Being Mary Bennet Blows

by Mary Strand

  “How’s it going?” Jane’s voice chirped at me from only a few feet away.

  Panicking, I wrapped my arms around myself, even as I reminded myself that she couldn’t see me. It looked good, but it didn’t look like me. Not like Mary Bennet. Not even like MB, whoever MB was. No, MB was the girl who wore overalls but secretly wanted to be more daring than she’d ever been in her life, which left the possibilities wide open.

  “Mary?”

  “I’m fine.” With one last look in the mirror, I stripped off the cute outfit and just stood there, in my plain white undies, staring down at the other outfits Jane had picked out. Equally cute. And equally unlike me.

  “Mary?” Jane was right outside my dressing room now, knocking on the door. “You’re going to show me how the clothes look, aren’t you? That’s the fun part.”

  “There’s a fun part to this?” Still in my undies and bra, I clutched a handful of clothes to my chest, terrified that Jane might barge in any moment despite the lock on the door. Besides, Jane didn’t do stuff like that. And Liz was too busy trying on her own clothes, thankfully in a different dressing room.

  Jane’s voice trilled again, making me drop the clothes on the floor. “How do they look? What do you think?”

  I didn’t know what to think. The clothes would look good on anyone else, and Liz did wear stuff like this.

  But we were talking about me.

  “I . . . don’t know.”

  “Show me.”

  “I already took them off.”

  “So put them back on. C’mon, Mary. Just one of the outfits. Humor me.”

  “I thought I humored you by coming in here today.”

  “You did.” Jane sounded almost giddy, as if she was having a lot more fun than I was. By definition, she had to be. “I guess I’ve just gotten in the habit of being humored.”

  I sighed as I slipped back into my overalls. Ahh, my comfort zone. I opened the door to the dressing room, almost knocking Jane down.

  “Where are the clothes?”

  Shrugging, I waved vaguely in the direction of the dressing room and clothes I’d just abandoned.

  Jane went in and scooped them up. “Did they all fit?”

  “Um, yeah.”

  “But you’re not going to buy them?”

  “Um, no.”

  Jane frowned. “May I ask why?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Because it won’t work. I’m still Mary Bennet, no matter what you do or what I wear. End of story.”

  “And I’m Jane Bennet. So?”

  “So you’ve read The Book. We’re all turning out just like the original Bennet sisters. Which leaves me—”

  Liz whipped open the door to her own dressing room right then, stepping out in a miniskirt and top I had to admit looked cute. And not in a bad way. “—screwed?”

  “Liz!” Jane shook her head.

  Ignoring me, Liz met Jane’s worried gaze. But why Jane was so worried about me, I had no idea. “Mary’s right—if she lets The Book dictate her life.” She turned to me. “But who says you’ve gotta do that?”

  “Charlie Bingham? Alex Darcy? And everything that’s happened to Lydia? How about that for starters?”

  Liz tilted her head as she looked at me, considering my obvious logic. “The Lydia of The Book didn’t go to reform school.”

  “Only because it was two hundred years ago.”

  “And Jane and I aren’t about to get married.” Liz flushed at her own words, which made me wonder where she was heading with Alex. “I mean, even if I were dating Alex, Jane and I could say no to either one of them whenever we want.”

  “Except you won’t. Or maybe you’ll say no to Alex once, because the Elizabeth of The Book did once.” I stared at her as the flush on her face deepened. “Or have you already gotten that out of the way?”

  Liz glanced at Jane, then laughed. “You might say that. But still. Jane Austen never did really say what happened to Mary. You’ve got a blank slate.”

  “So far, though, everything in my life has been just like The Book.”

  Jane pushed past both of us, the bundle of clothes I’d tried on still in her arms. “Then perhaps you should either read some other book or try harder. Do me a favor and try. So far, I think you’ve been trying to live down to The Book.”

  “Jane!” Liz whistled at her. “Since when do harsh words come out of your mouth?”

  After swatting at Liz as if she were a mosquito, Jane looked at me again. “You’ve got a lot going for you, Mary. Maybe Josh hasn’t panned out—so far—but if I recall, the Mary of The Book didn’t even have a Josh.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “But you did.”

  “For twenty minutes.”

  Jane headed purposefully to the cash register as Liz and I trailed in her wake. “Twenty minutes is nothing to sneeze at.” She glanced back over her shoulder at me and smiled. “But these clothes should get you at least an hour.”

  “But—but I wasn’t going to buy them.”

  “Fine. Then Mom will pay for them, or even Dad. If Mom can spring for clothes for her little jailbird, she can buy new clothes for you. At least you have potential.”

  “So does Lydia. Can she help it if it’s in a strip bar?”

  Jane and Liz laughed, and I joined in, even though I hadn’t exactly meant it as a joke. Shaking my head, I pushed past Jane and paid for the clothes with my own money. Maybe Jane and Liz were right. Not that I wanted to try to get Josh back, but maybe I could create my own destiny, totally different from Jane Austen’s predictions.

  I had a feeling, though, that my destiny needed more of a kick in the butt than a few new outfits.

  It needed a plan. A plan I didn’t have.

  Chapter 8

  Mary very gravely replied, “Far be it from me, my dear sister, to depreciate such pleasures. They would doubtless be congenial with the generality of female minds.”

  — Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice, Volume II, Chapter Sixteen

  Too soon, my cozy bonding experience with Jane and Liz—okay, Liz isn’t exactly the cozy type—came to an end. What no one mentioned during our shopping spree was that they had a double date on Sunday night: Jane with Charlie, Liz with Alex.

  A little hard at this point for Liz to keep claiming that nothing was going on with Alex. Even Dad looked skeptical as they went out the door.

  It left Cat and me home with Mom and Dad, which only gave me more reason to figure out how to fix my life. If I could. I was still much more afraid of Jane Austen than Jane and Liz were, and they were the ones going out tonight with guys named Bingham and Darcy.

  I holed up in my room the minute dinner ended, pulled open my closet door, and dragged out the Gap shopping bag I’d stuffed inside the closet. Three new tops, two pairs of pants, and a skirt. A short skirt. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d worn a skirt or dress, but it must’ve been a wedding or funeral. In other words, compulsory.

  Ignoring the skirt, I inspected the other items. Should I wear something new tomorrow? If I did, would the laughter from everyone in all of my classes get even worse? Was it possible that the laughter could get worse?

  And . . . what would Josh say?

  Probably nothing. The same thing he’d said for two weeks now, ever since that day in the cafeteria when he tried to explain what he’d done. Ha.

  I bit my lip, considering. After tossing the clothes in a heap on my bed, which startled Boris into springing off the top of my armoire and onto my new clothes, I threw myself on my bed. Pointless. Utterly pointless. Josh wouldn’t care, and Chrissie and her cheerleader pals and everyone else would laugh. Bottom line, nothing would change.

  Okay, maybe nothing would change, but this could be the start. The start of what, I had no clue. I still had no plan for the rest of my life, or even the rest of this school term. But something had to change.

  Sighing, I eyeballed the clothes at the end of my bed, where Boris now lay, purring. At least the clothes might get a reactio
n, and hopefully not because they were covered with cat hair. I could hardly wait for school tomorrow.

  Not.

  “Is that Mary Bennet? Wearing clothes that look halfway decent?”

  “No way. What’s she trying to prove?”

  “Her sisters are kinda cute, though. Even that one in reform school.”

  “Since when was Mary cute?”

  I stared straight ahead as I walked down the hall to first-period English class, but it didn’t help. My ears worked perfectly fine from every direction, and that’s exactly where the comments were coming from: every direction.

  “Mary, did you actually go shopping? Or have you finally raided your sisters’ closets?”

  I felt my face flush—I couldn’t help it—but kept going. One foot after the other.

  I also told myself I looked good in the skinny blue jeans and yellow peasant top that hugged my boobs and flared out at the bottom. Even Liz had said so this morning, a minute after her eyes went wide and she nearly choked to death on her Pop-Tart.

  “Nice combat boots, Mary. Next time, check out a shoe store, too. Or won’t your daddy pay for that?”

  The flush deepened. At this point, it felt like the roots of my hair were on fire. But I didn’t touch my hair, and I didn’t look down at my feet. Why bother? I’d worn a new outfit but hadn’t changed the other essentials. Okay, I washed my hair this morning instead of just pulling it up in a ponytail. Then, before it was dry, I pulled it up in a ponytail. Same with the boots. I mean, these boots had gotten me through high school. Through life. Whenever I couldn’t take it anymore, I’d stare down at my feet and—okay, yes, I know this is weird—reassure myself that I hadn’t lost my entire soul.

  But why couldn’t I find my soul in a cute pair of shoes like everyone else?

  Maybe because these boots went so well with the overalls. I’d hidden the overalls in the laundry room last night before Liz and Jane got back from their double date, terrified that one of them—probably Liz—would use the Gap trip as an excuse to toss them in the garbage. The same overalls I’d retrieved from the laundry room this morning and stuffed in my backpack and then, a moment ago, in my locker. Don’t ask me why.

  Lost in a daze, I nearly walked past my classroom.

  Too bad I didn’t.

  Mr. Skamser hadn’t arrived yet, and the taunts that had followed me all the way down the hall just kept coming.

  “Yo, dude. Check her out.”

  “Not your usual rags, are they, Mary?”

  “Who ya lookin’ so fine for?”

  Several heads turned in Josh’s direction, including—stupidly—mine, but Josh just sat there reading Demian. As if he hadn’t finished it at least a week ago. As if he spent all his waking moments rereading the books Mr. Skamser assigned for class. Just for fun.

  Sighing, I went to my seat, right in front of Josh, and straightened my English book and notebook and folder and five different pens in a neat little pile. In the midst of all my mindless organizing, Mr. Skamser walked in. The guy was the definition of clueless, but even he glanced at me and frowned slightly, as if something was wrong with this picture. Either that or he suspected me of not being prepared for class, but that definitely hadn’t happened again since the infamous day I left Demian at home.

  As the buzzing in the room dropped to a low roar, Mr. Skamser sighed. “If you’re all done discussing your weekends, I hope we can proceed.”

  Two girls on my left kept whispering about my outfit.

  “Emma, is there something you’d like to share with the entire class?”

  Emma giggled. “We just wanted to know why Mary Bennet—”

  Emma was, not surprisingly, a cheerleader. Giving up on my strategy of ignoring everyone, I turned and glared at her.

  “—like, why she’s dressed like that.”

  Mr. Skamser frowned at Emma, then at me over the tops of his half-glasses. “Mary looks like everyone else in class.” His eyes swept the room. “The girls, at least.”

  The whole room broke into laughter. Except for me. I just wanted to crawl under my desk.

  “Now, if that’s your biggest concern today, Emma, perhaps you can tell us what you learned from your study of Demian. Perhaps something besides your opinion on his clothing.”

  I snorted. Score one for me.

  For once in my life.

  The rest of my classes, plus lunch period, featured more of the same abuse, so I wasn’t exactly ready to thank Jane for her fashion help. Cat even laughed as I passed her in the hall before fourth period. Cat, whose fashion sense consisted of texting her pals before school each day to find out what they were wearing. And then copying them.

  I dragged my butt into Physics class, wondering which was worse: the fact that every kid in school thought my new clothes were even stupider than my overalls, if that was possible, or that Mr. Gilbertson had asked us to be ready to give a brief oral update on our roller coaster projects in class today. Team by team.

  Kinda made a girl want to hurl. But I’d already done that, of course, which was why I no longer was part of a team.

  In a way, though, the rest of my day had toughened me up to handle the stupid Physics assignment, including the fact that, yes, the entire class would laugh when I admitted I still didn’t have a partner and couldn’t imagine that changing in the foreseeable future.

  For a change of pace, Mr. Gilbertson started with my side of the room, where for once Josh happened to be sitting, instead of next to his buddy Kyle. I wanted to ask him if they were having a lovers’ quarrel, but opted not to.

  Good thing, considering what happened.

  “Mary?” My name came from two directions, and I suddenly realized that both Mr. Gilbertson and Josh were talking to me at the same moment. I knew which one I had to respond to, under penalty of death or a failing grade, but I looked at Josh.

  I caught him staring at my shirt. At chest level.

  Hadn’t he ever noticed that girls have boobs?

  Even me?

  As I debated whether to reach across the aisle and slap Josh when his eyes didn’t travel up to mine, Mr. Gilbertson cleared his throat and called my name again, prompting the class to laugh. Everyone except Josh and me.

  Flushing, I looked at Mr. Gilbertson.

  “Glad to have your attention.” He shook his head, prompting a few more giggles. “You’re the only student who hasn’t signed up with a partner for the roller coaster project. But Penelope appears to have switched to a different class, so . . .”

  What was I supposed to say? Yep, I’m the loser without a partner? No wonder Penelope dropped out of our class?

  “Did you want to join another team?”

  Right. Like everyone was jumping up and down to have me join them. Not. In fact, the room right now was the most silent it had ever been.

  “I don’t . . .”

  “Mary can be on our team if that’s okay.” Josh flashed a quick look at me, half apologetic and half impossible to read. “Actually, she was supposed to be my partner.”

  “Dude, that blows!”

  Kyle apparently didn’t know anything about me joining their team, and definitely didn’t agree, and I was so stunned I just stared at my lap.

  I finally gave Josh a quick, totally insincere smile, then shook my head at Mr. Gilbertson. “I’m happy to do the project by myself. I don’t need a partner.”

  “But Mary—”

  I cut Josh a look. “My name is MB. Besides, I already finished the project.”

  I hadn’t, of course. I hadn’t even started! But I also didn’t take charity, especially from a guy who finally noticed me only when I got some new clothes. And boobs.

  As if.

  I spent the rest of Physics class debating whether to throw myself out the window. The fact that our classroom was on the first floor kept me in my chair. But when Mr. Gilbertson told everyone to shut up, repeatedly, I kept hearing all this buzzing about how I’d turned down not only Josh but even Kyle. Not that anyone w
ith half a brain would want Kyle for a Physics partner, but they thought he was cool and assumed I was desperate. Even Mr. Gilbertson gave me a few curious looks.

  I wouldn’t know if Josh was giving me any looks, curious or otherwise, because I didn’t look at him again. I shot my wad turning him down, and in front of the entire class.

  Was I an idiot?

  Now, fifteen minutes later, I kept asking myself why I’d done it. Because he blew me off for a couple of weeks? Because he stopped blowing me off, not so coincidentally, on the first day I showed up in cute clothes? And wasn’t that why I bought the clothes in the first place?

  I was an idiot, and it wasn’t even Jane Austen’s fault.

  I should’ve listened more closely to my sister Jane instead of being so dead set against buying new clothes. She’d done me a favor, hadn’t she? At least in theory? Was it Jane’s fault that I blew it? Was it Jane’s fault that I waited until senior year to rebel against Jane Austen and The Book? Was it Jane’s fault that I wore the new clothes she picked out but didn’t bother to get rid of my ponytail or hiking boots?

  Even though I felt practically naked, I knew I looked like every other girl here. I swiveled my head, taking in the other girls, even though most of them were staring at me and half of them were giggling. No one wore overalls, of course. Half were in shorts or short skirts, which felt way too brave for me this morning. In retrospect, though, there’s no way today could’ve been worse unless I’d shown up in my undies.

  The bell finally rang, and I moved at glacial speed as I pulled together my books and other junk. The more people I avoided on the way out the door, the better I’d like it. I didn’t need to worry about Josh, though, who was the first one out the door. I sighed. I’d hammered him when I turned him down in front of God and everyone.

  Or had I hammered myself?

  For a smart girl, I think I just won the award for dumbest move of the year.

  I trudged down the hall to my locker, barely aware of the continued whispers and stares. At some point, these kids had to go back to living their own lives, didn’t they? Since their own lives had to be way more interesting than mine?