She was still frowning as she opened the door – but her jaw dropped when she saw what Horatio was wearing. Her gaze moved slowly, disbelievingly, from his high-top sneakers to his hooded jacket, his ‘I’m With This Idiot’ T-shirt and . . .
‘Are you wearing man-jewellery ?’
Blushing furiously, Horatio stuffed the wide, fake-gold chain under the neck of his T-shirt before leaning over the tray to pour tea into a china cup. ‘It’s the Countess’s orders,’ he explained stiffly, his cheeks beetroot red.
‘Of course.’ Ivy accepted the china cup, forcing herself not to say another word. Poor Horatio, she thought, as he ducked out of the room. I shouldn’t make this even harder for him.
But her sympathy evaporated a moment later when he returned, wheeling in a clothes rack. ‘What is that ?’
Horatio coughed apologetically. ‘Your outfits for the day. Each item has been carefully selected for you by Miss Olivia.’
Wordlessly, Ivy picked up item after item, holding them between her fingertips and at arm’s length. She didn’t dare hold them any closer. It was too dangerous. Just looking at them might give me Bunny-itis. Do I really have to wear them ?
‘Good morning!’ Olivia chirped from the bedroom doorway, as Horatio discreetly slipped out. ‘Everything OK?’
‘OK?’ Ivy struggled not to give her twin a death-squint as she dropped the fashion monstrosities on to her bed. ‘Just look at these!’
Seeing them all spread out together made her stomach twist with horror. For some reason, Olivia had given her a pink jersey ra-ra skirt, a colour-blocked emerald clutch bag to carry and a yellow lace T-shirt with pink ribbon ties on the sleeves.
Ivy moaned. ‘Are you joking? Is this really my outfit for today?’
‘Oh, Ivy. Don’t be so silly.’ Olivia rolled her eyes. ‘I nearly forgot!’ She reached into her pocket and pulled out an ostrich-feather hair slide. ‘You wouldn’t be dressed at all without the right accessories!’
Ivy felt the room swim around her. ‘I honestly think I’m going to faint,’ she whispered.
Olivia put one hand to her mouth, but she couldn’t stifle her burst of giggles.
‘I can’t believe you’re laughing!’ Ivy could feel a supreme death-squint forming on her face as she watched Olivia slide down the wall to sit on the carpeted floor, still laughing. ‘I know we had a fight yesterday, but how can you possibly think it’s funny that I have to dress like this ?’
‘No, no, no.’ Wiping away tears, Olivia shook her head. ‘Don’t worry! I am sorry about yesterday, but that has nothing to do with this. I was just playing a prank! You guys got me good yesterday, so I thought I’d have a little fun of my own today! Of course I’m not going to dress you up like an Olivia-clone . . . no matter how fabulous you’d look.’
‘Don’t even imagine it.’ Ivy collapsed on to her own coffin-bed, crushing the pink skirt. She let out her breath in a rush. ‘OK. OK, this can work. I’ll just try to look a little less “gothabulous”.’
‘Well . . .’ Olivia cupped her chin with a hand, and Ivy narrowed her eyes in suspicion. They might have forgiven each other for the day before, but right now she didn’t trust Olivia’s expression – not one bit. She looked just like one of those judgmental stylists on the kind of makeover shows that Ivy only watched when Olivia gave her a choice between that or helping with cheer-practice.
She crossed her arms. ‘What are you thinking?’
‘I’m sorry,’ Olivia said, ‘but if you want to be safe, we’ll still need to abandon the goth look. No more pale face, no all-black ensembles . . .’
Ivy groaned, and pulled a pillow over her face.
‘You know I’m right,’ Olivia said. ‘We can’t give these VITs anything to be suspicious of. We just have to come up with a style shift that’s subtle enough not to alert people who already know you that something’s seriously different.’
‘Easy peasy,’ Ivy said, with an ironic tone of voice.
‘Never fear,’ Olivia smiled brightly. ‘I have the perfect solution!’
Ivy watched with a feeling of mounting dread as Olivia jumped up and stepped into the hallway. When she came back into the room, she was dragging a long sports bag behind her.
Don’t panic, Ivy told herself. She probably just needed a big bag. No way would Olivia actually expect me to . . .
‘Ta-da!’ Olivia opened the bag and pulled out a pair of black trainers and sweatpants. ‘How about this as a substitute? Sporty Ivy!’
Ivy couldn’t stop herself from groaning. But she had to admit, at least it was better than the first outfit . . . and there was no holding back a cheerleader on a mission. Within minutes, Ivy found herself completely transformed by Olivia’s ‘disguise’. Her black hair was tied back in a high ponytail, and her grey T-shirt had a sports company logo emblazoned on it. Ivy couldn’t even say which company it was – the name meant so little to her, she’d already forgotten it by the time she’d finished pulling the sleeves over her arms.
Or maybe she just wanted to pretend it wasn’t really happening . . .
As she looked down at the outfit, she winced. This has to be a bad dream.
But Olivia looked absolutely thrilled. ‘Am I a genius, or am I just a miracle worker?’ Humming to herself, she bustled around Ivy, straightening her twin’s ponytail and patting down the shoulders of Ivy’s T-shirt. ‘You see? It’s still an alternative look, still all the same dark colours that people round Franklin Grove think of as “Ivy” – but, to anyone visiting . . .’