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Authors: Phyllis Reynolds Naylor

Faith, Hope, and Ivy June (7 page)

BOOK: Faith, Hope, and Ivy June
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Ivy June followed the others to the stairs. From the living room, she heard Mr. Combs saying, “What’s Dad up to this afternoon?”

And a woman’s voice answered, “If it’s not golf, it’s basketball. He can’t wait for the NBA finals.” And then the voice asked, “So how is she fitting in, Robert?” It was a low voice, somewhat impatient, as though if the speaker didn’t receive a prompt reply, she’d provide the answer herself.

“She’s only been here a day, Rosemary, but she seems to be fitting in fine. Went to church with us this morning,” Catherine’s father said.

“You won’t have to drive her all the way back when she leaves, will you?” the woman’s voice continued.

“It wouldn’t be a problem,” Mr. Combs answered.

The girls entered the living room, Ivy June trailing behind Catherine’s friends.

The woman’s voice said, “Hello, Mackenzie. Hi there, Hannah. Now, what have you done to those curls?” And then she saw Ivy June.

“Rosemary, this is Ivy June Mosley,” said Catherine. “Ivy June, this is my grandmother.”

A woman in her fifties, in a black V-necked dress, her blond hair brushed skillfully into a flip on either side of her head, extended one hand to Ivy June, who shook it cautiously. The woman’s nails were long and cherry red. One leg was crossed over the other, and she wore high heels with a narrow strap across the top.

Rosemary patted the cushion beside her. “Hello, dear. Sit down and let’s get acquainted.” And when Ivy June obeyed, she asked, “How are you liking Lexington so far?”

“Well, I’ve only seen a little bit, but so far I like it fine,” said Ivy June. “I’m eager to see the horses, though.”

Rosemary laughed and dismissed it with a wave of her hand. “That’s all anybody thinks of when they come to Lexington. Horses, horses, horses, and there’s so much more to the city than that.”

“Well, that’s what she’s here to discover,” said Catherine’s father. He smiled at Ivy June. “We’ll keep her busy, all right!”

“But I’m so
curious,”
Rosemary continued, bobbing one foot up and down. “Who really thought up this exchange program in the first place? Was it your school, Ivy June?”

“No, ma’am,” Ivy June said.

“It was Buckner’s idea, Grandma,” said Catherine quickly.

“Grandma
Rose
mary,” the woman corrected her. “Well, then how were you chosen to be the exchange student, Ivy June? I’m sure every girl in your school wanted to come.”

“No, ma’am. Only six of us,” said Ivy June.

Rosemary looked startled. So, actually, did the others. “Why on earth not?”

Ivy June gave a little shrug. “Afraid of the way people might treat them, maybe, I don’t know.”

Mrs. Combs fidgeted in her chair and reached for the glass of iced tea she’d brought into the room with her.

“And how were you selected from out of the six?” Rosemary continued.

“The principal drew my name out of a coffee can,” said Ivy June.

Catherine’s face was turning that funny shade of pink again, but all eyes turned to Rosemary as she said with a laugh, “Catherine had to write an essay to compete, and
you
had your name drawn out of a
coffee
can?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Ivy June, feeling the same tenseness in her jaw she’d felt when Ma and Jessie talked the way they did about Lexington. Maybe Howard was right when he said these people would just be waiting to trip her up.

Rosemary looked victoriously around the room. “Well!” she said. “I guess that goes to show!” And she focused her astonishment again on Ivy June.

“I guess so, ma’am,” Ivy June said, looking straight into the woman’s gray eyes. “Takes a certain kind of courage to be one of the six.”

Mr. Combs burst into applause. “Bravo, Ivy June!” he said, laughing.

“We’re going over to the clubhouse to play volleyball,” Catherine said hurriedly to her parents. And to Ivy June and the other girls, “Let’s go, before it pours again.”

Ivy June stood up as Mackenzie and Hannah edged toward the door.

“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” Ivy June said to Rosemary.

And Rosemary’s eyes narrowed just the slightest bit as she said, “It was nice to meet you, too.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

March 9

I expected Rosemary would be on her worst behavior, and she “exceeded expectations,” as Dad put it. He says that she married into money when she married Gramps and has always been self-conscious about her own background. That’s why she’s so eager to put down someone else.

Dad says that the way Ivy June fired back at Rosemary shows she can stick up for herself. And I’ll have to admit I was a little bit envious of that, because I’ve never had the nerve to say half of what I feel. Our family’s nothing if not polite. We were born polite, I think, which makes me
wonder what Grandpa Combs saw in Rosemary in the first place. Or maybe, as Hannah says, Rosemary’s the reason he’s usually out playing golf.

We headed for the clubhouse afterward, and as soon as we got outside, Hannah said, “I’ll bet you’re glad that’s over!” All I could do was be embarrassed. It felt good to pound that volleyball around. Ivy June must have felt it too, because she sure packed a wallop with that ball!

When I got Mom alone later, I asked what we could do about Rosemary, and she said all we could do was accept her the way she is, because “there’s one in every family.” Peter and Claire didn’t understand the subtlety of what happened there in the living room.

“What?”
they kept asking. “What did Grandma do that was so terrible?”

“She wasn’t terrible,” Mom explained. “She was tactless.” And then it sounded to me as though she was agreeing with Rosemary but would have said it a different way. Part of me is thinking, well, if we wanted Ivy June to be just like us, why did we vote for this exchange program in the first place? And another part of me is thinking that Ivy June has a mouth on her, and underneath her politeness
,
there’s who-knows-what waiting to make itself heard.

It’s all very confusing. If something like this happens at school tomorrow, the teachers can sort it out.

Catherine Combs

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

March 10

This may be the last I write in my journal for a while, because I’ve got more homework than flies on a mule. What I’m wondering is, do the teachers pile on work like this every blessed day, or is it just to show me up? I gave up mud vacation for
this
?

We went off this morning in those short skirts—I had goose bumps clear down to my ankles. But if the other girls have to wear them, I will too. At least here you don’t have to wait a half hour out on the road for a bus—Mr. Combs drives. Then Hannah’s mom picks us up.

Everyone’s friendly, though. There’s a big WELCOME, IVY JUNE sign above the door. Feel like I’m Miss America, almost. Then I walk inside and look like two hundred other girls, can’t hardly tell them apart. I try to put names with faces, but sometimes you just have to go by knees. Seems like the knees look more different than the faces.

Catherine introduced me in every class. “This is Ivy June Mosley, our exchange student from Thunder Creek,” she said. “I know that all of you will help her feel welcome.” And everybody smiled at me like we’ve been friends since first grade.

I notice the teachers don’t call on me much. That’s good, because I haven’t had a chance to look at a single book. Catherine said I shouldn’t have to think of homework my first weekend here, but now I’ve got to study extra hard tonight. I have to take time to write in my journal, though, because I don’t want to forget anything.

Some of the classes are harder than others. Math, for one. History’s boring. I don’t know if Thunder Creek’s ahead of Buckner Academy or what, but we’re on World War II, and they’re still back with Lincoln.

English class is good, though, and I love science. They’re finishing up a geology unit, and I bet it’s no coincidence we’re studying mountain regions of the United States, specifically the Appalachians, and in particular, the Cumberland Mountains. I knew that the Appalachians form a divide between the rivers that flow into the Atlantic Ocean and the ones that drain into the Gulf of Mexico. What I didn’t know was that they’re the oldest mountains in the U.S.

I walked into the science room to see a big diagram of stratified rock, like a slice cut out of a mountain. The class is studying what the earth’s crust is made of, only the layers in the diagram are nice and level, like a stack of lumber. I’ve seen a big cut in a mountain where a road goes through, and sometimes layers are at a forty-five-degree angle. Sixty, even! Like God just leaned against a side of the mountain and the whole thing tipped over.

Everybody wants to eat with us at lunchtime, and they are so polite and sweet their words almost stick to my cheeks. I’m glad Hannah and Mackenzie eat with us, because they don’t have to try so hard to be nice.

The school serves the food, and if Mammaw ever saw the stuff they put on our plates, she’d give it to a dog. Today the choice is between “mystery meat,” as Catherine calls it, or grilled cheese sandwiches. I’ll take a fried egg sandwich on Mammaw’s homemade bread any day.

What’s embarrassing, though, is that every time I open my mouth, it’s like I said something important. I mention how early I’ve got to get up in the morning to catch the bus in Thunder Creek, and the girls’ mouths make a big O, like I just said I have to walk ten miles in the snow.

I’m writing all this from my bed. Got a bunch of pillows behind me. Catherine’s over at her computer, writing an essay for English, due Friday. We’ve got to write two pages on someone who has influenced our life. Catherine’s writing about a teacher she had last year. I thought of writing about Miss Dixon because I like her a lot, but I think I’ll do Papaw instead.

Claire says I can use her computer when I need it if Catherine’s using her own. I never learned the touch system of typing, though, and my handwriting is pretty good, so I may just do my essay in cursive.

I like the Combs family, all but Rosemary. She takes exception to whatever I say. I tell her I’m looking forward to seeing a horse farm, and she says, “Horses, horses, horses! That’s all anybody thinks about, and Lexington is so much more than that!” She might as well have said, “Hillbillies, hillbillies, hillbillies,” because I know that’s what she was thinking.

Peter and Claire fuss with each other a lot, but what else is new? And I like Catherine, but I can tell we’re not anywhere near being close friends yet, because she got a call on her cell phone, and when she switched it to her left ear, just before she left the room, I could hear a boy’s voice. I think she’s got a boyfriend, but she didn’t tell me one word about him after she came back. I wonder where the girls at Buckner ever meet up with boys. Wonder too what Shirl and Fred Mason are up to during mud vacation. Got to remember to send a postcard home to Ma and Daddy so it’ll get there before I get back. Catherine says we’re going to do most of our sightseeing next week, when Buckner goes on spring break. I’ll be glad when that happens, because I already studied the South and wouldn’t want to sit through the Civil War all over again.

Ivy June Mosley

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

BOOK: Faith, Hope, and Ivy June
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