Jenni James - Pride and Popularity

I had to admit I had probably misjudged the Andersons. Not only did it seem that they taught good principles to their daughter, but she never once looked down on the other children and she was constantly encouraging them with compliments. Many days I would watch little Georgia share with or bring presents to her new friends. One week, she brought pretty princess ballerina stickers for all of the girls. Another week it was sparkly ribbons for their hair. And for the week of St. Patrick’s Day, it was a plateful of four-leaf-clover-shaped cookies that she and Taylor had made.

“Wow, Georgia.” I gasped as I held the plate. “Did you and Taylor really make all of these?”

“Yep.” Her blond curls bounced up and down. “Taylor even let me stir ’em an’ frost ’em!”

Curious about this different side of Taylor, I asked, “Does he always make cookies with you?”

“Yep, when he’s home he does.”

“When he’s home?”

“Yep. It’s been wheelly fun, cuz he’s home more now cuz he broke-ed up wif his gill-friend.” She bounced from one foot to the other.

“Did he have a new one?” I asked.

“Not since Kylie. She didn’t not like me anyways. She never let me frost da cookies if Taylor wasn’t not lookin’.”

“Really? That’s not nice.” I frowned. Maybe Kylie is more mean than I thought.

“Yeah, Taylor found out ’bout it an’ he got mad.” Georgia did a little spin in place and watched her skirt twirl around her.

“Because she wouldn’t let you frost cookies?”

“No, cuz she didn’t not like me.”

“Oh.” Yeah, I can see that not going over very well with Taylor.

Georgia held one of my hands. “I like you, though.”

I looked down at her smiling face. “You do?”

“Yep. I told Taylor you should be his gill-friend, cuz I likeed you so much.”

I choked out, “Y–you did?”

“Yep.”

“Does he know who I am?”

“Oh, yeah. He says you’re da best dancer in da whole world!”

“He did?”

“Yep. That’s why I told him you should be his gill-friend, cuz you can dance so good.”

“What did Taylor say?” Oh my gosh. What did he say?

“About what?” Georgia dropped my hand.

“Um, about you wanting me to be his girlfriend.”

“Oh, he said you didn’t not like him.”

“He did?”

“Yep. Is that true? You don’t not like my brov-ur?” Her Taylor-blue eyes pled with mine.

“I, uh, no, it’s not true.”

“So you like him!” Georgia began to jump up and down.

“Um, of course. Your brother’s very nice.” I gently placed my hand on her head, trying to calm her.

“Yeah. He does nice stuff for lots of people.” She began to sway back and forth under my hand as she watched her skirt swish.

“So, um, do you know why your brother doesn’t have a girlfriend?”

Swish, swish. “Nope. He says he can’t not have one wight now.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “I dunno. That’s just what he says.”

“Is that why your mom comes and picks you up and not Taylor?”

“I dunno.” Georgia began to jump again. “Can I pass the cookies to ev-we-one? Please, please, please?”

So much for getting more info. I laughed. “Sure.”

It was the end of March when I noticed Georgia had left her dance bag at the studio. After a brief hesitation, I decided to take it over to the Anderson home. I knew Georgia would be really upset if she didn’t have it. At every ballet class, she told us about her practices at home. She would have a hard time practicing without her shoes.

I remembered vaguely where Taylor lived, but it had been years since I had been in his neighborhood, so I took the address with me just in case. After a few wrong turns and a couple of U-turns, I eventually made it to his street. The three-story plantation-style house had seemed big before, but now it was simply breathtaking. I can’t imagine living in a house like that! It’s like a fairy tale.

The rumor was that Taylor’s mom saw a house for sale in a magazine, then took the picture to an architectural firm and commissioned them to make a house for her that looked exactly like the picture. I wondered how much it had cost. Whatever it was, it was worth it. The front yard looked just like a magical garden, lined with rows and rows of flowers and hedged bushes. Wide, gleaming white steps led to a large front porch that was flanked by six sturdy, carved white pillars.

My plan was to quickly hand over the bag to Mrs. Anderson and then hightail it out of there before Taylor saw me. I parked my mom’s Volvo across the street and grabbed the dance bag. After a few breaths to calm my nerves—and a couple of reminders that there was no way Taylor was home and that I was just being chicken—I stepped out of the car and crossed the road.

After passing under the watchful glare of the two fierce lion statues that guarded the home, I hurried up the paved stairs. As I reached the pillars, I paused a moment and looked at the splendor all around me. Never before had I been this close to something so—so, huge. I climbed the last of the steps that led to tall, double French doors adorned with matching floral welcome wreaths.

Another deep shaky breath brought me up to the doorbell. I pushed the white button, then thought, What if Taylor answers the door? Guess I’ll just drop the bag and run.

I was grateful when the door was answered not by Taylor but by a woman dressed like a maid. “Can I help you, miss?” she asked, giving me an odd look.

I realized I was staring at her. “Oh, sorry. I’m Georgia’s ballet teacher, and she left her bag today. Could you give this to her?” I attempted to hand it to the lady, but she had other ideas.

“Oh, Georgia will be so happy to see you.” She smiled. “Please come in.”

What? No way. “Oh, uh, I would rather—” I was about to protest until the woman opened the door wider and I got a peek inside. The house was incredible. “Oh, okay. Thank you.” I smiled as I stepped over the threshold and gawked. Wow. This is like a movie set.

I stood for a moment in the large entryway, mesmerized by the gorgeous crystal chandelier before me. Behind it I could just make out the top of a double-sided staircase that cascaded down either side of the marble-floored foyer.

“This way,” the woman instructed.

She waited for me to follow her further into the house, but I couldn’t. My feet wouldn’t budge. All of a sudden I was indescribably nervous. No thanks, I wanted to say. I think I need to go now. I actually would’ve dropped the bag and fled the house completely had Taylor not shown up at that precise instant.

“Mrs. Little, was that the doorbell I heard?” his voice came from above me. Dismayed, I froze as I watched his progress down the right set of stairs. First his sock-covered feet, then his jean-clad legs, then his bold-striped chest, then all of him. His steps faltered as he saw me, and our eyes locked.

“Chloe?” he said in obvious disbelief.

He looks so good! I forgot how hot he is, even without shoes. I’m going to melt right here, I thought. Except I couldn’t do anything. Speechless and completely paralyzed, I was sure I couldn’t have looked like a bigger freak if I tried.

Unfortunately, Taylor had no problem moving as he bounded down the last few stairs.

He’s coming. Yikes. In my embarrassment, I looked away from his incredulous stare and saw the ballet bag in my hands. “Oh. Uh, I, this—this is Georgia’s,” I was able to spit out. “She left it at dance class today.” I offered the bag to Taylor as he stopped a few feet away from me, but he wasn’t looking at it. My heart jumped.