A Good Name: A Modern Pride and Prejudice Variation

by Sarah Courtney

  George grinned. “Not a word.”

  Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire book was the best Harry Potter book yet, even though it was a lot scarier than the others. He had trouble falling asleep one night after one of the last chapters. He was glad that Lizzy had a father who wouldn’t let his newly-nine-year-old daughter read it. And after that . . . the series was over, at least for now. It might be years until the fifth book came out! He couldn’t stop thinking about it and dreaming about it.

  “You’re grumpier than usual,” Lizzy said cheerily as she joined him.

  “Are you saying that I’m usually grumpy?” he asked.

  “Yep! But not this much. Not usually.”

  “It’s just frustrating to have to wait. I feel like I’m stuck back at the Dursleys’ with Harry, waiting for the next year of Hogwarts. Ugh.”

  “You just gotta take your mind off it by reading something else good. What’s next?”

  “Captain Nobody,” he said. It was his latest choice from the library.

  She looked intrigued. “I haven’t read that one yet. Tell me how it is?”

  A book she hadn’t read yet! That was something new. He didn’t think he’d found a single book to read that she hadn’t read first, not yet. “Okay. And maybe if I like it, you could read it, too.”

  “Sure.”

  It was fun to recommend a book to her once he’d finished. She took it seriously, taking the book home the next day to read it. When they talked about it, he imagined that he was the expert, as he’d read it first.

  It might be the first time it happened, but it was soon to happen again, and again. He had quickly caught up to her reading level, and maybe even a little beyond it. He was older, after all, and had been reading longer, for all that he hadn’t read particularly well. It only seemed fair.

  August 2001

  George stared at the dog. “Lizzy, why do you have a dog?”

  “He’s a prop!” she said eagerly, giving a little dance that the dog was happy to join in on. “My neighbor said I could borrow him for the day if I gave him a walk and didn’t lose him.”

  He eyed the collie warily and shook his head. “A prop for what? Seriously, Lizzy, animals aren’t props.”

  “We could play The Incredible Journey!”

  “We’d need another dog and a cat.”

  “I could be the cat, you could be the other dog!”

  “No.”

  She pouted. “Lassie?”

  “I’m not being Timmy.” If she expected him to say, “Run home, Lassie, run home!” he would probably die of embarrassment.

  Now her free hand was on her hip. “Henry and Ribsy?”

  “Seriously, Lizzy, a dog?

  “It sounded like a good idea at the time!”

  “All your ideas sound like good ideas at the time,” he huffed. But he couldn’t help reaching out to pat the dog’s soft fur.

  “I know!” she said. “Misty of Chincoteague! He can be a horse!”

  February 2002

  In the late winter and early spring, a drainage ditch that ran through the woods near the pond would sometimes fill with water from melting snow. Usually it was fairly unremarkable, little more than a trickle of collected rain headed towards the pond. The combination of melting snow and heavy rains, though, could make the little ditch look almost like a creek. A rather small, pathetic kind of a creek, but a creek all the same.

  “It’s perfect!” Lizzy said, eyeing it.

  George knew by now what “perfect” meant. He was about to get roped into something. He didn’t know what, but given the state of the creek, he was guessing it was going to be messy.

  “What,” he asked cautiously, “are we playing today?”

  “Bridge to Terabithia!” she exclaimed joyfully.

  That . . . actually didn’t sound too bad.

  “We’re going to fix the ending!” she added with glee.

  He should have known there was a catch. “Fix it how?”

  “I’m going to be Leslie and fall in the creek, and you’re going to be Jesse and come back just in time to save me! Then they’ll both get to go on to play forever in Terabithia. Well, until they grow up and all.”

  “So you’re going to jump in that? It’s all mud, Lizzy! Your mom will be so mad.”

  Lizzy shrugged. “She’s always mad at me anyway. What’s one more thing?”

  He sighed. He never had any good arguments against her crazy schemes. Besides, it actually sounded kinda fun. “Okay, fine, but I’m not getting wet.”

  She threw herself into the creek. Or tried to, anyway. She could only really get part of her body in the water at one time. She made up for this by splashing around like a crazy person, pretending to drown. “Help, Jesse, help!”

  George sighed again and reached out a hand. “Here, Leslie, reach!”

  She reached out and grabbed his hand with both of her wet, muddy ones. She pulled, hard.

  “Aaaah!” he cried as he lost his balance and landed on his knees in the creek. The water was cold! He could feel it seep through his holey jeans in a moment.

  “Oops. Sorry.” She gave him a shamefaced look. “Really.”

  He dragged himself out of the creek and stood, looking ruefully down at his jeans. They were soaking wet from mid-thigh to halfway down his calves. He looked at Lizzy.

  Lizzy bit her lip, then shrugged and smiled. “Wanna try again?”

  April 2002

  As George turned twelve, his life settled into a routine. That was a change of sorts, as his life had never had routine before. It had always been unpredictable. Moving from apartment to apartment with his mom’s boyfriends, his mom getting picked up on drug charges and his time in foster care . . . even staying with Grandma for a few years, back when she’d been alive. But now he’d had over two years of stability, his mother’s stay with Mark the longest she’d ever been with the same boyfriend.

  And during that time, he’d had the great joy of having a friend. A true best friend, something he’d never experienced before. He was happier than he’d ever been in his life. He should have known it couldn’t last.

  The fights between his mother and Mark had been more frequent as of late. They had always had a rather volatile relationship, but there were fewer periods of peace between fights. He was surprised, in fact, that they were still together. Usually his mother left long before this.

  Both of them had lost their jobs, then Mom had found one again for a while, but Mark had shown up drunk and high and gotten her in trouble, and she’d lost it again. Then they’d run out of money. Since there was rarely any real food in the house, and George never saw any of the money anyway, he wouldn’t have noticed except that they kept fighting over it.

  But then one day he came back from his afternoon with Lizzy to find his mom dragging two full trash bags into the hallway outside their apartment.

  “Mom?” he asked.

  She handed him a trash bag. “Get the stuff you want, and let’s go.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “We’re leaving. Mark’s kicking us out.”

  It felt like a punch to the stomach. “Where is he?”

  “Not here. Let’s go.”

  “But . . . where are we going?”

  “There’s a homeless shelter on East Third. We’ll go there for the night, then we’ll see. Maybe I can get my job back at Rizzo’s now that Mark’s off my back.”

  George went to his mattress and collected his clothes and few other things into the trash bag. He checked to make sure he had his library book and school things, then put his backpack on and followed his mother out.

  The shelter on East Third was actually pretty decent. Best of all, it was not very far from Mark’s apartment where they used to live. He could still walk to the park, even if they had a bus to take the shelter kids to school.

  His mother was still on some sort of binge. The shelter people were grumpy about it, but they didn’t do drug testing and didn’t want to kick her out because of him.
He could tell from the way they looked at his mom and the way they looked at him. It was always like that. He was glad that he and his mom had a room to themselves, even if his mom often kept him up late singing or talking to herself.

  The food was good, surprisingly, and they served dinner. He wouldn’t need Lizzy to bring him food, at least, not while they were at the shelter. Better not tell her to stop, though. Mom would probably find a job and an apartment soon, and then they’d be back to how things were.

  May 2002

  He thought for a few weeks that things weren’t so bad, and maybe for once he’d landed on his feet. But that ended the day that he arrived at the park to find that Lizzy had news for him. Bad news.

  “Moving where?” he asked abruptly, interrupting Lizzy’s explanation.

  “Wakefield,” she said, looking down. “Not so very far, but . . . far enough that I won’t be able to walk or bike all the way to this park.”

  George wanted to kick something. He’d thought maybe things were going to be okay. Lizzy and her books had given him something else to do, to think about, to believe in. He’d read about heroes and villains and history and magic, and his ordinary life hadn’t seemed so bad. Now it was all over.

  “I don’t know if I’ll be able to come back,” Lizzy said. “Jane and I are doing most of the packing. Mom’s yelling and throwing things. I need to stay and help, mostly.”

  He nodded. That was the most she’d ever said about her home life, really. Her mom sounded as bad as his. He didn’t trust himself to speak.

  “Um. So, I thought you could have my library card,” she said, handing it to him. “Then you can still check out books. Just don’t lose any, okay? And don’t lose the card.”

  “I would never,” he assured her. “But are you sure? Won’t you need it?”

  She shrugged. “We’ll be in Wake County, so another library system. I won’t need it. And you’ll need it, since your mom’s too busy to take you to the library.”

  “Thanks,” he said, but that didn’t seem enough. “Thanks so much. I mean . . . this is everything.”

  Lizzy smiled at him. “Books are, aren’t they? So, can I . . . can I write to you?”

  Could he get mail at the shelter? He didn’t think so. He’d never seen anybody else do it.

  “I . . . I don’t think . . . I don’t really have . . . like, an address, where I can get things.”

  She nodded sadly. “I figured.”

  They stood silently for a few minutes.

  “I wish I could give you mine,” Lizzy said. “But we don’t have a house yet. We’re going to live in a hotel for a while until Mom can find one.” Her voice got quieter. “I think they’re going to get a divorce. I haven’t seen Dad for a while. They haven’t told us exactly.”

  “Is your dad coming with you?”

  Lizzy bit her lip. “I don’t know. He’s staying somewhere else, I guess, although a bunch of his stuff is still at home. I’ve barely seen him in months. He comes by for a little while, Mom yells and throws things at him, and then he gives us kisses and leaves again.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then added softly, “I wish he’d take me with him. But he won’t.”

  “This sucks,” George said.

  “Yeah. So, um,” she said, looking awkward, “I borrowed my dad’s camera. I thought, maybe I could take a picture of you. And one of both of us.” She swallowed hard. “To remember, you know.”

  He looked down at his clothes. Great. It had been ages since he’d managed to haul stuff to the laundromat, so his old green t-shirt looked pretty awful, and there were all sorts of mysterious stains and tears on his jeans. Which were a bit too short. His shoes were held together with some duct tape he’d found in Mark’s kitchen. The duct tape had worn off a lot, though, so the soles flapped when he walked.

  He sighed. “You really want a picture of me?”

  “It’s not a fashion show, George. It’s a memory.”

  “You want to remember me like this?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I want to remember you as you are. You’re like this. So, yes, I want to remember you like this. Come on, let’s go over by our woods.”

  “Narnia, eh?” he said.

  “Yep. Now, hold still. And stop looking constipated.”

  He gave a weak grin to the camera and heard the click. Then again. And again.

  “Surely one is enough,” he said.

  “It would be if you’d smile a little!” Lizzy punched his arm. “Now let’s go find someone to take our picture together!”

  As they walked towards a group of mothers sitting on a bench near the playground, Lizzy said. “I’m sorry that I didn’t think to do this before. I could have given you a copy.”

  She walked right up to one of the mothers. “Hey, I’m moving away, and my friend and I won’t see each other anymore. Will you take our picture together?” He supposed she wasn’t worried so much anymore about what the parents would think of them being alone at the park. They were twelve and almost ten now, after all. Plus it wouldn’t matter after today, anyway. His stomach clenched at the thought.

  “Oh, sure, sweetie. Where do you want to stand?”

  “Actually, we’d like to sit on our bench,” Lizzy said. She grabbed George’s arm and dragged him over to the bench where they’d spent so many hours reading.

  Apparently, the mother had learned the same photo technique as Lizzy, because she took several photos, making them nudge closer, put their arms around each other, smile, try again without blinking, etc. She was a photo mom in her glory.

  When she finally handed the camera back and went back to the other parents, Lizzy spent some time putting the camera back in its case in her backpack. Then she pulled something else out.

  “I have a present for you,” Lizzy said. “It’s not wrapped or anything.”

  She handed him a book.

  “Around the World in 80 Days?” he said, reading the title.

  She nodded, and opened the cover as he held it in his hands. It had a simple inscription in careful, neat cursive: “To George, my best friend ever. From Lizzy.”

  She closed it and stroked the cover. “It’s my newest favorite, I think. Dad gave it to me for my birthday. Which is actually next month, but I think he got mine confused with Jane’s. He does stuff like that a lot.”

  George pursed his lips. He knew when Lizzy’s birthday was. She’d turn ten next month, but she wouldn’t be here for him to see it. He’d never know ten-year-old Lizzy. The thought made him blink quickly to avoid tears.

  “Anyway,” she went on, “I just finished it. It’s a bit hard, but not too much. It’s an adventure story. Really good. And . . . funny.” Her voice caught, and the last word was hard to hear.

  He wasn’t usually much of a touchy-feely kind of guy. He’d grabbed her hand sometimes when they were playing, and a couple of times she’d joke-punched him or butted his shoulder with hers, and he’d done the same, but that was about the most physical contact they’d had. But when he heard that sob, he pulled her to him and hugged her tight against his chest.

  It felt good. His mom hugged him every so often, when she was in a good mood, but that was about it. He’d never had a friend close enough to hug. Not until Lizzy.

  “Maybe I’ll see you again someday,” he said when he let her go.

  She sniffled and rubbed her nose. “Yeah, maybe. I’ll miss you. Really I will.”

  “I’ll miss you, too.”

  New Beginnings

  May 2002

  Opening that book was the hardest thing he’d ever done. Around the World in 80 Days sat untouched in his backpack, protected between other books but making him feel guilty every time he opened the bag.

  Finally, he sat down on his bed at the shelter and pulled out the book. Looking at the cover made him blink rapidly. The last book. A favorite of hers.

  There was no point in going to the park. It was full of memories of books and Lizzy reading them to life. Of running through the woods o
r climbing on the playground, pretending to be characters from the latest story. All that was ruined now. If he went to the park, it would be to wallow in his misery. He could do that just as well here. But he decided to read her book instead.

  He sighed, laid back on his bed, and started to read.

  Hours later, he was deep into the story of Phileas Fogg and Passepartout’s adventure. They were in India, attempting to concoct a dangerous rescue, when he realized it was time for dinner.

  It was hard to put the book down for dinner. He didn’t want to risk losing it, so he held it under his tray while he got his meal, then put it next to him on the table when he sat down. His mother was out “looking for work,” or so she said, so it was just him.

  The shelter was rather quiet, maybe because it was still near the beginning of the month, when everybody had new checks and enough money to go elsewhere. He was sitting at the end of a table, and nobody took the spot next to him so after a few minutes, he opened the book to read a few pages while he finished his chicken.

  “Hello!” a jovial voice greeted him, startling him from his book. He looked up quickly.

  It was a grown-up, not too young, not too old. Dark hair with no gray, but older than the college kids who sometimes showed up in groups. The man sat down in the seat next to George.

  “Hi,” George said cautiously.

  “I’m George Darcy,” the man said. He held out a hand to shake.

  George shook it. “I’m George, too. George Wickham.”

  “Well, George 2!” Mr. Darcy said. “I’m pleased to meet you! I saw you over here reading a book, and I just had to find out who you were.”

  George blushed. “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to be rude.”

  “Nonsense,” Mr. Darcy said. “I know all about how hard it is to put down a good book. Nobody was sitting next to you, anyway.”

  “That’s just what I thought!” George cried, then he blushed again.

  Mr. Darcy patted him on the back. “What are you reading?”

  George showed him the cover.