Wish You Were Eyre

by Heather Vogel Frederick

  We all look at her.

  “What?” she says defensively. “I’m just saying.”

  Cassidy sits up again. “It’s still not fair,” she grumbles.

  “Of course it’s not fair,” agrees her mother. “Especially when you start thinking about the novels that all those talented women might have gone on to write.”

  “There’s always the After Library to look forward to,” I tell them, and my mother nods, laughing.

  “What’s that?” Cassidy asks.

  “My mother’s friend Jessica made it up,” I explain. “She says if there really is a heaven, it’s got to have a big library in it filled with new books by all of her favorite dead authors.”

  Cassidy snorts, but a smile lingers on her lips. “The After Library. I like it.”

  Mrs. Sloane-Kinkaid checks her watch. “We’d better get going,” she says. “Courtney’s been traveling, and must be beat—”

  “I’m fine, mom, really,” Courtney protests.

  “—and Cassidy, you have a busy few days ahead, and I want you rested up before we leave.”

  “We can’t wait to cheer you on,” says Jess as we all get up to say good-bye.

  “See you this weekend!” I call as they head outside to their car.

  Cassidy’s tournament starts tomorrow, but we’re not caravanning out until Saturday morning. Unless there’s some huge upset, the Lady Shawmuts are pretty much a shoe-in to make it at least as far as the quarter finals, and we’ll be there in plenty of time for those, since the championship is practically in our backyard. It’s being held this year out in western Massachusetts. Everybody’s going, except for Mr. Wong, who’s staying behind to hold down the fort at Campaign Central, as he calls it, and Mr. Delaney. Several of Half Moon Farm’s mama goats are due this weekend, and Jess’s dad doesn’t want to leave their farmhand to deal with multiple births all by himself.

  Since we’ll be at the tournament anyway, Stewart and I offered to cover it for the school newspaper. Sophie is going along to take pictures, of course, but I’m hoping Stewart and I will finally be able to squeeze out a few minutes alone at some point to talk.

  It doesn’t happen on Saturday, as it turns out. There’s just too much going on. I’ve been to some pretty exciting hockey games in my life, what with Darcy having played since I was still in a stroller, but nothing compares to a USA Hockey National Championship. I imagine this is what the Olympics are like, only on a smaller scale, of course. There are teams in town from all over the United States—California, Michigan, New York, New Jersey, you name it. They’re all wearing matching warm-up suits in their team colors, and the stands and the streets and parking lots of Marlborough are ablaze with team colors, too. With so many different age levels competing, from U-12 through the U-16 teams like the Lady Shawmuts to the U-19s, the Sports Center and the hotels and the entire town are jammed with players and visitors.

  By the time we arrive, a lot of the preliminary games are already out of the way, and the playing field has been winnowed down to the top eight for the quarter finals.

  “We should have brought campaign stuff to hand out,” I whisper to Stewart at one point, gazing at the arena. “It looks like half of Concord is here.”

  We cheer the Lady Shawmuts to an easy victory over a team from Ohio, and they advance to the semifinals.

  “Oh yeah!” I crow. “That was easy.”

  “They won’t all be like that,” says my brother, who’s sitting beside me. He leans across and taps Stewart on the shoulder. “Check it out,” he says, pointing down to a cluster of men and women with clipboards standing on the arena floor. “College scouts.”

  They’re out in force, and so is the news media. I spot Carson Dawson rinkside, talking to Sophie. His smile is blinding, even from here.

  After the quarter finals we take a break for lunch at a nearby sandwich shop. Cassidy shows up with her team, and they take seats at the table next to us, a mass of red and white.

  “I guess you can tell who we’re rooting for,” says Jess’s mother, waggling the end of her red-and-white scarf.

  We laugh, because we’re all wearing the Lady Shawmuts’ colors, too.

  “Don’t look now,” says Courtney, lowering her voice, “but here comes the team from Orange County.”

  Of course we all look over, and they stare back coolly. The Suns have a bit of a history with the Lady Shawmuts, apparently. Something to do with a disputed call in a game earlier this season. If they both win their semifinal match, they’ll be facing off against each other for the championship.

  “It’s weird to think that Cassidy would be playing for them if we’d stayed in California, isn’t it, Mom?” says Courtney.

  Mrs. Sloane-Kinkaid nods. “It certainly is. You never know what’s around the next bend in the winding hall of fate.”

  I recognize that expression from one of the Betsy-Tacy books we read last year. It gets me thinking about what lies ahead down that hall for me. Will Stewart still be my boyfriend after he goes to college? Or is a break-up inevitable?

  We troop back to the arena after lunch for back-to-back nail-biters. The Suns are up first, against a team from Michigan. It’s a close game, with both teams grudgingly giving up a point as they move into the final period. The Suns close it down in the end, though, with a spectacular goal in sudden-death overtime.

  “Nice!” shouts my brother, jumping to his feet and pumping his fist in the air.

  Jess and I both grab his shirt and tug him back into his seat.

  “What?” he says. “It was a great shot!”

  “Yeah, but we’re Lady Shawmuts fans, not Suns, you dork,” I tell him.

  Our team is up next against the Chicago Shamrocks. It’s another intense match, both on the ice and off, as everybody in the arena knows that a win means a shot at the championship.

  “Come on, come on, come on,” I hear Mrs. Sloane-Kinkaid mutter in the row ahead of me. She hides her face in her hands as the Chicago girls score, pulling ahead. “I can’t watch!” she moans. “Somebody tell me when it’s over!”

  Beside her, Chloe is sitting on Stanley’s lap. She reaches over and pats her mother’s hair. “Dee dee dee!” she says—Chloe-speak for “Cassidy” and “Lady Shawmuts.” Mrs. Sloane-Kinkaid gives her a kiss. “That’s right, Chloe. Cassidy is out there, and we want her to win!”

  The ref’s whistle blows and the girls skate in for a water break. I see Cassidy and Zach exchange a few words. Something seems a little different between them these days. They’re more, I don’t know, distant or something. I’m not even sure they’re still together. Then again, we’ve all been so busy lately, what with the election and everything, I’m probably just imagining it.

  The team huddles up with Coach Larson for a few seconds. I can’t hear what she’s saying to them, but it must be good because when the whistle blows again, they blaze through the remainder of the period, scoring two goals in rapid succession.

  The Chicago team never quite bounces back after that, and the Lady Shawmuts maintain their lead to win the game.

  Back at the hotel, we hang out in the lobby for a while, where Sophie uploads her photos to her laptop while Stewart and my brother and Mr. Kinkaid and the Delaney twins relive the game point by point. As I work on my write-up for the Alcott Avenger, I listen to them with one ear and to Mrs. Wong with the other. She’s pacing back and forth, checking in with Mr. Wong on the campaign stuff.

  And something else, from the sound of it.

  “Did you talk with him?” I hear her say at one point in a low voice. “And?” There a pause, and then, “I knew it! I just knew it! Mother obviously has no idea.”

  Gigi has no idea about what? My pen hangs in midair as I strain to hear.

  But Mrs. Wong has moved away.

  “Something’s up,” I tell Jess when we’re upstairs in our hotel room later. She’s flopped on her stomach, finishing Jane Eyre. I guess we shamed her into it.

  “Mmm,” she says absently.

/>   “Jess! Listen to me!”

  She drags her eyes away from the page. “Okay already! What? I’m listening.”

  I tell her what I overheard.

  “Weird,” she says when I’m done. “You’re right—it does sound like something’s up. Any idea what it could be?”

  I shrug. “All I know is it sounds like it has something to do with Gigi’s engagement.”

  We speculate for a while, then turn out the lights and go to sleep.

  The next morning Jess sleeps in for once. I get dressed and tiptoe out of the room, then head downstairs to breakfast. Stewart and I are the first to arrive at the buffet.

  “Hey, stranger!” he says. “Want to sit with me?”

  I look around the empty room, pretending to consider my options. “Well, since you asked so nicely . . .”

  He laughs. “Thank goodness there’s no competition for me to worry about,” he says in mock relief as we sit down at one of the tables.

  Finally, the lead-in I’ve been looking for. “How about me?” I ask. “Do I need to be worried?”

  “About what?” he asks, whistling cheerfully as he pours milk on his cereal.

  “Competition.”

  He looks at me blankly.

  “You know—Sophie.”

  “Sophie Fairfax?”

  “Of course Sophie Fairfax!” I reply, exasperated.

  “What the heck are you talking about?”

  I can’t believe he’s being so dense. All the pent-up hurt and anger I’ve been feeling these past few months boils over. “Stewart! She’s been stuck to you like gum on the bottom of your shoe ever since she got here! And from what I can tell, it’s not like you’ve discouraged her or anything.”

  He gapes at me. “Emma—”

  I hurtle on. “You and I have hardly had any time to ourselves in weeks! I can’t even remember the last time we went on a date, or—”

  “Uh, hello, we’ve had a campaign to run, remember?”

  “—of course I remember! But still, you have to admit, it’s like we’ve become a threesome instead of a twosome.”

  “What are you talking about? So I’ve been nice to Sophie, so what? She’s over here in a strange country, without her family, her parents are splitting up and she’s trying to figure out how to fit into a new school. I was just being friendly.”

  I look at him. “So that’s what it’s called.”

  “Look,” he says, reddening, though I can’t tell whether it’s from anger or embarrassment. This is not going well. “You’re blowing this way out of proportion, Emma. Sophie and I are just friends—period.”

  “Yeah, along with half of Alcott High! The male half, I might add.”

  “Of course she gravitates toward us guys—we’re the only ones who’ve been nice to her!”

  “That’s not true!”

  “Really? Name one time you’ve reached out to her, or included her without being forced to, or even tried talking to her!”

  I open my mouth to protest and he cuts me off. “And book club doesn’t count!” he adds. “Your mothers invited her to join, not you.”

  I shut my mouth again. Of course we’ve tried to include her, haven’t we? Now that I think about it . . . no, wait! Of course we have. Like that very first time at book club. She was the one who didn’t want to talk to me.

  “You have no idea what she’s been going through, do you?” Stewart continues. “You’re so busy judging her, you haven’t even tried to get to know her. She could really use a friend or two, Emma—girlfriends.”

  “What she’s going through?” I exclaim, stung. “How about what I’m going through? My boyfriend’s been swiped right out from under my nose, and as far as I can tell he’s thrilled to pieces.”

  Stewart shakes his head in disgust. “That is so unfair.”

  “It’s true!”

  He doesn’t answer me. We’re both silent for a minute, and then he sighs. “Look, this might not be the right time to bring this up, but I’ve been wanting to talk to you about prom.”

  My stomach lurches. Uh-oh, I think, pretty sure I’m not going to like whatever it is he has to say.

  “I was wondering what you’d think about me taking both of you. You and Sophie together, I mean. You and I have talked before about how dances are kind of dumb, and I thought it might be nice for her to go with the two people she’s spent the most time with here in Concord. What with all the work we’ve done together on the campaign, I mean.”

  My eyes fill with tears. “This is a joke, right?” When he doesn’t answer, and I realize that it’s not, I throw down my napkin. “Forget it,” I tell him. “Take Sophie. That’s what you really want, anyway.” And I stalk out of the room.

  The rest of the tournament is sheer misery.

  I sit in the stands, watching silently as the Lady Shawmuts battle the Suns for the championship. Stewart—make that Stew-rat—and I haven’t spoken since breakfast. I can tell he wants to talk—he keeps looking up at me from where he’s standing by the edge of the rink. But Sophie’s there too, of course, so what more is there to say? He’s made his choice.

  But Sophie’s there with him too, of course, so what more is there to say? He’s made his choice.

  The final seconds of the game unfold as if in slow motion. I see Cassidy and Allegra Chapman skating toward the Suns’ goalie. Allegra passes the puck to Cassidy, who takes the shot.

  The buzzer blares and I hear the crowd go wild. I see Cassidy and her teammates throw their gloves in the air, screaming their heads off in excitement as the final score is announced.

  The buzzer blares and I hear the crowd go wild. I see Cassidy and Allegra Chapman throw their gloves in the air, screaming their heads off as the final score is announced.

  “SHAW-MUTS! SHAW-MUTS! SHAW-MUTS!” The chant sounds to me like it’s coming from a distance. I watch as Cassidy and the rest of the Lady Shawmuts skate around the rink, their smiles as wide as the banner they’re holding, all of them over the moon with happiness.

  I know I should be happy for them too, but I’m numb. I feel like I’m underwater, or someplace far away. Not here. Anywhere but here.

  Here is too painful.

  Jess

  “Everybody knows you are the most selfish, heartless creature in existence . . .”

  —Jane Eyre

  “Let’s hear it for the new mayor of Concord—Lily Wong!”

  Darcy and I toss handfuls of confetti into the air and cheer along with the rest of the crowd. We’ve been crammed in shoulder to shoulder with many of Mrs. Wong’s supporters here at Pies & Prejudice for over an hour, waiting for the election results. Now we have the official word: Megan’s mother won by a landslide.

  I crane my neck, looking for Emma. I see her family, and I see Stewart standing with Mr. Wong and Sophie Fairfax, but there’s no sign of Emma.

  “Speech! Speech! Speech!” chants the crowd, and Darcy goes over to help lift Mrs. Wong onto one of the tables. She raises her hands overhead, wrists interlocked in her now-famous Handcuffs Wong pose, and everyone cheers again.

  “First of all, I want to thank each and every one of you here tonight for your phenomenal support,” she begins as the noise dies down. “If it’s true that it takes a village to raise a child—and many of you have had a hand in raising mine”—she smiles at my mother and the rest of the book club moms who are clustered by the pastry display case—“it’s even more true that it takes a village to keep the democratic process alive, especially with all that was involved in an unexpected election like this one.” She pauses dramatically, then adds: “And I’m here to tell you tonight that the spirit of democracy is alive and well in Concord, Massachusetts!”

  Everyone cheers wildly again at this.

  “Most of all,” she continues, “I’d like to thank my wonderful family and my remarkable campaign staff, especially Stewart Chadwick and Emma Hawthorne who, despite their youth and inexperience, outworked, outbrainstormed, and, in the end, managed to outmaneuver our w
orthy opponents. Handcuffs Wong is forever in your debt.”

  Where is she? I wonder, still searching for Emma as the crowd applauds enthusiastically.

  “And of course, I also need to single out Sophie Fairfax,” adds Mrs. Wong, “our family’s lovely exchange student and the campaign’s talented photographer and filmmaker, whose clever ads and video spot caught the eye and the imagination of our town’s citizens.”

  Sophie waves shyly as the crowd applauds again.

  Say something about Megan, say something about Megan, I chant under my breath at Mrs. Wong, who is wearing the red Chanel knockoff Megan made her for the debate again tonight. But she doesn’t.

  As she goes on to pledge her commitment to fulfilling her campaign promises as Concord’s new mayor, I finally spot Emma standing back near the kitchen, half-hidden by the curtain that serves as its door. “Emma, I’m so proud of you!” I tell her after I manage to work my way through the throng. “Isn’t this exciting? Your Handcuffs Wong strategy really paid off.”

  “Yup.”

  “Next stop, the White House, right?”

  She gives a halfhearted laugh, and I look at her keenly. “Is something wrong?”

  She lifts a shoulder.

  Something is definitely up. Now that I think about it, I haven’t seen much of her since Sunday. The two of us didn’t get to talk after Cassidy’s final game; my family had to skip the celebration party and buzz right home to help out with the baby boom at the farm. “C’mon Emma—you can’t hide from me. I know you too well. What’s going on?”

  She sighs. “Fine. Stewart and I argued.”

  “Over what?”

  “He wants to take both of us to the prom.”

  “Both of us who?” I ask, puzzled. I’m going with Darcy—Stewart knows that, doesn’t he?

  “Sophie and me,” Emma replies.

  I start to laugh.

  Emma’s eyes well up with tears. “It’s not a joke, Jess. I’m serious.”

  My laughter fades. I stare at her. “He wants to take you and Sophie Fairfax? Are you kidding me?”