Winter White

by Jen Calonita

  “I guess you won’t be needing that next Saturday,” Mira said.

  “Why not?” He spun the tux toward him. “If you girls still want to go, I will be there.” They looked at each other. “I’m sorry I made you think cotillion was more about me than you. This night has always been yours. You should go. We bought a whole table for the event. We should use it.” He looked at them oddly. “You didn’t officially bow out of cotillion, did you?”

  Mira eyed Izzie. Neither could tell him about the initiation. Even though they could technically still make their debut, it would be social suicide to show up. “We haven’t, but after everything, I think we’re better off sitting it out.” The words tasted bitter coming out of her mouth.

  “If you don’t want me to present you…” their dad began, trailing off.

  “It’s not that.” Mira had to think quickly. “I don’t have an escort.”

  “Make that two of us,” Izzie said, and a smile spread across her lips. “I stand corrected. One of us doesn’t have an escort. If an escort is the only thing stopping you, I think you could get yours back.” Mira gave her a questioning look.

  Kellen. She had forgotten how he fit into this whole twisted puzzle. She didn’t even want to think about what she’d said to him. She hadn’t even given him a chance to defend himself. The things she said were so humiliating, she wanted to erase them from memory. How could she accuse him of taking her painting for the money? He might never forgive her, but she still owed him an apology. “I am not sure I can make that happen, but I’ll try,” she told Izzie.

  “What about Brayden? He isn’t up to escort snuff anymore?” Hayden asked. Izzie didn’t seem to have an answer for that one. “Well, if he doesn’t work out, I have been told I’m an excellent escort.”

  Izzie sighed. “I guess it’s either go with you or ask Kylie, but she’d look pretty strange in a tux.”

  “Kylie is coming?” Hayden asked.

  Izzie looked at him strangely. “I was kidding. She wouldn’t go to the Winter White Ball if you paid her.”

  “And we can’t go, either,” Mira reminded Izzie. “We, uh, didn’t finish our training.” Mira had finally turned her cell phone back on, and it rang to make its presence known. She didn’t recognize the number. Hopeful it was Kellen calling from home, she picked up. “Hello,” she said, and stepped off the porch for some privacy.

  “Hi, Mira. It’s Dylan Townsend.”

  Her stomach gave a small lurch. “Hi.”

  “We missed you at the final initiation today.”

  She knew she’d been cut for not showing up, but was she about to face worse? “Sorry. We had a lot going on.”

  “I heard. Everything okay now?”

  “Yeah,” Mira said curiously. “But how did you…”

  “Let’s just say an old friend of yours explained why there was no way you and Izzie could have made it this afternoon. So you get a free pass. Although you might want to look at the pictures we posted of the others on Facebook.”

  They were getting a free pass? She instantly felt lighter. “Are you sure the cotillion captain doesn’t mind?”

  “Mira, I’m the cotillion captain,” Dylan said. “I would have told you that if you’d been there today, and I also would have given you your final assignment.”

  “Final assignment? But I thought…”

  “We like to give everyone a personal task at the end,” she said cryptically. “Or more like a reward. Yours is going to be speaking at cotillion.”

  Her heart was at full throttle now. “I thought that was usually done by the deb at the top of her class. I didn’t even do today’s initiation.”

  “When you stuck up for Savannah like that during the scavenger hunt, it showed real guts. It was impressive, especially when that girl has, from what I’ve heard, treated you like larva. That’s why we picked you to give this year’s speech.”

  “Thanks,” Mira said in awe. But cotillion was just a few days away! What would she say? How long did her speech have to be? Could she use cue cards? She didn’t want to bother Dylan with the questions.

  “You’re welcome.” Dylan hesitated. “There is one more thing. You have to promise me you’ll get Izzie to cotillion so she can finish her assignment, too. Promise?”

  She wasn’t sure Izzie ever wanted to see Dylan again, but if it meant they could all make their debuts, she’d get her there. “I promise. Thanks, Dylan.” She hung up and joined the others on the porch again. Connor had finally left his LEGO table and made it outside, too.

  Izzie stared at Mira. “So? Who was… that?”

  Mira couldn’t look at her. “Dad, I think you’re right about cotillion. We should go. All of us.”

  “But…” Izzie started to say, her expression strained.

  Mira smiled. There was so much to do in so little time, but she would get it done. She always did. “No buts,” she told Izzie as much as she was telling herself. She took her hand. “We’re going, and it’s going to be spectacular.”

  Twenty-Two

  “Ladies!” Ms. Norberry clapped her hands loudly. “Your formal presentation to Emerald Cove society begins in fifteen minutes!”

  Izzie wasn’t sure anyone heard her.

  The group of girls making their debut had taken over one of the suites in Emerald Cove Castle on the Cliff, where the debutante ball was being held, and the room was sheer madness. Garment bags from pricey bridal boutiques were scattered all over the floor next to ripped stockings and shoe boxes. Makeup for touch-ups covered the bathroom counters, where private makeup artists hogged the mirror space. The rooms smelled overwhelmingly of hair spray, and everywhere Izzie turned, girls were screaming things like “Does anyone have an extra bobby pin?” and “Does this blush make my face look ruddy?”

  Izzie surveyed the scene with amusement. She had never seen Lauren cry before, but she was practically bawling over a jammed zipper on her couture gown from Paris. That outrageously pricey dress had to be jerry-rigged with safety pins, which would have to be covered with a shawl.

  An ethereal Savannah, an annoying vision in the only lilac dress in the room, passed by Izzie with a team of helpers on her trail—make that chiffon train, which everyone was tripping over. Izzie noticed the glance Savannah threw her way. “I think we need to see how my hair and makeup looks in real lighting just to be sure it doesn’t clash with the hydrangea in my hair,” Savannah was saying. “When Brayden sees me at the bottom of those stairs, I want him to remember why he’s lucky to be my escort.”

  Izzie wasn’t surprised to hear Savannah gloat. When Izzie turned Brayden down, she was sure Mrs. Townsend would find a way to put herself back in the Ingrams’ good graces. And since Brayden always did what his mother wanted, she was sure he agreed to escort Savannah. She tried not to picture the two of them entering the ballroom together. Even though she knew she had done the right thing by cutting Brayden off, it still stung.

  A bronzing brush came insanely close to Izzie’s face, and she jumped back. “Dude, I told you, I don’t want that stuff.”

  Her aunt’s personal makeup artist, whom she used for all their important events, turned to Aunt Maureen and held up his makeup brushes in surrender. “She won’t let me touch her,” he complained. “If you don’t want her looking like a pasty doughnut, maybe you can talk some sense into her.”

  Aunt Maureen approached Izzie with a worried glance. “Isabelle? Sweetheart? Won’t you let Jacques put a little bronzer on your cheeks?”

  “Seriously, Aunt Maureen, some of these girls look orange.” Izzie glanced at Lea, who was a shade away from being mistaken for Ernie on Sesame Street. “I feel strange enough in this white dress as it is.”

  Aunt Maureen studied Izzie’s face. Izzie had agreed to wear a flower in her hair for the ceremony. It was a compromise she made for not letting the hair salon pull her short hair back into some tacky updo. Instead, Izzie’s wavy hair was styled into pretty curls that were kept out of her eyes with the gardenia. She didn’t wa
nt to admit it to anyone—especially not the weary hairstylist she had fought with for an hour—but the flower looked pretty. Not that she’d ever be caught wearing one again. If Kylie saw her dressed up and superaccessorized like this, a picture would be up on Facebook in two minutes. This was a one-night-only glamified Izzie. At least that’s what she told herself.

  “How about a darker shade of lipstick, then?” Aunt Maureen suggested. “Or more eye shadow to make the hazel in your eyes pop? Like Jacques did with Mira.”

  “Izzie, are you really still fighting the eye shadow?”

  That night, a swishing sound followed Mira everywhere she went. Izzie could hear her coming without turning around. Her normally curly hair had been tamed into a tiny knot at the back of her head, and she was wearing the tiara Aunt Maureen had worn at her own debutante ball way back when. Mira viewed Izzie with a skeptical eye.

  “Your hair looks beautiful,” Mira said with one white-gloved hand on her hip, “but if you don’t let Jacques put just a little eye makeup on you, you are going to look completely washed out in pictures.”

  “That’s fine by me,” Izzie said, adjusting her long, itchy white gloves.

  Mira made a face. “You have on this gorgeous dress, but your pictures are going to turn out so white and pasty.”

  Izzie’s dress really was spectacular, if she did say so herself. If she had to wear a bridal gown—and she did not plan on wearing one again for a very long time, if ever—then this was definitely the one to have. Simple. No accessories, except for the flower holding the gown together at one shoulder. Aunt Maureen called it classic. It might have been the first time anyone had ever said that about something she had worn. She stared at her reflection in the mirrors that had been brought in to cover every available inch of space (at Ms. Norberry’s request—“We don’t want any of our debs getting a surprise as they are presented, do we?”). She frowned. Her summer tan was officially gone, and maybe the white dress did make her look a tad washed out.

  “Ten minutes, ladies!” someone announced, and the calls of “Who has another safety pin?” and “Does anyone have an extra pair of stockings?” rose to a fever pitch. Izzie was glad she had brought her iPod.

  “Okay, fine,” she said, and a giddy Aunt Maureen waved Jacques back over. He appeared skeptical, not that Izzie could blame him. “If we’re going to do this thing, then let’s do it,” Izzie told him. She popped in her earbuds, turned on her iPod to drown out the desperation around her, and closed her eyes. “I’m all yours, Yoda.”

  Before she knew it, Ms. Norberry was giving the girls their final instructions. They had been herded into another room that was close to the long, scrolling staircase where they would be making their grand entrance. All the mothers had disappeared to take their places at the five-hundred-dollar-a-seat tables they purchased, and now it was just a sea of big white dresses.

  “It has been an honor watching most of you grow and evolve over the last few years,” Ms. Norberry told them with misty eyes. She herself was wearing a floor-length deep purple gown that accented the hydrangeas that covered the staircase and floral arrangements throughout the grand ballroom. “In a few moments, we will be moving into the hall, where your fathers are waiting. Mrs. Townsend will begin making her opening remarks from the top of the staircase, and then she will begin calling your names.” Someone sneezed. The room smelled like so many different perfumes, she was starting to get nauseated herself. “You will proceed down the stairs in time to ‘Thank Heaven for Little Girls,’ which will be playing over the speakers….”

  “ ‘Thank Heaven for Little Girls’?” Izzie gave Mira a look. “Is she serious?”

  “It’s tradition,” Mira sniffed. “Stop with your snide comments. You’re going to ruin this for me.”

  “You’re really okay with doing this without an escort?” Kellen hadn’t forgiven Mira for doubting him, and Mira had spent all day yesterday upset about it, staying in her room and listening to sad Taylor Swift songs. This morning she had emerged with a new attitude.

  “I’m not going to let a silly boy ruin my cotillion.” Mira sounded much more confident than she looked. At least she was trying. “Ms. Norberry has an escort understudy I can use.”

  “An escort understudy?” Izzie deadpanned. “Is that where escorts who aren’t good enough go to die?”

  “There is that sarcasm again,” Mira warned her. “It’s unbecoming of someone about to be presented to Emerald Cove society.”

  “Society? Please.” Izzie wasn’t a fool. “We’re walking out in front of the same people we see at every event. Tonight they just paid five hundred dollars each to see us.” She felt a tap on her shoulder and froze, thinking it was Mrs. Townsend.

  But it wasn’t. It was Dylan. She looked incredible in a knee-length black gown that was both sophisticated yet trendy at the same time. She tried to break the ice with a small smile. “Hey.” She held out a blue envelope. “I have your final assignment.”

  “It’s a little late for that, don’t you think? We’re seconds from starting.” Izzie’s voice was hard, and she wished Mira would tell Dylan to scram. She looked over. Mira was gone. If Mira had abandoned her to put on another coat of lip gloss, she was going to kill her.

  “… and then after you walk with your father, you will be greeted by your escort at the bottom of the staircase,” Ms. Norberry continued. “He will lead you onto the dance floor for your first dance.” The girls were buzzing with nervous chatter, and Ms. Norberry was straining her voice to be heard.

  Dylan tried to give her the envelope again. “You have time to get this done. You don’t have to open it in front of me. I know I’m the last person you want to talk to.”

  Izzie would rather stare at the back of Savannah’s egg-shaped head than look at Dylan. “I guess you finally got one thing right.”

  “Look, I know I got carried away. My mother makes me crazy,” Dylan said. “But I shouldn’t have dragged you into our family dystopia. Despite what you might think, I really do like you, Izzie. We’re a lot alike.”

  “No, we’re not,” Izzie said sharply. “I would never use someone the way you used me or your brother.”

  “I know,” Dylan said. “You’re a better person than I am, and that’s why you’re so good for Brayden.” She glanced at Izzie’s dress. “I guess I was jealous of your relationship with him. He stood up for you in a way he never did with me. You see, I once had an ‘Izzie,’ too, so to speak.” She smiled. “Andy. I called him Andrew in front of my mom, but she knew the minute she met him that he wasn’t from around here, and she never let me forget it. She did everything she could to keep us apart, and no one tried to stop her. Brayden didn’t have it in himself to fight for me yet. He could barely fight for himself.” Dylan wrung her hands at the memory. “When Andy and I got in that accident together, there was no turning back. My mom blamed it all on him, even though I was driving, and she shipped me off to boarding school without even giving me a chance to explain.” Her eyes seemed sad. “I haven’t talked to Andy since.”

  Izzie wasn’t sure what to say. What Dylan had done to her and Brayden was still wrong, but she felt bad for her suddenly.

  Dylan shook her head as if to push the memory away. “I’ve moved on, but when I saw you that day at Scoops with my brother, it felt like I was watching the whole thing play out all over again. I couldn’t let it. I knew I had to get him to fight for himself, or get you to fight for you.” She shrugged. “I guess I failed at both. All I did was make everyone around me miserable.”

  Izzie folded her arms. “That’s for sure.”

  Dylan grimaced. “The difference between you and me is that you keep Brayden real and he needs someone like that to keep him from turning into those soulless droids in my house. Don’t give up on him, okay?”

  It was too late for that, but she didn’t tell Dylan. “I’ll try.”

  “Read my note. I know you’re going to have a great time tonight if you let yourself,” Dylan told her. “Me, I’l
l be ducking out of here pretty soon. Doing it once was enough.” She raised her eyebrows. “But you’ll like it more than you want to. Trust me. Especially the food.” Dylan stepped back into the crowd, nudging her way through the future debutantes. “The lamb chops are outrageous. Don’t tell my mom I said that,” she added. “They’re her favorite, and I do not want her to think I like anything she likes.”

  Izzie shook her head. When Dylan was gone, she turned the envelope over in her hand.

  Ms. Norberry tried to get their attention again. “Ladies, if you could put on your white muffs, being careful not to crush the delicate hydrangeas on the top, we will proceed down the hall to the left, where your fathers are waiting.”

  Excited gasps were heard around the room. Izzie couldn’t stop thinking about Brayden. He had wanted to go to cotillion with her, but she had said no. Was she wrong to blame everything that happened on him? She thought about that as she walked over to where former debs were handing out their muffs. Izzie stuffed hers under her arm (to the gasp of one girl) and opened up her note from Dylan. How was she supposed to have time to complete an assignment when she was about to be presented?

  Izzie, if you’re reading this, then you must care just a little about this whole cotillion business, and that shows you’re better equipped to survive EC than I ever was. Your final assignment is simple: Make your debut into this crazy, self-absorbed world. No matter what happens on that staircase tonight, keep going. Avoid making the scenes I’m so famous for. And smile. You have such a pretty one, and I hope I’ll get to see it from where I’m watching. If I don’t, maybe I will the next time I swing through town. I owe you dinner—make that ten dinners—for all the trouble I caused. Enjoy tonight! XO, Dylan