Winter White

by Jen Calonita

  ANOTHER MONROE LOVE CHILD FOUND! PLUS: RECEIPTS FROM THE NEW YORK TRIP HE TOOK ON NORTH CAROLINA’S DIME!

  “The Gazette is trash.” Kellen said over her shoulder, and she jumped. She didn’t want him to know how bad things were. She hadn’t realized it herself. This must have been what her dad was yelling about on the phone in Amsale.

  Hayden scanned the article. “No wonder Dad seemed so stressed in New York.”

  “Do you think any of this is true?” Mira worried.

  “No, but people love Grayson Reynolds, and if he says it is true, people believe it,” Hayden said grimly. “Why do you think the photographers were still waiting when we got out of the car at school this morning?”

  “That guy is nothing more than a gossip columnist,” said Kellen.

  “Gossip sells,” Mira said, feeling worse by the second. “Especially about our family.” She cleaned her brushes and placed them back in their holder while Kellen did the same.

  “Someone must be feeding Grayson this stuff.” Hayden took the paper and shot a three-pointer into a trash can across the room. “He has to be getting it from somewhere. Dad’s opponent, the one the Ingrams were backing, dropped out, so it can’t be him.”

  Then who is it? she wondered. She turned to Kellen. “I should go. Are you staying for a while?”

  He nodded. “My mom has to come into town for her hair appointment, so I said I’d hang around and get a ride home with her later.”

  “When is she supposed to be done?” Mira asked.

  Kellen looked at his watch. “Not for another two hours.”

  “I can’t let you beat me to the punch on another masterpiece,” Mira said. “Have your mom pick you up at our house. I’m sure my mom already made dinner.”

  Kellen hesitated. “Are you sure? I don’t want to put you out.”

  “You’re not.” Mira grabbed his arm. “Let’s go.”

  Hayden patted Kellen on the shoulder. “Good luck with her, man. She can be bossy.”

  Kellen grinned. “So I’ve noticed.”

  When Hayden pulled into the driveway, Mira was surprised to find Callista waiting.

  “Hi, guys.” She was fidgeting with her glasses, which was something she seemed to do only when she was nervous.

  “Kellen, my dad’s PR guru, Callista,” Mira said. “Callista, this is my…”

  “She doesn’t have a title for him yet,” Hayden told Callista. Mira glared at him.

  Callista didn’t crack a smile. “Did you guys eat yet?” She pulled two twenties out of her pocket and handed them to Hayden. “Why don’t you go get something? Connor is probably hungry. I’ll go get him for you. Have you seen Izzie? She should go, too.” She adjusted her brown frames absentmindedly.

  “Callista, what’s going on?” Mira asked.

  “Nothing. Why?” Callista checked her phone for messages. She glanced nervously at Kellen.

  “It’s okay,” Mira said. “He knows.”

  Callista sighed. “It’s another Gazette piece by Grayson Reynolds—your father has lost his mind over this one! There are lawyers in his office right now, and he told me to keep you guys away. He’s threatening to sue Reynolds and the Gazette about the story they wrote about him misappropriating state funds. He thinks suing makes him seem less guilty.” She ran her hands through her hair. “I don’t know what to do. We need a turn in this campaign, or your father is not going to have a chance.” She grimaced. “Even I can’t fix every political scandal, and this one is a doozy.”

  If Callista was saying that, then Mira had to assume her dad was in really bad shape. “I’m sure something will work out.”

  “I hope so.” Callista’s eyes locked on Mira’s art bag. “Did you paint something today? You keep promising to show me your work.” Her voice lightened considerably. “Let me see!”

  “This one isn’t done yet,” Mira said hastily, but it was too late. Callista grabbed the bag and slid the painting out of it. As soon as she saw Callista’s face, Mira felt sick. “Wait a minute. Is that your dad? And you?” Her eyes widened.

  Mira grabbed the painting. “Yes, but you don’t have to say anything. No one is going to see this. I’m putting it deep in my closet so it can collect dust.”

  Callista’s face relaxed. “Good. We have enough on our plates already.” She glanced back at the house. “I should get back. Since you know what’s going on, you guys don’t have to go out to eat if you don’t want to. Just to warn you, though, with everything going on, your mom didn’t cook.”

  Hayden looked at Mira and Kellen. “I’m kind of beat. Mira, want to make us those English muffin pizza things Mom always makes? Please?” he pleaded.

  “Okay.” It might be nice for Kellen to see how well she could move around in a kitchen. “Are we going to get in Dad’s way in there?”

  “As long as you make me one, too, you can barricade yourselves in the kitchen,” Callista agreed, and they all headed up the walkway.

  “Can I use your computer before we get sequestered?” Kellen asked. “I forgot to e-mail my social studies paper, and it’s due tomorrow.” He pulled out his flash drive.

  “Sure.” Mira opened the front door and lowered her voice to a whisper so she wouldn’t disturb her dad. She pointed to the staircase. “My room is up the stairs, down the hall, last door on the right.”

  “Thanks,” he said, and headed up while Mira walked to the kitchen to get started.

  Callista tapped the bag still on her arm. “Don’t forget to put that away,” she said. “You don’t want to leave it lying around.”

  “You’re right.” Mira ran back to the stairs. “Hey!” she said, ready to ask Kellen to hide the painting for her. Then she hesitated. Did she really want a boy she liked snooping around her closet? But this was Kellen she was talking about. He wouldn’t care if her shoe rack was a mess. “Can you stick this in my closet for me?” She handed over the bag. “And don’t look at the mess!”

  “I’ll do the whole thing with my eyes closed,” he promised. Mira watched him head upstairs. He had a really cute butt.

  “By the way, this was just dropped off for you.” Callista pulled a bright yellow envelope from her pocket. “It looks cotillionish. At least someone is getting some good news today.” Mira’s name was written in script across the front. She knew without even opening it what this note was about. It had to be her final initiation hazing. Her palms began to sweat as she opened the letter and began to read.

  Mirabelle Monroe:

  You are cordially invited to your final cotillion initiation! It will be a group event because they are so much fun to watch. Meet us on Main Street at 3 pm this Saturday, and wear your favorite Emerald Prep gym T, the shortest shorts you can find, your EP knee-highs, running shoes, and a boa. The rest, leave up to us. See you soon!

  XO,

  Your Cotillion Captain

  Eighteen

  Izzie stood on Brayden’s doorstep clutching an Entenmann’s cake. She stared at the Townsends’ doorbell. It seemed to taunt her. You scared? it said. You should be.

  She was scared. Her first visit to Brayden’s house had been a disaster. She hadn’t seen Brayden since their fight, and he and his family had taken an extended holiday vacation in the Cayman Islands. She kept waiting for him to call her, but he didn’t. She was so hurt, she didn’t pick up the phone, either. Who knew what he was thinking?

  But that Friday afternoon, a text from Brayden came while she was at the nursing home starting the residents’ holiday decorations (she needed weeks to do them since she had to cover Christmas, Hanukkah, and Kwanzaa to satisfy everyone).

  BRAYDEN’S CELL: I’m back from the Caymans. Sorry about last wk. We should talk. Meet me @ my house tonite @ 6 for a dinner w/my rents & we’ll show them why I adore U.

  Izzie wasn’t the kind of girl who accepted a text apology, and she let him know that.

  IZZIE’S CELL: A text sorry? Get over yourself. You can set one less place setting because I won’t be there.

>   BRAYDEN’S CELL: I know apology stinks. At cousin’s baby’s christening & can’t talk, but want 2 see U. Please come tonight and I’ll do the best groveling U have ever seen.

  That was a little better. She texted back that she would consider it, but who was she kidding? She was going! It was easy making Santa hats out of cotton balls after that. She played the evening out in her head, imagining Brayden’s big-time apology. Maybe their fight had even spurred him to reconnect with Dylan. She was only beginning to learn how sibling relationships worked, since she’d never had one before now, so who was she to judge? She’d texted Dylan over the break, too, but didn’t hear back from her. Maybe they didn’t have cell service in the Caymans. She knew she’d see her that coming Saturday afternoon. She had gotten a note about her final initiation assignment earlier that day.

  Before heading to Brayden’s, she called Mira to let her know she wouldn’t be home till after dinner. Then she asked the nursing home receptionist where she could find the closest bakery. There was no way she was showing up at the Townsends’ empty-handed. Too bad the only thing she could find was a quickie mart, hence the Entenmann’s cake. She took the bus and then the town trolley—a historic track that made only a few stops—and now she was playing chicken on Brayden’s doorstep. Suddenly she wished she were home in bed, cuddling up with her pink Lambie.

  Toughen up, she told herself, and pressed the bell, holding it a second longer than she had to because of nerves. She didn’t know how Blackbeard reacted that fast, but she heard him charge the door, yapping like a maniac.

  Brayden opened the door, scooping up Blackbeard, who promptly stopped his caterwauling. For some reason, he looked more baffled than happy to see her.

  “Hi,” Izzie said, feeling uncomfortable. “Am I early?”

  Brayden had on a long-sleeved polo shirt and cords, but Izzie told herself to relax. Mira always said their Emerald Prep uniform could hold up in any formal situation. She’d had no time to go home and change.

  “I… what are you doing here?” Brayden asked. She noticed his pale face and wondered if maybe he had fallen ill.

  “You texted me to come over for dinner, and I brought cake.” She showed him the Entenmann’s box. The cake had a half-inch blanket of chocolate frosting on top. It was so bad and yet so good at the same time. “I know this isn’t crème brûlée, but no one can resist Entenmann’s. Grams and I used to be able to eat a whole cake in one sitting.”

  “Iz.” Brayden’s voice was strained. “I’m sorry I haven’t called since I got back. I haven’t stopped thinking about what happened, but… I know we need to talk. I just can’t tonight.” He hesitated. “Wait, what text?”

  “Your text.” Now she was confused. “The one you sent me.” He stared at her blankly. “You mean you didn’t send me a text?” He shook his head, and her stomach lurched. “Then who did?” she whispered.

  That’s when she heard the laugh. The pitch and tone were unmistakable. Savannah Ingram was in his house. Izzie didn’t even have to ask to know she was right. Brayden’s face said it all. “What kind of game are you playing?” She turned to go.

  Blackbeard started barking again—apparently no one was allowed to enter or leave their house. “Iz, wait a sec! What text?” He ran down the steps after her and grabbed her by the shoulders. “I’m serious! I was going to call you—not text you—tomorrow so we could talk. I do want you to come for dinner. My mother can act like she’s having a root canal all she wants—I don’t care. I want her to know how important you are to me.”

  “That’s what you said in the text!” Izzie yelled over the barking, and pulled out her phone for proof. She half wondered if the text was going to be there. Maybe it was a figment of her imagination. But no, there it was, and the two of them stared at the screen that showed the little text message bubbles to and from Brayden’s cell on it.

  “I didn’t send those,” Brayden said, and then his face hardened. “Dylan.”

  Izzie felt her anger from their fight return. “Of course. Blame her. It’s easier than admitting you double-booked dinner.” She was out of here.

  “Brayden, who is here?” She heard Mrs. Townsend come to the open door. In a simple khaki dress with a thin belt around her tiny waist, Brayden’s mom was dressed for a dinner party, only it was clear now that Izzie wasn’t on their guest list. His mom spotted her in the diminishing evening light and pursed her lips. “Oh, Isabelle. So nice to see you again. Did you have a nice vacation?”

  “Yes, thank you.” Izzie’s eyes turned downward even though she knew they shouldn’t. Ms. Norberry was always stressing how important eye contact was.

  “I’m afraid now isn’t the right time for a visit, though, dear,” Mrs. Townsend told her. “The Ingrams are here for dinner.”

  Like they are every week, Izzie wanted to say. She kept waiting for Brayden to speak up, but the problem was more clear now than ever. He couldn’t stand up to his mother. Izzie couldn’t imagine never being able to speak her mind. But Brayden looked so pained, she almost felt sorry for him.

  Dylan appeared on the doorstep. “You should stay, Izzie,” she said, and her mother looked at her. “Don’t you agree, Mother? We never turn a guest away.”

  “Of course not.” Mrs. Townsend maintained her cool. “I’ll place another setting at the table. That is, if you don’t mind joining us, Isabelle?”

  “She doesn’t mind,” Dylan answered for her.

  “Wonderful,” she said, and Izzie could hear her heels retreating into the house.

  Dylan pulled Izzie up the steps again, and Brayden almost got hit in the face trying to squeeze in the door after her. Dylan and Brayden were in each other’s faces faster than Izzie could close the door behind her. They were nose to nose, looking ready for a cage fight. Izzie felt dizzy. What exactly is going on here?

  “What is wrong with you?” Brayden seethed at Dylan. “First you send Mom and Dad home early when you knew I had something special planned for Izzie, and now you make our fight worse by texting her from my phone and telling her to come tonight? After all we talked about in the Caymans, I thought I could trust you again, and then you do this?” Dylan didn’t say anything. “What are you trying to do here, Dylan?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? I’m trying to help you since no one helped me when I needed it most,” Dylan said angrily. “But if you won’t let me help you, then at least I can help her. She can see what this family is really like tonight and decide if you’re worth the effort.”

  “You’re so selfish,” Brayden told her. “You don’t want to help me or Izzie! You just want to get back at all of us for what happened to you last year.”

  Izzie was so confused. Were they talking about the car crash that got Dylan sent away to boarding school? She had never seen Brayden this angry. Dylan seemed to bring out the worst in him. Did that mean she would do the same?

  “Maybe I am selfish, but I’m the only one in this house who cares.” Dylan’s blue-green eyes were full of determination. “You’ll realize that someday. I’ll meet you both at the table. Or, should I say, in the war zone.”

  Brayden’s eyes seemed hollow when he looked at Izzie again. “You think she’s on your side,” he said quietly. “Everyone always does—but don’t you see? Dylan only looks out for herself. That’s what I was trying to tell you that night. She’s not your friend. She’s just using you to tick off my mother. That’s what she does. She uses people.”

  Izzie’s head felt like it was going to explode. Whom was she supposed to trust? Brayden, who had hurt her one too many times recently, or Dylan, who might not be who she said she was? “I don’t know what to think,” she said miserably. “If you can’t stand Dylan, then why do you like me?” He looked at her. “I am Dylan.”

  “I told you. You’re nothing like her,” Brayden said.

  “Yes, I am,” Izzie insisted. “We have the same style, we like the same books, and she feels the same way about EC that I do.”

  “Dylan feels that way about
EC because she thinks this town turned its back on her.” Brayden was clearly frustrated. “She could never fit in here, but you have! You’ve only been here a few months, and look at everything you’ve done with the Butterflies, cotillion, with your friends. I guarantee you that bothers Dylan. Maybe you like some of the same things, but you are nothing like her,” he repeated. “You don’t hurt people.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” Izzie said, thinking of her father. He was still trying to reach out, and she was still pushing him away. “All I do know is I wasn’t raised like this.” Her eyes caught sight of that scary, giant chandelier in the center hall above them. “I don’t say the right things all the time. I don’t dress the part like all these other girls do, and I don’t care what these people think of me. If that’s not the kind of girl you want, Brayden, then maybe you should go back to Savannah.” Blackbeard was barking madly, and Izzie wasn’t sure if he was cheering on her speech or wanted her to leave.

  Brayden’s expression was stony. “You know that’s not what I want.”

  “Do I?” Izzie asked. “You have a hard time saying it out loud when it matters. You can’t hide me away forever and expect me to still be there. One day, I won’t be.” She didn’t give him a chance to answer her. She headed toward the dining room with Blackbeard at her feet and found the housekeeper dragging a dining room chair to the table. The Townsends, Dylan, and the Ingrams were waiting. Izzie put on her game face.

  “Holden, Vivian, Savannah, I’m sure you know the Monroes’… daughter,” Mrs. Townsend said tersely. “This is Isabelle. She’s going to be joining us for dinner.”

  “Nice to see you again, Isabelle,” said Savannah’s mother coolly. Their last meet-and-greet in a department store dressing room had been cold, too. Whenever Izzie ran into the woman, she somehow screwed up. She didn’t plan on doing that again tonight.

  “How is your aunt, dear?” Mrs. Ingram asked. “She hasn’t been to an Emerald Cove Cares meeting in ages.” She glanced at Mrs. Townsend. “But, of course, it is such a sensitive time for Bill’s campaign.” Mrs. Townsend nodded knowingly.