by Cecelia Gray
“Um, thanks.” Lizzie had forgotten she should be covering the event for the paper since she had spent so much of the week stewing over her other assignment to feature Dante, Josh, and Rick. She’d been doing follow-up interviews with their family and friends. She hadn’t been able to get in touch with Dante’s parents, Josh’s parents kept mistaking her for paparazzi, and Rick’s mom had insisted in coming in for an in-person interview.
“Are we ready?” Lizzie asked when Ellie plopped back onto her bed.
Emma sat at her desk to apply her fake eyelashes. “For what?” Emma asked.
“To go.” Lizzie gestured to the door. Was she missing something? Hadn’t she just endured an hour of getting ready for a dance that they were already thirty minutes late for—Anne was probably freaking out and thinking Lizzie had abandoned her.
“Not without our escorts,” Emma said.
Lizzie met Ellie’s eyes and mouthed Escorts?
Ellie shrugged.
There was a knock on the door, but before Lizzie had a chance to ask who it was, it swung open.
Dressed in a black tuxedo, Edward spun once in the doorway and stopped with a ta-da. “Ladies, your penguin has arrived.”
“There were no tuxedos in the Regency period,” Lizzie said.
Edward made a forlorn puppy-dog expression and batted his ridiculously long eyelashes at her. Lizzie began to feel like she had actually kicked a puppy. “Oh fine, you look fine,” she said, relenting.
“You look perfect,” Emma said, standing and extending her arm to Edward.
“As do you, Blondies,” Edward said as he gave Emma’s hand an overly demonstrative smack of the lips. He gave Lizzie a wink. “You, too.”
“Who are the blondies?” Lizzie asked.
“You know,” Edward said. “Ellie. Emma. Both blond roommates. Blond E’s. Blondies.”
“You guys have a duo nickname?” Lizzie asked Ellie, not bothering to hide the accusatory note in her voice.
“It’s not a big deal,” Ellie said.
“Yeah,” Lizzie said, irritated. “It’s nothing.” Of course Ellie wouldn’t think it was a big deal. Ellie never thought anything was a big deal. Aliens could land on the White House lawn, and Ellie’s expression wouldn’t change.
Lizzie loved Ellie’s easygoing nature, how whenever Lizzie was ranting about bad water pressure in the bathrooms (which had been changed thanks to her expose) or lack of diversity in the school’s library books (another thing that had changed thanks to her), Ellie always had a calming, positive thing to say. But now Lizzie was beginning to wonder if Ellie thinking that nothing was a big deal meant Ellie didn’t care about her at all.
“I can come up with a nickname for you, too,” Edward offered.
“A nickname for who?”
Lizzie’s head snapped up at the sound of his voice—Dante’s voice—coming from behind Edward in the doorway.
“For Lizzie,” Edward said, stepping aside.
It almost seemed like Dante had to duck his head to step into the room, and Lizzie begrudgingly admitted he looked every bit as dapper and dashing as a Regency lord would look in his morning coat. Dante’s eyes met hers and he stilled, studying her, his lips opening as whatever he had been about to say died on them.
Lizzie felt her neck grow hot. Why was he looking at her like that? Had Emma messed up her hair and makeup? Or was he thinking he didn’t want her there? That had to be it. Why else would he be staring at her?
“Earth to Dante,” Edward said as he punched Dante’s shoulder.
Dante broke his gaze away and turned to his friend. “You were saying…a nickname for Lizzie?”
“I don’t answer to nicknames,” Lizzie said quickly.
“Isn’t Lizzie a nickname?” Dante asked.
Lizzie scowled. “Let’s go already.”
“We’re missing an escort,” Emma said as she took Dante’s arm.
Lizzie was starting to feel a little sick to her stomach. Between how weird things felt with Ellie, and Dante somehow being a part of this group, and now the way he looked at her, she didn’t want to be here. Which was unfair—this was her school, her haven, and she didn’t even feel welcome.
“Rick is running a little late,” Edward said.
“I don’t need an escort.” Lizzie barreled out the door and down the hall, forcing her tears away.
* * *
Before Lizzie even reached the open gymnasium doors, she heard the swell of string music wafting out into the night air. Combined with the chirping crickets, the warm summer night, and the smiles of her classmates, her frantic heartbeat finally slowed to a reasonable pace. She picked up her muslin gown so the hem wouldn’t drag over the grass as she walked the remaining hundred yards into the gym.
Her breath stilled.
She’d remembered nodding along with Anne as she’d talked about getting fake columns for the interior. She remembered something about the hundreds of yards of white drapery to cover the basketball hoops and the bleacher seats, which had been pushed back against the walls.
But she hadn’t stopped to consider how transformative the effect would be on the gymnasium. From the inside, it felt as if she’d stepped into a Jane Austen movie.
“Great party, Lizzie,” someone called to her right.
“Thank you,” she said absently. “But it’s all Anne. She did a great job.” Anne did a great job every year, Lizzie realized. She really did care about welcoming back the students and giving them a memorable get-together to mark the new school year. Lizzie roamed around a group of dancers practicing a country reel—albeit badly—and tried to spot Anne on the dance floor.
Lizzie gave up with searching the faces of the dancers and looked through those mingling by the bar. No sign of Anne.
Perhaps …
There she was—in the far corner. She wore a simple blue cotton gown whose sleeves were too billowed for her willowy frame and a corset that was too constraining for her busty chest. She’d pulled her dark hair into a knot and it somehow made her chocolate-brown eyes even more round and doe-like. And those eyes were fixed on some spot behind Lizzie.
Lizzie turned. She firmed her lips as she watched Ellie and Emma—the Blondies, she thought bitterly—walk in on Edward’s and Dante’s arms, with Rick trailing behind. Ellie caught her eye but Lizzie spun around and headed for Anne.
A part of her knew she was being unreasonable, a part of her knew she was being immature and pouty, but another, stronger part of her knew that she was not imagining Ellie’s recent standoffishness, her strange behavior, how she’d been more reticent around Lizzie.
“Everything looks amazing,” Lizzie said as she reached Anne’s side. Anne seemed surprised as Lizzie leaned against the wall next to her and folded her arms. “People seem to be having a good time. Except Bergie, which is perfect.” Lizzie nodded in Bergie’s direction.
Bergie had bypassed the idea of costume entirely and wore an electric-blue wrap dress and a frown.
“Do you think she regrets asking me to chair the dance?”
“I hope so,” Lizzie said. A flash of blond hair caught her eye and she couldn’t help but glance over at Ellie being twirled around by Edward, who then twirled himself, faked dizziness, and fell back to the floor, causing everyone around him to laugh. Even Lizzie smiled a little and when she looked up, Ellie was smiling at her with that carefree grin.
She felt her heart catch in her throat—at the past two dances, even though there hadn’t been boys, they’d had an amazing time jumping around on the dance floor. Part of Lizzie wanted to run out there with her.
Anne’s quick intake of breath startled Lizzie into breaking eye contact and when she looked back up, Ellie was being twirled again.
Lizzie turned back to Anne and followed her line of sight to Rick, who was dancing with a redhead, cheek to cheek. Lizzie recognized her as the girl who starred in all the school plays.
“I need some air,” Anne said.
She sped away to the back ex
it out of the gymnasium, tripping on the way. Anne left before she could see Josh Wickham, who’d had the nerve to show up at a themed dance in jeans and an untucked white button-down, cut in and pull the redhead into a faux waltz so Rick was left standing alone.
Lizzie followed Anne to tell her, but by the time she caught up, Anne was outside hiding behind a bush, clutching her stomach.
Anne’s eyes shimmered. “Do you ever feel like everything you care about has been taken away from you?”
Lizzie blinked in surprise. She wasn’t sure what Anne was referencing—whether she meant the school that had been bought from her family, or Rick, where there was clearly history. But she knew one thing for sure. She felt the same way. “Yes. It’s awful.”
Anne nodded in agreement. Lizzie put her hand on Anne’s shoulder and squeezed. Despite the time they’d spent together the past week—they’d seen each other during Journalism, they brushed their teeth at about the same time, and climbed into bed each night, they’d gone over planning for the dance during their lunch break—they’d never really talked to each other. Not about anything real.
Lizzie was starting to realize that for someone she’d resented for so long, Anne seemed to have the same problems she did.
They were both startled by the gymnasium exit opening. Lizzie barely made out Rick and Dante’s silhouettes before Anne pulled her into the bushes and shushed her. Lizzie held her breath as branches poked at her arm and stomach.
“—Edward will be in the middle of a catfight if he’s not careful,” Dante said.
Lizzie’s ears pricked up.
“Edward is harmless,” Rick said. “He’s just friendly.”
“He’s leading them on.”
“Is that better than what you’re doing?”
“What are you talking about?” Dante said. “I’m not interested in any of the girls here.”
“Really?” Rick said. “Not a single girl here interests you?”
Lizzie found herself leaning in to hear better as they walked further away and getting a branch in the eye as a result. She yelped, but Anne clapped her hand over Lizzie’s mouth.
“None. Not one girl,” Dante answered.
“Not even Lizzie?”
She almost fell over into the bush and pulled Anne’s hand away from her face.
“Especially not Lizzie,” Dante said. “Being with her is asking for drama.”
Lizzie felt a cold clenching in her stomach, even as she told herself it didn’t matter. She didn’t even like Dante. He was a cold, selfish boor who was after her college’s admission. And asking for drama? Ha!
“Then what are you interested in?” Rick asked.
“I’m just going to lie low. Play lacrosse. Kill at academics. Get my ticket to Georgetown. Then…”
Their voices trailed off and Lizzie fought the urge to run after them. Get his ticket to Georgetown? It was her ticket, not just to Georgetown, but to her future, and she wasn’t going to let some rich, hot snob swoop into her school and steal it.
“At least they mentioned your name,” Anne said.
Lizzie noticed Anne’s glum expression and felt a pang of sympathy. “Just because Rick didn’t say your name doesn’t mean he isn’t thinking about you.”
“If he is thinking about me, it’s nothing good,” Anne said.
“He thinks you look well,” Lizzie said, mimicking the interview.
Anne blushed. “He didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Rick doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to say something he doesn’t mean.”
Anne sighed and shook her head.
“If you want to talk about it—”
“No,” Anne said lightly.
Lizzie wondered if she should push for more information, but Anne’s expression was firm. “Come on.” She grabbed Anne’s hand to head back into the gymnasium under the grand We Will Be Heard sign. “We have better things to do than care about what boys think of us.”
* * *
Anne was a great dancer, Lizzie noted, and even more, she didn’t feel bitter about Anne being better at something than she was. Instead, she tried to follow along as their group of four held out their hands, palms out, and walked in a slow circle, then switched sides and reversed directions.
She’d bumped into the girls next to her more than a few times, but everyone just laughed it off. Best of all, at least thirty minutes had gone by without her thinking once of Ellie or Dante or even Bergie.
Jasta used to be a place where Lizzie went to escape problems, and her sanctuary was under attack. She was so glad to have a few moments of peace.
“Now we switch,” Anne directed.
Lizzie followed her in a crossover step, then they spun back while the other two partners spun away. She turned to the new group of four and came face to face with Georgiana.
“Hi,” Lizzie greeted her quickly, as she had to take her place in the new circle.
“Can’t talk,” Georgina said. “Must concentrate.”
Lizzie laughed, as did Anne.
“You haven’t been back to Journalism,” Lizzie noted. “Your interview wasn’t half bad, you know, technical difficulties aside. You have a talent for it.”
“You think so?” Georgiana asked, wide-eyed.
“Better than this one, definitely,” Lizzie teased, with a nod at Anne, who nodded in agreement.
“It’s just…Dante thought it would be better if I focused on other things.”
“Well, Dante isn’t your guidance counselor,” Lizzie said.
“He just worries about me.”
“Why don’t you worry about you instead?”
A slow smile spread across Georgiana’s face. “I’d like that.”
The dance ended and they all curtseyed. She felt a sizzle of satisfaction that she’d talked Georgiana into considering journalism. What right did Dante have to “protect” her from what she liked? Lizzie saw Dante getting a glass of punch from the refreshments table and before she could stop her feet, they were making their way over.
He turned, bringing a cup of punch to his lips while putting his other hand in his front pocket. His eyes widened as she approached.
“Where do you get off telling Georgiana she can’t join Journalism?”
Surprise and annoyance crossed his features, and to his credit, he swallowed his gulp of punch before setting the cup down on the refreshment table. “I don’t tell Georgiana anything. I give her my opinion, and she does what she wants.”
“Since she wants to be in Journalism, that’s not accurate, is it?”
He stepped in closer. “How do you know what Georgiana wants?”
“She just told me,” Lizzie said.
He raised a brow in question. “She did?”
“And she told me you were the one who didn’t want her in Journalism.”
“It seems you were the one who didn’t want her there, since you were giving her the third degree.”
“Just because I asked her why she wants to be a journalist? It’s a fair question, Dante.”
“It put her on the spot.”
“Which she’ll need to get used to if she wants to be a journalist.” Lizzie crossed her arms. “Look, you might think I’m giving her a hard time, but being a journalist is hard. Getting to the truth is hard. Finding the story is hard. The more I know about her interests, the better I can assign her to stories so she really has a chance to shine, to grow.”
“Oh.” Dante had the decency to look speculatively at his shoes.
“Not all of us are here to lie low,” Lizzie said. “Asking for drama is how some people make a difference.”
Dante’s eyes shot up and before he could address her accusation, Lizzie spun around and walked back to Anne. She felt a buoyant lift to her step. She couldn’t stop smiling.
By the time Lizzie reached her, Anne was looking at her curiously. “Dante is staring a hole into your back.”
“Let him,” Lizzie said, quelling the urge to turn around. She swore she could
feel his stare like a warm glow between her shoulder blades.
“Seriously, he can’t stop looking at you,” Anne said. “What did you say to him?”
“Nothing he shouldn’t have heard a long time ago,” Lizzie said with a satisfied smile. She grabbed Anne’s hand and pulled her back onto the dance floor.
They twirled around, clapping and dancing, messing up the steps. Every now and then, Lizzie would glance to the sidelines to find Dante watching her intently. Good—she’d given him something to think about. She hoped that meant she’d find Georgiana back in Journalism tomorrow.
She and Anne circled each other in the next dance. Lizzie prepared for a crossover step, but a screech ran through the speaker system. Everyone winced at the sharp noise, and the dancers broke formation, several covering their ears. Lizzie looked up at the stage. Bergie stood there in her awkward electric-blue dress and held the microphone.
“Thank you, everyone, for making this year’s Welcome Back dance a truly original experience.”
The auditorium erupted in applause and catcalls and whistles. Lizzie gave Anne a quick bow of credit. Bergie would never take this moment, this triumph, away from Anne at least.
“Thank you especially to your dance chair, Anne, who worked tirelessly to make this evening possible.”
As the applause continued, Lizzie grabbed Anne’s hand to dip her into a deep curtsy.
“It’s so fitting that this year’s Welcome Back theme was the Regency period, inspired by Jane Austen,” Bergie continued.
Lizzie felt something drop in her stomach. That was not something Bergie would say.
“Especially,” Bergie said, “because this will be the last year the Academy is called the Jane Austen Academy.”
Gasps of surprise rang out through the auditorium.
“I’ve just been informed,” Bergie said, raising her voice to speak over the whispers, “that the Trust is deliberating on a new name for our precious institution, so please join me in raising a glass, in toasting yourselves and the Jane Austen Academy in its final year.
About half the auditorium still applauded, but Lizzie barely noticed over the ringing in her ears.
