The Magnolia League - By Katie Crouch Page 0,15

in Savannah. Two pairs of jeans with fancy designs on the butt, velvet and tweed blazers (to go over my T-shirts, which I refuse to give up), fitted beaded tank tops, sweaters made of something really soft. Every time I say it’s enough and I don’t want any more, Madison and Hayes sneak more things into the bag.

They try to hide the receipt from me, but on the way out of the store I wait until they’re air-kissing Damien good-bye and I grab it. The total is staggering. They come out on the sidewalk and see me fuming.

“This is… this is bullshit,” I say, about to cry. “We can’t spend money like this! Don’t you know what’s going on in the world? People are dying in Sudan, and we’re doing this?”

Hayes pulls out her cell phone and, using my grandmother’s credit card, proceeds to donate the exact same amount to Doctors Without Borders.

“Is that all right?” Madison says. “Or do you have a problem with them too?”

“How do you girls have such a cavalier attitude about money?” I ask. “If you are that loaded, let’s do something worthwhile! Start a community garden, maybe.”

“Good luck getting my sister to grub around in the dirt,” a voice says. We turn around, and there’s a movie star in front of us. Or I’m pretty sure he’s a movie star. I haven’t seen that many movies, but this guy definitely looks like he’s straight out of Hollywood. Tall. Blond hair that slips down his forehead. White shirt tucked into khaki pants. Converse tennis shoes. Tortoiseshell glasses framing a pair of very green eyes.

Despite myself, I can’t help hearing my mother’s love chant in my head:

Salt and rose and spirits,

listen to what I say.

Bring me my lover

by the end of the day.

“Alex,” Hayes says, “meet my brother, Thaddeus. He’s a year ahead of us at school.”

Oh, God. A male MG. Well, never mind that little crush… I guess.

“Are you shopping?” Hayes asks.

“SCAD library,” he says.

“Checking out the fresh art-student meat, no doubt,” Madison purrs.

“Hayes,” Thaddeus says, ignoring Madison, “I’m going out to the beach house this afternoon. Mom said you might need me to pick up something from the doctor?”

“No,” Hayes says quickly. “Thanks, though.”

“Going all alone?” Madison says to Thaddeus, tipping forward ever so slightly so as to offer up a prize view down her shirt. “You really ought to practice the buddy system if you’re going swimming.”

“I’m not swimming,” Thaddeus says coldly. “I’ve got reading to do for school.”

“Oh, school,” Madison says with distaste. “What is up with everyone and school? It’s like you all think this crap is actually going to be useful later in life.”

“I know it’s gauche, Mad, but some of us actually feel we should apply ourselves.”

“Maybe I’d apply myself if it mattered. But since I’m stuck in this town forev—”

“What book are you reading?” Hayes interrupts.

“A Farewell to Arms.”

“That’s not such a bad one,” I say. “Except for all the castration anxiety.”

“What?” Thaddeus says sharply, as if my talking to him is some sort of affront.

“No, don’t get me wrong—the book’s really good,” I say. “I’ve read it. Awesome war scenes and a bitchin’ romance. It’s just pretty sexist because of when it was written and all, and the main guy’s a little messed up, but you still side with him somehow. But, like I say, it’s where you can see the roots of Hemingway’s infamous castration anxiety. Everyone’s always losing fingers and legs and arms… you know, working our way toward The Sun Also Rises, where he loses the full—”

“Anyway,” Hayes says, cutting me off.

Thaddeus looks me up and down and then turns back to his sister. I feel my face turning red. I gather it’s “uncool” to talk about books to your basic country-club-belonging, golf-playing, yacht-sailing, magazine-layout-looking snob. Well, screw everyone, then. I feel tears sting my eyes as I think for the thousandth time today about how much I miss my imperfect Reggie and the shaggy, genuine RC.

“See you,” he says to his sister. He looks at Madison and me but doesn’t say anything to us before striding away.

“Wow,” I say. “Is he always that friendly?”

“He’s just having his period,” Madison says.

“God, I’m burning up,” Hayes says, gracefully changing the subject yet again. “Wanna go swim in Madison’s pool? Tan a little?”

“Sorry, I’m not really into skin cancer.”

“MGs don’t get skin cancer.” Madison laughs. “Or wrinkles or age spots. Didn’t you know that?”

Hayes coughs loudly.

“It’s in our genes,” Madison adds, winking at her.

“You know, I’ve