let her get to you. You belong here as much as she does.”

Sometimes Izzie felt as if Mira was a mind reader. Today that skill irked her. “I’m going to get more ice,” Izzie said gruffly, and hurried to the kitchen before Nicole or Mira could stop her. She waited till the kitchen door closed behind her before letting the tears roll down her cheek.

“How are you holding up, rookie?”

Izzie jumped. Dylan was standing a few feet away, munching on a tea sandwich from a tray about to go out.

“Fine. Well, not really.” Izzie quickly wiped her eyes. At least there was someone here who knew what she was going through. “I’m dying out there.”

She smiled. “No, you’re not. You did a nice job going toe to toe with my mother.” Izzie couldn’t help but look at what Dylan was wearing. Her ensemble was definitely not up to cotillion code. The strapless dress showed off her tiny legs and her ankle tattoo. Her hair was full of volume. Southern demure it wasn’t. “She’s not the easiest person to face off with,” added Dylan. “Just ask Brayden.”

Brayden.
She still hadn’t heard from him. Izzie pulled out her phone again. No new text messages. “Have you seen him today? Is he feeling okay?” Izzie asked.

Dylan looked at her oddly. “Yeah. At least he was at breakfast. Why?”

Izzie’s heart sank. Was he ignoring her, or did he just forget to charge his phone? “Forget it. I have to find another ice bucket. Your mom stole mine.” She didn’t want this to turn into another conversation about her and Brayden’s chances of relationship survival.

You two are really cute together. I am sure it will all work out.

She couldn’t stop thinking about Dylan’s expression when she had said those words. It was pure Savannah, but that was ridiculous because the two were nothing alike.

“Why do you need an ice bucket?” Dylan asked as she fiddled with her long beaded earrings, which were similar to the pair Izzie was wearing.

Izzie froze. “Did I say ice bucket? I meant I needed a cup of ice. To chew on.”

Dylan chuckled. “It’s okay.” She threw her half-eaten cucumber sandwich in the garbage. “I’m the one who wrote this initiation. I write all of them.” Her expression was full of satisfaction. She put a finger to her lips. “That’s the part I left out the other day at lunch. I don’t just help out with initiation. I’m in charge of it.”

Izzie was surprised, but not as surprised as she should be. Who better to make EC’s future debs squirm than the girl who bucked the whole system? “Everything makes sense
now!” Izzie realized. “No wonder Savannah has the most miserable assignments.”

Dylan laughed. “You’ve caught on quick. As captain, I have the power to do things like tell you to forget a new ice bucket. You’ve passed your second test.” Izzie grinned. “You can sit the rest of this task out—just remember: not a word about who I am to anyone. Not even Mira or Nicole.” Izzie pretended to seal her lips, and Dylan winked. “I knew I could trust you.” She headed to the kitchen door. “See you out there, pledge.”

It took Izzie a few moments to let Dylan’s confession sink in before she was ready to head out and hear the rest of Mrs. Townsend’s speech.

“We live in a very unusual time,” Mrs. Townsend was saying from a podium in the center of the room. An EC Junior League banner made of lilac silk hung on a wall behind her. Izzie tried to discreetly hurry across the room to her seat. “In today’s world, a child might know what this month’s Happy Meal toy is and yet not know the proper way to hold a fork.” Murmurs of agreement could be heard throughout the room. “It’s time to swing the pendulum back to a time of civility and grace, the way our mamas and our grandmamas raised us. Manners are not optional. Thank-yous shouldn’t be prompted, and cell phones shouldn’t be at the dinner table.” There was lots of nodding from the mothers, Izzie
noticed, as she sat down, and Mira gave her a dirty look for being late.

“When you are part of a cotillion like the one the Emerald Cove Junior League has successfully held for over fifty years, then you know you are raising your daughter well,” Mrs Townsend concluded. “I thank you for your continued involvement in shaping the future women leaders of our country, and I look forward to another great season.”

Everyone applauded. Savannah and her mother actually stood up and gave Mrs. Townsend a standing ovation. Dylan, on the other hand, was sitting at the same table, and she barely looked up from her phone.

“Thank you.” Mrs. Townsend looked pleased. “I’d like to start off this afternoon’s dance lesson by introducing our cotillion class to some of their potential escorts.”

The escorts were here? Izzie looked around, feeling butterflies in her stomach. Maybe this was why Brayden hadn’t texted her back. He wanted to surprise her.

“I hope I don’t get stuck with some guy who sweats too much,” Mira groaned.

“I hate the ones who want to stand too close,” Nicole whispered. “Just because you’re dancing with me does not mean you get a free feel.”

“Now, ladies, for today’s session, I have done the assigning,” Mrs. Townsend said. “These are not your permanent escorts. As is tradition, an escort must ask you to go to
cotillion, but that does not mean you can’t drop a proper hint now and then to one you want to go with.” People laughed. “Your date for the afternoon will find you and lead you onto the dance floor to practice the fox-trot before lunch is served.”

Izzie’s heart stopped. If Mrs. Townsend was doing the assigning, that meant…

Instinctively, Izzie’s eyes went to Savannah. When she spotted her, her heart felt like it did when she accidentally belly flopped off the high diving board.

Brayden was there. But it wasn’t Izzie he was walking toward; it was Savannah. Izzie watched painfully as he took her arm and escorted her to the dance floor. Izzie’s skin prickled. Brayden didn’t even glance her way. He had eyes only for Savannah and she for him.

“Izzie, are you okay?” Nicole asked quietly, watching the scene unfold.

“I’m sure he didn’t have a choice,” Mira said. “He’d much rather be with you.”

Maybe Brayden didn’t have any control over whom his mom assigned him to, but he could have texted her back and warned her.
Is he embarrassed to be seen with me?

You don’t belong here
, the voice in her head whispered again, and this time, Izzie listened.

For the first time in a long time, Mira and Kellen were at a loss for words.

They stood side by side in the frigid Emerald Cove Masterpiece Gallery and gazed up at the wall-size painting they were supposed to critique for art class.

Mira had her notebook out and a pen in hand, but she couldn’t think of a single thing to say about this bizarre piece of modern art. It looked like it had been painted by a three-year-old. The artist had literally thrown large blotches of red, violet, and yellow paint at the canvas and then pushed pieces of rusted metal through the back of the painting, ripping parts of the canvas. Bark and tree branches hung from the metal like necklaces. The work was called
Changeling
. She would have titled it
Junk
.

She glanced at Kellen out of the corner of her eye. He could have passed for an art buyer in the navy sports coat he still had on from an earlier school ceremony. She looked dressed down in comparison, in jeans and her favorite pale green shirt, the one with the cute scarf attached. Kellen had barely given her outfit a glance. He kept looking at his notebook every few seconds to jot something down. What was he writing? There wasn’t anything to say about this painting except how horrible it was! If she handed something like this in to their art teacher, Mr. Capozo, she would get a big, fat F.

The art gallery curator walked over. She could have been Gwyneth Paltrow’s twin. She removed her thick-rimmed black glasses—the kind Mira suspected girls wore to look smart—and smiled. “The Stefano Paramore is something, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Kellen said. She thought she saw his mouth twitch. “It is
something
.”

“Such fine craftsmanship,” Gwynie said, admiring one of the steel beams. “He worked months to get this right.”

Kellen shook his head solemnly. “You can tell.”

The woman’s blond ponytail swished like a horse’s tail when it meets a fly. “We’ve had several calls about it. A potential buyer is coming in this afternoon.”

“What is the asking price?” Mira had to know. Were there really people out there interested in a piece like this?

“Twenty-six thousand dollars,” the woman said without
blinking. The phone rang, and she hurried to answer it, which was good because she missed Mira’s surprised expression. “Tell Mr. Capozo if any more of his students want to see
Changeling
, they should get here soon. I’m sure it will be sold by next week.”

“We’ll tell them to rush over,” Kellen promised. “They won’t want to miss this.”

“Please tell me you’re kidding,” Mira whispered, the horror all but unmistakable in her hazel eyes. Kellen winked. “Thank God! How is this art?”

They looked at the ginormous eyesore again, and Kellen could barely contain his laughter. Neither could Mira. The curator glanced their way. “Let’s get out of here,” Kellen said, and led her to the exit. Mira tried hard to keep up with his long strides. She did not want him letting go of her arm.

“What about the rest of the assignment?” Mira asked. “We’re supposed to write about five different paintings.”

“I know someplace better.” Kellen pushed the gallery doors open, and she felt a rush of warm air as they stepped onto Main Street. Even though it was fall, anything would be warmer than that igloo they were just in. “How do you feel about a field trip?” Kellen asked. “Where we’re going, we can tackle our art assignment and eat.”

“Food and homework tackled? I’m in.” Her heart revved slightly. Kellen was inviting her someplace with food! Corky’s
had been her idea. This one was his. Did that make this a date? “Where are we headed?”

“You’ll see,” he said, looking a lot like her brother Connor when he was trying to get away with something he shouldn’t. Kellen let go of her arm, and she tried not to appear disappointed. “Do you have a bus pass?”