Mixed Bags (4 page)

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.”

“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.”

“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.

Why had this shallow, fashion-obsessed woman dragged DJ into her house of horrors? School hadn’t even started yet, and DJ knew what lay ahead. If she thought last spring was bad, this was going to be much, much worse.

By the time dinner was nearly over—and DJ felt like a large stone had been wedged in the pit of her stomach—it seemed that Grandmother and her designer clones had resolved the clothing storage problem. DJ had been about to suggest an oversized dumpster in the backyard, but she controlled herself. Finally, after the raspberry gelato had been served, she felt it was safe to excuse herself, and—although Grandmother gave her a look that suggested otherwise—she made a hasty exit.

Instead of going up to her room, DJ headed straight out the front door. She wasn’t sure where she was going, or even if she planned to come back, but she was so outta there! She walked and walked, finally finding herself down by the docks where she sat down on a pier post and stared out blankly at the surprisingly calm ocean. She wished she could hop aboard a boat and just float away. Any place would be better than here.

She felt hot tears trickling down her cheeks now, and she wasn’t a girl who cried much. In fact, the last time she’d cried was when Mom died. Okay, she’d cried quite a bit then. But then she was done. She honestly didn’t think she’d shed a tear since then, and she felt silly for crying now. At least no one was around to see it. Not that anyone would care. Not really. DJ felt more cut off and isolated than ever. It had been a lonely year, for sure, but she couldn’t remember feeling quite this lost before.

What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she simply conform to be like Eliza and Taylor and even Kriti and just try to fit in a little? Wouldn’t that be the easiest route? Besides, she knew that her grandmother’s protégés would be the ones to turn heads when school began. They would be perfectly dressed, every hair in place, the kinds of girls that even the popular girls would be whispering about, envious of, and poking fun at. Of course, the Carter House girls would be an anomaly at Crescent Cove High: girls living in a boarding house with an old-fashioned diva who thought she could teach them manners. Talk about a big target. Still it might be safer being part of a big target than being isolated.

DJ took in a long deep breath and slowly exhaled. No, she thought, she would rather hang onto her integrity and be different. Even if it meant being picked on. She was who she was. Sure it wasn’t much, but maybe that was all she had. Maybe it was better to hold onto it.

Besides, she reminded herself, Casey was coming. And Rhiannon. Two girls who were more like her. Maybe the three of them could join forces. Maybe they could even win Kriti or Eliza over to the “sensible” side. Taylor seemed a lost cause. Oh, she had been fun and interesting, if only briefly. But when it came right down to it, Taylor was out for one thing and one thing only—and that was Taylor.

“Hey,” called a male voice from behind her.

DJ jumped so quickly that she almost fell off the pier post, which would’ve landed her in some pretty grungy-looking water down below the dock. Then she looked over her shoulder and saw that Conner was behind her.

“Hey, Conner,” she said, hopping off the pier and hoping that her tears had dried. No way was she going to reach up and wipe them.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing.”

“Did I scare you?”

She shrugged. “I guess you kind of startled me.”

He grinned. “I thought maybe you were going to jump into the water, and then I’d have to make like the hero and rescue you.”

“Yeah, right.” She rolled her eyes. “Just so you know, I’m a good swimmer.”

“I figured, but what if you hit your head on the way down?”

She frowned up at him. “Sounds like you have this all planned out.”

“Nah, but a guy wants to be ready for anything. It was our Boy Scout motto, you know.”

“You were a Boy Scout?”

“Yeah, for a couple of years before my dad took off. I quit after that.”

“What about your stepdad? He seems cool.”

He nodded. “Yeah, he actually encouraged me to get back into it, but I was too old by then. It was pretty uncool to be a Scout in middle school.”

“So what are you up to?” asked DJ.

“Just hanging out. Man, it was hot today.”

“Yeah, I pretty much hid out in the house all day.”

“Wanna get a Coke?”

DJ was surprised by his invitation. So far she and Conner had only played a little basketball together and joked around. Asking her to get a Coke seemed like taking the relationship to a new level. She wasn’t sure.