The Magnolia League

10





During my walk home from the secret garden, I end up literally sopping. Northern California has a nice, cool climate, so I’ve never experienced weather like Savannah’s. Just walking outside is like diving into a bowl of thick, gardenia-flavored soup. I never knew that a bra could get sweaty, but apparently boobs perspire when heated to 102 degrees. It’s so bad that eventually I duck into a driveway, take off my bra altogether, and stuff it into my bag. When I dart out again, I spot a lady watching me from her porch across the street. I just wave and give her my best Magnolia League smile.

My grandmother’s mansion appears to be empty as I walk in. “Miss Lee?” I yell. Nothing. Thank you, sweet Jesus. I run upstairs, unzip my backpack, and dump all the new clothes onto the bed. Blazers by Theory, pants by Joe’s Jeans, a sweater by something called Inhabit. Inhabit what? Am I supposed to live in this thing? Who’s Joe? Rock what Republic? I shake my head. Guess I’m not quite getting this fashion thing yet.

I shuffle to the pretty little antique desk that overlooks the garden and sit down in front of the MacBook that Miss Lee got for me as a welcome present.

“You’ll need it for your studies,” she said. “I expect good grades out of you. Also, you can talk to your friends on the screen. I’m not privy to how it works, but I’m told all the children do it. Khaki’s granddaughter apparently chats with her friend in Japan.”

Madison confirmed this today on our shopping trip. “Oh yeah. Mokiko. She’s awesome. We trade sex tips. They have a whole different way of doing things over there.”

“Huh,” I said, changing the subject. Because you know what? I don’t need sex tips. I may never need sex tips. Reggie and I didn’t have time to go all the way. And honestly, I’m in no hurry.

Not that there wasn’t a ton of sex going on at the RC. It’s a very open place, where people are—as Big Jon would say—“free with their bodies.” But Mom kept things in our cabin pretty strict.

“I manage to keep my clothes on all the time,” she’d say, referring to the nude sunbathers who often populated the RC beach. “So should you.”

Still, we’d talk about it at teatime. Sometimes she’d add stronger herbs if something was wrong; then she called the drink Swamp Brew. The brew smelled like an old horse’s tail and tasted worse, but it instantly made everything better. During those hours, no topic was off limits, including going “all the way.”

“Make sure they say it,” she would stress. “Trust me. It won’t feel all that great, but if you’re with someone you love and who loves you, it will be good and worth remembering.”

“Who was your first time with?”

“It was someone wonderful,” she said. “A good friend, a good person. And that’s the kind of experience I want you to have.”

I always thought that was pretty awesome advice. I never worried about getting to be sixteen or even twenty and still being a virgin. Sure, I have hormones, so I get why kids do it earlier. There are times when all I can think about is rolling around naked in the sand with Reggie. In my fantasy he kisses me, tells me that I’m beautiful and rad and that he loves me and… you know. I always just figured we’d get around to it. No rush.

But now the person I finally found to do it with, maybe—my “someone wonderful”—is more than two thousand miles away. And at this point, it doesn’t look likely that I’ll ever see him again.

Grimly, I open my e-mail, the only reason I ever use the MacBook. I know it sounds weird—Crap! Why does everything I say always sound weird?—but I haven’t really gotten into this Internet thing yet. It just seems like a time suck. At the RC, we had one computer for the whole place, and it might as well have been powered by a sick hamster. It took five minutes just to get a home page up. Plus, all the people I wanted to talk to were around me, anyway, so I didn’t need e-mail or IM or texting or Skype.

But now that I’m stranded away from them all, I’m trying to get into it. Mostly I’m finding, though, that it’s just another way to realize that Reggie’s not missing me nearly as much as I miss him. He’s called only once and e-mailed just twice in three weeks. It’s hard to blame him; the RC has only one pay phone, and then there’s that moon-landing-era community computer. Still, it would be nice if he’d borrow someone’s cell once in a while… or something.

But hang on! An e-mail, finally! Holding my breath, I click on the message and open it:


to: [email protected]

from: [email protected]

Hey Alex! What’s up? Life on the RC is exactly the same.

(Even though I’m not there?)

We played mud ball today

(Wait. Mud ball is my favorite game. And they’re playing it without me?)

with some new kids. They’re in from Oregon, five girls and guys

(Girls? What girls?)

and they’re pretty cool. Katrina is especially funny.

(Katrina?)

Anyway, hope all’s cool in Florida.

(Florida???????)

Bet there are some weird parties down there. By the way, we all might go to the Bluegrass Festival in San Francisco. You know I’m not into that hippie stuff, but I’ll try and nab you a bootleg.

Good times,

Reggie


I close the laptop, feeling completely miserable. Good times? Good times? That’s all he can come up with? I mean, I think about this guy every second. Like, he is constantly taking up valuable space in my brain. And all he can say is “good times”?

Downstairs, I hear the door open and shut. Miss Lee must be home. I spend the next hour hiding in my room, thinking about Reggie playing mud ball with sexy girls and how I’ll be an ostracized, out-of-place virgin for the rest of my days.

Oh my God, I hate my life.

“Alexaaaandria…” My grandmother is just outside the door.

“Hi, Grandmo—I mean, Miss Lee.”

“How are you, dear?”

“Okay.”

She sounds a little suspicious. “What were you doing today?”

For once, I’ve got the right answer. “Shopping with Hayes and Madison. We’re going to a party later.”

“Excellent!” she says. “Darling, do you mind freshening up and then meeting me in my bedroom? I have a couple of items to discuss with you.”

And with that, I hear her footsteps grow fainter. It really is the creepiest thing, how you can just fade away in this place. I pull on my fancy new jeans and one of the black tops Madison picked out, and then I join my grandmother in her silver-walled chambers. Always the perfect, slightly inebriated lady, she’s sitting at her writing desk, sipping a cocktail with Jezebel in her lap.

“What’s up?”

“Well, first of all, Alexandria, I was wondering if Hayes and Madison have prepared you at all for the fact that this Christmas you may be allowed to come out?”

I look at her, stumped. Then it hits me. Oh my God, does my grandmother think I’m gay? That thought—especially after the hours I’ve spent obsessing over Reggie—is so funny that I can’t stop the snort that comes out of my nose.

“You want me to come out?”

“Yes, of course. Have the girls mentioned this to you?”

“Uh… no. I don’t think it’s occurred to them, really. I mean, they know I have… that I had… whatever. They know about Reggie, and he’s a guy. So… you know…”

My grandmother gives me a long, perturbed look and takes a healthy sip of her cocktail. “Would you please get a hold of yourself, dear,” she says, setting the glass carefully on a lacy coaster. “I am talking about your debut. As in the Magnolia League Debutante Ball. Or the Christmas Ball, as we call it around town.”

“Oh! Right. See, I thought you meant—”

“Yes, I understand. Not that I would mind if you were gay, honey. I’m Christ Church Episcopal, you know. Been driven from my house of worship simply because I support those light in the loafers.”

“Light in the—”

“The gay Episcopalian bishops. I fully support them. We all deserve the same chance to serve God, don’t we? I don’t care what you’ve got going on in the sheets. Anyhow, a nice, well-mannered girlfriend would have been just fine for you. However, given your preoccupation with that young man in California, I hadn’t had any thoughts of the kind.”

“Oh.”

Wait—how on earth does she know about Reggie?

“All eyes will be upon you, especially since you are new to this. So what we need to discuss is how to get you up to speed on this training.”

“Training? For a party?”

She sighs impatiently, then continues. “You have the genes, of course, but there are certain codes that you need to learn. Mannerisms, dance steps. That sort of thing.”

“Dance steps? Mannerisms?”

“Please, stop repeating everything I say, dear. You sound like a broken answering machine. I’ve arranged a few sessions in the coming weeks. It’s hardly rocket science—you’re a smart girl, so you’ll pick it up.”

I shake my head, trying to figure out how to let her down easy.

“Listen, Miss Lee. I know you’re coming from the right place. It sounds… really nice, this ball thing. But it’s cool, okay? I don’t really need it. I’ll just go to school and be low-key until graduation, and then, you know, be on my way.”

Miss Lee listens to me, thoughtfully playing with the bling on her bracelet. I make a mental note to get her some literature on blood diamonds. Big Jon used to say for every diamond ring, some kid in Sierra Leone had to lose a finger.

“Alexandria,” my grandmother says sternly, interrupting my thoughts. “Have you ever considered the term destiny?”

“Um… not really. At least, not in this case.”

“Well, believe it or not, it is your destiny to be a Magnolia League debutante. You were born into this extremely privileged group of people. We are leaders in the community. People look up to Magnolia League members. If you don’t act a bit more ladylike, you may not be allowed to come out at the ball with your sisters. And not participating… erodes the custom.”

“I don’t want to erode anything,” I say as politely as I can. “But I’m just not into it.”

She smiles coolly. “Let me put it another way: This is how you earn your keep here.”

“What do you mean?” I say, a bit angrily. “My keep? I never wanted to come here. I was earning my keep just fine at the commune. Remember? I already have a skill.”

“Well, while it is true that you were reported to be good at gardening—a highly valued talent, both there and here, as a matter of fact—I’ll have you know that the head of the place, Jon, was concerned about affording to keep you at the farm. He was actually the one who first contacted me.”

I shake my head at her obvious lie. “I don’t believe you. He didn’t want me to go.”

My grandmother sighs. “Fine. Ask him if you’d like. He really does love you, I think. He just had an inkling that your mother came from money, and I suppose he wanted some.”

“Big Jon doesn’t give a crap about money,” I retort. “The guy runs a communal farm.”

“Even communal farms need to pay their taxes, dear. Nevertheless, the fact remains that you are here, and as a guest in this house, you need to adhere to my rules. I feel I’ve been extraordinarily lenient about most things, but I will not have you disrespecting my organization. I was a debutante, and so was your mother. You are next in line.”

“I’m sorry, I just can’t believe that Mom was—”

My grandmother opens the drawer of her desk with a loud snap, fishes out a picture, and hands it to me. It’s my mother in the white dress I saw the other day. She’s standing on a large marble stairway, surrounded by a group of similarly frocked girls. She looks so pretty, it’s hard for me to tear my eyes away.

“Wow.”

“Yes,” my grandmother says. “She looked exquisite. She was exquisite. Though she wasn’t born that way, Alexandria. Being a Magnolia shaped her. What I’m hoping is that by following in her footsteps, you’ll learn something. Don’t you want to be like her?”

I look away, trying to control my emotions. “She’s the only person in the world I want to be like.”

“Well, then, start your training. It’s a very important step to being part of Savannah’s social circle.”

“Fine. I’ll try to do better. You know, fall in line with this manners thing.” How bad can it be, anyway? “Can I keep this picture?”

“Certainly.”

“Okay, I’d better get ready. Hayes is probably on her way.”

“All right,” my grandmother says. “Oh, and one more thing, Alexandria. I was told you made a new friend today.”

I cock my head. “Damien, the fashion guy?”

“No. Sam Buzzard.”

“Oh yeah. He was cool. I was reading in this strange little garden and—”

“Doc Buzzard, his father, has been our personal health-care provider for some time,” my grandmother says.

“Whose? The family’s?”

“The Magnolia League’s.”

I shake my head. I swear, this town is getting weirder and weirder.

“In this day and age, it’s best to secure one’s health care, dear. But… his family is a bit eccentric. Did Sam say anything strange today?”

“No,” I say. “He was a nice dude. Although I do think it’s kind of odd that he didn’t tell me his father was the Magnolia League’s doctor. I mean, he said he knew the Magnolia League, but… that kind of information would stand out.”

“That is precisely what I’m saying. The Buzzards can be secretive. A bit strange. I would limit my time around them, if I were you.”

“I guess.”

“I would prefer it if you did. Avoid speaking with Sam alone, I mean.”

See, this is where we run into trouble. Because of course the minute my grandmother tells me to do something, what I really want to do is exactly the opposite.

“We’ll see,” I say. “I mean, I’ll certainly try.”

My grandmother stares at me coldly a moment and then drains her martini glass. It really is the oddest thing. Seriously—she must be at least sixty, but she has barely any wrinkles on her face.

“Excellent. Well. Run along and get ready for your social engagement, why don’t you.”

“Okay.” But for a couple seconds, I remain right where I am. For the briefest moment, I feel a little sorry for her. It must be lonely living in this big house with no one but Josie and me. And she lost her daughter, after all, just as I lost my mom.

But if my grandmother is suffering, she doesn’t show it. She’s already picked up the receiver of her fancy phone, which has all her Magnolia League friends conveniently on speed dial. No doubt she’s anxious to line up some fabulous evening plans.

“All right, then, darling,” she says. “Run along.” And with a swipe of her hand, she waves me away.