28

Two weeks before Christmas, my grandmother summons me to her room.

“Alex, it’s time to get serious about the ball,” she says. “Madison and Hayes have done an excellent job with your appearance. Even I am impressed with how ladylike you look as of late. But your manners. They’re atrocious! Every time I see you eat a meal, your elbows are on the table, and Mary Oglethorpe even said she heard you belch in public.”

“Gas is natural, Miss Lee. You should just be glad I’ve started shaving my armpits.”

My grandmother glowers at me. “Alex, Magnolias represent something in this town. Grace. Power. We strive to be examples of what a lady should be. These traditions are important. You go around acting like a barnyard animal and you’re going to drag the whole League down.”

“Okay, okay.”

“Work on it, please. Study Emily Post. As for your dress—well, obviously, that’s very important.”

“Obviously.”

“I’ve set up an appointment for you, Madison, and Hayes this afternoon at Damien’s showroom. He should be able to take care of things. I assume Thaddeus will be your escort to the ball?”

“I guess.” Because he’s so weird about the Magnolias, I haven’t officially asked him yet.

“That’s an excellent choice,” Miss Lee says. “Of course, you’ll have attendants as well. I’d set that in stone soon, if you can.”

“Sure,” I say.

Satisfied, she waves me away, and I go back to my room to get ready to go shopping. Pausing in front of the mirror, I note that my skin has completely cleared up, morphing into the same alabaster glow that Madison and Hayes have. My hair is shiny and long. Even the color of my eyes looks somehow deeper. I open a dresser drawer and take out a photo of my mom and me that was taken two years ago. The girl in the picture looks like a different person—plump and ruddy but happy. Would my mother even recognize me now? I stare in the mirror, looking for any sign of her I can find. Nothing. Disappointed, I grab my bag and head out to my car.

I know. I know. But after getting bicycle grease on my new size-zero J Brand cargoes last week, I decided to let my grandmother buy me that car she’s been bugging me about. Two days ago, Josie presented me the keys to a green Mini Cooper convertible. It’s so new that it still smells like the cappuccino machine at the dealership. On the way to the car, I stub my toe on a half-buried can. Crouching down, I see it’s a can of Red Devil lye, buried at the edge of the garden. Frowning, I start the car. What kind of evil is my grandmother warding off now?

Hayes and Madison are waiting for me in Damien’s private fitting room. Madison, who designed her own dress, is bent over, sewing the trim. Hayes is standing in front of the mirror in her underwear, talking on her phone.

“Jason, no. We already spent the last four days together. I need some time to get ready for the ball.” She pauses, listening. “No, you can’t come here right now. Because I’m busy. And listen—no more flowers. I’m developing a serious allergy, and there’s no more damned surface area in the house to put ’em on, anyway! Look, I gotta go.” Shaking her head, she flips the phone closed.

“Gris-gris a bit too strong?” Madison asks.

“He’s driving me crazy. Seriously. Must have got the blood-pee-verbena ratio confused, or maybe I mixed it wrong.”

“It’ll wear off,” Madison says. “Take his sock out from under your bed. That’s probably overkill.” Sensing yet another question forming, she cuts me off before I can ask. “On top of the rite, she filled his sock with the hummingbird mixture and put it under her mattress. It’s an old New Orleans trick.”

“Is that what you did to Thaddeus last year?” I ask.

Madison looks up from her work. Hayes shifts uncomfortably.

“Thaddeus knows I’m sorry for what I did. It was a mistake.”

“But was that the trick?”

“Yeah. Among other things.”

“My grandmother okayed it?”

“No,” Hayes says. “She went straight to Sina. Now, come on, are we going to try on dresses, or what?”

Case closed, I guess. BleuBelle’s has a killer formal department, and Damien has hung up a small but exquisite selection of white dresses for Hayes and me. A year ago, I never dreamed I’d be into this but, I have to say, trying on couture is pretty fun. We turn side to side, trading gowns.

“Too tight!” Madison barks as we stand in front of her. “Too cheesy!” After an hour, Hayes has settled on a Marchesa gown with crystal trim, but nothing looks right on me.

“I can’t believe it,” Damien moans. “You don’t like anything?”

“It’s not that we don’t like anything,” Madison says somewhat impatiently. “It’s that nothing’s perfect.”

She crosses her arms and looks at me, pursing her pink lips. My face turns red as the old insecurities come back. Is she thinking that I’m too fat for these dresses? Too dumpy? For a moment I can’t help hating her long legs and round doll’s cheeks.

I lost my virginity to her… so I’ll always care about her.

“It’s supposed to be our major spotlight moment,” she continues. “Look how far she’s come. It’s not about covering anymore. This is about fucking celebrating.”

Damien nods. “You know, you really do have a designer’s eye,” he says admiringly.

“Wait! I think I know the dress,” I say, suddenly remembering the gown my mother wore. “It was my mom’s.”

Damien clasps his hands together. “I sold her that dress! Back in the day. It’s a beaded Chanel.”

“Probably too eighties,” Madison comments.

“No, it’s a classic,” Damien assures her. “I remember it perfectly. Well, it does have those puffed sleeves….”

“I can work with that,” she says, granting me a brief, rare smile. “Come on, Moonbeam. Let’s go dig it up.”

While Hayes stays to get some final touches on the gown she’s selected, Madison and I go to my grandmother’s house. As usual, we ride in silence, listening to the music. The house is empty when we enter. Then I remember—the dress is in my mother’s locked room.

“Wait here,” I say. I run upstairs, scaling the outside of the porch. The window is still unlocked from last time. I climb in, noticing that the room is much cooler than the warm fall air outside. We spent such a long time at Damien’s that it’s just about sunset by now—and the room is almost dark.

Suddenly, I see what looks like a black shadow dart into the corner behind the bed.

“Hello?”

Nothing. Nervously, I take the dress from the closet. As soon as I hold it in my hands, I forget about being spooked. The material is so awesome. Once Madison removes the muttonchop sleeves… I hold the dress up in front of the mirror, blinking as I see how much I resemble my mother now. In fact, if I didn’t know better, I’d say she was staring back at me from the mirror.

“Alex!” Madison calls. “Dorkus! Let’s see it.” I dart out of the room and down the hall to my own room, where she’s waiting for me. “Where were you?”

“My mother’s room. My grandmother keeps it locked.”

“Why?”

I shrug. “I have to sneak in. It’s like a museum in there.”

“Well, at least you know boo hags can’t get in.”

“What?” I say, stripping off my clothes and stepping into the dress.

“The Escher on the door. Boo hags and plat-eyes are obsessed with mathematics. Did Sina tell you about those? I’ve never seen one, but if you pay the Buzzards enough, you can use them to scare the hell out of anyone you want. I used one on Orang-Anna when she was getting out of line last year. I’m pretty sure Sybil McPhillips uses them to intimidate her husband’s political opponents. Anyway, a hag would hover for hours outside that door, trying to figure out the puzzle; by daybreak, it would be too late.” She steps back and looks at me critically. “Okay, yes. This is good.”

“You think so?” I turn from side to side.

“Absolutely. Guess we’ve pretty much pared your bod down to your mother’s size exactly. I don’t have to let in or take out anything. Although… those sleeves are going to be a bitch. Give it to me, and I’ll fix it.”

“Thanks.” I change back into my semi-ruined cargo pants and a tank and hand over the dress. Madison puts it in a shopping bag. Just then her phone rings, and she glances at it.

“Oh,” she says. “It’s Thaddeus.” She shrugs her shoulders and answers. “Hello?”

I try not to look as annoyed as I feel. How often do they talk? And why does he still feel the need to be friends with her? I watch her toss her hair and play with a silver earring. She is gorgeous—probably the prettiest of the MGs. Is it possible he’s not over her?

“She’s right here,” Madison says, interrupting my thoughts. She hands me the phone.

“Hi,” he says. “Did you buy a dress?”

“No, but I found one.”

“I just want to say the only reason I’m going to the damned thing is to watch the world’s unlikeliest debutante come out to society.”

“And to watch your sister.”

“Right, that. Hey, can I talk to Madison again?”

“Sure.” I hand over the phone.

“Hello?” Madison cocks her head and laughs. “Sure. See you later.” She hangs up.

“What did he say?”

“What?” Madison tosses off an infuriating shrug. “Oh, nothing. Okay, I’m taking this. See you later.”

As I hear her descend the stairs and head out the door, I can’t help seething. I walk over to my chest, looking at the ingredients I’ve gathered over the last few weeks: a vial of baby tears, goofer dirt, four jars of John the Conqueror root. It should be enough—at least, I hope it is.

I know it’s the wrong thing to do. I promised Thaddeus I wouldn’t. After all, he’s with me now. But there’s a voice in my head that says maybe he’s not, and it’s making me crazy—seriously crazy. The only way to make it shut up is to get in my new car and drive through the deepening dusk out to Buzzard’s Roost.