Mixed Bags Read online

Eliza did not look convinced. And DJ just felt confused. Her bag was a Fossil, and she thought it was perfectly fine, but she’d paid less than sixty bucks for it at Macy’s. Of course, it was on sale. But still, it hadn’t fallen apart, and she didn’t exactly take good care of it.

  “I don’t get it,” DJ admitted. “It’s just a purse, for Pete’s sake. Why does it have to cost so freaking much?”

  “You’re not into fashion, are you?” asked Eliza.

  DJ shrugged. “Obviously.”

  “I noticed that too,” said Kriti in a slightly superior tone. “I find that surprising—I mean, considering your grandmother.”

  DJ rolled her eyes now. “Thankfully, the fashion gene must’ve skipped over me.”

  “So, you don’t care how you look?” persisted Eliza.

  “I care.” DJ frowned. “I just don’t care as much as you do.”

  “Well, I don’t care all that much either,” said Kriti. Although DJ wasn’t sure she believed her now. She might’ve earlier, before Kriti revealed her knowledge of big name designers. “I am much more into education than fashion. My parents researched the school we’ll be attending here. Crescent High may be small, but it has a very impressive academic record.” She smiled. “And I plan to graduate at the top of my class and then get a scholarship at one of the Ivy League schools. Harvard perhaps.”

  “What year are you?” asked Eliza.

  “A junior.”

  “You look younger,” said Eliza.

  “Actually, I am. I was moved up a grade. Plus, I’m small. People always assume that means I’m younger. Still, I can’t do anything about my size.”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Here are Miss Nahid’s bags,” announced Inez as she shoved the mismatched luggage into the room.

  “Those are your bags?” said Eliza with open disapproval.

  “I know,” Kriti said. “They are pretty ugly. But it was what we had on hand. My father promised me a new set of Ralph Lauren knockoffs by Christmas. He said to throw these out as soon as I unpack.”

  Eliza laughed. “Good idea. Maybe we can have a bonfire out back.”

  Kriti unzipped a bag and began to remove her clothes, carefully laying them out across the bed. “I assume there are hangers,” she said as she shook out a jacket.

  “I’m already running short,” said Eliza.

  “What am I supposed to use?” asked Kriti.

  “I don’t know.” Eliza frowned as she looked at all the items that were still piled on her bed.

  “Just because you were in the room first doesn’t mean you get to use my hangers,” pointed out Kriti.

  “Yes, I realize that.” Eliza turned to DJ now. “The fact is I’m worried there’s not enough closet space here. Does your grandmother have a plan for this? I could store some of my off-season things elsewhere.”

  “These closets do seem to be a little on the small side,” observed Kriti.

  “There’s plenty of room in my closet,” said DJ.

  “That’s not surprising,” said Eliza a bit too smugly.

  “This is an old house,” said DJ, feeling slightly defensive now. “I don’t think it was ever meant to have gigantic closets.”

  “Obviously,” said Kriti.

  “Can you please check with your grandma?” asked Eliza. “Find out what her plan is for storing our overflow of clothes.”

  “Right.” DJ backed out of the room, eager to get away from what was starting to look more like a clothing boutique than a bedroom. “I’ll let her know there’s a problem.”

  Then, suddenly, as DJ was going down the stairs, she felt hopeful. Yes, there was a problem. Her grandmother had bitten off more than she could chew. Perhaps she should consider this and get out of this crazy scheme before it was too late. In fact, that was just what DJ intended to tell her. She would convince her to cut her losses and send everyone—maybe even DJ—packing.

  She hunted around until she finally discovered her grandmother discussing the next week’s menu with the cook. Rather, they were arguing about it.

  “You can’t possibly serve all those carbohydrates,” said Grandmother. “That is six portions of carbs on Monday alone. The girls will all be as fat as pigs in a month.”

  “What do you have against carbohydrates?” said Clara in an angry voice. “This is food we’re talking about, right? What am I supposed to fix?”

  “I am simply saying that you have too many servings of things like potatoes, rice, and bread. You need more vegetables. And desserts should be things like fruit and gelato. Cakes and pies are out.”

  “Is this a boarding house or a prison?” demanded Clara.

  Grandmother frowned down at the dumpy, middle-aged woman. “It wouldn’t hurt you to cut back on carbs yourself, Clara.”

  “Well!” Clara fumed.

  “Excuse me,” said DJ, thinking it was a good moment to interrupt.

  “No more than two servings of carbs per day,” Grandmother commanded Clara. Then she turned on her heel. “What do you want, Desiree?”

  DJ quickly explained the need for more closet space, and her grandmother actually looked concerned, as if this had not occurred to her.

  “And I’m wondering,” continued DJ, feeling she was on a roll. “Maybe this isn’t going to work out. I mean already Eliza and Kriti are fighting over closet space and—”

  “They’re fighting?” Her grandmother glanced back at Clara, who was probably listening. Then she took DJ by the elbow and guided her out of the kitchen, through the living room, and into her office, where she closed the door. “What are you saying? Are Eliza and Kriti really fighting?”

  “Well, they haven’t come to blows, but Eliza used most of the storage space, and Kriti doesn’t have any hangers and—”

  “I’ll order more hangers.”

  “But the closets are too small,” said DJ. “These girls came with a lot of stuff. Did you see how many bags Taylor had? I’ll bet she’s filled up every bit of space in the blue room by now.”

  “That shouldn’t be such a problem.”

  “Why not?”

  Her grandmother waved her hand. “Oh, I don’t need to go into that just yet. But I can guarantee that her roommate won’t be bringing a lot of things.”

  “Who is her roommate?”

  “Rhiannon.”

  “Rhiannon? As in the girl who used to live next door? The one who used to clean the house for you?”

  “Yes.”

  “She’s one of your residents?”

  “I’ve made an arrangement of sorts.”

  “Don’t tell me she’s going to clean house for you in return for her room and board?”

  “No, of course not.”

  DJ did not get this. All the other girls were about money and fashion. Rhiannon was a nice enough girl, and pretty too, but her mom was a little bit strange, not to mention a little bit broke since her divorce. And, due to financial problems, they had moved away about a month ago. DJ had actually been disappointed to see them go.

  “So, how is it that Rhiannon is going to live here?” asked DJ. “What kind of arrangement?”

  “If you must know, I am being charitable.”

  DJ was shocked. “Really?”

  “Please, do not repeat it.”

  “Wow!”

  “So, you see, Taylor shouldn’t be too concerned over closet space.”

  “But why can’t Rhiannon be my roommate?” demanded DJ. “I mean, unless I don’t need a roommate. That’d be cool with me.”

  “No, I had other plans for you.”

  “What plans?”

  “Well, I was waiting to surprise you, Desiree, but if you must know…”

  “Who is it?” demanded DJ.

  “Casey Atwood.”

  “Really?” DJ hadn’t seen Casey since right after her mom had died, almost a year ago.

  Her grandmother nodded. “Deborah called me just a week ago. It seems Casey got into some trouble in school last year.”

  �
��Casey got into trouble?” DJ had a hard time believing that. She had known Casey for as long as she could remember. In fact, Casey was the closest thing to a cousin that she’d ever had. Their mothers had been best friends since childhood and, although the Atwoods had lived a few hundred miles away in the Bay Area, their families had gotten together a lot. Even after DJ’s parents divorced, they continued to be friends with the Atwoods. “What kind of trouble did Casey get into?” asked DJ.

  “She got into the wrong crowd at school. Deborah was worried that Casey might turn to drugs, or worse.”

  “What’s worse?”

  Her grandmother just shrugged. “So, she is coming here.”

  “Is she a charity case too?”

  “No, but she is getting a reduced rate. I call it my Friends and Family plan, and I do expect you to keep it quiet.”

  “Still, it’s hard to imagine Casey getting into trouble. Her family has always been kind of religious. It seemed like they went to church about five times a week.”

  “I don’t know about that, but I do know that Deborah seemed relieved that Casey was joining us, and she specifically asked that Casey room with you, Desiree. She thinks you will be a wholesome influence on her.”

  DJ chuckled. “And what do you think, Grandmother?”

  “I think you need to lose that horrible ball cap, and we need to figure out how and where we’ll get more closet space for everyone.”

  Despite her earlier plan of talking her grandmother out of this whole thing, DJ experienced an unexpected pang of sympathy for the old woman. It was surprisingly sweet that she was letting Rhiannon come here. And having Casey as a roommate, well, that almost seemed too good to be true. And, even though she hadn’t seen her for almost a year, she couldn’t imagine how Casey could’ve gotten into trouble. Maybe her ultra-conservative parents had simply overreacted.

  4

  DJ was on Her way TO Her room when she thought she smelled something burning. Worried that the house might be on fire, she began sniffing around. Finally, she determined the source was coming from the blue room, the room that Taylor had been assigned. DJ hadn’t seen or heard a peep from Taylor since she’d taken her to that room nearly three hours ago. Hopefully, Taylor hadn’t set herself on fire in protest of being placed in the Carter House against her will.

  DJ knocked quietly on the door.

  “Who is it?” barked Taylor.

  “It’s me, DJ. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she snapped.

  “I smell smoke,” said DJ. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Just then, the door burst open, and a hand reached out and grabbed DJ by the arm and jerked her into the room.

  “What is your problem?” Taylor demanded as she leaned against the closed door and took a long drag from a partially smoked cigarette.

  “You’re smoking,” observed DJ. The blue room, filled with smoke, looked even bluer now.

  “You’re brilliant.”

  “Thanks.”

  Taylor let out a long, slow puff of smoke. “Are you going to tell Grams on me?”

  DJ coughed. “No, but it’s not allowed, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “And you’ll set off the smoke detector.”

  Taylor nodded over to the bed where what used to be a smoke detector was now in several parts, consisting of wires, white chunks of plastic, and a battery. “I don’t think so.”

  “Why don’t you smoke outside?”

  “Because it’s hot out there.”

  “Oh…”

  “So, you’re really not going to tell your grandma?”

  “Do you want me to?”

  “I don’t really care. I figure I can get myself kicked out of here within a week if I try hard enough.”

  “You’re really that opposed to being here?”

  Taylor shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought I was. But maybe I’ll give it a try.”

  “Why don’t you stay with your mom?”

  Taylor sort of laughed as she snuffed out the cigarette in a soap dish that she’d confiscated from the bathroom. “She doesn’t want me.”

  “Why?” asked DJ. “She seems like a nice lady.”

  “Oh, yeah, she’s nice. She’s just too wrapped up in her life, her career, and, more lately, her lover, to want to be bothered with a kid.”

  “Oh.”

  “What about you?”

  “Huh?”

  “What about your dad? Or is he dead too?”

  “He’s alive.” DJ tried not to think too hard about her dad’s lack of interest in her life, or how he’d shoved her off onto her grandmother last spring, resulting in this half-hatched plan to board potential models.

  “Well, why aren’t you living with him?” demanded Taylor.

  “He remarried a while back. My parents were divorced before my mom died. My dad’s new wife, Jan, well, she’s younger, and she had twin girls about a year ago. I lived with them for a while, but Jan assumed I was the built-in babysitter, and when I didn’t always agree, things got a little ugly.”

  “That sucks.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  Taylor shook out another cigarette and then held the pack out toward DJ. “Want one?”

  DJ actually considered it but then shook her head. “I’m kind of into health. I do sports; I need a good set of lungs.”

  “Whatever.”

  “So, how about your dad?” asked DJ. “Why aren’t you with him?”

  “My dad…” Taylor paused with her lighter just inches from the tip. She snapped the lid on the lighter closed, returned the cigarette back to the package, and frowned. “Ever heard of the Betty Ford Clinic?”

  “For alcoholics?”

  “Bingo.”

  “Your dad is there?”

  “For like the fifth time.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Anyway, when he’s not at Betty’s place, he’s usually off doing something where a teenage kid doesn’t exactly fit in. Not that I haven’t tried. But my mom puts her foot down. Despite her selfishness with her own life, she still has this sense of parental responsibility where I’m concerned. Or so she says.”

  “My dad puts on that act too,” admitted DJ.

  Taylor went over to where she was still unpacking her bags and removed a purple dress that looked more like something you’d see on the red carpet than in a high school girl’s closet. She hung it on a hanger and then held it up to herself and looked in the full-length mirror on the closet door.

  “That’s pretty,” said DJ. “Was it for a special event?”

  “A party.”

  “Must’ve been quite a party.”

  She nodded. “Oh, yeah.”

  DJ coughed again. The leftover cigarette smoke was starting to make her eyes burn. “Do you mind if I turn on the fan in your bathroom? To clear the air, you know?”

  “Whatever.”

  DJ went and turned on the fan, noticing that the counter was filled with some very expensive-looking products and cosmetics. Taylor appeared to be pretty high maintenance—maybe even more so than Eliza. Still, other than her bad-girl attitude, which actually seemed to be improving slightly, she was rather interesting.

  “Have you lived here very long?” Taylor asked as she put a fur-trimmed denim jacket on a hanger.

  “I moved here last spring…just at the end of the school year.”

  “So, did you go to the high school here?”

  “For about a month.”

  “What’d you think of it?”

  DJ shrugged. “It was different from where I’d gone in California.”

  “Different how?”

  “Well, some things were the same—I mean, same kinds of cliques—but I guess what was different was trying to figure where I fit in. It’s like everything had changed. I guess it’s been changing ever since my mom died and I had to leave my old school. Starting over is kind of hard.”

  “Tell me about it.” Taylor put the jacket into her nearly ful
l closet and then went back to her pack of cigarettes. But this time before she lit one, she asked, “Do you mind?”

  DJ shrugged again. “Maybe I could open a window? It’s probably starting to cool off a little by now. The ocean breeze usually picks up around this time of day.”

  “Sure…whatever.”

  DJ cranked open the window and then sat down on the window seat next to it. The fresh air was still a little warmer than the air-conditioned house, but it smelled good.

  “So, where did you used to fit in?” asked Taylor. “Like before your mom died? Were you popular? Or a jock? Or what?”

  “Kind of in between. I did sports, but I was pretty much well-liked. I had a variety of friends. I was happy.”

  “Happy in high school. That’s something you don’t hear every day.”

  “How about you? I mean, I’d think you’d be popular. I mean your mom’s a celebrity, and you’re really pretty.”

  “Well, it’s not as simple as it seems. You see, where I went to school, almost everyone had parents who were either rich or famous or both, so it’s not like I was anything special. As a result, the girls were totally into their looks. I mean, I can’t believe how many had plastic surgery, boob implants, nose jobs, you name it. On top of that, you had to dress just so. Like everyday was this big fashion show. Really competitive, you know. A lot of pressure to look really hot.”

  DJ nodded like she understood, and on some levels she did, but part of this made no sense. “But it seems like you would’ve fit in just fine.” And DJ could easily imagine Taylor blending in with the snooty girls at Crescent Cove High—the kinds of girls that DJ not only disliked, but simply didn’t get. Stuck-up girls were so pleased with themselves and their rich and pretty Barbie-doll-like existence—girls who still had a need to pick on others. Like why should they even care? You’d think they’d be happy just knowing that geeks, freaks, and jock girls were around, if only to make themselves look better. What was the point in torturing the less fortunate? DJ realized she was getting lost in her own thoughts just now. “I mean, you’ll probably be really popular at this high school.” Okay, now that sounded totally lame.

  “Maybe. It’s hard to tell. Popularity is based on a lot of things, including conformity. And to be honest, that just doesn’t interest me much. There are some games I don’t like to play. I’d rather be myself; like you can take me or leave me.”