Page 13 of Old Money

W e followed the Dales to the club in our own car, and Mom parked in the staff lot, skipping the valet as usual.

I sat hunched forward in the passenger seat, leaning into the last gasp of cool air from the air-conditioner vents.

Theo’s tie had come loose on the drive over, and he was still fumbling with it, cursing in the back seat.

Mom was pretending to ignore it, fixing her lipstick in the rearview mirror, already visibly tense.

She glanced at me with a small, apologetic smile.

Would you? I got out and knocked on Theo’s window.

He muttered one last expletive and got out.

“Fine.”

Theo had just finished his first year at the upper school, which required ties on formal days.

He’d failed to learn to tie it himself, but I—the cat’s cradle master of the lower school—was a natural.

By the end of the year, I’d learned a handful of knots by heart (there was always some ridiculous tie fad with the Wheaton boys), and kind of enjoyed my weird new hobby, if only because Theo sucked at it.

It made him grouchy, asking me for help, but it wasn’t as bad as asking Mom.

He stood in front of me, lifted his chin, resigned. “Not half Windsor,” he hissed. “It’s gotta be four-in-hand.”

“Huh? Why?”

I knew why. The same reason he’d started wearing Dad’s old watch, even though it was broken. The same reason he’d let his hair grow shaggy, fighting off Mom’s scissors all summer. Because all the upper-school boys did—because Patrick Yates had decided it was cool.

“Four-in-hand looks just like half Windsor,” I said. “No one can tell the difference, it’s just harder to do.”

“They can tell,” Theo answered, a thread of sadness in his voice that caught me off-guard. “Please?”

“Okay,” I huffed. “Quit moving.”

He was right. No normie would see the difference—no normie would even bother to look at his tie knot. But everyone in the club would.

***

Caitlin and her parents were waiting on the clubhouse steps, chatting. They all cheered when we came around the corner, as if we hadn’t all left their house fifteen minutes earlier. The three of them made a showy fuss over me in the borrowed dress.

“Just darling,” Aunt Barbara said, then corrected herself. “And so grown-up.”

Caitlin winked at me and mouthed, “Perfect.” Uncle Greg bent to give me his elbow, and everyone laughed. It was embarrassing, but in a good way, somehow, and I felt a bubbly excitement as we entered the club.

The lobby was a crush of bodies: women in white and men in black suits—required dress code for July Fourth.

I hung back by the door, stifled by the fug of perfumed body heat, letting the others walk ahead.

Caitlin, I noticed, had looped a raspberry-pink shawl over her elbows—a thin, silky thing, hanging low across her back.

Aunt Barbara noticed too. She put a hand on Caitlin’s arm.

“Sweetheart,” she whispered. “The shawl.”

Caitlin shrugged. Aunt Barbara raised her eyebrows. A silent exchange passed between them, and just seeing it from four feet away made me hold my breath and look sideways. They whispered at each other for a minute, and then Aunt Barbara called my name.

“Alice, dear.” I turned to see her beckoning me with a smile. Caitlin had her arms crossed.

I scurried over and Barbara put an arm around my shoulder.

“Alice, would you please escort your cousin to the cloakroom?” she asked. “I would, but I fear the humiliation would kill her.”

She reached out with her satin clutch, playfully whacking Caitlin’s arm. Caitlin suppressed a grin, rolled her eyes, then cracked.

“Ugh.” Caitlin groaned, dropping her head back. “Such a drama queen, Mommy!”

She shrugged the shawl off with a performative sigh and took my hand. Aunt Barbara waved us toward the cloakroom, blowing a kiss.

“I thought nonwhite accessories were okay,” I said, as Caitlin guided us through the crowd.

I looked back, searching for Mom’s face. She normally kept close tabs on us at the club, but when I caught her eye across the room, I could tell she wasn’t worried. I was with Caitlin.

“What?” Caitlin said after a pause. “Sorry, did you say something?”

She was scanning the crowd too, I realized. Looking for Patrick. My stomach did a giddy flip.

“The shawl,” I said, gesturing to the offending pink accessory draped over her arm.

“Oh,” she said, paying attention now. “Well, technically no, they’re not allowed. But literally no one cares except my darling mother. Oh, and him.” She smirked, nodding toward the corner of the lobby. “He cares. ‘Dear Mr. Brody.’ ”

I followed her gaze. He was standing apart from the crowd, hands behind his back, in his formal vest and jacket. He looked more formal than the guests.

“He hates me,” I said, thinking of the putrid scowl he’d given me the last time we’d crossed paths.

Susannah and I had been in the break room doing the assigned reading from Great Expectations , with our feet propped up on a metal folding chair.

Mr. Brody had spotted us from the hall and made some icy comment about our grotesque manners.

Thinking about it made my back go straight.

“Oh, honey,” Caitlin guffawed. “He hates us all.”

We found the cloakroom unattended, and all the racks empty.

“In July? Quel surprise ,” Caitlin said, poking her head in. “Guess we’ll have to fend for ourselves.”

She stepped into the little room and took a hanger off the nearest rack.

“Shit,” a small voice whispered behind me, making me jump.

I whirled around, relieved, then irritated. It was only Jamie Burger.

“Oh my God, don’t sneak up on people!” I snapped at him.

“I wasn’t!” Jamie whined back.

He was dressed in an odd, cobbled-together outfit, comprised of his school jacket, a dress shirt that must have belonged to his dad, and a pair of dark wool trousers.

His forehead was prickled with sweat, and his obvious discomfort made me more conscious of my own ill-fitting dress, squeezing tight with every breath.

“Hi,” Jamie said to Caitlin. “I can help you.”

He stepped into the doorway, glancing at me sideways—already being weird.

“I’m sorry, do you work here?” Caitlin asked, a slight amusement in her voice.

“Not usually, I’m just helping tonight,” Jamie babbled. “The coat person was sick, I think? My dad works here—but not at parties, he does maintenance. He’ll get me later, but I get to stay for the fireworks.”

He paused, staring at Caitlin like a stunned deer.

“I hung my shawl here.” She gestured slowly to the rack. “Hope that’s okay, Jamie?”

Jamie’s whole face had gone pink now, so bright and blotchy on his freckled skin that it looked like he had a rash. Caitlin gave him a moment to find his words, then smiled.

“Great.” She pointed to the doorway he was blocking. “We’ll let you get back to work.”

“Oh wait!” Jamie exclaimed, grabbing Caitlin’s wrist as she passed. “I need to give you a token!”

“Ow!” Caitlin yelped suddenly. “You’re hurting me!”

She yanked her arm back, rolling her wrist and giving Jamie a wide-eyed stare.

“What the hell , Jamie,” I hissed.

He sputtered wordlessly, looking back at her with abject alarm.

“I didn’t—” Jamie’s voice came out raspy. “I’m sorry.”

He inhaled sharply and I realized he was on the verge of tears. And then the tears appeared, shimmering in his eyes.

“All good,” Caitlin said in a cool tone. “We’ve got to get back.”

She put an arm around my shoulders, pulling me along.

“Alice,” she said in a stage whisper. “That’s not your little boyfriend, is it?”

“What?” I spit back, glancing over my shoulder where Jamie stood, still well within earshot.

Then I realized—that was the point.

“God,” I answered, projecting with all my might. “No way .”

Caitlin squeezed my shoulder, suppressing a laugh as I shouted in her face.

“Good.”

The crowd was moving now, the party migrating into the yellow ballroom for cocktail hour.

“I can’t believe him,” I said, speaking normally again. “Is your wrist okay?”

“Hmm?” She looked at her arm, then smiled. “Oh no, that’s just my little trick. Some guys can’t take a hint, you know?”

I had no idea. A hint about what?

“Totally,” I said.

Caitlin side-eyed me, amused. She dropped her hand from my shoulder and gave me another confidential little pinch above the elbow.

“Just remember,” she said. “They scare easy.”