by Mary Strand
Jane flushed beet red.
Dad rolled his eyes. “I had no idea you were so serious. I suppose I shouldn’t have let Norm introduce us.”
Six heads whirled in Dad’s direction.
Dad shook his head. “I was just being polite, discussing the Vikings. I prefer more spiritual pursuits.”
Even Jane snorted. Besides his ongoing devotion to the sports page, Dad had been a rabid football fan before a major midlife crisis turned Dad on to all things New Age. He claims it’s inconsistent with his present “journey,” but I think it’s just that the Vikings have sucked lately.
Mom glared at Dad. “You met him?”
Dad shrugged. “Norm and I ran into him in the lobby. But, no, I didn’t invite him to the block party. If you can believe it, he actually likes the Jets.”
“Just so he doesn’t like Jane. Or notice Jane. Or want anything to do with Jane. Not until she’s at least thirty.”
“Mom!”
I patted Jane’s hand. “Don’t worry, babe. Maybe she’ll relent when you’re twenty-nine.”
“I bet the guys at the party all like me best.” Batting her eyelashes, Lydia fluffed her fingers through her long, thick brown hair. “Cat and I may be the youngest, but I already have the biggest boobs.”
“No, she is the biggest boob.”
I’d mumbled my thought to Jane under my breath, but, next thing I knew, a peanut-butter-slathered bagel sailed through the air and clipped my cheek. Heh heh. The brat has good ears.
I spent most of that week—well, when I wasn’t in classes or studying or pretending to be—wishing Charlie and his pal Alex would disappear. Permanently. I hadn’t even spoken to the guys, I admit, but Jane was acting secretive, bordering on weird, and I knew what came next. With Jane, a major crush always led to major drama, hysterics, and, yep, a new cell-phone number.
I had to break the cycle before it broke Jane. And before it killed my only hope of getting an apartment.
Not that I had anything against good-looking guys in general or even Charlie in particular, but I couldn’t get past his name or his friend’s name. Besides, I’d promised Dad I’d keep Jane from getting into another mess with a guy. Even though Rachel insisted that no one had invited them to the block party, I had a bad feeling. I started sending fervent prayers skyward.
I must’ve sent those prayers to the wrong address.
Saturday night, Dad made his usual excuses, so Mom hustled the rest of us to the block party, loaded down with covered dishes and lemonade. Ten minutes after we dumped the food and drinks on a table in the middle of the barricaded street, the Langdons showed up, followed by a few more people. I groaned. Charlie, Alex, and a girl I’d never seen.
Spotting them, Mom turned white, then red, then a wild shade of maroon. Shockingly, though, she didn’t say a word. Instead, she grabbed Rachel’s mom, Doreen, and a pie and two forks. There went Atkins. Again.
But how could Charlie crash a party he didn’t know about? One guess. I grabbed Jane. “Funny how Charlie happens to be at our block party, since no one invited him.”
She tried to wriggle out of my grasp. “No?”
“No. Unless you did.”
I didn’t point out that Mom had ordered her not to, or that we didn’t need Jane Austen finding guys for us, or even that her friends already had enough trouble remembering her latest cell-phone number. When it came to guys, Jane wasn’t good at taking advice.
“Why would you think I invited him?”
I lifted one eyebrow.
“Well, I didn’t. Or I didn’t mean to.” She gave me her usual helpless smile. “I guess it just slipped out. Oops!”
When she couldn’t pry my arm loose, she dragged me over to Charlie. Next thing I knew, I was actually meeting him. Them. Charlie, Alex, and Charlie’s sister Stephanie. She looked like Charlie except for the long blond hair and the boobs and being way too skinny, which was probably what gave her that pinched look.
Alex looked from Charlie to Jane and back again, frowning and trying to catch Charlie’s eye, but both of Charlie’s blue eyes were scoping out Jane. Alex finally turned and gave me a quick up-and-down, then walked away.
As I stared at his back, I wobbled between irritation and embarrassment and feeling sick to my stomach. I hadn’t had a date in a while, I admit, but I wasn’t gross. Still, I glanced down at my shorts and tank top and wasn’t totally sure. Why’d I wear this, anyway? Oh, right. If Alex Darcy happened to show up tonight, I didn’t want him interested in me.
Mission accomplished.
Of course, a guy like Alex would never look at me twice. Or talk to me. Or whatever. Hot guys hit on girls like Jane—but Charlie was already doing that. Even if I weren’t wearing an outfit that made me look twelve, Alex would pick practically any other girl in this crowd over me. A brainy tomboy with next to zero in the way of hips or boobs? No thanks.
I bit my lip and told myself I wanted it this way. At least with a guy named Alex Darcy.
The Book scared me more than I wanted to admit—even though Bingham isn’t Bingley and there’s no such thing as fate. Sure, Jane’s constant search for Mr. Right seemed to leave her too distracted to search for an apartment with me, but she wasn’t looking to get married. Does anyone still get married at age nineteen? Anyone who’s not pregnant? Jane is a sophomore at the University of Minnesota, where I go, too. She spent her first year at Carleton, but the combination of me starting college and Dad losing his grip on financial reality sent her to the much cheaper U of M this year, which also meant moving back home. And, so far, not into an apartment with me.
Not that this was all about me. Even Alex ignoring me wasn’t about me. I told myself I just worried about Jane, who’d slipped behind a hedge with Charlie, chatting. Intensely.
As I tried not to listen in, I spotted Charlie’s sister, who groaned loudly when someone slipped an iPod into a docking station and started blasting tunes from the eighties. Charlie, who must’ve come from a different gene pool, grabbed Jane’s arm and started swiveling his hips. He danced like a nitwit on speed, but Jane didn’t seem to notice or care.
After a few songs, the street was filled with dancers, half of them probably the result of Lydia spiking the lemonade, and I might’ve danced if Rachel weren’t so shy or if I spotted a guy who looked like he didn’t slobber on himself. Instead, I walked across the street to the lemonade table. On the way I caught a conversation I wished I hadn’t.
Charlie and Alex were huddled on the other side of a tree, and sweet ol’ Charlie looked a little pissed.
“Geez, Alex. You could dance, you know, or at least talk to someone. Lighten up. This isn’t work.”
Alex’s hooded gaze swept the street, as if trying to find something in it that didn’t disgust him. “I’m too busy warning you about Jane. I thought we were trying to get you away from stalkers.”
Stalkers? Was Alex calling Jane a stalker? My misguided but sweet sister Jane? What?
Charlie waved his hand in the air. “She’s not a stalker. She’s gorgeous. And nice, even.”
Alex just shook his head.
“What about her sister? Liz?”
Something snorted out Alex’s nose. “You’re kidding, right? I don’t do charity work.”
Stunned, I sucked in my breath. I didn’t think they’d seen me, which would only make it worse, but I eyed a nearby utility hole and pondered the difficulty of throwing myself headlong into the sewer.
On trembling legs, I hobbled over to Rachel and told her all about it. Okay, an edited version, where I made fun of Alex and skipped the part about Jane being a stalker. Rachel hugged me, and after a few gulps of spiked lemonade, I managed to view the whole thing as hilarious. At least to an objective observer.
I wish I were one.
I slipped away from the party as soon as I could. Unfortunately, Mom and my sisters weren’t long behind me, so I couldn’t retreat to the comfort of my bedroom and my stuffed monkey, Philip. I had to stay downstairs for the pa
rty postmortem.
That’s when I found out that Mom had already heard from Doreen Langdon about Alex slamming me. Thanks, Rachel. Mom told Dad, of course, after she chewed out Jane for inviting Charlie. Then I had to endure Dad’s look of pity.
I didn’t need pity. I also didn’t need Alex Darcy, and I really didn’t need to keep thrashing around in this nightmare straight out of Pride and Prejudice. Alex Darcy? As if. Sure, I was tired and bugged and my name might be Elizabeth Bennet, but end of story.
Please, God.
Chapter 3
“That is very true,” replied Elizabeth, “and I could easily forgive his pride, if he had not mortified mine.”
— Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice, Volume I, Chapter Five
By the time Jane and I hauled our butts upstairs, I was nearly comatose. After exhausting my entire repertoire of witty reasons why it was a Good Thing to be rejected by a black-eyed toad like Alex Darcy—hey, I didn’t even want him—I collapsed on my bed and stared at the ceiling.
Jane was bouncing on her bed. “Charlie is so funny and sweet.” Blah blah blah. She didn’t mention his dancing, luckily, because I don’t love even Jane enough to let that one by. “Wasn’t he nice to Mrs. Jacobson?”
“She offered him a hunk of raspberry fudge. Even Dad would’ve been nice.”
“But still.”
I threw my pillow at her. “You’re forgetting the most important thing. He’s hot.”
It wasn’t the most important thing, but I didn’t have a clue how to broach the stalking bit. Alex Darcy had to be a paranoid jerk for even thinking Jane could be stalking Charlie. Guys go after Jane. But how did Jane keep running into Charlie? Rachel was more my friend than Jane’s, so Jane wouldn’t be hanging out at Rachel’s condo. Was she using a tracking device? Or maybe, more directly, her cell phone?
I glanced at Jane, who flushed as she clutched the pillow. “He kept asking me to dance. I mean, how flattering.”
I couldn’t help picturing Charlie’s wild gyrations, but I kept a straight face. Unlike Alex, I was feeling charitable.
“Duh. You were the cutest one there. Except for me, of course.” Jane snorted. On Jane, even snorting sounds cute. When I do it, I sound like a pig in heat. I took a deep breath, wishing I could be okay with the thought of Jane hooking up with Charlie. I wasn’t. “Are you going out with Charlie?”
“Liz! He hasn’t asked me!”
“Maybe because his sister was hovering?” Alex, too, but I didn’t want to talk about Alex. “You don’t like her as much as Charlie, do you?”
“Actually, she seemed sweet.”
Jane likes everyone. And I mean everyone, no exception. But she’s really like that. The real deal. I can’t help loving her for it, even if it means that I spend way too much time protecting her from snakes. But Charlie isn’t a snake, I don’t think, and Jane wasn’t planning to date his sister.
I got up to retrieve my pillow, then patted Jane on the shoulder. “You might be right. Personally, I thought Stephanie was a twit.”
“Liz!” Jane looked askance but then gave me a sly smile. “You just didn’t like her skinny butt.”
“You forgot the perky boobs, although I have doubts on how real they are. What’s your point?”
We both laughed. Then Jane shook her head. “Stephanie seems smart, actually, so I think you’d like her. She went to Vassar last year, but she’s taking a break and living with Charlie, at least for now—”
“At the condo?”
Jane shrugged. “What did you think of Alex?”
I blinked at the sudden change of subject. “His name is way too close to The Book.” I gave her a meaningful look. “Besides, he’s no Colin Firth. Or even Matthew Macfadyen. And he’s probably gay.”
I hadn’t shared with Jane my earlier gay-drug-runner hopes for Charlie, but anyone that blond and angelic couldn’t be a drug runner, and he was too whipped on Jane to be gay. Unfortunately. Besides, it’d be better if Alex were the gay drug runner. He had the black hair for it, and the oh-so-black eyes. Or deep brown. I didn’t want to get close enough to tell, thank you very much.
Jane hooted. “The guy is hot and definitely straight. Admit it. But he might be a bit shy.”
“Shy? Is that what we’re calling jerks these days?”
“He’s not a jerk. Seriously. I don’t think he likes to dance—”
I rolled my eyes. “At least not with me.”
“—but I saw him checking you out. And he talked a lot to Stephanie.”
Who had the hots for him, I noticed, even though everyone knows that girls with bony butts are lousy kissers. Well, girls all know that.
Not that I cared if Alex and bony-butt Stephanie were locking lips. Besides, something about Alex annoyed me, and not just the stalking thing. Like, say, his eyes. Or the way his butt looked in jeans. Or the lopsided grin I saw him give Charlie once.
I frowned at Jane. “Where do they all live? I mean, when they’re not using that condo?”
Jane waved a hand in the air. “I’m not exactly sure.”
Or she wasn’t exactly telling me. “But they’re going back wherever it is, though, right?”
“I think we’ll be seeing more of them. I mean, I hope I—er, we—keep running into Charlie.”
Seeing the dreamy smile drifting across her face, I figured she’d spend the rest of the night mooning over every nuance of the sweet and cute Charlie. Before she could mention the adorable freckle on his left forearm, I leaped back onto my bed and stuffed my pillow over my face.
Because his last name is Bingham and his friend’s name is Darcy and the whole stupid thing was making my head spin. I hoped I didn’t puke into the pillow.
At the crack of dawn Sunday morning—okay, ten a.m.—Rachel showed up at our door, just like old times. She hadn’t been swooned over at the block party by Charlie or Alex or anyone else, but she wasn’t the type to care. Rachel copes.
“I saw you talking to Charlie Bingham last night, Rachel.” Mom glanced over her shoulder at Rachel, offering a tight smile. “What did you think of him?”
“I didn’t talk to him much.” Rachel grinned at me. “He seemed to spend most of his time with Jane.”
“Well, no one cares how I feel about it...” Mom trailed off, inserting a big sigh to fill the void.
I rolled my eyes. “Mom, it’s not a big deal.”
Dad looked up from his newspaper. “Don’t worry, Lizzie. Even if Alex Darcy didn’t notice you, I’m sure your mother worries about any number of unsavory boys liking you, too.”
Rattled, I slammed back a gulp of juice, half of it sloshing onto my Coldplay T-shirt. I jumped.
Rachel patted my shoulder. “Who cares what Alex thinks? I mean, the guy doesn’t even speak. I watched him for fifteen minutes and never saw his lips move.”
I watched his lips, too. Nice lips. Not that I’d admit it.
Jane piped up. “I told you, Liz. He’s just shy.”
“Shy? The guy drives a black Lamborghini. I don’t think the two concepts coexist.”
“Thanks, Rachel.” I raised my slopped-over juice glass to toast her. “You’re being supportive, right?”
“You don’t want him, Liz, any more than Jane should want Charlie.” A forkful of eggs halfway to her mouth, Mom stopped talking long enough to look at me, tsking over my T-shirt. “If you ask me—” And when it came to dating, no one did. “—even if he asked you out, I’d cut him off at the knees.”
Groaning, I shook my head. “There’s an easy one, Mom. I think I can safely promise that he’ll never ask me out.”
“But if he did?”
“His knees are history.”
I didn’t want to ponder his knees, though. The more body parts of Alex Darcy I didn’t think about, the better off I’d be.
After the first month of classes, I figured out that engineering professors like to torment freshmen by piling on homework and springing pop quizzes. The combination left me too frantic to think about
Alex, which was good, but too busy to keep tabs on Jane. Which wasn’t so good.
I don’t know what English professors do, but Jane seemed to have plenty of free time to keep disappearing on me. Was she seeing Charlie? No clue. I mean, he didn’t show up at our door. If he was emailing or texting Jane or calling her latest cell-phone number, she wasn’t admitting it.
But she still had a goofy smile on her face.
I tried to ask Rachel for advice, or at least sympathy, but she was too intent on lugging boxes of stuff from their condo to the rental truck her dad had parked in front. After I asked at least five times, she gave me a weird look and said they were taking all the stuff they didn’t need to Goodwill.
“I don’t get why you didn’t haul this stuff to Goodwill before you moved in.” I paused in the lobby, breathing a little hard as I shifted my grip on a big box. “Wouldn’t that have been easier?”
Rachel grunted. Sweat dribbled down her flushed face, and the pile of rugs and coats in her arms threatened to topple her. “Dad doesn’t exactly think things through.”
No kidding. Mr. Langdon was a brilliant inventor who could never remember where he left his car keys.
I shrugged. “I guess he doesn’t have to. He can afford to buy a place in the most luxurious condo building in Woodbury, and he has us for slave labor. Perfect deal.” I laughed as I nudged open the door with my shoulder, holding it for Rachel.
She looked thoughtful as she slipped past me. “I miss our old house. I wish...”
“Yeah, you wish you were still living next door to us, so you could drop in whenever you want for all those fab home-cooked dinners my mom makes.”
Rachel glanced over her shoulder at me. “Your mom doesn’t cook. At all.”
I made my way out to the curb, where I set my box in the truck before turning to help Rachel. “Not true. She cooks. It’s just inedible.”
