Katie Crouch - The Magnolia League

Copyright 2011 by Katie Crouch.

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Poppy

Hachette Book Group

237 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10017

Visit our website at www.HachetteBookGroup.com

www.twitter.com/littlebrown

Poppy is an imprint of Little, Brown Books for Young Readers

The Poppy name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

First eBook Edition: May 2011

This is a work of fiction. Characters, places, and events are the products of the authors imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons (living or dead) is purely coincidental. Although some names and real entities and places are mentioned, all are used fictitiously.

ISBN: 978-0-316-12691-5

Men and Dogs

Girls in Trucks

This book is for Phoebe.

A ND UNDER THESE CONDITIONS

PROTECTED BY THESE SPELLS

THE WOMEN IN THIS L EAGUE

SHALL SERVE THE B UZZARDS WELL.

Signed by the Founding Members of the Magnolia League, May 12, 1957

You know what I hate? Sweet tea. Actually, I wouldnt call it tea; Id say its more of a syrup. Ninety-eight percent sugar, with a little water thrown in so you dont totally shrivel up and die in this torturous heat. It makes you fat just to pick up a glass, and then leaves your teeth rotten after one sip. Leave it to the crazy citizens of Georgia to flip out over a drink like that.

Other things that arent so great? Georgia summers. Georgia boys. My grandmothers rules. My entire new freakin life in Georgia.

I know, I know. I have a bad attitude right now. Reggie would say Im being a buzzkill. And if I had a buzz to kill, hed be right. So, please, dont hate meI mean, really, this sour, bitter Alex is a new thing. Back in California, I was always a hey-the-grass-is-green-right-here kind of girl. But Im not in California. As you might have guessed from this pity party of mine, Im in Georgia. Savannah, Georgia, to be exact.

Ive been here for two weeks, living in my grandmothers preCivil War, twenty-three-room mansion on Forsyth Park. Shes tiny, but the ceilings and doorways seem designed for giants. As for practicality well, six bedrooms, seven bathrooms, a gallery, a ballroom, and a carriage houseall for one lady. And the decor? It could be truly rad, but shes pretty much gone with the doily look. Think Southern fussiness meets the Addams Family. Ive seen funeral parlors cozier than this place.

According to my grandmother and her lawyer, Im doomed to call Gaston Street home until Im eighteen. Im sixteen now, so I guess that means Im here for two more years. Im pretty sure thats longer than a stiff jail sentence for dealing weed.

Alexaaaaandria!

Im Alex. Thats what everyone but my grandmother calls me, so thats my real name. But I cant seem to get her to remember that.

Alexaaaaandria! Are you up here?

I am up here. Yup. Im sitting on the railing of the upstairs porch, trying to get a little pot out of this pipe. It was the last present my boyfriend, Reggie, gave me, and Im hoping that somehow itll make it feel like hes here.

I hear her heels clicking around the rooms. I havent seen her in any shoes other than heels. Always in a designer outfit, always in heels. Dont be fooled, though. My grandmother is a ninja with brass knuckles, dressed for a tea party.

Im out here, I call.

The footsteps slow for a moment as she homes in on her target. Then the pace quickens as she comes in for the kill.

Rap-rap-rap-rap-rap-rap-RAP.

Here she is: my grandmother, Mrs. Dorothy Lawson (first dead husband) Lee (second dead husband, and my moms dad). By the way, Mr. Lee, Ive just been informed, descended from the famous Confederate general. Not exactly a direct descendant, but a cousins cousin or something. Its kind of crazy, because thats my last name too.

She just goes by Miss Lee now. Doesnt want me to call her Grandma, because it ages her. Thats cool with me. And truthfully, she does look pretty young to be a grandmother. Her dark, shiny hair (no gray in sight) is tied back, with some perfectly placed tendrils escaping around her oval face. There are a few laugh lines (not that I ever see her laugh) around her dark green eyes, but other than that, her face is pretty much as smooth as mine. She is what Big Jon would call doll prettymeaning she looks so delicate that it seems you might break her if you shook her hand too hard.

Alexandria, it smells like a skunk daaaiiied up here. She has one of those Southern accents that manages, despite the regions reputation for hospitality, to be completely disapproving and unfriendly all the time.

Its the herb, I say.

The what?

Its pot. Im smoking pot.

My grandmother puts one hand on her hip and points a surprisingly young-looking finger at me with the other. All available body parts seem to drip with jewels.

Are you trying to per-tuuuuhhb me, Alexandria?

Sort of.

Well, if youre goin to smoke, at least smoke tobacco. Ive got stock in Philip Morris, which means, since you are the sole heir to my estate, you do too. Anyway. Pahhh-lease dress. Your Magnolia sisters will be here this afternoon. Ive arranged for two girls from your debutante class to come over shortly after my meeting.

I am dressed.

Alexandria, you are wearin rags.

Im wearing shorts. And this is vintage. Look: the Grateful Dead, Greek Theatre, 1985. Arguably the Deads sickest show ever. This shirts probably worth, like, fifty bucks.

Please, Alexandria.

Miss Lee, what they see is what they get.

My grandmother narrows her eyes. When she does that, they look black. Its a very frightening effect, as if the pupils have taken over.

All right, she says. If thats how youd like to play this.

Play what?

Oh, youll see eventually, Alexandria. Ill call you when theyre here.

Her footsteps click down the hall and, as if by magic, suddenly disappear.

Magnolia League Meeting, Number 417

Mrs. Lee presiding

Refreshments: Mrs. Buchanan

So? What do we know about her?

Well, she looks just like her mother.

Thats a good start. Louisa was a lovely girl.

But theres something wrong with her hair.

The Magnolia League meeting room is dark and cool, despite the scorching August heat outside. The League occupies a trim brick building on Habersham Street. It was built in 1826 by Isaiah Davenport, and in 1864when General Sherman attempted to make it the headquarters of his godless occupationhe was met on the front steps by eighty-five-year-old Matilda Marmy Davenport, who said, I just washed my floors, and no damn Yankee is going to scuff them up unless its over my dead body. After that she took out a gun and shot herself. (Her pistol still hangs in the front hall as a testament to the decisiveness of Savannah women.)