Stealing Bradford

12

“DID TAYLOR MAKE A SCENE?” asked Eliza as she picked up her usual tossed green salad and lemon juice.

“Sort of…”

“What Taylor doesn’t seem to get is that it will do her no good to make more enemies.”

Suddenly, DJ remembered what she’d read about being kind to her enemies. She hadn’t been very kind to Tina and Madison. Certainly, she hadn’t put them down like Taylor had, but she had stood by Taylor. Wasn’t that like guilt by association? Still, those girls had thrown her bag on the floor. Was she supposed to take that lying down?

“I’m putting together a plan,” said Eliza quietly as they got in line to pay. “We’re going to help Rhiannon get Bradford back.”

“How is that even possible?” asked DJ as she balanced the tray with her food and Taylor’s.

“Trust me, it’s possible.”

“What about how things turned out last night?” she reminded her.

“I’ll admit that was sort of half-baked. But my new plan is flawless.” She winked at DJ. “You in?”

DJ didn’t know what to say.

“Don’t tell me you’re taking Taylor’s side?” said Eliza. “Don’t you even care about Rhiannon anymore?”

“Of course, I do. I’d do anything to help Rhiannon. What Taylor did to her was totally wrong.”

Eliza smiled. “There, that’s better.”

“So what’s your plan?”

Eliza put her forefinger over her lips. “Top secret…for now.”

“Right.” DJ felt slightly compromised, but wasn’t even sure why. Still, she assured herself that Eliza would never do anything mean. She just wasn’t that kind of a girl. Probably she was going to give Rhiannon a pep talk and makeover and maybe work out a way to convince Bradford that he still really liked her. Something like that.

“Coming to our soccer match tomorrow?” Conner asked DJ as she was carrying her tray to the table. “It’s the first home game of the year.”

“What time?”

“Three.”

“Hopefully, I’ll be done car shopping by then.”

“You’re getting a car?”

“According to my grandmother, I am.” She shook her head. “It’s so she doesn’t have to play Carter House chauffeur anymore.”

“So, you’ll be the chauffeur?”

“I guess.”

“Still, it’ll be cool having your own wheels. What’re you going to get?”

“I have no idea, but Taylor offered to help me pick it out.”

“You’re not letting her, are you?”

“Mrs. Carter liked that idea.”

“Man, I hate to think of what Taylor might pick for you. Probably a Corvette or Mustang.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, my dad’s always saying how those are the most dangerous cars on the road. More people get killed in them than any other car.”

DJ nodded. “Okay, definitely no Corvettes or Mustangs.”

“I’m pretty sure that goes for Firebirds and Camaros too.” She laughed as she set the tray on the table. “Like I’d even want any of those stupid cars. And I seriously doubt my grandmother would either. But thanks for the advice anyway.”

“What kind of cars?” asked Taylor as DJ set her food and her change in front of her.

Without going into all the details, DJ explained that Conner was advising her on what kind of cars not to get.

“That’s great,” said Taylor, “but how about some advice on what you should get?”

Soon everyone at the table was giving their two cents’ worth of car information to her, and by the time they exhausted the subject, she felt completely confused. “Hey, where’s Rhiannon?” she asked when she noticed she was missing.

“She said she was going to spend her lunch hour finishing up an art project,” said Eliza.

“Where’s Bradford?” asked DJ, suddenly wishing she hadn’t. What if this was part of Eliza’s plan for reuniting them?

“He’s with his mom,” offered Taylor.

“With his mom?” said Casey.

“Yes, she’s having an exhibit in her gallery tonight—he’s helping her.”

“That’s right,” said Harry. “It’s First Friday.”

“First Friday?” echoed Kriti. “What does that mean?”

“It means there’s an art walk in town tonight,” explained Taylor, like she was the expert. “All the galleries and some of the shops stay open to show the works of local artists. It happens every month on the first Friday.”

“And when did you get to be so knowledgeable about local events?” teased Harry.

“I pay attention,” she said. “I read the newspaper…and…Bradford invited me to be his guest at his mom’s exhibit. That’s what he’s working on today. One of her regular guys was sick, and she needed to get some things up. He got excused for the afternoon.”

“Lucky dude,” said Harry. “Wonder if he needs any help.”

Taylor shrugged. “Guess you could call and offer.” After lunch, Conner walked DJ to drama.

“We’re watching the end of South Pacific,” she told him.

“Again?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure we’ll be sick of it in a few weeks.”

“What part do you want?” She laughed. “I want the part where no acting is involved—a behind-the-scenes part.”

“Maybe you could do lighting.”

“Or I could be the curtain puller.”

They paused in front of the auditorium. “So, do you want to do the art walk with me tonight?”

“Sure.”

“Maybe we could grab a bite first.”

“At the Hammerhead?”

He laughed. “You poor thing. We need to make sure you get out for a high-carb, greasy, fattening meal at least two to three times a week.”

She grinned at him. “You are my kind of guy, Conner.”

“See ya.” Then he leaned over and pecked her on the cheek.

DJ smiled to herself as she went into the auditorium. Having a boyfriend, although it took some getting used to, was kind of fun. Still, she didn’t want things to get as serious as they had on that first date. She would never forget how that had really messed up their relationship.

After volleyball practice, DJ and Casey decided to walk home.

“So, you’re really getting a car?” asked Casey.

“I guess so…”

“You don’t sound too thrilled.”

“Yeah, because it means I’m going to get stuck driving everyone around now.”

“What about Eliza?”

“Well, she’s been nice to share rides, but her grandmother isn’t Mrs. Carter. And if she decides to keep her car to herself, no one can object.”

“Good thing she’s nice.”

“Yeah.”

“Unlike some people. Speaking of witches, how is it being Taylor’s roommate, DJ? Were you afraid to close your eyes last night?”

“She’s not that bad.”

“Are you kidding?” Casey turned and stared at DJ. “She’s totally evil.”

“Not totally.”

“Well, ninety-nine point nine percent then.”

“Yeah, maybe, but I’m trying to be nice to her.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.” DJ considered telling her about the Bible verse. But how do you explain something that you don’t even get yourself?

“Following Eliza’s example?”

“Maybe so.”

Eliza’s car pulled up as they got home. She had the top down, and she and Rhiannon hopped out and waved.

“What’s up?” asked DJ.

“Eliza just helped me take some of my things to the Mockingbird,” said Rhiannon.

“Isn’t that Bradford’s mom’s gallery?” asked DJ. Rhiannon nodded and grinned.

“Gabrielle had already invited Rhiannon to display some pieces. So I helped her take them over.”

“Then we stayed and helped out,” said Rhiannon.

“I can’t wait to email my mom that I spent the afternoon helping at Gabrielle Bruyere’s gallery,” said Eliza. “She’ll be so impressed.”

“So Bradford’s mom is really a big deal?”

“Totally,” said Eliza. “Plus she’s really nice, and she really likes Rhiannon.”

“Aha,” said DJ.

Rhiannon shook her head. “No, it’s not like that, DJ. I just went to help.”

But Eliza winked.

“So, was Bradford around?” asked DJ innocently.

“Oh, yeah,” said Eliza. “And we both just totally ignored him. We were sugar and spice to Gabrielle, but we acted like Bradford had the black plague.”

“Well, I didn’t…” Rhiannon frowned.

“I did it for both of us.”

Rhiannon sighed, holding out a pair of paint-stained hands. “I’m going to go get cleaned up.”

Then after she went inside, Eliza continued to unveil her little plan. “Anyway, Gabrielle finally noticed that Bradford was on the outside of things, and she asked me if something was wrong.”

“And?” DJ was actually getting curious now. How did girls like Eliza and Taylor know how to play these complicated games? Was there an Internet site somewhere that gave stepby-step instructions?

“And I told her about Taylor.”

“What did you tell her?”

“Just the truth.”

“As in?”

“I told about some of the pranks she’d played on you when she was trying to get Conner. Then I told about how she’d stabbed Rhiannon in the back to get to Bradford—those weren’t my exact words, of course.”

“Of course,” said Casey, stifling a laugh.

“What did Gabrielle say?”

“She didn’t say much, but it was clear that she didn’t approve.” Eliza glanced up toward the house as if she thought they were being watched and then continued in a quiet voice. “I let her know that we all think Bradford is a sweet guy, but that we’re concerned that he’s fallen for Taylor’s tricks. I told her that I hope he doesn’t get hurt. And I told her that Rhiannon has been hurt deeply, but that she’s taking it like a trooper.”

“Wow!” DJ just shook her head.

“You are good,” said Casey with open admiration.

Eliza might be good, but DJ wasn’t convinced that she was good enough to get the best of Taylor. So far DJ had witnessed no one, including herself, able to outwit Taylor Mitchell. Still, it might make for an interesting evening.

“It’s the volleyball queen herself,” said Taylor when DJ walked in, without knocking, of course. “Do you have a nickname on the team? Like Spike?”

“Funny,” said DJ.

“Seriously, DJ.” Taylor frowned at her. “How can you stand to walk home looking and smelling like that?”

DJ looked down at her gym clothes. “It beats walking home in heels. Besides I prefer the shower here to the one in the locker room.”

Taylor’s brows lifted. “Aha, I get it. It’s Coach Jones, isn’t it? Does she look at you while you’re showering? I’m pretty sure she was gaping at me this afternoon, pretending to be doing office work, but I felt her looking.”

“Give it a break, Taylor.”

“But they say she’s a dyke—”

“Puh-leeze,” insisted DJ. “That’s way more than enough.” But even when she was in the bathroom, she could still hear Taylor making loud off-color comments, like she thought DJ was still listening and then Taylor would laugh at her own pathetic humor.

DJ drowned out Taylor as she took her time showering. Then she carefully dried her hair and put on a little makeup, finally emerging from the bathroom and hoping that Taylor might’ve gone outside for a cigarette or something. But there she was, sitting in the window seat and flipping through a thick issue of Elle. Suddenly, she held the magazine up. “Don’t you think I look like this model?” asked Taylor.

“Huh?” DJ leaned over and peered at the glossy photo of a sultry-looking young woman who didn’t seem to have a stitch of clothing on, although her private parts were sort of hidden within the shot. “What’s she modeling anyway?” asked DJ.

“Prada perfume, but that’s not the point. Don’t you think I look like Kamila Klimczak’s younger sister?”

“You mean that whole blue-eyed blonde thing you both got going on?”

“Not that, you moron.” Taylor stood up and took the magazine over to the mirror, holding it up by her face to examine it more closely. “I mean the bone structure, stupid, the shape of the face, the slant of the eyes, the full lips—can’t you see it?”

Feeling slightly bad for the blue-eyed blonde joke, DJ decided to be cooperative. She went over and stared at Taylor’s face then the model’s. Finally she admitted that there was a definite resemblance.

“I knew it,” said Taylor, now satisfied.

“Who is she anyway?”

“Just a model from Poland.” Taylor returned to the window seat and kept staring at the photo.

“Do you think you’ll be a model?” asked DJ.

“Your grandmother thinks I could…if I wanted to…but I don’t think I want to.”

“Why not?” asked DJ. “I mean I know why I wouldn’t want to, but you seem to like attention, Taylor. I’m surprised you wouldn’t leap at an opportunity to model.”

“It just seems pretty one-dimensional.”

“Meaning it’s about surface looks and not much else?”

“Pretty much.”

DJ wanted to point out that Taylor was pretty one-dimensional too, but she didn’t.

“Of course, the money can be good,” said Taylor. “And you don’t have to do it forever.”

“They won’t let you do it forever.”

“Duh. But I suppose I could do it for a year or two—until I figured out what I really wanted to do. It might be fun.”

“Not my idea of fun,” said DJ as she flopped down onto her bed. “It sounds more like torture to me.”

“So tell me,” said Taylor. “Which of us is prettier?”

DJ sat up and frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Taylor held up the photo again. “I mean me or Kamila. Who’s prettier? And be honest, I can take it.”

DJ studied the photo. “Well, to be fair, I know for a fact that the photo has been airbrushed and touched up…”

“Just pretend that I’ve been airbrushed too.”

DJ stared at the photo then stared at Taylor. “I think it’s a toss-up,” she finally said. “You’re both beautiful. Happy now?”

Taylor scowled.

“Well, now with that expression, I’d have to say that Kamila wins.”

“What if I were a blue-eyed blonde?” asked Taylor. “Would I be prettier then?”

“Of course not.” DJ firmly shook her head.

“You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not. I think your dark hair, dark eyes—the whole package—is really beautiful, Taylor.” DJ couldn’t believe she was saying this. But maybe it was because of what she’d read in the Bible today about saying good things to mean people. Whatever.

“You know that my mom is Latino,” said Taylor in a slightly serious tone. “And you’ve probably guessed that my dad is black…”

“Not really,” admitted DJ. “I mean, yeah, I knew your mom was Latino.”

“The thing is my dad doesn’t look black. I mean he can pass for Latino too.”

“Oh.” DJ had no idea where this was going or why Taylor was even telling her. Or if it was even true. But she just nodded.

“So, when I was born, it was kind of upsetting.”

“Upsetting?” DJ was just plain confused now. “Why?”

“Because I’m the darkest one in the family.”

“You’re not that dark,” DJ pointed out. “Mostly you look like you’ve got a fantastic tan—one that most girls would kill for.”

“Well, my dad didn’t like it. Not one bit. He even accused my mom of cheating on him, you know, with someone darker.”

“Seriously?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Wow, that must’ve been hard.”

Taylor shrugged. “Hard on them. I’ve gotten used to it.”

“Do you and your dad get along?”

“You mean when he’s not in rehab?”

“Yeah.”

“I guess so. I mean he’s gotten used to me.”

Suddenly DJ realized what time it was. “Oh, I better get ready. Conner’s picking me up in about half an hour.”

“Going out?”

“Yeah, to eat and then that First Friday thing.”

“Guess I’ll see you there then.”

“Guess so.”

Then Taylor closed the magazine, laid it aside, and went into the bathroom. And, as DJ dressed, she tried to figure out what Taylor had just told her. Was she saying her parents didn’t love her as much because her skin was darker than theirs? That just sounded crazy. Or maybe Taylor just didn’t love herself. Whatever it was, it would probably take an experienced shrink a couple of years to get to the bottom of. And DJ just didn’t have time.