by Jen Calonita
Nicole hurried by her, trailing a woman wearing a Miss Cotillion 1984 sash. “Miss Bronson? Did you know the first Emerald Cove cotillion class started in 1948, three years after World War II ended and the town’s Junior League decided to…”
Izzie headed for the kitchen. Her note had said a purple ice bucket would be waiting for her there. On her way, she passed Lea, who surprised her mother by spraying her neck with a putrid-scented perfume while they were in the middle of talking.
“Lea! I already am wearing Chanel Number Five,” her mom snapped.
“Funny, I don’t smell Chanel,” Lea said nervously. She caught the woman next to her mom off guard by spraying her, too. The woman sneezed. “Bless you! This new fragrance by, uh, Sassy, emphasizes the eternal beauty that comes with a winter hibernation….”
Izzie hurried through the kitchen doors before Lea could spritz her, too. A busboy handed her a bucket and led her to an ice machine. That was easy, she thought when she exited the kitchen a few minutes later. Lauren was standing nearby, turning a deep shade of purple.
“Excuse me!” EC’s mayor said when Lauren blotted her mouth with a napkin.
“You’re excused, but the speck of mayo by your mouth isn’t.” Lauren tried to sound breezy as she followed the mayor’s bobbing head with her napkin. “Got it!”
Izzie took advantage of the mayor’s distraction and quickly dropped ice cubes in her teacup and those of two other women standing with her. When the women saw what Izzie had done, they were flabbergasted. Even Lauren stopped blotting mouths for a moment.
“That tea looks too hot,” Izzie said, trying to sound as conversational as Lauren just did. “I thought you could use some ice.” But she wasn’t sure she could pull off breezy. The three women scurried away.
“Ice?” Lauren snapped. “How’d you get off so easy?”
“People like me. Haven’t you heard?” Izzie dropped a cube in Lauren’s china teacup while Lauren blotted Izzie’s mouth. Then they glared at each other, and Lauren walked away. Izzie spotted Mira and Nicole and headed in their direction.
Mira was holding her hand to her heart. “We promise to embrace, honor, and accept our womanhood by…” As she spoke, Izzie stuck a piece of ice in her cup.
“Izzie, did you know that cotillion classes in the 1950s were held all year on Saturday mornings and consisted of both etiquette classes and dance lessons?” Nicole asked. She was wearing a deep green cocktail dress that made her look like an elegant Jolly Green Giant. “Escorts were few after the war, as most boys went off to work.” She stared at Izzie miserably. “How long do we have to keep this up? I’m running out of facts I remember!”
“Hopefully we’ll be told to take our seats soon,” Mira said, her eyes darting around the room. Izzie watched as her face froze. “Oh, hello, Mrs. Townsend!”
Mrs. Townsend? Izzie’s palms began to sweat. Brayden’s mom was coming their way! Even though she was tiny, Mrs. Townsend looked intimidating in a short, chic bob, tailored suit, and pearls. Izzie didn’t see a resemblance between her and Brayden, but Dylan looked just like her. That must have driven Dylan nuts.
“Hello, ladies,” Mrs. Townsend said crisply. Her mouth barely moved when she talked. It was held in a very small but decidedly permanent half smile, half frown. “Are you enjoying our welcoming luncheon so far?” Mrs. Townsend asked.
“Yes, Mrs. Townsend. What a lovely affair,” Nicole said as if on autopilot.
“I particularly love the foreign tea bar,” Mira added. “It’s so nice to experience teas from around the globe.”
Izzie was going to gag. Nicole and Mira sounded ridiculous! This was not the president. Why were they trying to impress her?
“Yes, well, you know how important we think it is for you girls to learn about different cultures,” Mrs. Townsend agreed.
Tasting teas from foreign lands taught them about foreign culture? She has to be kidding! A microscopic sound that resembled a snort escaped Izzie’s lips. Mrs. Townsend caught it, but Mira was even quicker. She held out her hand.
“Mrs. Townsend, I know we’ve met before, but I wanted to formally introduce myself. I’m Mirabelle Monroe, Bill and Maureen’s daughter.”
Mrs. Townsend extended a slender hand that dripped in diamond jewelry. Thankfully, she had been distracted. “It’s lovely to see you, dear. How is your mother?”
Mira smiled. “Fine. She sends her regards, of course, and she told me to tell you that whatever you need in way of monetary contributions for upcoming dances, just let her know. She hated to miss today, but it is so important for her to support our father on his upcoming political run. Have you met Isabelle yet?” Mira asked, barely taking a breath.
Mira amazed Izzie sometimes. The sweet Southern belle thing came so naturally to her, even when she was facing someone as intimidating as Abigail Townsend.
Mrs. Townsend turned to Izzie with interest. “No, I haven’t had the pleasure.” She held out her hand. It was ice-cold. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Isabelle. I’ve heard quite a lot about you.” Whether that included good things (anything Brayden might have said) or bad (Savannah’s and the Ingrams’ whispers), Mrs. Townsend didn’t say.
“Thank you. And I you,” Izzie said, causing the woman’s half smile to turn down slightly. Izzie realized her gaffe, but it was too late.
Brayden’s mom watched her closely. “I’m impressed that you’ve chosen to take on an endeavor as ambitious as cotillion having had no training prior to this year.” Mrs. Townsend took a sip from the delicate teacup in her hand. “There is so much to memorize and so many behaviors to learn. I hope you don’t find it too overwhelming.”
Izzie tried to shake the impression that Mrs. Townsend was being condescending. “I’m a very fast learner,” she said, but her words didn’t have the same warm impression on Brayden’s mom that Mira’s did. Mrs. Townsend glanced at her ice bucket.
Was she really expected to perform her task on the cotillion director? It was practically social suicide. But if she didn’t do her job, her cotillion captain might notice.
“A few waiters felt the water was too hot for tea,” Izzie started to explain, and before she could freak out, she took her tongs and picked up an ice cube. “Ice?”
“No, thank you,” Mrs. Townsend said, but Izzie followed her cup with the tongs.
“Mrs. Townsend,” Mira said hurriedly, “I know you’ve heard it a thousand times, but I would be so honored to recite our cotillion pledge for you.”
“Really?” Mrs. Townsend sounded surprised, but it was hard to tell because her expression was permanently frozen.
As Mira started to say the words Izzie had only memorized the night before, she moved in closer with her tongs. Mrs. Townsend had nowhere to run.
“Let me cool that down for you,” Izzie said. Before Mrs. Townsend could stop her, she dropped the ice into the cup and sent hot tea sloshing over the sides. Mrs. Townsend gasped as the tea hit her cream suit jacket. It was official: She had botched her first meeting with her potential boyfriend’s mother. “I’m so sorry. I…”
“Here,” Lauren said, appearing out of nowhere with napkins. “Let me help.” She dunked the napkin in Izzie’s ice bucket and grabbed Mrs. Townsend’s lapel before she could stop her.
“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 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?”
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.” 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 shook her head 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’s eyes were 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 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 watched 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. “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. “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 the podium. 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. “And now 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 this 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 after all. 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. Brayden didn’t even glance her wa
y. 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. He could have 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.
Eleven
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 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?”