Growth Spurt

CHAPTER ONE

COTILLIONS, ALSO KNOWN AS THE ‘coming out’ party, are a grand old tradition for young southern debutantes, Mrs. Jones said to the two dozen or so girls gathered in the Silver Oaks Country Club’s formal dining room for their weekly Young Debutante Meeting. The girls were all thirteen, putting them next in line to ‘come out’.

Cotillions came to the United States in 1766 as a way for young ladies in high society to show off skills they’d learned from French dance instructors to prospective suitors. Each girl was given a chance to show off her manners, her grace, her lady-like skills, and hopefully gain the attention of the most well-bred men in the hopes of marrying well.

She was interrupted by a swell of snickers and whispers from the girls. Their faces were reddened, and their eyes glistened with excitement. Mrs. Jones stood up straight and narrowed her eyes before continuing. She was a no-nonsense kind of lady.

Young men, called escorts, attended the cotillions intending to present themselves much in the same way as the ladies, but also in the hopes of making business contacts and friends coupled with meeting the most suitable women in society.

The girls’ giggles and whispers at the mention of boys grew to such a volume it caused young Katie Sterling to jump in her chair and look around at her peers. What was so funny? She didn’t find anything about this history lesson so interesting. It was downright boring. She had drifted off into a daydream about lunch. Her stomach growled.

When Katie signed up to be a Young Debutante three years ago, she was excited to learn to be a proper lady, but now she had grown tired of carrying on the old Southern traditions. It seemed to Katie like there were a lot of things she used to like doing, but didn’t so much anymore. She didn’t understand it, and she didn’t understand what all the girls were laughing about either. She didn’t understand a lot about what the other girls did.

Mrs. Jones found nothing funny either; for, she loudly cleared her throat, forcing the girls to straighten up in their seats and pay attention. She continued.

"Cotillions began to fall out of fashion in the late nineteenth century as people began to move onto a more fast paced lifestyle in the time of the Industrial Revolution. However, there were some folks here in the South that kept the tradition as a way to hold onto the dignity of our forefathers and mothers.

While traditionally the young women who came out as debutantes were around sixteen years of age, we have adapted the tradition for younger girls because we think it’s important for girls your age to learn manners and decorum — both things which seem to be dying in our video game and social media obsessed society.

Most of the girls rolled their eyes at this, and Katie struggled to keep herself from doing the same. Adults were always trying to blame something or another on social media or video games rather than their own parenting.

Since the cotillion tradition has been modified, it has become less about trying to find a suitable mate as you are far too young to be concerning yourself with such things.

There came a muffled, audible groan from the crowd of girls. That’s when Katie realized it. The girls were thinking about boys! She should have known. They were always thinking about boys.

"Instead, this will be a chance for you to show your parents how much you have learned here with me in this class and to make them proud of the graceful little women you’ve become.

Now, your training here with me and my lovely daughter, Cora, Mrs. Jones said with a smile, gesturing to her left toward a sixteen-year-old girl with a pixie cut and a small golden stud in her nose. The girl waved quickly to the crowd, and Katie felt a tingly sensation run over her whole body. She had to look away. Looking at Cora was like looking at the sun; if she looked at her too long, it was almost painful, but in a strangely good way that confused and embarrassed her, is nearly complete. We have taught you all we can to help you to be successful, poised women of the world. All that is left is for you to come out at your own cotillion. In just a few short days, you’ll be presented to society, and you can step out into the world as proud, cultured, well-rounded young ladies.

Mrs. Jones went on to speak for another ten minutes or so about the formalities of what to wear, how to be made up, and what felt like countless other things regarding the cotillion. Katie only half-listened. What Serena and Meredith who sat whispering beside her had to say was much more interesting.

"I mean, she says it’s not about showing us off to boys anymore, but I don’t think that’s true, Meredith whispered. I think they just have to say that because, you know, parents are always scared of stuff. Like, my mom thinks if I tweet that I’m eating froyo after school, I’m going to get kidnapped and cut into little pieces by some Internet predator. Like, really? Seriously though, why else would we get all dressed up and have an escort and dance with boys if it wasn’t about boys in the end?"

Yeah, I think you’re right. I mean, I don’t wanna get married, but I definitely want to dance with some hotties and maybe let one of them see what’s under my dress, if you know what I mean? Serena whispered, and both girls fell into a giggling fit.

Katie’s face flushed with embarrassment and a bit of panic. She didn’t know how to react to this sort of conversation. She had never thought of boys as anything other than classmates and friends, but it seemed to her that every day more of the girls around her were becoming more and more obsessed with boys as much more than friends and classmates. She squirmed in her chair, anxious to be able to get out of the meeting, out into the fresh air, and away from all this chatter that made her uncomfortable in ways she didn’t understand.

Finally, Mrs. Jones dismissed them, and all the girls began collecting their purses. A sea of cellphones emerged from them, every girl frantic to check their Facebook feeds and text messages, for having been away from them for even a couple of hours sent them into a state of near withdrawal. The chirping of unsilenced phones and clicking of keyboards could be heard echoing throughout the wide expanse of the dining hall. Katie, just like the rest of them, was digging through her bag when she felt a tap on her right shoulder. She turned to see Cora behind her.

Hiya, Katie. How’s it going? Did my mom bore you to tears with that lecture, too? she asked with a sly grin and a wink.

A little bit, Katie said, sheepishly, and fumbled for her phone, finally landing on it in the bottom of her messenger bag. It was filled with books and papers and an amalgamation of other things she never had the urge to organize. Her bag was a lot like her mind — too full of random bits and bobs she could only make sense of with careful inspection.

You should feel sorry for me, really, Cora said, I’ve had to hear that same lecture since I was ten. She’s said it so many times, she probably recites it in her sleep. Hell, I could probably recite it in my sleep, too.

Wow, okay. Yeah. I feel sorry for you, then, Katie said with a chortle. She could only make eye contact with Cora for a second at a time, but Cora’s gaze felt piercing in its intensity. Katie didn’t dislike it though. She wanted Cora to notice her.

Don’t worry about this thing though, seriously. This cotillion stuff isn’t as serious as my mother, or these other girls, make it out to be. It’s really just a couple of hours standing around in an uncomfortable dress, dancing with some awkward boys, and that’s it. Seriously. The boys are way more nervous than you’ll ever be. It’s probably the first time they’ll ever touch a girl, and they tend to think we are some sort of delicate, fragile little things, when we know far better than that, don’t we? She winked again, and Katie couldn’t help but look her in the eyes and smile. Her eyes were pretty — big and round and the color of the sky on a rainy day. Her eyelashes were long and curled and reached up to touch the tender skin between her eyelid and eyebrow. Katie didn’t know how to respond, so she only nodded her head. A strand of white hair fell across her forehead, and she reached up to brush it away. Her hand shook.

Just don’t let the other girls get to you, okay? Just have fun. As much fun as you can anyway. It’ll be over soon enough. I promise, Cora lightly touched her shoulder before walking away. Katie turned her head over her shoulder to watch her go and found herself admiring the way Cora’s hips moved in her jeans. They were wide — several pounds overweight, something Katie had once overheard Mrs. Jones criticizing Cora for in private after a Young Debutante meeting when she saw Cora eating what Mrs. Jones deemed to be too many cookies at the refreshment bar. Katie liked the extra weight on Cora. She liked how her body curved, softly, around the middle. She thought she probably felt soft. And with that thought, she felt herself smiling and stifling a giggle much like the other girls did when they spoke about boys.

Katie shook her head, trying to banish the thoughts from it; for, it was all too confusing for her. She didn’t want to think about such things right now, whether it be about boys or girls. She wanted to go back to the days when the most important things she concerned herself with were her made up adventures with her American Girl Doll, Felicity, and when she and her friends were happy just to spend hours swimming in the backyard pool. Things seemed a lot simpler before she turned thirteen.

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KATIE TOOK HER WEEKLY TRIPS to The Club with her grandmother, Viola, and it was truly the best part of the whole thing. Katie admired her Nana. She was the whole reason Katie joined the Young Debutantes to begin with, and the reason she stuck with it when it was no longer any fun. Viola was poised and elegant and graceful — all the things Katie wanted to be as a grown woman. Viola seemed to always be sure of herself, confident in not only her every action and word she spoke, but in the way her body moved. She was lithesome and somehow sultry even in her advanced age and despite her great height. She was taller than most men, but she never let herself be burdened by slumping or by her choice of shoes. If a man were to be intimidated by her height, then he was a man to be ignored as far as Viola was concerned.

Always hold your head up high, sweet Katerina, Viola told Katie once. She was often fond of calling Katie by her full first name. You were given your beauty for a reason. Use it. Be proud of it. Be proud of who you are — all of who you are and that includes your beauty, even the parts that some might try to tell you aren’t beautiful. All of you is beautiful. Believe it my dear girl, because if you believe it, then the rest of the world will, too.

Katie was surrounded by gorgeous, powerful women: her mother, a former model and prostitute, but now a dedicated wife and mother; her sister, Lindsay, a creative writing major at Emory University, and the strongest and bravest person Katie knew; and Lindsay’s best friend Ruby, an outspoken artist, but Katie admired her Nana in a way unlike the others. She just had that special something; she wasn’t sure what, but she wanted it, too.

I’m so proud of you for following through with this Young Debutante thing, Katerina, Viola said on the drive home. Bright sunlight reflected off Viola’s large, bug-like sunglasses. Soft classical music streamed from the radio, and it calmed Katie’s nerves. I know this wasn’t as fun as you thought it was going to be. When you said you wanted to do this, I was excited, because of course I want my grandbabies to be well-mannered, but I am not oblivious to the fact that kids don’t enjoy that sort of thing. They never have. I didn’t enjoy it either when I was your age, believe you me. I was an awkward, bumbling child; the classes were like torture for me. I didn’t think I was ever going to make it through. And Miss Garrett, the woman who lead the class, didn’t have very high hopes for me either.

Really? Katie asked, incredulous. She couldn’t imagine her Nana being anything other than the poised woman she was now.

Yes. Don’t look so surprised, she said smiling through her soft painted lips. Katie couldn’t see her eyes through the sunglasses, but she knew her Nana well enough to know the look in her eye. I know you think you are an ungraceful girl, dear, but you are nothing compared to me. I had perpetually scraped knees, ratty hair, a dirty dress, and rarely washed my face. I grew up with five brothers, you know? I knew how to rough and tumble with the best of them, but that doesn’t make for a very proper young lady. It took a lot of beating to get all the dirt out of this old rug.

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WHEN KATIE GOT HOME, SHE found her mother playing on the living room floor with her little sister, Penny. Penny had just celebrated her second birthday, and her apple cheeks and pudgy little brown legs were still present but were beginning to change from those of a baby into those of a toddler. Everything seemed to be changing so quickly. Every time Katie got used to something, it transformed into something new and different — her little sister included.

Her mother wasn’t exempt from this transformation either. Although Gloria’s, for the most part, made Katie’s life much better, but it, too, was faintly tainted. She felt it then as she watched her mother’s interaction with Penny. Gloria was so tender and attentive; she touched the baby as if she were made of the most fragile porcelain, but also as if she was made of the sweetest candy she just couldn’t get enough of. Penny was everything to Gloria, and while Katie was glad for that, it also sometimes wrenched her heart in the most painful way. It was so very different from the young childhood she’d had with her mother. Gloria was rarely so sentimental or vigilant when Katie was small. She had Lindsay for that sort of thing. Gloria was too busy trying to keep them fed and sheltered to have time to devote to spending hours playing silly games and making homemade craft projects like she did with Penny now. Back then, Gloria was a working woman in the crudest sense of the word, but now she was a housewife. While Katie didn’t want to begrudge her mother and sister that luxury, there was a small part of her that did. Why didn’t she get to have that, too?

Gloria tickle-pinched Penny’s chubby thigh before sitting up and turning to Katie. Katie smiled brightly at them both, but her heart felt squeezed in her chest, too. She was so tired of feeling confused.

Hey, sweetie. How was the meeting? How’s Nana? Gloria asked. Penny jabbered from a playmat on the floor. She could say a few real words already, but she much preferred to speak in her own language that no one but Gloria seemed to understand, and Gloria didn’t discourage it, mostly because she liked being the only one to understand her. It was a connection she reveled in having for as long as she could, because she knew better than anyone how quickly they change from jabbering little babies to grown women with lives of their own.

It was fine. Nana is good. Same old, really, Katie said. She set her bag down in a chair and plopped down next to Penny. Penny pulled herself up using Katie’s shirt and hugged her tight around the neck. She smelled like chocolate milk and Cheerios.

Aren’t you excited for the cotillion? It’s what you’ve been working up toward all this time, Gloria asked. Penny seemed to echo the question with a long drawn out coo.

I guess. All the other girls seem a lot more excited than me. Mostly though, I think they’re excited about the escort part.

Well, that makes sense, honey, Gloria said. She picked at something only a mother could see stuck in a curl of Penny’s hair.

What do you mean? Katie asked. Penny grabbed a chunk of Katie’s hair and pulled. Katie winced and went to work to open the Rubix Cube that was Penny’s little fist to free her hair from its grip. She was glad for the distraction so she could hear Gloria’s response without having to make eye contact with her.

You’re at that age, I mean. Girls are going to start getting boycrazy and vice versa. It’s a given, Katie. Puberty, hormones, and all that stuff. I guess it means it’s about time I had ‘the talk’ with you then, huh?

Katie’s face reddened.

No, Mom. Really. I have an older sister, remember? I don’t need ‘the talk’.

"But you know you can talk to me about anything you need whenever you need to, right? And you can ask me anything you want, too. There’s nothing off-limits, I promise."

Yeah, Mom, I know, Katie said, and she wasn’t just saying it. She really did. There was nothing she could say that would shock her mother, she was fairly sure of that. Gloria’s life before she met Ben, Katie’s adoptive father, was filled with stuff Katie couldn’t even imagine. Not to mention Lindsay’s relationship with Micah, a man ten years older than her had rocked their family for a short while. Katie was pretty sure she could tell her mother anything.

Gloria sat looking at her daughter for a few moments, taking her in. She was so beautiful. Sometimes she could barely believe she’d created something so perfectly pretty. Angelic. Divine. Those words had always been used to describe Katie, because they were the only ones that fit. If she had a halo over her head, it wouldn’t be the least bit surprising. But right now she looked troubled, and Gloria couldn’t stand it.

But it’s okay if you aren’t in line with those girls just yet, Katie. You know that, right? Not everyone gets those feelings at the same time. It’s okay to stay a kid as long as possible. In fact, I would like it very much if you stayed a kid for a long, long time.

Katie cracked a smile, and it lifted Gloria’s heart.

I know, Mom. I know.

She sat Penny down on the mat, kissed her mother on her forehead, and headed up to her bedroom. She slipped the door closed, locked it, and turned her back to the door. She didn’t know why she felt the need to be so secretive, but something told her she was too old to do this anymore. Probably it was Michaela’s voice in her head saying they were too old to play with dolls anymore; that they needed to start doing more mature things and leave that little kid stuff behind.

But Katie wasn’t ready to leave them behind just yet. She loved Felicity. Their relationship might have changed over the last year or so, but Felicity was still her closest confidant. That’s why every day she came home, locked her door, and secretly told Felicity all about her day and her innermost thoughts. They no longer lived an extravagant imaginary life, but she still trusted her with her secrets. She wasn’t ready to leave that behind yet.

Hi, Felicity. How was your day? I’m not sure how I feel today. I mean, I don’t understand the girls in my Young Debutante meetings. And then there’s Cora. What’s that all about?

CHAPTER TWO

MICHAELA'S PARENTS WERE FIGHTING AGAIN. Most of the time, she just shut her bedroom door and put her headphones on to block out the sound of their arguments, but this one was especially brutal. She had the door cracked open, and she sat next to it with her face pressed against the opening listening to their shouts. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her armpits were damp with nervous sweat.

They were shouting mostly in Vietnamese, but occasionally they’d toss some English in, too, usually profanities. Her mother’s voice was shrill and grating, much like a knife being sharpened. Her father’s, while angry, sounded defeated, beaten down, and that’s what scared Michaela the most. Her father had finally given up.

Just stop, Thuy. Please, just stop, her father, Anh, begged. I know about the affairs, and I know about the money. I think I might have been able to forgive one or the other, but not both of them together. To know that my wife is not only a whore, but a thief? That is just too shameful to forgive. I want a divorce.

How dare you? Her mother shrieked. I am no thief! Whatever money you make is mine, too, as your wife. I am entitled to that money. So what if I spend it how I like?

"Spend it? You have done more than just spend it. You’ve been slipping it into secret accounts I know nothing about, so you can do fuck all with it! Fund your affairs, I assume. I know of three accounts. Three! How many more are there? How long have you been squirreling away my money while I work like a fucking dog seven days a week thinking that we don’t have enough to get by? No, not to get by — to get you what you want! Everything I’ve done has been for you. This ridiculous house? For you. All those stupid shoes and clothes and handbags? For you. The cars? For you. The housewares that I don’t understand the need for or give a damn about? All for you. All so you could look the way you wanted to to the rest of the world. Well, I’m done. I’m so damn done. I don’t even care about the men you screwed. They can have you. You’re disgusting."

Her mother began to scream, thrown into a blind rage, leaving all coherent speech forgotten. Michaela jumped as she heard glass breaking and things thumping and bumping downstairs. Her mother was throwing things, probably at her father. He was yelling at her in Vietnamese, but Michaela was too frightened to pay any attention.

She scrambled up off the floor and ran to her brother’s room. She threw open the door and called his name.

Michael, I’m scared, she said, looking around his darkened room. She finally spotted him on the opposite side. The window was open, and the curtain sucked outside by a breeze. Michael was halfway out the window, his arm wrapped around a gnarly tree branch. Where are you going? Don’t leave me, please. He was sixteen, and Michaela hoped he could protect her.

Sorry, you’re on your own, kid, he said as he silently slipped out the window and down the tree into the night.

CHAPTER THREE

'CHAEL, ARE YOU OKAY? RACHAEL asked Michaela the next day at school. They were at lunch, tearing into packets of chips, cans of soda, and pre-packaged sandwiches they’d brought from home. They’d decided at the beginning of the year that seventh grade was the end of eating what was in the cafeteria even though Spencer Academy offered a cornucopia of choices far better than any lunch they could bring from home. Still, they decided they wanted to plan their lunches based on the day of the week so they would have matching meals every day in their matching designer lunch boxes. Michaela and