“Say you’ll do it,” Olivia whispered. “Please.”
Ivy blinked. “Okay,” she said, a smile creeping onto her face as she squeezed Olivia’s hand. “But I get to wear my black velvet sneakers.”
Olivia used Ivy’s cell phone to call her mother as soon as the final bell rang, and told her that she was going to Ivy’s house after school. This was technically true, because twenty minutes later, Olivia stood with Ivy at the base of a willow tree–lined driveway that led up a small hill. At the top was a house that looked like something out of Gone with the Wind. It had windows that were about fifteen feet tall and a columned front porch that spanned the front of the house.
Ivy started up the drive.
“This is your house?” said Olivia. She thought of the two-story brick house her family had just moved into on the other side of Franklin Grove. Olivia really liked their new house—her bedroom was at least twice the size of her old one—but this place was a total mansion.
“Yeah,” Ivy said. “Why?”
“It’s nice,” said Olivia, shaking gravel out of one of her flip-flops.
They hustled up the hill and climbed the sweeping front steps. A huge lantern of dark red glass hung above the porch, flickering even though it was day. Ivy paused before turning the burnished brass knob on the ornately carved oak front door. “Stay here for a sec.” She disappeared inside.
From where she stood beside a pile of firewood taller than she was, Olivia could see almost all Franklin Grove below her. It looked beautiful with houses poking up among the trees. She spotted the roof of the school in the distance.
Ivy reappeared. “Come on,” she said, pulling Olivia inside. “My dad’s not home.”
Olivia’s eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light. The entryway was huge, with walls covered in interlocking patterns of stone and dark mahogany. She could just make out an extravagant staircase snaking up to the second floor; a window above it was shrouded by thick dark velvet curtains.
Apparently, Ivy’s not the only black sheep in her family, Olivia thought. This place is Goth heaven!
Olivia followed her sister past a suit of armor and down a twisting flight of stone steps. A series of electric candelabra lit the way. They came to a landing and turned a corner.
Suddenly Olivia found herself at the top of a staircase. To her left was a window covered with a heavy velvet curtain, which Olivia realized must be set just above ground level. As she followed Ivy down the stairs, the wall to her right fell away to offer a clear view of the spacious basement room below.
In the center of the stone floor was a huge, round, cream-colored rug. Tall mahogany shelves crammed with papers and books took up the far wall. In one corner was a huge desk with a computer and toppling stacks of CDs; in another was a big black bed strewn with funky pillows. Black shoes littered the floor everywhere, looking like fallen bats. “This is the coolest room I have ever seen!” Olivia admitted as she reached the bottom.
“Thank you,” said Ivy, sounding pleased.
Olivia turned around and noticed some words written in big black calligraphy on the stones that ran down the side of the stairway: “The matter is that I never get any rest, and my nights devour my days.”
“That is so weird,” she murmured. “That’s from the Guy de Maupassant story I read in the library today. I even told Brendan to read it!”
“The Horla? ” Ivy responded. “It sucks, doesn’t it?”
“That’s exactly what I told him.” Olivia grinned.Then she noticed the largest wardrobe she had ever seen, made of ornately carved mahogany. It had five doors, one of which hung open. Necklaces and purses glimmered in the dim light.
Olivia charged over, flinging open the doors. There were racks upon racks of sweaters, skirts, tops, and dresses in every imaginable shade of black, purple, sapphire, and claret, with occasional flashes of emerald and gray. There was one section filled with more black shoes and boots.
“I knew we had something in common,” Olivia said excitedly as she took inventory.
She immediately pulled out a long-sleeved, lightweight, V-necked top in a rich wine red with slashed sleeves. “Can I try this on?” she asked.
Ivy stood looking in the mirror, examining the outfit her sister had helped her choose for her first date with Brendan. She hadn’t worn this sweater in ages, but she had to admit that Olivia was right—she looked drop-dead in it. Olivia had also picked out a formfitting, long black skirt that Ivy hadn’t even known she owned.
“What do you think of this?” Olivia said behind her, referring to her latest creation. She was wearing a black baby tee that said KILL ME SOFTLY in gray Gothic letters and a black chiffonand-velvet-striped skirt. It must have been the sixth outfit she’d tried.
“Now that,” said Ivy, “looks like me.” Olivia inspected herself in the mirror. “Let’s
accessorize,” she decided. She went down to the end of the wardrobe and came back with an armful of jangly, strappy things. She carefully handed Ivy some silver bangles and a pair of big silver hoop earrings, saying, “I can’t believe you wear clip-ons,” to which Ivy just shrugged. For herself, she’d chosen a black velvet choker.
Ivy sprayed some Pale Beauty on Olivia’s face, and then they crowded side by side in the mirror to finish their makeup. They both chose the same dark maroon lipstick.
Ivy glanced at her chunky watch and shot her sister a pained look. “You have to meet Sophia at school in fifteen minutes, and I still don’t know what I’m supposed to talk to Brendan about.”
“Okay,” Olivia said, hurrying to finish applying her eyeliner. “Want to know the secret to an awesome first date?”
Ivy nodded impatiently.
“Ask questions. Get him to talk about himself: his family, his friends, what he likes.” Ivy thought, That’s it? and looked at Olivia skeptically.
“It’s all about getting to know each other,” explained Olivia. “And, if he’s really boyfriend material, he’ll ask you some questions, too.”
Ivy got nervous. “What will I do if that happens?”
“Talk. Tell the truth. Tell him about what you like and what drives you crazy. The only thing you might want to leave out is your brand-new, cheerleading twin sister. That might freak him out.”
“No kidding,” Ivy said, rolling her eyes. “That should be the number one rule of romance: no secret twin sister revelations until at least the third date.”