Wild Swans - Jessica Spotswood Page 0,37
some half-day camps for kids your age. There’s language play—that’s like storytelling—and sculpture and drawing and eco-art…”
Claire was right; I am naive. Because I didn’t see this coming and I should have. I thought Granddad was trying to help Isobel, to give her a reason to get out of the house and make friends instead of moping around. And that may be part of it, but there’s another agenda here too: Granddad’s desire to extend the Milbourn family legacy.
“I like to draw,” Gracie says, and I can almost hear Granddad’s heart go pitter-pat. Another artist in the family!
“Do you now?” he asks, and Gracie nods, her blond braids bouncing. “There are all kinds of classes. It doesn’t have to be art. There are ballet and gymnastics and—”
“I like drawing best,” Gracie insists. “I want to learn how to swim like Aunt Ivy too, but Mama says I can’t. So maybe gymnastics would be fun. I can already do a cartwheel. Wanna see?” She jumps up from her chair.
“Why don’t you show me later outside? No cartwheels in the house,” Granddad says, but he is positively beaming. “We’ll get you set with those two classes for now, and Isobel, you can do your theater camp, and—”
“I don’t want to do your stupid small-town theater camp,” Isobel snaps. “None of my friends will be there. Kyle won’t be there.”
“Kyle’s her boyfriend,” Gracie stage-whispers to Granddad.
“Well, no, your friends won’t be there. But maybe you’ll make new friends. It could still be fun,” Granddad says.
“What’s the point? It’s not like I’m ever going to be a real actress. Look at me!” Isobel gestures to herself, the curves of her breasts, her stomach, her hips. “I’m a heifer.”
“You are not! You’re so pretty,” I say. “You don’t have to be a size zero to be pretty. You could totally be an actress.”
Isobel slams down her Diet Coke. “And play what? The fat, funny best friend?”
“What about a different class then?” Granddad is not one to give up. “Do you play any instruments? Or what about voice lessons? That could help you with theater camp next summer. Or dance? Piano? Ivy’s tried all of those. What was your favorite, Ivy?”
“Um…” All I can remember is the crushing realization in the first few days of each class that I had no natural aptitude for any of them. That none of them were my mythical Milbourn gift.
Iz stands up, shoving her chair back with a screech. “Look, I’m not a little kid. I don’t want to take any of your stupid classes, okay?”
Granddad looks at her, bewildered. I’ve compromised. Negotiated. But I never once flat-out refused. “Then what will you do all summer?”
“I don’t know. Watch TV? Text my friends? Wait for it to be September?”
Granddad scrubs a hand over his beard. “That’s all?” He sounds horrified. The idea of a truly lazy summer is utterly foreign to him.
“That’s my plan, yeah.”
Much like Claire, sometimes Granddad just does not know when to stop. “I don’t believe in wasting a whole summer like that, Isobel. You don’t have to decide right this minute, but why don’t you take a look at these flyers and see if there’s something else that interests you?”
Isobel looks down at him, her brown eyes narrowed. She doesn’t take the papers. “Do I have to? Is that one of your rules? Like, if I don’t take a class, you’ll kick me out?”
I hold my breath. I’m not sure which answer she’s hoping for. Which answer I’m hoping for. Even Gracie is quiet.
“No,” Granddad says. “Of course not. But I’d like you to consider it. Hopefully one of your mother’s job applications will pan out and she’ll be working soon. I’ll be up at the college a few days a week. Ivy has two jobs and swimming, and if Gracie’s at camp—”
“Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.” Isobel grabs another Diet Coke out of the fridge. “I’m used to it.”
Chapter
Ten
Connor arrives promptly at ten o’clock the next morning to work on Dorothea’s journals. When he knocks on the door, I can’t contain my smile. Granddad’s up on campus, but Connor’s brought an iced coffee for himself and an iced tea for me. “Nice shirt,” he says, nodding to my blue I Know I Swim Like a Girl—Try To Keep Up tank top.
In the library, he carefully moves Dorothea’s typewriter to the side and sets up his laptop. Since I’m already familiar with her handwriting, for now I’m dictating and he’s typing.