DJ was feeling slightly hopeful now. Maybe she had misjudged Taylor. Maybe there was more to Taylor than appearance. “I don’t like playing games either,” she admitted. “Well, other than sports. But I guess I’m not exactly a conformer either. In fact, I’m more of an outsider.”
“Well, I’m not saying I didn’t have my own group of friends,” Taylor said quickly, like she wanted to establish the fact that she wasn’t a loser. “And I could mostly trust them, but not always. Part of the problem is that guys tend to like me. So I dated a lot, and sometimes that got messy with some girls, the ones who get jealous. You know what I’m saying?” Taylor peered curiously at her.
DJ nodded like she knew, but the truth was she didn’t. Other than her friend Conner, who she’d shoot baskets with occasionally, she was pretty clueless when it came to the whole boyfriend thing. However, she was not about to admit that to anyone!
“Consequently, there were a few jealous girls at my school. You know, the kind of girls who think they’re better than everyone else and want everyone to know it. The kind who like to make others miserable.”
“So, it’s universal.”
“Yeah, and the dad of one of those girls practically owned Universal.”
“You mean the movie company?”
Taylor nodded. “He didn’t really own it, but the girl acted like he did. And when I started going out with her ex-boyfriend, you’d think I’d committed a felony. And this girl, because of her place on the social ladder, well, she made my life pretty miserable.”
“Oh…” DJ felt like she was in over her head now. Sure, Taylor had problems, but they were a totally different set of problems than what DJ had experienced.
“So, in some ways, it was a relief to leave.”
“Well, you probably won’t have to deal with anything quite like that here,” DJ assured her, although she wasn’t entirely sure about that herself.
She sighed. “Yeah, I guess it could be interesting.”
“I mean there are definitely some families with money in this town—old money, as my grandmother would say. Like that’s somehow superior. So there are a few girls at Crescent who can be a pain.”
“You’ll have to give me the lowdown on them before school starts.”
“Speaking of girls, have you met any of the others yet? Two more just arrived this afternoon.”
“No, I’ve been lying low.” She pointed to the nearly full closet. “And I’ve been freaking over the idea of having a roommate in here. There’s a serious lack of storage in this place. But I’m thinking first come, first serve. My roomie is going to be in for a big surprise when she finds out she only has one tiny drawer for her stuff.”
“You’re not the only one with closet problems. My grandmother is trying to figure out some additional storage solutions. But, besides that, your roommate won’t be bringing a lot of stuff with her.”
“You already know my roommate?”
“Not really well. But she used to live next door to us. She’s actually really nice. Her name is Rhiannon.”
“Rhiannon.” Taylor nodded. “I like that.”
“And she’s a really unique person. Really artistic and creative.”
Taylor seemed pleased. “I like that too. What does she look like?”
“She actually sort of fits her name. It’s Irish, you know, and she’s got this mop of curly hair that’s this great shade of auburn. The weird thing is that she doesn’t like her hair at all. She was talking about dying it black. But I think it’s really pretty as it is.”
“We’re never happy with our looks, are we?”
This surprised DJ. “I’d think you’d be happy.”
Taylor laughed and then took a long drag. “Are you kidding? Don’t you know that girls like me dream about being a blue-eyed blonde?” She shook her cigarette at DJ. “There were times I would’ve killed to have your hair. Is that your natural color?”
DJ reached back to where her ponytail was hanging down from her ball cap. She examined the end of it, which was fairly light, although that was deceiving. “It’s natural, in a way,” she said. “I used to do swim team, and the chlorine bleached it out. That and the sun and I could sort of pass as an almost blonde. Not that I wanted to.” She pulled off her ball cap. “See, it’s a lot darker at the roots.”
“You should get it highlighted.”
“That’s what my grandmother keeps saying.”
“Why don’t you?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Rebellious I guess.”
Taylor smiled. “That’s a weird way to rebel.”
“Speaking of blondes,” said DJ. “We have another one in the house.” Then she told Taylor a little about Eliza and Kriti, including the discussion about designer bags and knockoffs.
“Seriously? Kriti’s family makes good knockoffs?”
“Apparently. I’m not an expert. But I think Eliza is. Her parents are really wealthy, and she said she paid $2,400 for a Bogata Vendetta or something like that.”
Taylor laughed. “You mean Bottega Veneta?”
“I guess…”
“Wow, she has one of those? Her parents must be loaded.”
“Pretty much so.”
“What’s she like? This Eliza Rich Girl, I mean.”
“She’s okay, I guess. I mean I don’t think she’s a snob exactly. Or if she is, she covers it up with lots of southern charm.” DJ imitated the southern accent. “She’s from Louisville and just as cute as a bug in a rug.”
Taylor rolled her eyes. “And the Indian girl, what’s her name again?”
“Kriti. She seems okay too. She’s an academic and doesn’t care who knows it. Her goal is to graduate at the top of her class and get a fantastic college scholarship. And I guess she’s a little into fashion too. At least she knows about fashion because of her parents’ business.”
Taylor’s brows lifted. “Hey, I wonder if Kriti can get us knockoffs at a discount. There’s a $2,000 bag that’s killer. I’ve been dying to get my hands on one. Did Kriti happen to mention if her dad does Fendi knockoffs?”
“Fendi—shpendy! I expect this from my grandmother, but just how do you girls know all these crazy designer names anyway?” demanded DJ. “It sounds like you’re speaking a foreign language to me.”
“It’s probably how you are with sports. You probably know all this jock-girl sports terminology that would be Greek to me.” Taylor snickered. “Of course, it’s not like I want to learn that language either. I would rather be dead than speak jock-eeze. But designers…well, that’s kind of important to a girl who wants to get ahead in this world.”
DJ frowned. “You honestly think that knowing the names of designers is going to help you get ahead?”
“You know what they say: it’s not what you know, but who you know.”
“But it’s not like you really know the designers. You just pay way too much money to buy junk that has their names on it.”
Taylor laughed even louder now. “You really don’t get it, do you, DJ?”
She just shook her head.
“And it cracks me up that you’re so totally naïve. Man, you must give those snooty girls a nice big old target when you go around high school with your head up your—”
“Thanks a lot!” DJ stood now. She’d been thinking she liked Taylor, but suddenly she wasn’t so sure. Taylor was probably just like the rest of the “elite” class girls—snotty and rude and mean.
“Sorry,” said Taylor. She stopped laughing, but her eyes were still twinkling as though she thought DJ was nothing but a great big joke. “But, hey, that’s the best laugh I’ve had in ages. Thanks.”
“At my expense.”
“Toughen up, girl.”
“I am tough,” said DJ. “And I bet I could beat the snot out of you in any sport.”
“Don’t be so sure, Jock Girl.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Tennis?”
DJ narrowed her eyes. “You actually know how to play tennis?
”
Taylor nodded. “You think you could beat me, Jock Girl?”
“You’re on.”
“Name the time and place,” said Taylor.
“Tomorrow morning, the high school courts.”
“It’s a date.”
5
“Sorry, I’m LaTe,” said Taylor as she breezed into the dining room. Everyone else was already seated, waiting for Taylor to join them.
“That’s all right,” said Grandmother with a stiff smile. She nodded to the empty chair next to DJ. “Please join us, Taylor.”
“I thought we were expected to dress for dinner,” said Taylor as she looked at DJ, who still had on jeans and a T-shirt. At least DJ had removed her ball cap—that should’ve made her grandmother happy.
Grandmother cleared her throat and narrowed her eyes on DJ, as if just noticing her apparel. “Yes, that is the goal, Taylor. Unfortunately, I am still training my granddaughter in the social graces. Perhaps you girls can be of assistance with Desiree.”
“Speaking of social graces,” said DJ, turning to glare at Taylor. “I thought we were supposed to be at dinner on time.”
“Now, now,” said Grandmother. “Let’s not be unpleasant, girls. This is our first meal together. It should be a celebration. And to that end, I would like to make a toast.” She stood, raising a wine glass that Clara (now wearing a uniform) had just filled with a red wine.
“Do we all get to make a toast?” said Taylor impertinently.
“Certainly,” said Grandmother, obviously a little off guard.
“Where’s our wine?” asked Taylor.
“Well, you girls are not…well, you’re underage, my dear. Surely you do not expect me to serve you wine.”
Taylor laughed with sarcasm. “No, I didn’t think so.”
“Now, back to my toast,” said Grandmother. “I want to welcome you, the first of the Carter House girls. Here is to the wonderful year ahead of us, a year of growing and learning and becoming lovely ladies who are comfortable and able to conduct themselves with grace in any social situation that should arise.” She smiled at the four girls, took a sip of wine, and sat down. “You may serve now, Clara.”
As Clara served soup, Grandmother gave brief instructions on the proper way to eat soup, explaining that a lady always fills the spoon toward her.
“That’s not how my dad eats soup,” said Taylor. “He said you’re supposed to push the spoon away from you.”
“Yes, dear, but that’s wrong. You see that is one of the ways the British could tell the difference between a distinguished gentleman and a lowly sailor.”
“How’s that?” asked DJ.
“A sailor would push the spoon away from him,” explained Grandmother, “because he had been accustomed to eating soup on the high seas and it was safer to push the soup away from him in case the boat rocked. That way if the soup spilled it was less likely to soil his uniform. A gentleman, on the other hand, had no such concerns. He would simply dip his spoon toward him and gracefully consume his soup.” Then she demonstrated. “Without slurping, of course, and without putting the spoon into his mouth.”
DJ watched the other girls around the table. It was hard to believe they weren’t all laughing out loud at this totally ridiculous discourse on how to eat soup. Good grief, did her grandmother think they were a bunch of five-year-olds? But despite a couple of eye rolls, the other girls didn’t seem too troubled by this idiocy. Even Taylor appeared to be applying the soup-eating tips to her own bowl. Or maybe they were all simply sucking up to her grandmother.
“I assume that you girls have all had a chance to get acquainted,” said Grandmother.
“Well, you’re assuming wrong,” said DJ. “I’m pretty sure Taylor hasn’t met anyone but me yet.”
Taylor tossed DJ a warning glance. Perhaps she was worried that DJ was going to mention that she’d caught her smoking, although DJ had no intention to do so. At least not yet.
“Oh, my,” said Grandmother. “I am terribly sorry, ladies. Let me properly introduce you all.” And then she laboriously went through the tedious “proper” introductions.
“I’ve heard of your mother, Taylor,” said Eliza. “My parents listen to her music sometimes, and I actually like it too. She reminds me of Norah Jones.”
Taylor nodded. “Yeah, she gets that a lot. But the fact is my mom was singing long before Norah Jones was even born.”
“Speaking of music,” said Grandmother as she broke a piece of bread in half. “Can anyone tell me what is playing right now?”
The table got quiet, and the girls listened to what sounded like classical music. DJ knew that it was coming from an old stereo system set up in an antique cabinet in the foyer. Her grandmother had a fairly large collection of old vinyl records, everything from classical to jazz to pop.
“That is Vivaldi,” said Kriti.
“Correct,” said Grandmother happily.
“Do you know what the piece is called?” asked Kriti.
Grandmother looked slightly stumped and then her eyes lit up. “I believe it’s ‘Four Seasons.’”
“Correct,” said Kriti. “But I mean which season is it?”
Now Grandmother was truly stumped. “Winter?”
“No,” said Kriti. “Spring.”
“Well, aren’t you a clever little thing.” Grandmother smiled at Kriti. “Do you play an instrument?”
“I used to play flute,” admitted Kriti.
“And I hear that your dad makes designer knockoffs,” said Taylor.
Grandmother cleared her throat. “We don’t call them knockoffs, dear. Mr. Nahid manufactures quality products at reduced prices.”
“Do you buy from him?” asked Taylor.
Grandmother looked slightly uncomfortable now. “Naturally, I do shop from many of the original designers, but I am not opposed to mixing in—very carefully I might add—a piece here or there that is a bit more affordable. I call that smart fashion.”
Taylor pointed her butter knife at Kriti. “Can we buy things from your dad too? There’s a Fendi bag I’ve been dying to—”
“Excuse me,” said Grandmother. “Taylor, I must ask you not to utilize your cutlery as a pointing device.”
“Oh, sorry.” Taylor put her butter knife down on the table.
“And your butter knife goes like so,” said Grandmother, setting her own knife crossways across the top of her bread plate to demonstrate.
DJ couldn’t help but let out an exasperated sigh. Of course, this did not escape her grandmother’s attention. “Desiree,” she said, “do you have something to say?”
DJ just shook her head and rolled her eyes, another gesture that usually got a rise out of her grandmother.
“I can see we have our work cut out for us this year,” said Grandmother. Then she turned to Eliza. “Eliza, dear, why don’t you tell the girls a bit about what your parents are doing in southern France?”
So Eliza explained how her father had recently purchased an old vineyard and was now doing a painstaking restoration of the acreage as well as the home.
“Tell the girls how old the house is, Eliza.”
“Parts of it are more than six hundred years old, but the latest additions are around a hundred years old.”
“And the size?” persisted Grandmother.
“I’m not sure…” Eliza looked uneasy now, as if she were uncomfortable in the limelight. And DJ couldn’t help but wonder if her grandmother wasn’t exhibiting bad manners to talk about these things. Wasn’t that a little like bragging? And hadn’t her grandmother told her before that it was in bad taste? But so many of Grandmother’s rules seemed bendable. Maybe it was what was called situational ethics.
“I heard the estate was quite large,” said Grandmother. “I believe your father said the manor was close to thirty thousand square feet. That will be quite some undertaking. Good-ness, this house is less than six thousand square feet, and it took me nearly two years to get it completely renovated.”
&
nbsp; “And you still didn’t get the closets right,” said DJ.
“Oh, yes, the closets,” said Eliza. “Have you come up with a solution for storage, Mrs. Carter? Kriti and I are literally buried in clothes. We really do need an annex—perhaps a place where we can keep off-season garments.”
“What exactly is an off-season garment?” asked DJ.
The girls laughed.
“Good grief, Desiree,” said Grandmother with irritation. “Surely, you’re not that ignorant.”
“Well, I wear my clothes year round,” said DJ indignantly. “Even swimsuits, like when I’m on the swim team, I still need them in the winter time. I guess I might have a warm parka or a sweater or two that could be packed away during the summer, but I don’t really see the point. There’s plenty of room in my closet.”
“The point is, you don’t understand fashion,” said Taylor in a superior tone. “You think wearing the same frumpy jeans with a different colored T-shirt comprises a new outfit.”
“I’m just not obsessed with clothes.”
“That is an understatement,” said Taylor.
DJ looked hopefully at Kriti now. “But you said you weren’t that much into fashion either. You said you were more into education than fashion.”
“I do believe education is vitally important, but I also believe that appearances make a difference in how the world receives us.”
Grandmother actually clapped her hands now. “Well said, Kriti.”
“I don’t know,” said Eliza, her expression softened toward DJ now. “I think it’s admirable that DJ has enough confidence to go around dressed like that. It says that she is happy with herself.”
“Or else she’s just given up,” said Taylor. “Kind of like those flip-flops she’s wearing. Seriously, DJ, those things need to be put out of their misery.”
The girls laughed again, and DJ felt like punching something or even someone, not that she’d ever been a violent person before, but maybe that was changing. Maybe DJ was changing. Instead of losing her temper, which she knew would accomplish nothing, she just stared daggers at her grandmother, who actually seemed rather oblivious as she chatted with the other girls, her darling little protégés, about closet space.
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