Shades of Doon (16 page)
“These, I’ve missed.” Kenna popped a chip into her mouth and closed her eyes in ecstasy. “Do you think we could open a Lay’s factory in Doon?”
“Ha, ha.” I took a swig of milk. “Speaking of Doon — ”
“Where were you when I got here?”
“I was looking for a way to earn enough money to pay Janet rent
and
get back to Scotland. Do you think your dad could float us the money? I tried to call him this morning but there was no answer.”
“That’s because he’s on his honeymoon in Fiji.”
“What? Your dad got married?”
Kenna glanced down at her paper plate and swirled a blob of grape jelly with her finger. “Missing stuff like that is one of the costs of my choice to live in Doon.” She glanced up, tears glinting in her eyes. “Vee, I have to get back to Duncan. We have to find a way!”
I put down my plate and scooted close, until our crossed knees touched. “We will, I promise. We just have to think. How can we get money fast?”
She licked the jelly off her finger and dabbed at her eyes before grinning at my leopard-print leggings and skin-tight sweater.
“Don’t even go there.”
She giggled. Then her eyes lit up. “What about the MacCrae’s solicitors? They have access to Jamie and Duncan’s fortune — technically, it’s your fortune too. Do you think they’d wire us the money?”
“We could try . . .” I tapped my chin. “What’s the firm called?”
“I don’t know. How many solicitation firms could there possibly be in London?”
I buried my head in my hands, the hope that had surged inside me crushed in seconds. We had to get back to Scotland. But even if we both worked two jobs, it would take us a month to save up the money. Not to mention that neither one of us had passports.
Kenna reached over and snapped the super resilient material of my pants. “We could always sell off some of your mom’s very valuable wardrobe. Speaking of which . . .” I looked up as she dug into the waistband of her yoga pants and pulled out a wad of crumpled bills. “I’ve got eight bucks. Think that will be enough to get both of us some clothes that don’t suck at Thrifty Threads?”
“That’s actually a good idea . . . and today’s BOGO Thursday!” In middle school, we’d loved upcycling at Thrifty Threads, scouring for clothes we could improve and make our own with a few creative alterations. I jumped off the bed, grabbed both our plates, and threw them into the wastebasket. “Let’s go. I don’t want to be here when Janet and the Slob get home.”
Our plans to get back to Doon would have to wait until after we’d found sensible footwear.
The glare of the florescent bulbs inside the thrift store only served to highlight the shabby assortment of clothes jammed into the racks. Upcycling didn’t seem as fun as it used to. I turned to a shelf of shoes and selected a pair of purple Chucks in size nine and a half. “Kenna! These might work.”
She rushed over and cradled the battered tennies like a newborn. “These babies take me straight back to my Goth days!”
The ten-block walk from Janet’s house to downtown Bainbridge required drastic measures for my BFF, and since Janet and I wore a size seven shoe, that left Bob’s closet as her only option. Even after she’d lined her feet with two pairs of clean socks before slipping on the size eleven loafers, she claimed she’d never get the stench out of her skin.
“Think I could put these on now? I’ll just tell the cashier.”
“Go for it.” I shrugged as I turned back to the rack and found a pair of cute lace-up boots in my size.
“That is
so
not fair.” Kenna slipped off Bob’s shoes and kicked them under a rack of dresses. “As much as I love me some Chucks, next to you it looks like I’m wearing clown shoes.”
“
Veronica Welling
, is that you?”
The hairs rose on the back of my neck. That Barbie Doll-on-helium voice could only belong to one person in the universe. My feet rooted to the floor, I glanced over my shoulder. Stephanie Heartford, captain of the cheer squad, boyfriend-stealing bane of my high school existence, stalked toward us.
Kenna moved to my side, our shoulders touching as we closed ranks in our classic defense mechanism.
“And Mackenna Reid! If this isn’t just a sweet little reunion.” Stephanie clasped her perfectly manicured hands in front of her Burberry clad chest. “What are y’all doing here? I just stopped by to drop off last season’s wardrobe. I certainly didn’t expect to see two of my old classmates.”
“We’re dropping clothes off — ”
“ — to make Halloween costumes.”
Kenna and I spoke over one another, making no sense whatsoever. I poked her with my elbow, signaling that I’d do the talking.
Stephanie’s baby blues widened and she scanned us from head to toe, her bubblegum pink lips twisting in a smirk. “I
had no idea the fashions in Europe were so . . .
retro
.” Read: disgusting.
“Yeah, well . . .”
“Ronnie, you did move to Ireland, right?” She gave her head a toss, sending blonde curls tumbling behind her shoulder. “Your mom said you met someone.”
“Scotland,” I corrected, and started to tell her not to call me Ronnie, but she didn’t even pause.
“Oh! Did it not work out? I’m
so
sorry.” She shifted her designer bag in front of her, displaying a gold-embroidered coach and four emblem, and I was hit with a memory of Jamie picking me up in front of the castle in his carriage before the céilidh and presenting me with wild flowers he’d gathered himself. My throat closed.
Sensing blood in the water, Steph’s grin widened. “Eric and I are getting married.” She wiggled the fingers of her left hand, showing off a square-cut diamond engagement ring that must have cost more than Janet’s house. “He’s the new marketing VP at Daddy’s company. Daddy says he’s never seen someone with such a natural gift for business.”
My ex-boyfriend had only graduated because I’d tutored him in three subjects. I had a feeling his new position had more to do with Mr. Heartford making his little girl happy than Eric’s sudden aptitude for marketing. But I didn’t say any of that, instead I blurted, “Well . . . um . . . congratulations.” Flustered, I glanced down at the scuffed toes of Janet’s hideous boots. Part of me wanted to brag right back in Stephanie’s Clinique-spackled face. But what could I say?
Good for you, Steph. I’m a queen. I rule an enchanted kingdom and have a divine Calling with the most amazing boy on the planet.
But I couldn’t say any of that. I felt like a kid again — like that high school girl who had no idea who she was.
Kenna tugged on my elbow. “We need to get going. See you around, Stephanie.”
“Wait. How long are you guys in town? We’re hosting a fund-raiser for the high school. After the flood, they’re in desperate need of a new gymnasium. I just can’t stand the thought of those poor children not having a sports facility for basketball games! And where would the girls practice cheer?”
I almost smiled. That was Steph, saving the world one cheerleader at a time.
“We won’t be here long.” Mackenna shuffled backward. “A few days at most.”
“Well, that’s perfect! The fundraiser is a formal dinner this Saturday at the country club.” Her eyes narrowed as she cupped her hand around her mouth and false whispered, “They have a formalwear section here. I think they still have my old prom dress. Now that I do zumba, it’s too big for me.”
Dropping her hand, her gaze darted to Kenna. “They might even have a few plus-sized gowns.”
“Hey, now.” Kenna stepped up and got in Stephanie’s face. “Just because I’m not a size double zero, that doesn’t make me fat — ”
I grabbed Kenna’s arm and yanked her away from Stephanie, who’d gone sallow beneath her spray tan.
“I — I better go.” Stephanie hightailed it out of the shoe section and then called over her shoulder. “Hope to see you Saturday, Ronnie!”
“Why’d you stop me?” Kenna demanded. “I could’ve snapped her like a toothpick.”
“Yeah, and it would take me weeks to earn enough money to bail you out of jail.” I steered her toward the women’s clothing section. “Have you forgotten you have no ID?”
Kenna groused as we searched the racks, selecting jeans,
sweaters, and matching yellow down-filled coats — not ideal, but the sizes were right, and they were the only jackets we could find that didn’t reek of cigarette smoke. After changing in the dressing room, we plunked down seven bucks and eighty-nine cents and stuffed Kenna’s borrowed clothes in a trash can by the door.
Warm and comfortable, but resembling Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum in our poufy neon coats, we headed back to Janet’s. We walked in silence, my brain churning furiously to form a plan. But short of begging a loan from Steph and Eric — I’d rather swim the Atlantic with sharks on my heels — there was no way around it; we’d both have to get jobs.
But whether we had to work for months flipping burgers or wait for Mr. Reid to return from his extended honeymoon, I would find a way to get us back to the Brig o’ Doon. And then I’d camp on its ancient stones until the portal opened.
I would find a way back to my kingdom and my prince, even if it took the next hundred years.
W
hen we were little girls, Vee always wanted to escape into her favorite stories. Even as a child, I’d known on some level that her parents were at the root of her fairy tale obsession. In a land far, far away, she could believe that something magical waited on the horizon of her life, and that some fated day in the future, someone special would arrive to set her free from the trolls who raised her. But that day wasn’t today.
We walked through the warped front door to discover Janet sitting on the couch drinking boxed wine from a plastic cup at four in the afternoon. Pausing mid-sentence, Vee blinked at the unexpected sight of her half-sloshed parent. “What are you doing home?”
“None of your business.” Janet glowered at Vee. “Did’ja get a job yet?”
Quick as lightning, Vee shifted the plastic bag with Janet’s outfit and Bob’s shoes behind her back. “I’m looking, but there are not a whole lot of options in Bainbridge, Mom.”
“Well, Bob and I talked about it, and if you don’t have a job by the weekend, you’re out.”
Hopefully, we’d have another option by then, like my dad returning early from paradise — because I couldn’t imagine imposing more than one night on Janet and Bob’s “hospitality.” Hoping to ease the tension in the room, I chirped from over Vee’s shoulder, “Hi, Mrs. Welling.”
Janet grunted at me and took another slug of wine.
My bestie jiggled the bag and gestured with her head toward the hall. Quietly slipping the bag off her fingertips, I headed toward Vee’s old room while she blocked me from Janet’s view. “Kenna’s going to sleep over, okay?”
With another grunt, Janet said, “You two’re on your own for dinner. And that don’t mean raiding the pantry. Bob paid for those groceries and he doesn’t stand for freeloadin’.”
“That’s fine. We already ate.” With a resigned sigh, Vee turned away from her waste of a parental unit.
As she shut the door behind us, I plopped on her bed. Her striped coverlet, the one she’d proudly bought with her first dance studio check, had seen better days. Like a white trash version of
Goldilocks
, cigarette burns and grease stains pockmarked the faded fabric as if some chain-smoking fiend had been eating nachos in her bed. Vee noticed what had drawn my focus and said, “Bob’s brother stayed here, for a while.”
As I sprang to my feet, she added, “It’s okay. I washed the bedding this morning. With bleach.”
I collapsed once again onto the sagging bed as Vee quietly opened her door and checked the hall. With a silent gesture, she slipped out of the room to return the borrowed clothing. Her house looked more rundown than I remembered. And not just the house, Bainbridge in general. Granted, it had been a few years since I’d spent any considerable time in my hometown,
but compared to other places I’d lived, Doon and Chicago, the place I’d grown up in seemed devoid of color and vitality.
When Vee returned, she cast me an apologetic smile. “The calendar says it’s Bob’s bowling night, and my mom’s asleep, so we should be fine.”
I suspected “asleep” was code for “passed out cold.” Growing up, Janet had often behaved inappropriately — acting like she was our BFF, doing us up fancy before we had any business wearing makeup, and padding our bras — but in all that time, she’d never been outwardly rude. “Janet’s more . . . intense than I remember.”
“She got fired again.” Vee sat next to me and the ancient mattress dipped so that our shoulders softly collided. “Bob’s gonna have a fit.”
“Why should you care?”
“Because I do, and so should you.” She scooched up toward the headboard and I counterbalanced by scooting to face her with my legs crisscross applesauce. “We’ve got to stay somewhere until your dad gets back. Or would you prefer to take your chances sleeping at the bus station?”
“No.” Although the bus trip had not been overly traumatic, I’d had more than my share of creeper dudes trying to befriend me. “What if we asked Mrs. Russo if we could stay?”
When we were little, Vee, her ex-boyfriend, and I had spent many nights watching
The Goonies
in the Russo’s bonus room. Eric’s mom always had a soft spot for Vee, so after our encounter with Cheerzilla at the thrift store, I couldn’t help wondering how she felt about her new daughter-in-law-to-be.
