Livin' La Vida Bennet

by Mary Strand

  Livin’ La Vida Bennet

  A Bennet Sisters Novel

  Mary Strand

  Triple Berry Press

  For Mary Faist Pekala,

  who asked me to play in a band with her . . .

  and when I said “Absolutely not!”

  kept asking until I said yes.

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  About the Author

  Also by Mary Strand

  Acknowledgments

  With huge thanks to:

  Mark Wade, who taught me guitar and how to play in a band and was amazing at both, and who answered Way Too Many pesky questions about guitar and bass guitar for this book. He’s also an absolute blast on stage with his bass guitar and vocals . . . and his dancing feet.

  Michael Oachs, my first guitar teacher, who shares my love of the Eagles (which is not shared by any of my heroines) and was always far more patient with me than Jazz was with Lydia in this book.

  Randy Sinz, a musician friend since my college days and a bass player I’ve happily spent many hundreds of hours listening to, who answered my questions about bass guitar when I first started writing this book.

  “Swave” Dave Schrader and Dave (“Dusty”) Engedal, two more musician friends since my college days, who let me torture them about garage bands (and, in the case of Dusty, guitars) for this book and this series.

  Laura (Hewitt) Colombe, who loves bands the way I do and who gave me great advice about high school bands.

  Kind souls who provided critiques, edits, beta reads, or brainstorming help, including Kate Fraser, Tom Fraser, Ann Barry Burns, Just Cherry Writers, and Romex.

  My own high school teachers at Eau Claire Memorial, a few of whose names I used in this book out of great fondness. In the name of Lydia Bennet, I again took teasing liberties in this book in particular with Mr. Skamser, who was a fantabulous English teacher. I’d also like to thank Dick Bennett, who is much better known as a great basketball coach but who introduced me to Pride and Prejudice when he taught our 10th-grade English class. I’ve loved The Book ever since.

  Pam McCutcheon and Laura Hayden, collectively also known as Parker Hayden Media, LLC, who are fabulous. And nice. And helpful. And patient. And all sorts of wonderful things.

  Jane Austen, who is simply the best.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Triple Berry Press

  P.O. Box 24733

  Minneapolis, Minnesota 55424

  Copyright © 2017 Mary Strand

  Cover Credits

  Cover design: LB Hayden

  Guitar: @belchonock and @lembit / DepositPhotos

  Handcuffs and keys: @Tribaliumivanka / DepositPhotos

  Editor: Pam McCutcheon

  Logo credit: LB Hayden

  All rights reserved. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. No part of this book may be used, reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means whatsoever without the author’s express written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Electronic ISBN: 978-1-944949-07-5

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1-944949-08-2

  Printed in the United States of America

  Chapter 1

  Lydia was Lydia still;

  untamed, unabashed, wild, noisy, and fearless.

  — Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice,

  Volume III, Chapter Nine

  “I’m back! Let the parties begin!”

  Dead silence. My gaze flickered over the frozen faces at my old lunch table, then around the cafeteria. Kids at other tables were staring at me, too, and I heard a buzz of recognition, but the kids at my own table didn’t say a word. My crowd didn’t say a word. Was I speaking Swahili? I mean, it wasn’t like they didn’t remember me. Everyone at Woodbury High School knew me. Half of them worshipped me.

  A year away at reform school didn’t change that, did it?

  Frowning, I glanced across the cafeteria, zeroing in on my sister Cat, who was sitting with Jeremy Fisk, who’d never been part of our crowd. No wonder Cat wasn’t at our old table: she was either shut out or too embarrassed. I knew she’d been dating Jeremy for six months now, but it was still weird. I’d been home for ten days, and she hadn’t bothered to warn me how things stood with our crowd. With my crowd.

  “Lydia. You’re back. It’s been ages.”

  “Hey, Tess. Yeah, they finally sprang me.”

  My mom and dad told me not to put it that way, not even to friends, but Dad was the one who shipped me to reform school a year ago, and Mom didn’t exactly stop him, and I didn’t give a rat’s ass what either of them thought.

  Grinning, I glanced at Tess O’Halloran and set my tray down in the empty spot next to her. Finally. Someone I could talk to, really talk to, despite all the snotty things Cat said about Tess in all her emails last spring. We’d always been close. I could count on Tess.

  She turned back to Amber Tomlinson, though, on the other side of her, which put me right back where I’d started: with no one talking to me. Or acting like I belonged here.

  What the fuck? I owned this school, and every one of these kids knew it.

  I ran a hand through my hair, still thick but short now, thanks to a year in Shangri-La. It almost killed me to cut it, but I would’ve done anything to reduce the odds of that repulsive witch, Shannon, yanking it out by the roots. Shannon didn’t last past February, but not because they sprang her for good behavior. She torched the headmaster’s office.

  But Shannon wasn’t my problem anymore. When I flew home from Montana, I thought I didn’t have any problems except Mom and Dad, who should really get a new phone number, 1-800-LECTURE, since that’s all they did these days. And, okay, Cat avoided me, which qualified as a slight problem, but it had to be because she had this loser boyfriend. After three classes and now lunch on my first day back, though, I realized Cat wasn’t my problem. Mom and Dad weren’t my problem.

  It was the whole entire school.

  “Lydia. Hey.”

  I glanced to my right, where Drew Mitchell was smiling at me the way Cat used to smile at him. On the other side of Drew, a girl with bleach-blond hair was watching me like a hawk.

  “Drew. How’re you doing?”

  He patted the girl’s arm. Whatever. “Good. You know Chelsea?”

  I shook my head as I sized her up. Beady eyes, too much makeup, one arm draped over Drew’s shoulder now. Yep, definitely Drew’s girlfriend.

  She snorted. “You’re that girl who spent last year at reform school? How did that work out for you?”

  I frowned as her snotty giggle was joined by a few others, including Amber’s. None of the guys laughed, though, including Drew, which told me one thing hadn’t changed. The guys all still wanted to go out with me.

  They just didn’t realize I didn’t have much interest. Still, I wouldn’t mind spending a little quality time with Drew,
just enough to wipe that snotty smirk off Chelsea’s face.

  And maybe teach Cat a lesson while I was at it.

  As I pondered exactly what I planned to do with Drew, preferably with Chelsea watching, I gave the little witch an evil grin of my own. “It worked out just fine. But I see Drew hasn’t done so well for himself lately.”

  Chelsea’s fat mouth formed a perfect “O” of bright-red lipstick, probably the only perfect thing about her, as Drew gave her a comforting pat on the arm. Tess and Amber stopped giggling, since they knew me a lot better than Chelsea did. They knew I played to win.

  At least when provoked.

  As I fluttered my eyelashes at Chelsea, I couldn’t help noticing that Drew was totally checking me out. As if he knew exactly what I planned to do with him and didn’t even want to wait until the end of lunch period.

  When I touched the tip of my tongue to the corner of my mouth, Drew swallowed hard. Chelsea grabbed her tray and stood up, jerking Drew along with her.

  “See you l-later?” Drew’s voice cracked, probably for the first time since eighth grade.

  “Definitely.” I gave Chelsea a little finger wave as her face turned green. “Can’t wait.”

  I curled up on my bed after school, the window open wide to let in the September breeze. I still hadn’t gotten used to seeing an open window and not wanting to make a lunge for freedom. But I was home, back in my old room and—almost—in my old life, and the only wardens in sight were Mom and Dad. Who weren’t even in sight right now.

  Mary’s mangy old cat, Boris, padded softly through the open doorway, and I wondered again why Mary hadn’t taken the stupid thing with her when she left for MIT. If she thought this reject from an animal shelter was the perfect homecoming gift for me, she had to be kidding. I knew I should’ve slammed my bedroom door the instant I came upstairs, but I hated closed doors even more than closed windows.

  Boris’s orange-and-puke-striped tail swished in the air, almost like he was happy to see me. Doubtful. If I didn’t count the slobbering guys, no one in Woodbury, Minnesota, was happy to see me these days.

  Boris, though, took a flying leap and landed his sorry mongrel ass on my bed, then moved into my arms and purred on cue.

  Stupid cat.

  Another Cat, my twin, walked into the room with the same wariness I now aimed at everyone in Woodbury. Despite myself, I hugged Boris a little tighter. “What happened to your old boyfriend, Drew?”

  She just frowned as she crossed to her own bed and started emptying her backpack onto it. Like she was going to start studying. On the first day of school, when no one gave homework, or at least no one did it.

  She pulled out a sketchpad. No wonder. Little Miss Art Freak probably planned to draw a portrait of a former convict who’d gone straight.

  Ignoring Boris, I lay back on my bed and held my pillow in front of my face.

  When she still didn’t say anything, I peeled back a corner of the pillow. Her sketchpad was nowhere in sight, and she wasn’t even looking at me. She was doing homework. The Cat I knew only read beauty and gossip magazines. Just like I used to do. Before I spent a year in Shangri-La.

  I tossed my pillow aside, which sent Boris shooting off my bed and skidding across the floor to take cover in the closet. With one eye on him, I propped my head on my elbow. “Is that for school? Like, you actually do homework these days? What happened to the Cat I knew and loved?”

  Cat’s eyebrows went up, but she didn’t say anything.

  “And I asked you about Drew. What’s up? Why aren’t you with him, and who’s that skanky chick he’s with?”

  Cat’s book was propped open, but I knew she wasn’t reading. I mean, she couldn’t be. I was talking to her.

  Finally, she sighed. “She’s Chelsea Anderson, and I never was dating Drew.”

  “Practically.”

  “Besides, I’m going out with Jeremy. Like I’ve told you a million times.”

  “Yeah, I don’t get that, either. He’s not part of our crowd. We’ve always stayed within the crowd.”

  Okay, I hadn’t, but the guys I’d gone out with at Woodbury High always moved on. Like, quickly. It wasn’t tough to find new guys, but it was a little squicky to hook up with a bunch of guys who were all friends.

  Which was why Justin had seemed so great. Even though he hadn’t been. As it turned out.

  “I told you.” Cat abandoned the book, but she perched on the edge of her bed as if she was about to leave. Without telling me, let alone inviting me along. “I dropped that crowd, and I’m glad Jeremy isn’t part of it. Really glad.”

  “You’re just saying that because Tess and Kirk busted your chops. I can’t believe you fell for that.”

  Cat shot to her feet. “Yeah, well, whatever. Catch you later.”

  I jumped off my bed and followed her to the door, but not before she grabbed the handle and yanked it shut. When I whipped it open again, she’d already reached the bottom of the stairs and headed out the front door. By the time I got my shoes back on and ran after her, our electric-blue Jeep rumbled to life and peeled out from the curb. Leaving me here alone.

  It had to be a first. But after I got done with Cat, it wouldn’t happen again.

  Wednesday afternoon, after another boring lunch punctuated by Tess’s random giggles at pretty much anything anyone said—except me—my nose wrinkled as I read all the activities notices plastered on the bulletin board outside the principal’s office. Why I was standing outside Mr. Paymar’s office, I had no idea, since the thought of him always had a ring of detention to it. Volleyball, the fall musical, Spanish club, Robotics, Gender & Sexuality Alliance, Super Smash Brothers, whatever that was. My eyes flickered over SADD: Students Against Destructive Decisions. I could be the President of it.

  It was all stupid. Boring. Pointless. Besides, a year at Shangri-La hadn’t exactly turned me into a joiner, unlike a certain twin sister of mine who didn’t even seem embarrassed to hang with her boyfriend at the art freaks’ lunch table.

  My gaze kept scanning the activities, maybe because I wasn’t in any hurry to get to Accounting I. It was mind-numbingly boring, even if Dad said it would come in handy for a girl like me. Whatever that meant. I saw a notice for gymnastics tryouts, but they didn’t start until November. I bit my lip, considering, but flushed the idea. A year and a half ago, I’d spent two months in the weight room and on the gymnastics equipment, working out to get in shape to join the circus for the summer. It had actually felt great and paid off when I got the job.

  Too bad I lost the job on my second day, then left town with Justin Truesdale and, by the end of the summer, lost everything that mattered.

  The warning bell for fourth period rang just as someone’s arm wrapped around my waist. “Are you signing up for something?”

  Turning, I found myself in Drew’s arms. The only surprise was how he’d ditched Chelsea so quickly.

  I winked at him. “You?”

  I could swear his heart rate jumped. “Why me?”

  Because it would piss off Chelsea and maybe even Cat? Because I was bored? Because hardly anyone else was even talking to me?

  “Because you’re cute?”

  He was, actually. Cat had been madly in love with him since forever—another reason why the Jeremy thing didn’t make any sense—so I’d always left him alone. But I had to admit his ripped biceps were mildly drool-worthy. I could also see why Cat would want to run her hands through his tousled dark hair, and his smoky eyes hinted he was a guy with secrets.

  After knowing him as long as I had, though, I thought the only secret was why he’d hook up with a skank like Chelsea.

  Not that I was bitter about her “accidentally” slamming into my chair at lunch today and spilling her lemonade on my arm in the process. Not at all. Especially after I tossed my Coke in her face.

  Accidentally, of course.

  Drew glanced over his shoulder, almost as if he was thinking about Chelsea, too, before he turned back and gazed into my
eyes. Like he wanted to be romantic. Lucky thing I don’t gag easily.

  “Hey, let’s get together. Do you want to—”

  “Drew? Aren’t you coming to class? Like, now?”

  At the sound of the snotty voice behind us, Drew and I both whirled. Sure enough, Chelsea. Not happy. Go figure.

  Still, he had the guts to glance back at me. “Later?”

  My eyes glittered as I did a head-to-toe sweep of Chelsea just to amuse myself. She wasn’t worth looking at more than once, if you know what I mean, and she actually looked stupid in that miniskirt and killer heels she sure hadn’t been wearing yesterday. “Or sooner?”

  With a last glance at the bulletin board, I headed down the hall in the opposite direction from Drew and Chelsea. I had a feeling “sooner” would happen sooner than I wanted.

  I dragged my butt into Accounting class five seconds after the bell rang, but Ms. Frey didn’t skip a beat in her scribbling on the board, let alone yell at me. Cool. I stifled a groan, though, as I slid past her and found my assigned seat. More homework. They’d piled on homework at Shangri-La, too, but there the teachers, counselors, and other hired thugs found even more creative ways to wreck a girl’s day.

  “Welcome to Torture 101.” The goth chick leaning across the aisle to slide something underneath my notebook gave me a smirk. “Lauren. Lauren Kjelstad. You look like you could use a little pick-me-up.”