by Jen Calonita
It took all of Mira’s willpower not to yell out Savannah.
“Pale and silent, pale and silent,” Mira repeated to herself. It had to be a person, right? But who was always silent? The cute valet? Couldn’t be him. He was tan. She had it! “They must mean the statue of Audrey Strausburg out front.”
Nicole covered her head with her sweater to stay dry. “But she wasn’t a witch.”
“That doesn’t mean someone didn’t call her one,” Izzie said. “Let’s check it out.”
The group followed Izzie and Mira to the front of the country club. Emerald Cove’s founding wife stared down at them with a slight smile, her face lighting up between flashes of lightning. In her stone hands was a Ziploc bag with a note.
Izzie grabbed it and began to read, the rain smearing the ink. “ ‘Poor Audrey Strausburg. Beautiful and rich but despised by the other founding families. They were convinced she dabbled in the dark arts. How else would her husband have found mine after mine of emeralds?’ ” Izzie rolled her eyes. “Even back then EC had gossips.”
Mira ignored her. “Let’s get a picture before one of us gets struck by lightning.”
“Lea, go get the valet and make him take our picture,” Lauren instructed as the group gathered around the statue. Lauren looked around. “Wait. Where is Savannah?” Mira didn’t see her, either.
“Someone go find her,” Izzie instructed, but no one moved. Mira didn’t blame them. Who wanted to be the one to tell Savannah Ingram to get her butt back outside? “Lea? Go.” Lea’s shoulders sagged, but she did as she was told.
The storm sounded like it was directly overhead now. Mira looked up at Audrey’s statue again, standing tall despite the awful weather. Her friends sounded a hell of a lot worse than Mira’s. Maybe Izzie was right: What was Mira so afraid of?
“I can’t find her,” Lea reported a few minutes later. Her hair was starting to frizz.
“Did anyone call her?” Mira asked. People did not summon Savannah by phone, but there was a first time for everything. She stared at Lea and Lauren. “Someone call her now. I am not doing this challenge twice because she had to reapply lip gloss.” Mira surprised herself with her tone. She noticed Izzie grin.
“Fine!” Lauren huffed. She dialed, cringing at the sound of Savannah’s voice when she picked up. “Where are you?” Lauren’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Forget your clue! We’re at the statue right now with another clue, and you’re going to cost us the hunt if you don’t get out here and get in this picture.”
Savannah didn’t take long to show up, but she did look angry. She stared at Lauren like she wanted to make her one of her dog’s chew toys. But Mira didn’t care whether Savannah smiled for the camera. The important thing was that they had found the second clue and had a photo to prove it. Clues three through thirteen weren’t as hard to solve as Mira had thought they would be. They spent the next forty minutes dashing around the Emerald Cove Country Club, running from the women’s locker room to the coat-check area to the men’s showers. They passed the pool twice, had to borrow three golf carts to ride out to the ninth hole, and finally found themselves back in the great hall. There was only one clue left to find, and it was Savannah’s. Mira sensed a mutiny about to happen as the girls ran around trying to think of places Savannah’s real note might be. A few were so cold and delirious after an hour in the rain that they actually accused her of hiding her note to keep them from finishing their assignment.
“Maybe you should grovel to the debs,” Lea pushed Savannah toward the older girls. “It’s time you tried doing it like the rest of us. I. Want. To. Be. Done. With. This. Dare.” The hunt had clearly done a number on her. Lea’s pretty silver dress had a small tear near her left shoulder from when she had climbed over a bathroom stall in the men’s room to retrieve a clue from the air-conditioning vent.
“Fine.” Savannah tried to run a hand through the rat’s nest her hair had become as she walked gingerly over to Dylan. “Permission to speak?”
Dylan looked at the others before smiling smugly. “Go ahead, Ms. Ingram.”
“I’ve looked everywhere in this building for my clue, and I can’t find it anywhere,” she said shakily. “I’m not sure what else to do. Can you please point me in the right direction?”
Dylan responded with a sweet smile. “Sorry. Rules are rules. May I remind you your cotillion class has to do this whole hunt over if you don’t find fourteen items?”
The others stared menacingly at Savannah.
“Ms. Norberry is going to be back in five minutes,” Charlotte reminded them, staring at the clock like it might bite her. “We have to be back in the sitting room looking like we never left, and that’s leaving no time to fix ourselves up! What’s she going to say about my dress?” She had a black stain on her beautiful dress from a pen that had exploded on her. At least if her dress had to take a trip to the dry cleaners, it was for a good cause. They had been looking for a pen that had the original club seal.
“Everyone, check your notes again,” Izzie suggested. “Make sure there’s nothing on the front or back that would lead us to Savannah’s clue. Any marking could mean something, so look carefully.”
Mira looked at Savannah’s card again. She had seen that frowny face somewhere else today, but where?
“Three minutes,” Charlotte said as if they needed reminding.
Hearing Charlotte’s voice made her think of the dress again and the dress made her think of…“Wait!” Mira shrieked. “Didn’t one of the former debs have a frowny face on her shirt?” She scanned the group. A brunette with a tiny frowny-face pin on her shirt caught her eye. It was worth a shot. “Do you have Savannah’s clue?”
The girl grinned and gave Dylan a look. “I thought you’d never ask.” The others stared in shock as the girl pulled a note out of her pocket. “But you’re not the one who has to ask me for it. Savannah needs to ask. Nicely.”
“I don’t remember hearing about cotillion initiations being this juvenile,” Savannah mumbled as she crossed the room. “Maybe it’s just this pledge class.”
The girl dangled the note above Savannah’s head like a carrot. Savannah reached for it, and the girl held it higher. “You have to say please,” she trilled.
“Please.” The girl handed it over, and Savannah read it. Her color slowly paled.
“What does it say?” Izzie asked, and Savannah shook her head. Izzie took the note and read it aloud. “ ‘Savannah Ingram, you’ve always thought you were royalty.’ ” Izzie laughed. “Sorry. Couldn’t help myself. ‘Now it’s time to look like a princess. Think accessories. Don’t forget your picture, either.’ ”
“This is insane,” Savannah said, her brown eyes bulging out of her head. “How am I supposed to dress like a princess? And do it in two minutes? What am I supposed to do? Heist the Emerald Cove emeralds?” She stared at the glass case across the room. “Never.”
“You had no problem making other people take the emeralds a few months ago,” Izzie said, enjoying herself.
One of the girls snapped, “If you cost us this initiation when we have one clue left…” Savannah’s people were turning on her.
“I’m sorry, okay? I don’t know what they want me to wear!” Savannah looked anxious. The only one who seemed remotely happy, Mira noticed, was Dylan.
“It can’t be the emeralds,” Mira said. “They’re not a princess thing. Tiaras are.”
“Less than one minute,” Charlotte said, her voice shrill.
“Ms. Norberry’s tiara,” Lea piped up. “The one she wears to cotillion. She keeps it in that glass case she always brings to class! She says it’s to remind us what being a lady is all about, but it’s kind of creepy how she…”
Savannah looked at her watch. “Lea! Focus! Where is it?”
Lea blushed. “I think I saw it in the classroom.”
The girls rushed into the room to retrieve it. Savannah carefully opened the glass box and lifted the tiara off the pillow. A tiny note floated down from the acc
essory. Savannah read it quickly, and her shoulders sank again. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” she wailed. “I’m supposed to wear Ms. Norberry’s tiara to class.” Mira winced. That was just asking for trouble. “ ‘Tiaras were never worn to cotillion till Grace Kelly made them fashionable with her wedding to Ranier III, Prince of Monaco, in 1956,’ ” Savannah read. “ ‘That’s when a cotillion pledge by the name of Holly Norberry got permission from the Junior League to be the first. Since then, many a cotillion pledge has worn a tiara.’ ”
“Time!” Dylan said, eating up the look of despair on Savannah’s face. “You’ve failed,” Dylan said calmly, “unless”—she glanced at Savannah—“you put the tiara on right now, no buts, and wear it to class.”
“I can’t!” Savannah freaked. “She’ll see it, and I’ll be kicked out of cotillion!”
“Vanna, you’ve got to do this,” Lea told her. “We cannot go through this twice. What if they make us have a scavenger hunt at school next time?”
“Or schedule it for when we’re going to be in Paris?” seconded Lauren. “That’s only two weeks away. We’d have to cancel our trip.”
Paris. Mira’s friends were going to Paris for their cotillion gowns. Without her. And where was she going to find her dress? The mall? Her mother was so busy with press engagements, she’d barely even mentioned cotillion dress shopping. Mira had been thinking about what her dress would look like since the fifth grade, and now she’d probably have to buy something off the rack from David’s Bridal.
“What’s your answer, Savannah Ingram?” one of the former debs asked.
“It doesn’t seem like I have a choice.” Savannah sounded defeated. She gingerly picked up the tiara. If it broke, they were toast. “Let’s take the picture already.”
The girls huddled around Savannah for the final shot. They breathed a sigh of relief once the valet snapped it. But for Savannah, the real test was just beginning. While the other girls went to the bathroom to clean up before Ms. Norberry got back, she stood to the side. Mira couldn’t believe she felt bad for her.
“You must be loving this,” Savannah whispered, turning the tiara over in her hands as Mira approached her.
“I’m not,” Mira said. “I came over here to make sure you were okay.”
“Yeah, right.” Mira knew she was catching Savannah at a rare raw moment. “Suddenly you’ve got it all together while everything in my life is upside down. No boyfriend, no best friend, the cotillion captain hates me. This must be heaven for you to watch.”
It almost sounded like Savannah wished she could switch places with her. Her. The best friend she had dumped. “Savannah, I…”
“Girls!”
Ms. Norberry’s voice floated through the room, and Mira stepped in front of Savannah just in time, blocking Ms. Norberry’s view.
“I’m so sorry,” Ms. Norberry said, out of breath. She had an umbrella in her hand, but she was still drenched. “You have no idea what kind of morning I’ve had! I got to my aunt Bertha’s, and she said she never called! Can you believe? After I drove all the way there?” She shook her head. “I am setting up a doctor’s appointment for her next week.” She stopped. “What are you all doing out here? Shouldn’t you be in the classroom practicing your Japanese bowing technique?”
“We were doing that out here,” Mira lied. “Would you mind if we took two more minutes to practice?”
“Of course not.” Ms. Norberry removed her jacket and looked at her watch. “I’ll see you in the sitting room promptly at twelve ten.” Mira blocked Savannah from view till Ms. Norberry was gone. That’s when she heard her sniffling.
“I don’t want to get kicked out of cotillion,” Savannah pleaded in Mira’s ear. “You and I have waited for this day forever. If Ms. Norberry sees me with this tiara… Please do something.”
Savannah was asking her for help? Why did she feel sorry for her after all she’d put her through—and would still put her through? But it didn’t matter. Mira couldn’t watch her be tortured. “Wait here,” she said, sticking Savannah behind an armchair. She walked over to Dylan and the others. “We’ve found the items and taken all the pictures. Do we really want to risk Ms. Norberry seeing Savannah in her tiara and banning us from cotillion?” The former debs looked at one another. “That would mean no more initiation and no cotillion class for anyone. Who does that help?”
The girl looked at Dylan, who nodded. “Okay.” Mira could hear Savannah exhale. “But don’t ask us for anything again, Mirabelle Monroe. Next time you’re on your own.”
“Thank you,” Mira said. She turned to Savannah, but her former friend was already on her way back to the classroom to try to sneak the tiara back into its case without Ms. Norberry noticing. She hadn’t thanked her, but Mira hoped she was grateful.
At exactly twelve ten, the girls were seated in the sitting room and the tiara was back in its glass case. Ms. Norberry was five minutes into her lecture about carrying tissues in Japan before she noticed the girls’ appearances had gotten very disheveled since their earlier etiquette session. But being the proper lady that she was—and having been the cause of their class delay in the first place—for once, she didn’t say a word.
Fourteen
When Izzie left Grams’s nursing home Sunday afternoon, she had green feathers stuck to her T-shirt, dried glue under her nails, and Magic Marker all over her hands.
She’d spent the last two hours helping the residents make paper turkey crafts using their handprints, feathers, glue, and crayons. When they were done, she displayed them in the center’s windows for the residents’ families to see when they came to take them home Thanksgiving weekend. Grams’s turkey was the only one not on display. She held it tightly as she walked down the path to the bus stop. She stopped short when she saw Brayden sitting on one of the garden benches. “Let me guess: You’re here because you missed being a bingo caller?”
“How’d you know?” Brayden stood up and pretended to grab a mic. “B19! B19! That’s a bingo right there,” he called in a deep voice, pointing to a nearby bush. “Next card will be four corners. That is four corners, everyone.”
Izzie tried not to laugh. “They might have to hire you full time.” Sometimes Brayden could be so cute. Okay, make that all the time. But she tried not to think about that when he was wearing semi-intimidating attire like his Ralph Lauren dress shirt and navy pants with a quilted jacket. She, on the other hand, was tarred in glue and feathers and wearing ripped jeans and a fleece.
“I don’t think this place could afford me,” Brayden joked, “although I probably would do it for free just to spend more time with one resident’s granddaughter.”
Izzie blushed. Sometimes she still wasn’t sure what to say when he made comments like that. She knew he liked her, but they still weren’t technically a couple, and she knew that was partly her fault. Just when Brayden got close enough, she pushed him away. He had hurt her twice before, and part of her was afraid he would do it again. Plus, Dylan’s words of caution were still very much in her head. Would Brayden toss her aside when he decided he was done rebelling against his parents?
“Is that a turkey?” he asked, pointing to her hand.
Izzie held up the craft proudly. The glue from the feathers was still wet. “This is the craft I did with the residents today. Cute, right? I got the idea from Connor’s kindergarten class. I displayed the residents’ in the front windows.” She pointed them out. “This one’s Grams’s.”
“Why isn’t Grams’s up there, too?”
“She’s not coming home for Thanksgiving,” Izzie said, her arm suddenly feeling heavy. She dropped her hand to her side, the turkey stuck to her fingers by glue. “This will be the first time we aren’t together on Thanksgiving since I was born.” Izzie hesitated. “She’s having a lot of health issues, and her nurse doesn’t feel she should leave the center.”
Aunt Maureen had spoken to Grams’s nurse about bringing her to the Monroes’ on Thanksgiving, and the nurse had advised against
it. She could handle Izzie’s visits, but Grams had started to get paranoid and confused lately, especially about her surroundings. She was also taking two new medications, and her diabetes was making things more difficult. To keep Grams comfortable, the nurse felt it was best if Grams stayed in the same place and stuck to her routine. Izzie wasn’t happy about it, but at least she’d known before visiting that afternoon. She had practically done the whole craft for her grandmother herself; tracing her hand, gluing the feathers, dotting the turkey’s eyes, and drawing a waddle. She figured if she and Grams couldn’t be together that Thanksgiving, at least she could take a piece of Grams with her.
“I’m sorry.” Brayden took Izzie’s messenger bag from her and placed it on his shoulder. “I guess it’s a good thing I picked today, then.”
Izzie reached over him and carefully placed the turkey in her bag, praying it didn’t get stuck to her English lit paper. “For what?”
Brayden had a mischievous look on his face. “For your surprise.” She stared at him curiously as he took her hand. It felt nice to hold hands in public, even if they were standing in front of a nursing home. “No questions. You’ll know soon enough.”
That seemed fair. She watched their hands sway as they walked to the bus stop.
It was probably better that Brayden didn’t tell her. If he had, she would have lied and said she had to finish her report on Pygmalion (Eliza Doolittle’s rags-to-riches makeover hit close to home). Being in the Townsends’ massive foyer, which led to rooms in every direction, was making her sweat. Just the walk up the driveway was a workout. The Monroes’ house was big, but the Townsends’ house was massive. Like the kind she read about in Mira’s Us Weekly when celebs like Angelina and Brad rented out a house for $45,000 because they were shooting somewhere far from a Four Seasons.