Livin' La Vida Bennet

by Mary Strand

  Mom sat next to me, Dad across the table. In Mom’s case, proximity might have more to do with being unable to resist cheating on Atkins than providing moral support.

  I’d ask her for moral support—and a guitar—later.

  They both just watched me as I dug into the beef lo mein, which didn’t taste as good when vultures were circling. I also hadn’t heated it long enough, but I didn’t want Dad following me all the way to the microwave, let alone Mom trying to make a grab for whatever I left on the table.

  I chewed in silence. But not for long.

  “You took the Jeep.”

  No kidding. “But not to Wisconsin Dells, and I didn’t paint it black, unlike Cat last spring.”

  As Mom and Dad stared at me, I still couldn’t believe Cat’s wild week of terror late last February, when she’d skipped school and hijacked the Jeep just to spend a week living in a Motel 6 and working at a waterpark in Wisconsin Dells. I really couldn’t believe she wound up with a summer job at that waterpark after everything she’d done. I hadn’t done much worse—in my own opinion, at least—and I’d landed in reform school.

  More important, I couldn’t believe Cat had it in her. She usually did what I told her to do—although not lately—but she’d come up with that wild scheme on her own, just because Tess and Kirk made fun of her at a band practice. Kirk teased me today at band practice when I got into the catfight with Chelsea and Amber, but I didn’t steal the Jeep and run away, did I?

  When Dad finally opened his mouth to speak again, Mom grabbed the carton of kung pao chicken from the fridge and dug into it without first making a pit stop at the microwave.

  Dad looked at her in disbelief before turning back to me. “I’m serious, Lydia. We’re serious.”

  No, Mom was just hungry, as far as I could tell.

  “You can’t take the Jeep without permission.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Lately, I can barely go to the bathroom without permission.”

  Dad glared at me, not even bothering to breathe deeply or count to ten or go for another of his illusory Zen moments. “Speaking of rooms, I’ve given your bedroom more thought.”

  He could do whatever he wanted, and probably would. Thanks to bribes of Godiva chocolate, I could fix pretty much anything with Mom.

  Head down, I just kept eating.

  “I’ve decided to move you into Mary’s room. At least until she comes home for winter break.”

  A sharp intake of breath, and it wasn’t mine. “Howard? We didn’t discuss that.”

  Dad smiled faintly at Mom, who waved a fork in the air and sent kung pao chicken flying across the kitchen. “I thought I’d surprise you both. No offense, dear, but Lydia seems to have a knack for breaking down your defenses.”

  True. I wouldn’t even have to work to break down Mom’s defenses on this one. From the look on her face, she was already on my side.

  Still, I hated to lose an opportunity to annoy Dad. He wasn’t on my side, obviously, and never had been. Not that I was bitter about it or anything.

  “Liz and Jane don’t live here anymore, so why do I get stuck with Mary’s puny room? The furniture is all for crap, and the place reeks like her stupid cat.”

  “I’d almost forgotten.” Dad nodded, which made no sense, but that was Dad for you. “Boris is yours to take care of whenever Mary isn’t at home.”

  I slapped my hand on the table, startling me when it stung. “She lives a thousand miles away!”

  “Which is why Boris needs you.”

  “I can’t stand Boris.”

  Dad tilted his head, studying me, looking way too smug. “Well, then, I hope you’ll get used to him. You have no interest in activities or work or even applying to colleges, so you must have a lot of free time on your hands. When you’re not busy doing your homework.”

  “I am not taking care of Boris.”

  “Actually, you are. Starting tonight.”

  “Mom!”

  She patted my hand. “I’ll discuss it with your father, dear. I do wish you’d find something that interests you, though.”

  Guys interested me—like, specifically Kirk—but I had a feeling it wouldn’t help my case with Dad or even Mom.

  “I’m, uh, interested in guitar.” I glanced at Mom, offering her my best wheedling smile. “And I told Dad, but he seems to think Mary’s the only one around here who deserves a guitar. So I guess I’m screwed, huh?”

  “Please don’t say—”

  Dad shook his head. “I said I didn’t plan to pay for it.”

  “Howard.”

  He shrugged. “Fine. We can pay for guitar lessons, but Lydia will have to come up with the guitar on her own. Mary got a guitar for her birthday, and Lydia’s isn’t until March.”

  “But Christmas—”

  “—is more than three months from now. I’m happy to wait if you are.”

  I wasn’t happy about much of anything, but I’d find a way to buy, borrow, or steal a guitar if it meant getting out of this house and Mary’s stupid room and away from the ugliest cat in America.

  If that didn’t work, I’d ship Boris to Mary at MIT. In a UPS envelope. As an early birthday gift.

  This family sucked.

  I got to school early Friday morning, thanks to Cat wanting to hang out with Jeremy, but not early enough to beat Chelsea into Speech class. She and Drew were in the back of the room, looking nauseatingly lovey-dovey despite everything that went down at the band practice yesterday. I ignored them. I mean, not that I was jealous. The smoldering look in Drew’s eyes when he caught sight of me told me more than I wanted to know, but he wasn’t going to start anything with me in Speech class—or at all, unless he begged. And probably not even then.

  I grabbed a desk on the far side of the room, by the window, so I could stare outside and pretend I was somewhere else.

  “Mind if I sit here?”

  “It’s a free country.”

  I glanced up as I spoke, seeing a girl who’d moved to Woodbury the second half of tenth grade. Shoulder-length strawberry-blond hair, a dusting of freckles that made her look thirteen, and a sweet smile. Totally not my type.

  “I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m—”

  “Heather MacAndrews. Yeah. I’m Lydia Bennet.”

  “I know.” She smiled, still looking sweet, as she set down a stack of books that looked too heavy for her. They hit her desk with a thump. “I remember you from sophomore year.”

  I hadn’t done anything to her, had I? Like, stolen her boyfriend? No, she looked too sweet to have a boyfriend I’d want, and she wouldn’t act so nice to me if she were still pissed. Unless she was just collecting stories about Lydia Bennet to giggle about with her girlfriends.

  Actually, she didn’t seem like the type for that, either.

  Ms. Ciccarelli walked in, and I didn’t give Heather another thought. For one thing, she wasn’t the sort of girl anyone would spend much time thinking about. For another thing, I was too busy getting nailed with homework for the weekend.

  Not that I worried about that, either. After the hellish year I’d just survived at Shangri-La, weekends were for parties, not homework.

  And I planned to find some.

  I stumbled out of Mr. Bowman’s Political Science class in a daze, loaded down with even more homework and the threat of a quiz at the end of next week. No one seemed to have mentioned to my teachers that school started only three days ago, so they didn’t have to torture us this early in the term.

  Head down, I slammed into someone, and my books went flying.

  Annoyed, I snapped. “For God’s sake, don’t you—”

  My breath caught at the sight of Kirk, who stooped to grab my stuff.

  He grinned up at me. “Don’t I what? Watch where you’re going? I’d be happy to, but I never have a clue where you’re going these days.”

  “Funny.” I bent to pick up a couple of pens and a notebook he’d missed. “I’m going to the cafeteria. How about you?”

&nbs
p; He was, I knew, but I wanted to play it cool. Weird. I’d never played it at all with Kirk, and suddenly my mind raced with strategies to catch him. Almost as if I’d been spending too much time reading Cosmopolitan or even Seventeen: how to hook the guy of your dreams in five easy steps.

  But I didn’t need a stupid magazine to tell me how to hook Kirk. I could do it just by being me. Lydia Bennet. Ruler—with Kirk—of this entire school.

  Even if a lot of the kids in school didn’t seem to recognize it anymore. But they would.

  “I’m heading there, yeah.” Kirk handed me the last of my books, not exactly offering to carry them for me, but that was fine. I didn’t want him to turn into some pathetic doofus over me. I just wanted to go out with him. “Join me?”

  I glanced sideways at him, nodding, as I wondered what the scoop was with Amber. But I’d learned a long time ago that guys were more likely to forget they had girlfriends if you didn’t go out of your way to remind them.

  We dropped our books at our table, then headed together through the lunch line. Amber was nowhere in sight. Excellent.

  “Are you really interested in playing guitar with the band? I mean, I don’t remember you playing.”

  I shrugged as I grabbed a slice of pepperoni pizza and a salad. “I haven’t played in a while.” Like, ever. “But if you give me a couple of weeks, I wouldn’t mind playing with you guys.”

  I tried to sound like I was doing him a favor, instead of finding some pathetic excuse to hang out with him. It was as stupid as it was unnecessary, because Kirk was happy to hang out with me without an excuse, but I couldn’t help myself. Going a year without guys had done something to me.

  At Shangri-La, which was filled with more bad boys than I could handle, they’d been off-limits. It took a few months before someone told me why none of the guys tried to get close to me, when they didn’t mind hitting on all the skanks in the girls’ dorm: if they did, they’d get detention in the form of hard labor. The judge in Milwaukee, probably egged on by Dad, had ordered it. And no one even bothered to tell me.

  Another of Dad’s crimes I wouldn’t forgive anytime soon.

  Kirk nodded. “No problem. One or two other kids might be interested in joining the band, but I’m sure we can give you a try, too.”

  I bit down on my disappointment. Give me a try? Had they given Mary a try? From the sound of it, they’d practically worshipped at her feet.

  “Whatever. I can always find a different band.”

  Okay, I couldn’t, not easily, especially since I didn’t have a guitar, let alone the first clue how to play one.

  “Hey, I’d love to have you in the band. No worries.” Kirk grinned at me as we headed to our table, where Amber was sitting in the chair where I’d left my books.

  My books were lying in a heap on the floor. When I reached the table, Amber’s books followed them there.

  “Hey!”

  As she scrambled to pick hers up, I grabbed her seat—or, more precisely, reclaimed mine. I could pick up my books anytime. Better yet, maybe Kirk would.

  Nope. He just sat down next to me and dug into his burger and fries. With a loud huff, Amber stalked off to a different table. After a moment, I picked up my books.

  “Man, I can’t believe the musical chairs in this school.” I poked around in my salad, searching for a cherry tomato. “It’s not as civilized as I remember it.”

  Kirk laughed as he munched on a few fries. “It’s almost exactly how I remember it. At least, sophomore year, when you were still here.”

  I frowned. “Are you saying I—”

  “—create some excitement around this place? Yeah. I just don’t know if everyone will survive it.”

  He glanced across the cafeteria at Drew and Chelsea, who’d been sitting alone until Amber joined them. Drew stared at me like a lost and hungry puppy. Not exactly the sort of animal I craved.

  “I didn’t do anything.” Catching Kirk’s raised eyebrows, I shrugged. “Drew doesn’t seem to know what he wants, but that’s not my fault. I was just being nice.”

  Kirk choked on something, and I don’t think it was his hamburger. I almost thumped him on the back, but he was grinning. He could fend for himself.

  “So you’re not interested in Drew?”

  “Romantically? No.” Okay, his kiss was hotter than I would’ve guessed, but that could’ve been due to the complete lack of kisses in my life last year. Besides, Kirk’s were probably hotter, and I wasn’t stupid enough to go after Kirk’s best friend, let alone when Kirk was watching.

  At least, not since yesterday.

  “And . . . other than romantically?”

  I stalled for time as I bit into my slice of pizza. Too much cheese, not enough tomato, but the pepperoni was nice and spicy. I finally realized Kirk was staring at me, waiting for an answer. Why? Because he cared? Or because he was trying to watch out for Drew?

  Drew could watch out for himself.

  “Drew and I are friends. You know that.” Feeling Kirk’s eyes on my mouth, I wiped it with my napkin. “We’ve never been anything more than that.”

  “But he’s—”

  “—with Chelsea. Fine by me. I mean, I feel sorry for the guy, but it’s not my issue.”

  I heard a gasp from farther down the table and looked up to see Tess sitting by herself, obviously listening in. She really needed to get out more.

  Kirk’s lips quirked, as if he shared my opinion. Being Kirk, he’d also agree it wasn’t his issue.

  Amber was a totally different issue, but he didn’t mention her, and I sure didn’t plan to.

  “What’s your definition of romance?”

  I shrugged, even though his question hit me out of the blue, and I wondered why he was asking. Kirk always had a reason for everything, which was something I liked about him.

  “Depends on the guy.” Right this moment, it mostly depended on what Kirk wanted it to be. Because I wanted him like no one I’d ever wanted before, not even Justin before he turned into a monster. “What’s yours?”

  Leaning close, Kirk whispered in my ear. “Depends on the girl. So I guess you know what I mean.”

  As I felt a sudden tingling in my body that went all the way down to my toes, I nodded.

  I knew exactly what he meant.

  I didn’t get any calls or texts after school, from Kirk or anyone else, and Kirk didn’t show up at my front door, asking me to run away with him.

  For that matter, neither did Drew.

  Cat disappeared when we got home from school, but without the Jeep, which probably meant Jeremy picked her up. But they couldn’t be going to a party. It was way too early, and I would’ve heard about it from Kirk. Maybe no one at school partied anymore. Or maybe the kids in our crowd had started going to school football games on Friday night. Even though football games were the definition of lame.

  Thinking about it, I lay back on my bed in Cat’s and my room—since I refused to move to Mary’s hellhole—and stroked Boris’s rough fur until I remembered that I was in charge of Boris now. I shooed him off my bed, but he jumped up on Cat’s bed and gave me a baleful look. Fine. With any luck, maybe he’d poop all over Cat’s bedspread.

  Finally, I heard the front door open. A moment later, Mom’s screech made its way upstairs. “Cat? Lydia? Are you home?”

  Boris bolted under my bed, the dumb cat. Didn’t he know Mom tortured only her daughters? And her husband? And her divorce clients’ exes?

  Okay, maybe Boris had a point, but I wasn’t sure I could squeeze under the bed. Besides, I had to get a guitar out of Mom and fix a few other problems caused by Dad.

  Still, I waited until I heard her footsteps on the stairs. “I’m here, Mom. Just hanging out, waiting for you to get home.”

  Talk about laying it on thick. I’d have to dial it back a few notches or even Mom would see through me.

  The door to my room swung open. “Oh, you’re here, dear. Weren’t you supposed to move to Mary’s bedroom?”

  I
felt tears welling up in my eyes. Sure, they were totally fake, but it still annoyed me that I’d have to fix my mascara after I got done with this.

  “You poor thing.” Mom dropped her briefcase by the door and came over to my bed, perching on the edge of it. “Did you have a bad day? Did something happen at school?”

  Sniffling, I wiped a hand across my wet cheek. “School’s okay, but Cat won’t talk to me, and she went out already, probably to a party.” I blew my nose when an evil grin threatened. “And the only place I’ve ever felt at home was this room, especially with the wallpaper you put up for Cat and me, and now Dad wants to take even this away from me.”

  As I hiccupped on a final sob, I tried not to glance at the hideous pink-and-orange wallpaper filled with ballerinas that Mom had picked out and hung crookedly during one of her manic phases when Cat and I were ten. I’d wanted a lock on my bedroom door ever since. Fat chance.

  “Oh, sweetie.” Mom leaned forward to wrap her arms around me, smelling of her favorite floral cologne and telltale traces of chocolate. “I never knew how much it meant to you.”

  She was basically smothering me. I pulled back slightly just to breathe. “Of course you did. You and I have always been so close. I could tell you anything.”

  And I had told her a million things over the years, most of them whoppers. Still, it felt good that Mom always took my side, even if it told me she’d fall for anything.

  “We’ll fix whatever is wrong. You can count on me, dear.” She gave me another squeeze, nearly sucking the life force out of me. “I don’t understand why your father thinks you need to change rooms, but what else do you need?”

  Kirk, spending money, and wheels. But I’d start with Kirk, who obviously wasn’t rushing to come after me.

  “A guitar? I’d so like to learn to play guitar.”

  Mom nodded as she kept squeezing. “We can call it an early Christmas present, don’t you think?”

  Sure, but only because I knew Mom would forget all about it by Christmas, when I’d ask for something else, too.