by Lisa Tuttle
Love On-Line
Lisa Tuttle
First published in Great Britain in 1998 by Mammoth
This ebook edition published in 2013 by
Jo Fletcher Books
An imprint of Quercus Editions Ltd
55 Baker Street
7th Floor, South Block
London
W1U 8EW
Copyright © 1998 by Lisa Tuttle.
The moral right of Lisa Tuttle to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Ebook ISBN 978 1 78206 878 5
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
You can find this and many other great books at:
www.quercusbooks.co.uk
www.jofletcherbooks.com
Lisa Tuttle
Lisa Tuttle grew up in Texas but has spent most of her adult life in Great Britain. After ten years in London, she now lives on the west coast of Scotland with her husband, their daughter, and various animals. She began writing at an early age, and her first short stories were published while she was still at university. Since then her published work has included science fiction, horror and non-fiction. Panther in Argyll was published by Mammoth in 1996.
Contents
1 Cast Ashore
2 In Illyria
3 Home Thoughts From Abroad
4 The Challenge
5 Sweet Music
6 Duellers in Disguise
7 The Granny Mafia and Others
8 Friendships
9 Learning to Dance
10 Love’s Confusion
11 Death in Illyria
12 Town Meeting
13 Family Affairs
14 Roberto in Real Life
15 In the Bleak Midwinter
16 Unmasking
To Roy and Jean Murray, remembering the night we watched The Masquers at “The Rowans”
and
To Emily’s wonderful grannies, Betty Tuttle and Dolly Murray.
1 Cast Ashore
Pretend you’re on-line, Rose advised herself. This is an adventure.
She was standing in front of Livingston-Duckett High School, all pale concrete and glass, almost hurtful to look at in the bright, hot September sunshine. She was one week and twenty minutes late for the start of school. For a moment she wished she’d stayed in bed, or at least let Gran come in with her, as she’d offered.
No. Rose straightened her shoulders, ignored the trembling at the back of her knees, and marched up to the entrance. She didn’t know what happened to kids who turned up late for school in America, but she wasn’t a coward.
Unconsciously flexing her fingers as if about to attack a keypad, Rose took a deep breath, pulled open the heavy door, and stepped into a long, wide hall lined with ranks of tall metal lockers.
She looked both ways. The hall was empty, all the doors shut. There were posters on the walls exhorting students to SHOW SCHOOL SPIRIT! READ THE RECORD! JOIN THE FFA! and other more-or-less comprehensible advertisements, but nothing to tell her where to go. She turned to her right and began to walk.
Just then a door opened, echoing loudly in the empty hall. Out came a thin, dark-haired boy wearing jeans and a shirt obviously designed for someone much larger.
‘Excuse me,’ called Rose.
He turned to look at her, and stopped, his eyebrows rising.
‘I’m looking for the school office.’
‘You come along with me, then,’ said the boy, in the pleasant, lilting local drawl. ‘’Cause that’s where I’m headed.’
‘Thank you.’
‘You’re new here?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where you from?’
‘England.’
‘Where’s that?’
Rose blinked uncertainly. ‘Great Britain.’
‘Is that in Locust County?’
‘No. It’s a country. In Europe.’
‘You don’t say? Must be a mighty long way to travel to school in the morning. No wonder you’re late.’
‘Well …’ She couldn’t tell if he was teasing. ‘I didn’t actually come all the way from England this morning. I’m staying with my grandmother, out on Wishbone Creek.’
‘Oh, I know Wishbone Creek. Good fishing there. What’s your granny’s name?’
‘Madeleine Simmons.’
‘So your mama’d be the gal who went off and married a foreigner she met at some Yankee university, and actually went to live in his country instead of bringing him home with her. Ahh-haa.’
Rose was intrigued by this glimpse of her mother’s position in the local mythology, but their arrival just then at the school office gave her no chance to pursue it.
A heavily perfumed woman with big hair was seated behind a desk. A name plate identified her as Ms Evelyn Elders. ‘Farren Wiles, since when does it take two people to deliver the attendance record?’
‘This is Maddy Simmons’ granddaughter, ma’am, come all the way from England to get the benefit of our superior educational system, if I understood her rightly. I found her wandering around in the hall, and brought her straight along here, like I’m sure you’d’ve wanted me to.’
Ms Elders smiled. ‘Why, you must be Rose Durcan, is that right? Thank you, Farren. Don’t you run off just now; you can help Rose find her way around when I get done.’
‘Yes, ma’am, happy to oblige.’
Rose said quickly, ‘I’m sorry I’m late.’
‘That’s all right. I’m sure you must still be feeling jet-lagged. Your grandmother phoned to say you’d missed the bus.’ She smiled warmly. ‘It’s a shame you missed orientation last week, but we’ll do the best we can to settle you in. Now, let’s see …’ Ms Elders tapped something into her desktop computer. ‘I’ll get you your schedule in a minute here. We weren’t quite sure where to place you at first, seeing as how you’ve been educated abroad, but our principal decided it was best to try to keep you with your own age group, which is the sophomore year. Except in French, since you’ve been studying French for years … I understand you even lived in France for a while? You’re down for a senior class, but if you find it too difficult we can reshuffle your schedule.’
Across the room, a printer began to stutter and slowly exuded a printed sheet. ‘There you are, that’s your schedule. Those are your classes, but there’s much more to being a student at Livingston-Duckett High! Here’s your orientation folder, which should have most of the information you’ll need. There are lots of clubs and extracurricular activities to choose from.’ She looked at the clock and continued, ‘After you find your locker you can go along to your first class. That’s – let me see – American History with Mr Webster, room 210. Farren?’
‘Yes, ma’am?’
‘Show this young lady to locker 519, and then to room 210, and explain anything else she needs to know, please. I’ll give you a pass in case you’re late to your first class, but you really should not have to be more than five minutes late. I’m putting the time down – this is not an excuse to take a leisurely tour around the campus.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Have a nice day. Rose, welcome to Livingston-Duckett High – I hope you’ll be happy here
.’
A bell began to sound loudly as they left the office. Seconds later, doors all along the hall banged open with an echoing thud, and students came charging out from all directions. Rose’s first instinct was to cover her ears and cower out of harm’s way against a wall, but Farren didn’t seem to notice the noise, crowds and confusion. Clutching her orientation pack to her chest like a protective shield, Rose struggled to keep her guide in sight. It was a relief when at last Farren stopped beside a locker. ‘This is yours,’ he said, indicating number 519. ‘You’ll need to bring in your own lock.’
‘I never expected this school to be so big. I mean, Duckett Green is such a small town.’
Farren shrugged. ‘Livingston’s bigger. And of course kids come here from a long way around. Even from England.’
She smiled.
He waggled his eyebrows. ‘Want me to give you a special guided tour of this huge place?’
‘Thanks, but I don’t want to get you in trouble. And I’d rather not be late for my first class. I think I can find my way there.’
‘Hey, Farren.’ The speaker was a tall, fair-haired, rather Scandinavian-looking boy. Eyes the colour of faded denim were set in a broad face which wore a mild, dreamy expression.
Rose felt her heart kick inside her chest.
‘My man, did you do me that tape?’
His southern-fried voice was slow and as huskily sweet as molasses. Rose couldn’t get enough air to fill her lungs. She felt dizzy and yet at the same time more alert as all her senses sharpened.
Farren dug deep in the pocket of his baggy jeans and tossed an audio cassette to the taller boy, who caught it neatly. ‘Cool! Thanks, guy. I owe ya.’
Farren shrugged. ‘Glad to do it.’
‘Catch you later, man.’
He was gone, and he hadn’t even looked at her. Rose had stared and stared, unable to look away, captured by his presence, and he hadn’t even noticed. She gazed after his back, now revealed, now concealed by the crowds, and yearned. When she could no longer catch a glimpse of him she looked at Farren. ‘Who was that?’
‘Forget it.’ He smiled slyly.
‘What do you mean? I just asked—’
‘Yeah, yeah. I saw that look. I’ve seen it before – on him. Well, since you ask, his name is Orson Banks. He’s a senior. And he’s in love’ – he crooned the two words – ‘with Olivia.’
‘Who’s she?’
He rolled his eyes expressively. ‘A babe. Rich, smart, and beautiful. Senator Mason’s daughter. Her ancestors, the Ducketts, used to own all the land around here, back in the days when Duckett Green was a family plantation instead of a town. Definitely a catch, by anybody’s standards. And as far as Orson Banks is concerned, she is the only girl in the world. He looks at her the way you looked at him. You might as well be invisible, for all he cares.’
Rose felt her cheeks getting hot. ‘So? Why should I care?’
Farren’s grin revealed gaps in his teeth. ‘I don’t know why you should, but you do.’ His voice lilted, turning the last words into a song. ‘You do.’
She shrugged and walked away from him. It was crazy, but it was true. She felt as if she’d been struck by lightning.
As the morning passed, full of confusion and sensory overload, that feeling didn’t go away. If anything, it grew stronger, one certainty she could cling to as she struggled to grasp, through the thick southern accents, the information her new teachers were trying to impart. Orson Banks. She looked for him in the crowded halls between classes. Twice she glimpsed him, or thought she did. But in the bustling cafeteria the only person she recognized was Farren, who waved her to the empty seat beside him.
‘How’re you? Findin’ your way around all right?’
‘Oh, yes,’ she said emphatically. ‘I really don’t need a guide.’
‘No insult intended,’ he said, his voice lilting up in surprise. ‘I can see you’re a big girl and all. Only, it must be different from what you’re used to, and if I can be of any help, I’d be pleased.’
Rose bit her lip. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. I just didn’t want you to feel responsible for looking after me.’
‘Oh, but I am. You heard the lady in the office. And I always do what Ms Elders tells me to. I’m a very helpful little elf,’ he said, deadpan.
Rose laughed, but Farren’s face was a tragic mask. ‘That’s what we had to be in my elementary school. Helpful Elves or Friendly Fairies. I was so relieved when the teacher put my name down under “Elves” instead of “Fairies” – but not as relieved as I was to get out of that place.’ He cocked his head, looking surprised at her giggling. ‘Don’t you have Helpful Elves and Friendly Fairies in England?’
‘Um, I think we might have a few, but I’ve never heard them called that.’
‘Sometimes known as busybodies. I just hope you didn’t come over here to get away from ‘em, because Duckett Green is the natural home of the Helpful Elf and the Friendly Fairy. Why did you come here, if you don’t mind my asking? Livingston-Duckett ranks pretty high in the state, but I can’t believe it’s really better than the schools y’all have in England.’
‘No, but it’s cheaper. The thing is, I had to go somewhere. My parents have done a few books together on nature in crisis, and they’ve been commissioned to do another one about African wildlife. In the past I’ve always gone with them, but this time – well, they’re not actually in a war zone, but it’s very near one, and they didn’t think it would be safe. And I have to go to school, but paying for a boarding school in England would have eaten up their advance, so we decided I’d come stay with Gran. I have been here before, so it’s not totally strange to me. I am half American, even if I don’t sound it. Simon – my brother – is at university in England. It’s really strange being here without him.’ Suddenly there was a lump in her throat as she remembered how far away her parents were, how much she missed them as well as Simon.
‘I know. But you’ll see them again.’
There was something in his tone … She looked at him sharply. ‘Yes, they’re all coming over for Christmas. What about you – do you have brothers or sisters?’
He looked away from her for a moment. ‘I live with my dad. It’s just the two of us. My mom died, with my little sister, four years ago. In a car crash.’
‘Oh, Farren. I’m so sorry.’
‘It’s cool. You don’t have to make a big deal about it.’ His face was impassive. ‘We’ve gotten used to it. It’s not like I go around thinking about them all the time. I don’t want you to feel like you can’t ever mention moms or sisters, or anything like that. You were bound to hear about it from your gran.’
‘Oh, that’s right, you know her.’
He shrugged. ‘Not really. She probably wouldn’t know who I was if I passed her on the street, and I’m not sure I could pick her out of a police line-up, but I have a granny myself – just the one – and the grannies know everything about everybody. It’s, like, their job. I’m not sure how they manage it, but they have their own secret network.’
‘Maybe they’re on the Internet.’ Rose was relieved by the change of subject, and eager to talk about one of her own passions. ‘How about you?’
His lip curled very slightly. ‘Not. But if that’s your thing, I guess you’ll want to join the school computer club.’
‘Oh, no,’ she said hastily, eager not to be thought uncool. ‘No, I don’t think so. I’d rather get involved in something new. I’m not sure what, though. What would you suggest?’
He shrugged. ‘What are you interested in … besides Orson Banks?’
She felt her cheeks heating up. ‘Don’t be cheeky.’
‘ “Cheeky”? What’s that? Like a hamster stuffing his face? Is that how I am?’ Farren’s rodent imitation made Rose laugh.
‘Let me guess – you’re in the comedians’ club.’
‘If there was one, I would be,’ he said. ‘I guess the closest is the drama club, which is holding a second round of auditi
ons Wednesday afternoon.’
‘Is that a hint?’
‘No, it’s a fact. I’m already in. Am I being cheeky again? What is cheeky?’
‘Impertinent.’
He widened his eyes and whistled. ‘Another new concept. Boy, hang around you long enough and I’ll have me a whole dictionary. What’s “impertinent”? No, don’t tell me, I know: cheeky. My new name: Farren “Cheeky” Wiles. I love it.’
‘Drama might be fun,’ she said slowly. ‘Simon and I used to put on our own plays for our parents, but it’s never very satisfactory when there’s only two.’
‘Or when the cast outnumbers the audience.’
Rose was startled when the bell went, signalling the end of the lunch period. She had been enjoying herself talking with Farren.
Chemistry was after lunch, followed by math, both classes in which Rose felt slightly bewildered and nervous.
Her last class of the day was French. This was a subject she felt comfortable with, and she hoped she wouldn’t embarrass herself by nodding off. Jet-lag was catching up with her in great waves of tiredness. But as she walked into the classroom Rose woke up as swiftly as if she’d fallen into an icy pond. There he was, his tall, broad-shouldered figure already as familiar to her as if imprinted on her brain in infancy. Rose took a seat near the back which gave her a good, if sideways, view of Orson, and settled down to studying him until the class began.
The teacher, Ms Baker, made Rose think of a French film star. She was beautiful, heavily made-up, and well-dressed. Yet when she spoke it was with a heavy Georgia drawl. She began to call the role. ‘Susannah Alford? Orson Banks? Patricia Carswell? Philip Denton? Rose Durcan? Christopher Ellison? Emily Formy?’ Despite her good intentions, Rose slipped into a dreamy haze centred on Orson’s blue cotton shirt until she was snapped to attention by another name.
‘Olivia Mason?’
‘Oui.’
The speaker was a regal-looking blonde girl sitting – of course! – next to Orson. Rose felt her stomach twist with longing. Even Orson seemed to shrink and fade into ordinariness beside her. She was beautiful, almost too good to be true. Strikingly blonde, with perfect features, glossy and well-dressed, Hollywood seemed her natural setting, not a small town in Georgia. So this was the girl Orson loved. No wonder he hadn’t noticed Rose. Her half-formed plan of approaching him after class and casually striking up a conversation, crumbled. She couldn’t possibly compete with Olivia. She might as well forget about him now.
