Winter White (21 page)

“So will you go with me?” he asked, hugging her from behind when he was done with the tickling. His chin nuzzled her neck. “There’s no one else I’d rather go with.”

She could feel the goose bumps on her arms.
Yes
, she wanted to scream, but she hesitated. “Your mom and the Ingrams are going to be mad.”

“My mom knows how upset I was about the other day,”
Brayden said. “She won’t try to force me to do something like that again.”

“Okay,” she agreed, and turned around. It was almost as if she knew what was coming next. Maybe that’s why she closed her eyes and focused on the sound of her own breathing as his lips connected with hers. Even though his soapy hands were getting her shirt wet, she leaned into the kiss. Blackbeard barked, but they both ignored him.

Afterward, Brayden led her into the living room. He pushed aside the cherry coffee table, then walked over to a built-in bookcase with an iPod dock. He scrolled through the songs till he found what he was looking for. Sinatra soon filled the room.

“First dance lesson of the evening is the fox-trot—pretty much because that’s the easiest to master,” Brayden said, motioning the steps.

He walked over and placed her right hand in his left and his right hand on her left shoulder. Her left hand went on his right arm. She was already confused. “This is easy?”

“It is. You’ll see,” he insisted. “It’s pretty slow. Just follow my lead and look down. “Do like I do but in reverse—if I go forward, you go back. Got it?

“No.”

“Just try it.”

Brayden stepped forward with one foot, then the next, while she stepped back with her left, then her right. Next, he
stepped sideways, and she did the same—tripping slightly over her own foot.

“You didn’t say it sped up!”

“It barely sped up. Keep going!”

It was more of the same. Back, forward, side, box step. Some steps were slow, some fast. It got more confusing when they did the promenade, and then the promenade with a spin. But three Sinatra songs later, she felt like she was getting the hang of it.

“I could be on
Dancing with the Stars
!” she joked, staring at their feet moving in time to the beat.

“See? Ready to learn the waltz?” Izzie groaned and dropped her arms. Brayden picked them back up. “You only have less than a month till cotillion,” he said, pushing a hair away from her eyes. “We’re on a
Dancing with the Stars–
type schedule here.”

“Hey, that was my line.”

“I’m stealing it.” He put on an instrumental tune, then took her hands again. He cleared his throat, and his voice rose several octaves. “Pay attention, Ms. Scott.” He sounded like Ms. Norberry. “Ready? One, two, three, one, two, three.”

She repeated the pattern of the steps in her head.
One, two, three, one, two three…
She felt like a klutz when she stepped on Brayden’s foot, but at least he didn’t step on hers. He had dress shoes on, which were much heavier than her flip-flops.

After trying the dance several times, she felt like she was getting the hang of the dance. That’s when Brayden stopped. “Enough work for one day,” he told her. “Let’s see how you really move.” He put Rihanna on the iPod and turned the volume up so high, she could barely hear him. He pulled her toward him and spun her around. Then they separated and danced on their own. Somehow it turned into a mini dance-off.

“When we’re at cotillion, I’m going to wow the crowd with this one,” Brayden yelled over the music, then proceeded to move like he was an automatic sprinkler.

Izzie cracked up. “Oh, yeah? Well, I’m going to do this. I call it the flyswatter.” She started bouncing back and forth, her hands swatting the dead air. “And Ms. Norberry can’t rock moves like my bus driver, either!” She put her hands on a pretend steering wheel and drove around the room. Brayden laughed so hard, he sounded like a hyena. She started cracking up. She hadn’t let go like this in a long time.

“I’ve got one better,” Brayden told her. “This is the Wii remote.”

Izzie watched as Brayden danced around like he was holding the Wii remote for a game of bowling or tennis. She giggled so hard, she sounded like Mira. But she didn’t care. They were having so much fun that neither of them heard the door or noticed anyone was home till the iPod abruptly shut off.

Brayden instantly froze. “What are you guys doing home?”

Mrs. Townsend and Mr. Townsend, Izzie presumed from how much he looked like Brayden, stood in the living room watching them, and they looked less than thrilled. Dylan hovered somewhere in the background.

Mrs. Townsend pursed her lips into what was her version of a smile. A creepy one at that. “We left early. Hello, Isabelle. It’s lovely to see you again.”

“Hi.” Izzie retrieved her flip-flops from the corner of the room. She had kicked them off earlier and now was acutely aware that she was barefoot. It didn’t look like anyone went barefoot in that house. She imagined all the Townsends walking around in fuzzy monogrammed slippers.

“Brayden, you didn’t tell me you were having company.” She stared at Izzie as she slipped on her shoes. “You told me you had a study group.”

“I did,” Brayden said, his voice strained and more serious than it had been all afternoon. “It was with Isabelle. When it ended early, we came here.”

Since when did he call her Isabelle? And they weren’t at a study group. Did he even have a study group today? Why was he lying? Izzie could feel Dylan staring at her.

“Lovely.” Mrs. Townsend’s pursed lips looked even thinner. “I didn’t know you were in the same accelerated classes.” Izzie blinked. That was a dig if she ever heard one. “If you had told me Isabelle was coming, I could have prepared a little snack.”

“We had takeout,” she said, and instantly regretted it. Mrs. Townsend stared at her, and Izzie couldn’t help thinking about what she had on. While the rest of them were dressed for a party, she was in jeans and had glue and feathers stuck to her shirt.

“I’m tired, and I still have calls to make,” Mr. Townsend grumbled, and left the room without even acknowledging Izzie in the first place.

“Okay, dear!” Mrs. Townsend turned back to Brayden. “I hope you didn’t eat too much. We have dinner with the Ingrams in an hour. I told them you were coming, so I’m afraid you’ll have to cut your… study group with Isabelle short.”

“I said study group was earlier.” Izzie noticed Brayden’s shoulders tense. He looked at his mother. “Iz and I are hanging out. Do I really have to—”

“I see that, but unfortunately we have to go. I told them you’d be there, and it wouldn’t be polite for you not to make an appearance.” Mrs. Townsend looked at Izzie apologetically, but she wasn’t buying it.

Izzie waited for Brayden to stick up for himself—and for her—but instead he just stood there and said nothing. He had turned into a robot that followed his mother’s every command. She couldn’t believe it. Was he really going to leave her to hang out at Savannah’s?

Mrs. Townsend clearly knew she had won. “I’ll give you
time to say good-bye to your friend and freshen up before we leave.” She walked by Brayden and adjusted his collar. “Nice seeing you again, Isabelle. I’ll see you at our next function.”

“Yeah, bye,” Izzie said, even though Mrs. Townsend barely gave her a second glance. She wasn’t sure whom she was more mad at. She looked at Brayden. “Thanks.”

“Did it look like I had a choice?” Brayden asked, his face flush with anger.

“You always have a choice! You just chose not to make one,” Izzie seethed quietly, afraid Mrs. Townsend would overhear. “I can’t believe you agreed to go there.”

“You don’t understand how my family works,” Brayden said, his hands motioning wildly. It almost looked like he was doing the sprinkler again, but she wasn’t laughing now. “There is no saying no to my mother ever.”

“So if that’s true, then why do you think she’ll let you escort me to cotillion?” Izzie asked, and Brayden didn’t answer. Izzie felt her chest tighten. “You haven’t told her you want to go with me,” Izzie realized, and he looked away. Her voice was soft. “She’s going to make you go with Savannah, and you’re not going to do anything to stop her.”

“Geez, Brayden, get a backbone, already.”

Izzie had almost forgotten Dylan was there. She was leaning against one of the archways between the living room and the study, watching them fight.

“Are you going to let Mom make your every move till
you’re thirty?” Dylan asked. “I thought you had finally become your own person, but look at you.” She gestured to him disgustedly. “Same old Brayden.”

“And same old Dylan,” he fired back, sounding angrier than Izzie had ever seen him. “Ironic that they came home early from a charity event when they never miss a minute of one. What did you do? Tell them you were sick?”

“Don’t blame this on me. I thought she’d be gone by now,” Dylan said with an eye roll. “Didn’t I teach you anything about sneaking around?”

“Sneaking around?” Izzie repeated. Was Brayden trying to keep her hidden away so his mother didn’t know about them? She was feeling worse by the second.

“All you do is cause trouble, Dylan,” Brayden said.

“Hey, you’re the one who didn’t stand up for your girlfriend,” Dylan said calmly. “What’s wrong? Afraid mommy won’t approve of her because she’s too much like me?”

“Shut up!” Brayden snapped. “Why are you here? No one wants you back in EC, certainly not Mom and Dad. Why can’t you just go to school and leave us all alone?”

Izzie couldn’t believe how mean he was being. She looked at Dylan and tried to see her the way Brayden did. Her red dress, shorter than it probably should be for an event with the Townsends. Piercings, tattoos, and the rebellious look on her face. Dylan didn’t fit in with the Emerald Cove scene. Izzie didn’t look the part, either. She was exactly like Dylan,
she realized. Was Brayden going to treat her like this someday, too?

“You didn’t answer her question, Brayden,” Izzie said quietly, and they both stopped arguing and looked at her. “Is Dylan right? Are you embarrassed of me because I’m so much like Dylan? Is that why you won’t tell your mom about us?”

Brayden glared at his sister instead of Izzie. “You’re nothing like her.”

“Yes, I am, and if you don’t see that, then maybe you don’t know me as well as I thought you did,” Izzie said, the hurt in her voice undeniable.

Brayden exhaled slowly. He wouldn’t look at her. “Maybe I don’t.”

Hearing him admit that hurt more than she’d thought it would. Dylan smiled at her sadly. This was her cue. She was gone before Brayden even turned around.

“Um, Mira? I think your teeth are as white as they’re going to get.”

At the sound of Izzie’s voice, Mira broke out of her trance. She had no idea how long she had been brushing while she stared at her reflection in the mirror. She had been staring at her face a lot lately to prepare for the Sup art contest, and what better place to do it than while brushing her teeth? She studied every laugh line, her less-than-full lashes, the shape of her eyes, the freckle on her left cheek—and yet she was still no closer to sketching. Maybe she should start bringing a pad and pencil to the bathroom. “Sorry,” she told Izzie, and discreetly spit out whatever was left of her toothpaste.

Izzie ran a comb through her wavy hair, which had become unruly overnight. “What were you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” Mira lied. “I’m just tired.”

“Tired, huh?” Izzie teased. “Admit it.” Mira looked at her strangely. “You just like looking at yourself in the mirror. She tapped the gilded gold mirror that extended over both sinks. “Maybe I’ll get you a new one for Christmas. You need the magic kind they have in Disney movies.” Her hazel eyes shone brightly in the bathroom light. “One that tells you how beautiful you are on command.”

Mira threw her wet washcloth at Izzie, who tried to jump out of the way. “Gross!” Izzie complained, wiping her white collared shirt that was part of her school uniform. It now had a huge wet mark on it.

Mira laughed. “Please. Gross is chewing on the ends of all your pencils.”

“It’s called stress relief.”

“It’s
called
a disgusting habit, just like biting your nails.”

“Know-it-all.”

“Grump.”

Izzie picked up Mira’s expensive can of hair mousse like it was a locked and loaded pistol and aimed to spray it at her. Mira, in turn, ripped her towel off her head and held it like a shield. Neither girl heard the knock on the bathroom door.

“Looks like I caught you both just in time!” Mira’s mom said chipperly, and both girls lowered their weapons. “Oh good. You’re both showered and semidressed already.” She
pointed to Izzie’s uniform. “You’re not going to be needing that today.”

“I’m not?” Izzie asked.

Mira started to suspect something was up the minute she saw her mom’s outfit. She usually wore a dress to her Emerald Cove Greeters meetings on Wednesdays, but that morning she had on a pink button-down shirt and slim-fitting tan pants with heels.

“No school,” Mira’s mom clarified. “Both of you get dressed in something casual yet classic.” She frowned. “Just no jean cutoffs. We leave in a half hour, so you better start packing.”