by Jen Calonita
“So can I get this one?” Izzie asked, looking hopeful. Mira’s mom reached for the price tag hidden near the waist of Izzie’s dress, and Izzie quickly shut her eyes. “I don’t want to know what it costs! Just tell me if it’s too much, and I’ll keep looking.”
Mira’s mom laughed. “It’s more than fine. It’s a bargain.” She winked at Mira.
Izzie opened her eyes. “Really? Okay, then I’m going to change, but first I have to send a picture of me in this dress to Kylie. She can’t believe we flew all the way to New York to buy a dress.” She held out her phone, smiled, and snapped a picture of herself. Satisfied, she hiked up the extra-long dress, revealing her Converse sneakers, and headed back into the fitting room.
Mira was trying on yet another dress she didn’t like when Izzie emerged from the dressing room again. “So does this mean I can go?” Izzie actually sounded excited to stop shopping! She looked guilty. “I mean, I can stay and help if you want me to.”
Izzie would rather sit through a Real Housewives marathon than watch Mira try on more dresses. Her mom would be more help, anyway. Not that she would tell Izzie that. “No, you go sightsee,” Mira said encouragingly.
“Actually I was going to try out the hotel’s indoor pool.”
Mira’s mom handed her a hotel card and some cash. “Take a cab. We’ll see you at dinner, if not before.” When Izzie left, Mira’s mom turned to her. “Now it’s your turn to find your dream dress. I bet it’s the next one you try on.”
It wasn’t. Neither were the next four. Heather Yang was a total bust. So was Vera Wang. Mira’s hopes hinged on Amsale, and those quickly died when her mom got an urgent call from Callista saying Connor had fallen in Central Park. It was just a scrape, but Connor was carrying on, and Mira’s mom had to leave.
“I can’t wait to see which one you pick,” she told Mira before hurrying out. “I gave my credit card to the woman behind the counter. Use your judgment—you’ve looked beautiful in everything you’ve tried on!” She squeezed her tight. “Just pick one.”
Mira sat down on an ottoman in the center of the room and stared at the five reflections of herself in the surrounding mirrors. This gown’s skirt took up the whole ottoman, but it still didn’t feel right.
“Did your prince turn into a pumpkin?” Hayden’s reflection appeared in one of the mirrors.
“What are you doing here?” They were talking, but things had definitely been tense between them since their fight a few weeks ago. She still felt bad for yelling at him.
“Dad sent me to get mom. Connor got…”
“Hurt. Yeah, I know. Callista called. She’s on her way back. Is he okay?”
Hayden nodded. “Nothing a new LEGO set can’t fix. He just wanted Mom.”
“Me, too.” Mira frowned at her reflection.
Hayden parked himself in an armchair. “What’s wrong? Can’t pick a winner?”
“It’s not as easy as it looks.” She stood up, carrying the gown’s skirt carefully so it didn’t drag on the ground.
“Is the gown the problem, or is this about Dad?” Hayden asked.
Mira squinted. “I don’t want to talk about Dad.” They both knew how well their last “dad” conversation had gone. She didn’t want to repeat it in New York.
“Fine.” Hayden didn’t pry, thankfully. “You look great in this one, if you’re looking for opinions.”
Mira placed one hand on her hip and smiled. “You think?”
“Yeah.” His mouth started to twitch. “Kellen will like it.”
Her smile evaporated. “Too bad he’s not going to see it. He hasn’t asked me.”
Hayden rolled his eyes. “Cotillion tradition is ridiculous! Everyone knows you ask who you want. If he hasn’t asked you, you ask him.”
“He doesn’t want to go.” She stepped into the dressing room to change. Hayden was wrong. This dress was not the one. She hated the ruching at the waist. On to the next. “He thinks cotillion is dumb.”
“It is, but if you want to go, and he likes you, then he should go.” Hayden acted like it was so simple, Mira thought.
Mira stared at the new dress she tried on. She didn’t like this one, either. The sleeves were too poufy. She knew they had to wear a wrap if the gown was bare up top, but she still wanted something strapless. Why did she even pull this one? She took it off and grabbed another gown from the rack without even looking at it.
“I don’t know if he likes me,” Mira yelled over the dressing room door as she shimmied the dress over her hips. “We’ve only hung out as friends.”
Friends. She was starting to hate that word.
“The friend word blows,” Hayden said. “But maybe this is a good thing. You said yourself everything happened so fast with Taylor. Maybe if you and Kellen take things slow, you can see if you really like each other first.”
Hayden was probably right. She did dive fast into things. Still, the thought of keeping things slow with Kellen bothered her. She didn’t look at this latest dress in the mirror. Instead, she marched out to Hayden to rant. “I keep dropping all these hints about how I like him and zilch!” she complained. “With Taylor, all I had to do was flirt and he asked me out, but Kellen…”
“Whoa.” Hayden stared at her. “If you want Kellen to like you, get this dress.”
What does Hayden know about dresses? she thought. She glanced in the mirror, and her jaw went slack. The strapless floor-length gown had elegant embroidery from top to bottom with a grosgrain ribbon at the waist and a full crinkle skirt underneath. It was sort of old-fashioned and modern at the same time, just like her.
This was “the one.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, I think we have a winner,” Hayden said, seeing her face.
“Yes, we do!” She swung around, watching the skirt lift in the air like a bell.
“That dress looks beautiful on you, Pea.” She heard her dad’s voice and froze. He had just walked in the room. “Is that the one you’re getting?”
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
Hayden just shook his head. “I’ll let them know they can open the champagne,” he said, disappearing before things turned ugly. “Mirabelle Monroe is leaving the building with a dress.”
Mira shot him a withering look.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” her dad said. “Your mom wanted me to come and get you and Hayden. Connor is happily watching a movie and eating ice cream before dinner, so all is calm at the hotel.” He admired her gown again. “Seeing you in this dress reminds me of when you used to play bride. Remember?”
She smiled. “I got the dress for Halloween and wore it everywhere.”
“Even to the supermarket, as I recall,” he said. “I think I remember you wearing it to one of my first state dinners. Your mom was mortified, but I thought it was cute.”
“I don’t remember that,” Mira said, thinking back. She did wear that little white gown a lot. She might have even begged to wear it to preschool.
“Anything for my Pea,” he said, referring again to the nickname he had given her.
Suddenly she felt bad. Izzie might be right. Maybe they were being too hard on themselves and their dad. It was time to get everything off her chest. She held up the bottom of her dress and stepped off the dressing room platform. “Dad, can we talk?”
“I would like that.” His voice got stuck in his throat.
She hesitated. Was she ready to have this conversation in the middle of a bridal salon? Well, it had to happen somewhere. She took a deep breath. “I know I’ve been awful to you lately, and I’m sorry. I’ve been so mad about how everything with Izzie came down. You’ve never hidden anything from me before, and I didn’t know how to react. I think…” Her dad’s cell phone ring interrupted her train of thought.
Instead of ignoring the call, he looked at the ID and his relaxed demeanor disappeared. “Mira, I’m sorry, but I have to take this. This is Bill Monroe. Yes, hello, how are you?” His voice regained its natural jovialness. “
Did you need a quote for the story and the…” His face darkened. “Yes, I’m in New York. What’s that got to do with… No. No, I did not use taxpayer dollars to get here.” His voice shook with anger, startling an Amsale bridal consultant. “My savings and investments pay for my trips with my family, not my office. No. This is a private family trip and I…”
Her dad obviously didn’t care about their relationship if he was willing to take a work call in the middle of her pouring out her guts to him. Whatever the news was, she didn’t care. Mira changed out of the dress as quickly as she could, slipped past her dad, who was now on a full-blown tear, and hurried to the front of the shop to give the salesperson her gown to be wrapped and shipped to North Carolina. She left the shop before Hayden or her dad even knew she had left the dressing area.
Mira didn’t know where she was going, or even how to get back to the hotel. She just wanted to disappear. It was easier to do in a crowd than she’d imagined. Soon, she found herself at Rockefeller Center in front of the famed Christmas tree. It wasn’t lit yet, but she stood at the railing overlooking the ice rink and watched the skaters. Families hurried by, looking happy, talking about Thanksgiving, doing normal family things, but she felt like Scrooge. She walked a little farther and stopped in front of a restaurant window. For some reason, she couldn’t stop staring at a family having hot chocolate together. They were laughing about something Mira couldn’t hear, but there was no mistaking their expressions. They liked one another. Her family had liked one another once. Her own sad reflection in the window against their happy ones was an image she couldn’t shake.
She pulled her sketchpad out of her backpack and began to draw.
Sixteen
Izzie placed her hands over her ears. If she had to listen to another minute of this incessant chatter, she was going to scream. Their latest Social Butterflies meeting had dissolved into total chaos, and they had only been together fifteen minutes.
“Ladies.” Mrs. Fitz clapped her hands hoping to get their attention. Her forehead was sweaty, and Izzie could see she was growing tired of arguing with them. “Can we please get back to the conversation at hand? Save cotillion talk for after meetings.”
The girls continued to ignore her. In the middle of Mrs. Fitz’s typical meeting opening remarks—the ones that included dollars made and spent, and talk of upcoming Butterflies events—Savannah had announced she had found the cotillion dress to end all cotillion dresses. Now everyone was staring at Savannah’s iPhone as she scrolled through pictures of the gown she bought in Paris.
“I can’t believe you found a lilac gown,” Charlotte marveled, staring at the tiny screen. “You match the cotillion theme.”
“I know we’re technically supposed to wear white, but my dress has just a hint of lilac,” Savannah corrected Charlotte. “I called Mrs. Townsend from Paris to make sure it was okay. She loved the idea of me honoring our cotillion theme of lilac and hydrangeas. How could I not get this dress?”
“It had nothing to do with getting your cotillion picture on the cover of the Emerald Cove Herald, right?” Violet asked innocently, and Savannah pursed her pink lips. Every year, the week after cotillion, the town paper put the most beloved deb on their cover. Everyone knew Savannah was campaigning for the spot already.
“My real dress is going to be much more intricate in terms of beading and detail,” Savannah told the others. “But you can see how the back of the gown is taking shape.”
One of the Butterflies gasped. “It has Swarvoski crystal buttons!”
Izzie wanted to strangle Mira for looking. She would not give Savannah the satisfaction.
“Aren’t they lovely?” Savannah admired the photo on her phone. “The neckline is the best part. They’re going to put a fresh hydrangea blossom in the middle, and chiffon lilac straps will emerge from it and tie behind my neck.”
“She looked incredible,” Lea told the group. “Prettier than any Disney princess.”
Savannah’s one out-of-town dream was to be Cinderella in a Walt Disney World parade. She was obsessed with Disney, hence her Aladdin-themed sweet sixteen. “Lea, you’re making me blush! That is so sweet of you to say.”
“Well, it’s true,” said Lauren, afraid of being overshadowed. “You have to send Disney a picture of you in that gown. I bet they create a new Disney princess after you.”
A snort escaped Izzie’s lips. “Sorry,” she said. “I got a piece of hair stuck in my throat.” She glanced at Mrs. Fitz. “Do you think we could get back to the meeting now?”
“Isabelle is right,” Mrs. Fitz said, looking slightly relieved that someone other than her had been the one to interrupt Savannah. “We need to get a status update from our cochairs on what our next event will be. Savannah, do you want to lead us?”
Savannah put down her phone. “But our next event isn’t till almost spring.”
“How can that be? It’s only December,” Izzie reminded her and the others. “We can pull off another event before then.” She clutched her green spiral notebook. She had at least half a dozen ideas in there that she was ready to share.
“If you knew EC, you wouldn’t be saying that right now,” Savannah told her sharply. “Everyone knows December is busy with cotillion, and once January hits, all anyone can think about is Founders Day in March. There is just no time.”
Mrs. Fitz looked at Izzie sadly. “Traditionally, these two events take over the whole town. Nothing gets done till they’re over.”
“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.
“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 they 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 help, and there are so many things we could do as a group that wouldn’t take up a lot of extra time.”
Lea whispered to Lauren, “God, why is she being such a downer?”
“Okay, Izzie. What are your brilliant plans?” Savannah folded her slim arms across her chest.
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 volunteer on a Saturday to help build a house.”
“That’s a pretty good idea,” Mira admitted.
“It’s a great idea,” Violet seconded.
Lea didn’t agree. “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? 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 and tell us what to do.”
“Any other easy ideas?” Savannah tapped 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 said.
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 encouraged.
“It’s not brain surgery,” Izzie said. “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 a car wash—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.
