Winter White (24 page)

“We’re all stretched so thin that there is no time to come up with ideas, right, Mira?” Savannah asked. “You haven’t thought of anything without me, have you?”

Mira glanced at Izzie helplessly. “Not really, but Izzie…”

Izzie had just talked to Mira about all the easy fund-raisers they could be doing between now and winter recess! Mira had sworn she’d look into a few of them.

“You’re the cochair, Mira,” Savannah reminded her. “We didn’t ask what Izzie’s ideas were. What are yours?” Izzie wanted to hit her. What ideas did Savannah have?

Mira looked nervous. “I’ve had some art projects due, and we were in New York last weekend looking for cotillion dresses, too, and—”

“Oooh, did you find one?” Charlotte passed around the box of Munchkins. Everyone swore they wouldn’t eat them because of dress fittings but always did anyway.

“Yes,” Mira said, and got out her own phone to share a picture. “At Amsale.”

Izzie interrupted her. “I know the rest of you think that dance is the only thing happening in the world, but it’s not.
People still need our help out there and there are so many small things we could do as a group that wouldn’t take up a lot of extra time.”

“God, why is she being such a downer?” Izzie heard Lea whisper to Lauren.

“Okay, Izzie. What are your brilliant plans?” Savannah asked, folding her arms across her chest. “If there is an easy idea for us to execute, then tell Mira and me and we can follow up on it.”

If Savannah thought Izzie had nothing to offer, she was wrong. Izzie opened her notebook. “What about Habitat for Humanity? There are plenty of areas outside Emerald Cove that work with them. We could all volunteer on a Saturday to help build a house.”

“That’s a pretty good idea,” Mira admitted.

“It’s a great idea,” Violet seconded, impressed.

“My daddy won’t even let me near a toolbox at home, and you think we’re going to be able to help someone build an actual house?” Lea argued. “We’re not contractors. I don’t think we’re allowed to do such a thing.”

“We’re not building a house by ourselves.” Izzie tried to be patient. “We’re all given a task, and there are people who oversee things and tell us what to do.”

“Any other easy ideas?” Savannah asked her, rapping her long nails on her desk.

“Well, we could also sell Otis Spunkmeyer cookies.” Izzie
produced a few sheets on the company that she had printed out. “Their fund-raising program really works in our favor. We could sell tubs of cookies for any cause we choose.”

“That sounds like a lovely idea,” Mrs. Fitz said optimistically, looking at the girls. “And not very time-consuming. I bet you could sell a few boxes in an afternoon.”

“I stopped selling cookies in Girl Scouts,” said Lea as she chomped her gum.

“The Girl Scouts aren’t the only ones who sell cookies,” Mira tried.

Lauren rolled her eyes. “What are you going to suggest next? A car wash?”

“Well, now that you mention it,” Izzie started to say.

Lea’s gum bubble popped. “
No way.
What are we? Maintenance workers?”

“The Butterflies do
tasteful
events,” Lauren chimed in. “We don’t do manual labor. We organize charity polo matches and do variety shows.”

“Yeah, your variety-show act last year was real tasteful,” said Violet, her oval eyes as dark as her pin-straight hair. “Didn’t you wear a sparkly silver two-piece corset?”

“Corsets are very retro,” Lauren said with a sniff.

“Girls, no fighting.” Mrs. Fitz glanced at the clock. “I think we should pick one of Isabelle’s ideas. Then we won’t be rushed after cotillion and Founders Day.”

Planning meetings with Emerald Prep’s prestigious girls’
club, the Social Butterflies, was always a nightmare. The room was usually split down the middle—half the girls liked splashy events that they could lord over friends who couldn’t afford the price of admission; the other half of the room remembered the club motto—charity first, self second. Mira had always sided with the first half of the room with her club cochair, Savannah, but recently she had started to see things through Izzie’s eyes, and the world had begun to look different. Izzie just wished Mira was ready to admit that out loud.

“Isabelle, let’s hear your car wash idea,” Mrs. Fitz suggested.

“It’s not brain surgery,” Izzie said. “A car wash would be simple. There are a zillion limos, town cars, and Range Rovers at drop-off. We could charge five dollars for cars and nine for SUVs and limos. It doesn’t cost us anything to do—all we need are hoses, some soap, and buckets, and we could raise hundreds of dollars.”

“But we’d get wet,” Lea said as if it wasn’t obvious. “And dirty.”

Everyone started to talk at once, and the volume kept increasing.

“Cochairs, what do you think?” Mrs. Fitz asked wearily.

“It was good of you to make the effort, Izzie, but none of these ideas seem worth our time,” Savannah told her. “I think, and I’m sure Mira would agree, that we just do what we always do—pick up this discussion after cotillion and Founders Day are over.”

“But,” Mira tried to speak up, “Izzie has so many great…”

“Agreed?” Savannah held up her hand to vote. Most of the room followed suit. “Wonderful. See you next week, ladies.” She hurried out with her minions behind her.

The others were back to discussing everything from who still didn’t have a gown for cotillion to the ever-persistent rumors that lingered from last cotillion, in which Leann Ryder wore a custom Stella McCartney dress that supposedly cost $35,000.

Izzie slammed her notebook shut in frustration. It didn’t make much of a sound since it was just paper, but Mrs. Fitz seemed to get the meaning. So did Mira, who lingered in the background, afraid to approach Izzie and get chewed out.

“I’m sorry, Isabelle,” Mrs. Fitz said quietly, taking a seat next to her. She removed her costume jewelry earrings as if they were weighing her head down. “I’m sure you don’t think too highly of me for how I ran that meeting.”

Izzie didn’t say anything. Even she knew you didn’t bash a teacher to the teacher.

Mrs. Fitz sighed. “Getting the girls excited about events is an uphill battle I have every year, and it only seems to get worse the closer I get to my retirement.” She paused. “Or maybe it’s just that
I
get more frustrated the closer I get to retirement. I know this isn’t the way our club should run, but it’s hard to argue with our cochair when her parents are the biggest boosters Emerald Prep has, aside from your dad, of course.”

The irony wasn’t lost on Izzie, but this fact only made her angrier. The idea that Savannah’s compliancy not only ruined Izzie’s personal life but that of the club as well was infuriating. “Isn’t there anything we can do?”

“I wish there was.” Mrs. Fitz smiled at Izzie. “If it is any consolation, I thought your ideas were excellent. Emerald Cove is lucky to have you.”

Izzie laughed. “That’s the first time anyone has said that to me.”

“Well, it’s true.” Apparently she wasn’t joking. “Since you came to town, our club has flourished. Your fall festival is the best event we’ve ever had. Even the headmaster said so.”

Izzie’s eyes widened. “For real?”

Mrs. Fitz blinked. “Yes. I can see now why you are doing cotillion.”

That seemed like a strange leap. “Why is that?” Izzie asked.

“You’re a natural at community service, and it shows in every idea you have,” said Mrs. Fitz, as if the answer was obvious. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that before?”

Her aunt had said something similar when she had received her cotillion invitation, but Izzie had just assumed Aunt Maureen told her that to get her to do cotillion. Maybe she was blending into Emerald Cove better than she’d thought. Brayden or no Brayden, Mrs. Townsend’s approval or not, she might just have a real place here.

Mrs. Fitz seemed sadder than someone should who was paying compliments. “I only wish you had been here last spring,” she told Izzie, rising and gathering her things. “If you had run for Butterflies’ chair, I have a feeling we would be doing a lot more than we are right now,” she said, unaware that Mira was still in the room. Mrs. Fitz squeezed her hand. “Well, you’re only a sophomore. There is always next year.”

But we aren’t even halfway through this one
, Izzie thought. There is so much they could tackle if Mrs. Fitz would stand up to Savannah and the others. But she knew their teacher wouldn’t. Mira said this had always been their adviser’s style. She didn’t want to push community service on them. She wanted them to want to do it themselves.

Izzie grabbed her notebook and met Mira at the door. “Ready to go?” Kylie had persuaded her sister to let her borrow her car, and she was driving into town to take them to Corky’s. Izzie wasn’t in the mood to go anymore, but Kylie was already on her way.

“I’ll meet you there,” Mira said, sounding strange. “I forgot I have to go over our fund-raising numbers to give them to the editor at the
Weekly Emerald Prep
.”

Izzie didn’t argue. She was at the driveway in the main part of campus within minutes. The afternoon had turned gray, and a light mist had started to fall. She perked up when she saw Kylie waiting, her sister’s prized Charger chugging loudly and sending plumes of black smoke into the air. She
ran to the other side of the car and opened the door. That’s when she heard someone call her name. Hayden was running across the quad.

“I give it ten minutes before the sky opens up,” he said, running over. “We ended practice early, but I can’t reach Mom and I saw you walking.” He glanced at the car.

“Hayden, you remember my best friend, Kylie, right?” Izzie asked. “I think I introduced you two at the fall dance.”

“Was that before or after Mr. Senator blew the lid off and revealed he was your dad?” Kylie asked.

Hayden laughed. “Is this a 1971 Dodge Charger?”

“Yeah.” Kylie’s head popped out the window. “You know cars?”

“I wouldn’t say it was a Charger if I didn’t know.” Hayden picked at the peeling paint. “Is this the original color?”

“Top-banana,” he and Kylie said at the same time. Izzie stared at them strangely. Her stomach was growling. She just wanted to get in the car, already.

“I take it you know a thing or two about cars, too,” Hayden said to Kylie.

“Maybe.” Kylie studied him, and the car backfired a hello. “I know this one.”

“Me, too,” Hayden told her. “Our dad has a mint 1971 Hemi Charger.”

Kylie gave Izzie a look. Izzie shrugged. “I didn’t know. I don’t speak car.”

Kylie turned back to Hayden. “I have got to see that car.”

“Anytime,” he said. “Dad only takes it out if it is just the right temperature and weather, so it spends most of its time in the garage. Sad, really.”

Kylie nodded. “If it’s as mint as you say it is, I don’t blame him.” She looked at Izzie. “Is he coming with us to Corky’s?”

“He can if he wants,” she told her. Kylie normally didn’t like new people, so Izzie was surprised to hear her ask. “Mira is meeting us there,” she told Hayden.

Hayden looked at Kylie. “I’m in. I would say we should test this baby’s four-twenty-five horsepower on the way, but we’d get a ticket on the way into town.”

Kylie liked that idea. “Let’s take it on the highway first! It’s only a little backtracking.” She looked at Izzie excitedly. “You’re not that hungry, are you?”

Izzie held her stomach. “Well…”

“Great!” Kylie started the engine. “Iz, can he ride shotgun?”

“Fine.” Kylie held up the front passenger seat so Izzie could slide in the back while Hayden went around to the other side. Izzie fell into the leather seats that had seen better days and closed her eyes. Maybe if she slept while they rambled on about cars, when she woke up, they’d finally be at Corky’s.

Mira stepped away from her easel and tried to judge her latest work the way China Chow from the
Work of Art
reality show would.

If she had time to start over—which she didn’t—there were a few things she would have done differently. The restaurant window could have used more shading. The family at the table was too scrunched together. She had used too heavy of a brushstroke on their faces. And then there was the image of herself staring through the window at the family—did she draw enough emotion on her own face? Mira could have criticized her decisions all day, but she knew she had to put down her paintbrush. She had been working on her self-portrait ever since seeking refuge in the studio after the Butterflies’ meeting heard round the world. The week hadn’t gotten any easier, and Mira was mentally exhausted.

She sat down in a chair in front of the easel. The room was eerily quiet, but Mira liked it like that. She was not one of those painters who could rock out while they worked. She liked silence so she could hear her own thoughts, and her thoughts today were on Kellen and what he’d think of her painting. His opinion was the only one that mattered to her, and he was going to be there any second. They had agreed to meet at the art studio at school for their own private unveiling.

“Sleeping on the job?” Kellen walked in with his canvas tube slung over his shoulder. While Mira preferred to paint on canvases already mounted, Kellen liked to work with a piece of canvas that he could stretch and frame later—if the painting was worthy.