Chapter Text
જ⁀➴
It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single, cute teenage boy must be in want of a prom date.
Unfortunately, Netherfield Preparatory is in short supply of single, cute, teenage boys. Hence Lizzy’s lack of a prom date.
“You could go with Collin,” Charlotte suggests, smirking and nudging Lizzy’s arm as they walk to their dorm after their afternoon lessons. “Like. He goes to Netherfield. He’s a feasible option.”
Collin. Lizzy’s neighbor and perpetual annoyance since childhood. He was alright when they were, like, eight, and they could make mud pies and kick a soccer ball around and capture minnows in the creek and do all the other messy outdoor activities Lizzy’s sisters wouldn’t. But ever since puberty hit, Collin’s become a lot less interested in mud pies and a lot more interested in Lizzy’s boobs.
“Char, I think I’d rather die.”
Lizzy knocks her hip against their door; it sticks sometimes and requires brute force to open. Just one of the perks of attending Longbourn Academy (Sucking the will to live from teenaged girls since 1876!), along with its lack of air conditioning and awkward floor plan.
Lizzy and Charlotte take up melodramatic positions like women in an old painting, Lizzy draping herself across her bed, Charlotte dropping onto the faded bean bag chair beneath the window. They’ve had that sad, lumpy chair since freshman year; neither of them can remember where it came from anymore. At this point it’s as much a part of the dorm as the creaky floorboards or the mystery stains on the carpet or the hideous floral wallpaper in their tiny shared bathroom.
“But…he’s sort of cute, isn’t he?”
Lizzy glances at Charlotte. “Who? Collin?”
“Yeah...”
Lizzy’s expression instantly morphs into complete and total revulsion and Charlotte is quick to edit her opinion.
“I mean, cute in an awkward, dorky kinda way. Maybe it’s the glasses? Or the hair? And like, it doesn’t even matter if I think he’s cute anyway. He’s halfway in love with you.”
“Charlotte, nooo. Collin is awful. Remember how he used to flirt with me in math class by making little paper airplanes and throwing them at the back of my head? It was so embarrassing.”
“I don’t know…that’s a little bit cute…”
Lizzy throws a pillow at her.
જ⁀➴
In the end Lizzy goes to prom without a date. It’s honestly not a big deal.
She and Charlotte play a CD in their stereo while they change into their dresses; Lizzy’s is made of light, gauzy fabric of the palest blue, tied at her neck with a bow. She pairs it with heels and a strapless bra that she’s probably going to be fiddling with all night.
“You look great!”
Lizzy blots her lipstick with a tissue before twisting around to face Jane, who’s just come floating into the dorm.
Floating is really the only word to describe the way Jane moves. Jane’s a ballerina, so of course she’s graceful—but really, it’s more than that. She’s ethereal, cool and fluid like water. Though Lizzy isn’t ugly by any stretch, her looks don’t hold a candle to Jane’s long golden curls and soft curves. Even in a simple cream-colored dress, her hair neatly plaited in a braided crown, she glows.
A dozen girls stop to say hello to Jane on the walk to Longbourn’s sister academy, Netherfield Prep - where prom is being held since it’s a joint dance between the girls’ and boys’ schools - complimenting Jane’s makeup (which is infuriating, because Lizzy’s certain she isn’t wearing any) and dress and hair. Your date is the luckiest guy at Netherfield, they gush, and then Jane has to explain that she’s not going with a date. No, she’s going to the dance with her loser little sister and her loser little sister’s best friend because she pities them.
Netherfield’s grand hall is decorated magnificently, all glittery tinsel and balloon arches, lights that glint off crystal glasses and crystal jewelry and the crystal chandelier. A DJ in a blue bow tie plays a mashup of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony and “Rock Your Body” by Justin Timberlake, a combination that shouldn’t be a bop but totally is.
Lizzy dispels her negative thoughts, spinning out onto the dance floor with Jane and Charlotte. She spends the next half hour lost in a neon-lit flurry of dancing, sweat and laughter, singing way-off-key to songs nobody knows the words to. Swept up in a wave of delicious delirium, until—
“Excuse me?”
A short but handsome boy taps Jane on the shoulder. The wave abruptly stills.
“Hi,” the boy says, giving his blond hair a nervous ruffle, “would you, uh, like to dance?”
Jane giggles. “Oh my gosh. I would love to.”
And then Jane vanishes into the crowd to dance with the boy, leaving Lizzy behind in her wake. Lizzy continues dancing with Charlotte, but it’s not the same. Jane’s departure sucked away the haze of happiness that had previously hung over her.
It’s almost a relief, when Charlotte leans down to shout in Lizzy’s ear: “I have to pee!”
“Have fun waiting in line for an hour!”
Now with Jane and Charlotte gone, Lizzy finally has her excuse to desert the dance floor. She finds a nice chair to sit in and someone’s (hopefully) untouched cup of punch to nurse, and isn’t at all surprised when her phone buzzes with a text from Charlotte.
char
{8:14 pm}
guess who asked me 2 dance w him !!!
collin !!!
talk l8r xxx
Tendrils of envy slither through Lizzy’s gut. Not because she’s jealous of who Charlotte’s dancing with—she’s seriously questioning her best friend’s sanity at the moment; come on, Collin, of all people?!—but because Charlotte was just asked by someone to dance, during a slow song, nonetheless. Ed Sheeran’s music absolutely sucks, but what Lizzy wouldn’t give to sway with a boy to a song about falling in love in mysterious ways and kissing under the light of a thousand stars…
Jane finds Lizzy here sometime later. She’s holding the hand of that blond boy, sweaty and flushed pink.
“Liz, this is Charles Bingley.”
“Call me Charlie,” Bingley says, his Southern accent somehow sounding suave instead of redneck. “My dad is Charles.”
Lizzy smiles. “Nice to meet you.”
“Lizzy’s my little sister,” Jane explains. “She’s a sophomore.”
Another boy emerges from behind Charlie. He is taller, dark-haired and solemn. He is not flushed from dancing a bit too hard to Taylor Swift. In fact, he looks like the kind of boy who would renounce Taylor Swift altogether for only writing silly breakup songs, and most certainly is also the kind of boy who doesn’t dance, period.
Bingley makes quick work of introductions. “Will, I present Lizzy Bennet. Lizzy, this is Will Darcy.”
Lizzy extends a hand to Darcy. He stares down at her palm with disdain before flicking his eyes up to her face.
“Pleasure,” he drawls, like he’d rather be anywhere else.
Lizzy recoils. “You know, according to modern social conventions, it’s considered polite to shake a person’s hand instead of leaving them hanging like a middle school principal who failed to score a fist-bump.”
“Um. So, Charlie,” Jane clears her throat, obviously attempting to diffuse the rapidly rising tension. “How long have you and Will been friends?”
“Well, uh, we were on the same tee ball team in second grade, and we’ve been best friends ever since.”
Will glares at Lizzy and she glares right back. She won’t be first to break eye contact; no, she holds Will’s gaze steady for several long moments, not even blinking—and unfortunately has more than enough time to realize just how blue his eyes are before he finally looks away.
Jane forces out an awkward laugh. “Lizzy isn’t usually this rude,” she says through gritted teeth.
“For all she preaches about modern social conventions, you’d think she’d be a little more, I don’t know…sociable?” Darcy deadpans.
Lizzy flips him off, turning on her heel and stalking away. She knows her sister will chase after her, and sure enough, a few moments later Jane catches up, fingertips brushing Lizzy’s shoulder.
“Liz! Why on earth were you so mean to that boy?”
“He was mean to me first,” Lizzy says, knowing that the excuse is childish and not giving a shit about it. She lengthens her strides—she’s ready to leave, has been ready to leave for the last forty minutes.
Jane breaks into a jog to keep up. “Okay, so…what did you think of Charlie?” she asks, biting her lip.
“I thought Charlie was fine. It’s just his friend that I have a problem with.”
“Look. You can’t judge the guy from one sour encounter. Maybe he’s having a bad day!”
“Or maybe he’s just a dick.”
Lizzy pushes through the crowd toward the doors and Jane doesn’t follow. The air outside is a little chilly, but it’s quiet here, the muffled music drowned out by chirping cicadas.
She sinks down on a bench and squeezes her eyes shut. She wants to text Charlotte, to spill her guts to someone who, unlike Jane, will unquestioningly take her side, agree that Darcy guy was a total asshole and somehow spin the situation into something worth laughing about. But Charlotte’s having fun and Lizzy won’t spoil her night by ranting about some—
The doors open and two people step out; for a few moments, music spills into the courtyard, overpowering the cicadas until the doors close, sealing the Kesha song away once more.
“...that Jane Bennet girl?”
Lizzy’s head swivels to the two figures. She’s obscured by a large plant so they can’t see her, but she recognizes the voice of the second person when he speaks.
“She’s honestly so cool and so cute,” Charlie says, his voice all soft and lovelorn.
“She smiles too much.”
And the first person would be Will Darcy.
“Haven’t any of the girls caught your eye?” Charlie asks.
“No.”
“You haven’t danced once all night, bro. I know you didn’t exactly hit it off with her, but what about Jane’s sister, Lizzy—”
“She’s nothing special. Not ugly, but too plain to be hot—”
Lizzy gasps.
Charlie frowns, glancing around. “Did you hear that?”
“No, nothing.”
“Ah, well. Must’ve been my imagination.”
Lizzy seethes. She’s very tempted to storm over to Will Darcy right now and strangle him. ‘She’s nothing special’? What a dick. She honestly should give that…that prideful, insufferable toerag a piece of her mind.
Somehow she resists the temptation to cause Darcy harm. He and Charlie talk about other things, their lessons, football, homework they were both assigned, but they eventually go back inside. Lizzy does the same not long after. She sends a text to Charlotte:
liz
{8:51 pm}
im ready to leave bitch
wrap it up with crusty collin
(WHO YOU TOTALLY DITCHED ME FOR BTW !!!)
or im going w/o you
Lizzy’s exit is delayed, however, by Longbourn’s headmistress seizing a microphone to make the announcement of prom king and queen. Lizzy could care less about the two seniors about to receive the stupid irrelevant titles, and she’s just turning to leave when Netherfield’s director joins Headmistress Duncan onstage.
“Hello, all. In just a moment, we’ll name this year’s prom king and queen, but first, we’d like to announce some big news.”
The Netherfield headmaster leans in to speak into the mic. “Starting next year, a merger will be taking place between Longbourn Academy and Netherfield Prep!”
There’s a collective murmur that builds into loud talking, worry and excitement mixing together into a near-deadly emotional cocktail. Lizzy frowns. A merger? There’d been rumors of such a thing happening, the two academies combining into one co-ed school, but she hadn’t thought it would occur while she was still a student at Longbourn.
There’s no way this merger could possibly end well.
“We’ll share more details about what to expect soon, but now,” Headmaster Duncan says, like she and Netherfield’s director (Lizzy probably should learn his name now, shouldn’t she?) haven’t just dropped a massive bomb on the room, “let’s crown our prom royals!”
જ⁀➴
Summer arrives.
The months are filled with board games and crossword puzzles, curling up on the porch swing to read fantasy novels, shopping for vinyls at the record store. And third-wheeling Charlie and Jane’s not-dates.
Jane claims that she keeps inviting Lizzy so she “doesn’t feel left out” but Lizzy deeply suspects that Jane just doesn’t want to admit these hangouts are actually dates. She wouldn’t even mind the whole third-wheeling thing if it weren’t for the fact that Darcy always tags along too.
And when Jane and Charlie go off on their own, guess who Lizzy gets stuck with?
Darcy has the personality of a slug. He just sort of leers around, rarely speaking, face twisted in disgust no matter what activity they’re doing that day. There’s mini golf and bowling, drive-in movies and hikes and even one ill-fated canoeing trip at the lake that ended in Lizzy and Darcy’s canoe capsizing because Darcy was paddling them backwards, dammit—and throughout all of it, Lizzy would rather be spending time with literally anyone else.
The only reason Lizzy keeps going to the not-dates is to avoid being roped into helping with her mother’s latest obsession: zen gardens. She filled the backyard pond with koi fish and is currently trying to plant flowers and shrubbery around it, only she doesn’t even have a hint of a green thumb.
So when Charlie invites Jane to this little pool party he’s hosting and Jane invites Lizzy, Lizzy agrees. She throws an oversized Beatles t-shirt over a green one-piece, slings a tote bag over her shoulder, and tries to convince herself that this won’t completely suck.
Jane drives them to Charlie’s house in her little red convertible. Pulling up to the house, Lizzy is taken aback by its size and the lack of cars in the driveway.
“I thought this was supposed to be a party,” Lizzy points out. “Nobody’s here.”
Jane shrugs, unbuckling her seatbelt.
It turns out that there are a few people in the backyard, including Charlie’s sister Caroline, who’s suntanning with her friends and drinking green smoothies.
Caroline is blond and petite, but unlike her brother, Lizzy catches an odor of arrogance wafting off her. Her tiny, perfect button nose seems to be permanently stuck in the air.
“Hey, Jane!” Caroline calls out, waving from the grass where she’s laid herself out on a striped beach towel.
“Hi!” Jane calls back. “This is my sister, Lizzy!”
Caroline peers at Lizzy over the rims of her sunglasses, the trendy and entirely impractical kind with lenses shaped like stars. A smirk curls on her face. “That one piece is super cute, Lizzy, but you do know that this is a pool party, not a swim meet, right?”
Lizzy pastes on a smile. “Thanks, Caroline! Your little skirt-thing is really cute, too. Is it made out of a fishing net?”
“It’s called a sarong, actually, and I crocheted it myself.”
“How charming,” Lizzy says, before turning on her heel and finding a spot as far away from Caroline as she can get. She bunches up on one of the deck chairs with her current read, We Were Liars by E. Lockheart.
For a while, she’s content to let the sounds of the party—splashing and laughter, Drake songs playing from a bluetooth speaker, cornhole bags thumping against boards—fade away into background noise. Eventually, though, she’s jerked out of her book by Jane’s voice.
“Come swim, Lizzy! The water’s so warm!”
Reluctantly, Lizzy peels herself from her chair, slides off her sturdy brown sandals (they may not be cute like the flimsy little Jimmy Choos Caroline has, but they’ve never once given her blisters, which therefore makes them superior), and commandeers an inflatable donut to laze around the deep end.
Jane paddles the humongous flamingo raft she and Charlie are perched on over to Lizzy. Jane’s bright bikini brings out the blues of her eyes.
“Look at the flower Charlie picked for me,” she says, pointing to the hibiscus tucked behind her ear. She stares adoringly at Charlie, who gazes back with even bigger puppy-dog eyes.
“That was sweet of him,” Lizzy says.
“I’m gonna teach Jane how to play cornhole,” Charlie says. “Do you want to join us?”
“Nah, I’m good.”
Jane’s eyebrows scrunch together. “But you’re so good at cornhole. You beat dad every Memorial Day picnic.”
“I don’t have a partner, anyway.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Go have fun.”
A few minutes later, Charlie and Jane get out of the pool. Towels slung around their waists, they flounce to the cornhole boards, where Charlie proceeds to show Jane how to throw the bags in that cliche guy way, standing behind and holding her arm to help line up her shot.
The first bag misses the board by a mile. Jane and Charlie dissolve into laughter.
“Aren’t they insufferable?”
Lizzy jumps, nearly falling off her donut.
Ew. It’s Darcy. He’s sitting on the edge of the deck, dipping his feet into the pool. His bare chest is ghost-pale—why the fuck isn’t he wearing a shirt? Under his left eye is a smudge of sunscreen not fully rubbed-in.
“You,” Lizzy grits out. “What are you doing here?”
Darcy raises a hand to shield his eyes from the sun, scowling like a disgruntled cat whose fur was ruffled by a small child. “Charlie said I had to come outside to debunk vampire allegations.”
She can’t help but snort at that.
“Will!” Caroline shouts, “Can you come help me? I need help putting on sunscreen.”
“Don’t you have the spray-on kind?” Darcy says.
“I can’t reach my back! I guess I’ll be alright—but oh, I really don’t want to get burned!”
Darcy glances at Lizzy, brows furrowed. “Ugh. Why does she need me to sunscreen her back? Can’t she have one of her friends do it?
Lizzy rolls her eyes. “You do realize Caroline is flirting with you, right?” she asks as Darcy picks up his book again.
He does that absolutely gross and pretentious thing where he licks his finger before turning the page. “What? Caroline?”
“God. So oblivious.” Lizzy slides off her inflatable donut, swimming over to lean against the wall by Darcy’s legs. She tilts her head to glance at the cover of his book. “What’re you reading?”
“Orwell, 1984.”
Lizzy snorts. “Oh, okay, so just a light beach read.”
“It’s not a light beach read.” Darcy glares at her like a history professor does when you can’t remember the year the War of 1812 began (not that Lizzy knows this from firsthand experience, obviously).
“1984 is a brilliant masterpiece of a cautionary tale,” Darcy continues. “It examines totalitarianism government through—”
Lizzy fakes a yawn. Darcy’s tone, if possible, becomes more pompous.
“You wouldn’t understand. I bet you only like romance books.”
“I was just teasing,” she says. “And for the record, I read dystopian novels, too.”
“The Hunger Games doesn’t count.”
Lizzy flushes, pulling herself out of the water with a huff. “Whatever, Darcy.”
She starts to storm off, but he stops her. “Elizabeth, wait!”
“What?”
“You’re a bit sunburnt, did you know? Just the tip of your nose and your cheeks. You should try applying aloe vera, it’ll help—”
Lizzy presses her hand between his shoulder blades and pushes, sending Will Darcy tumbling into the deep end of the pool with a large splash.
જ⁀➴
The Great Merger—as it’s come to be dubbed by both Netherfield and Longbourn students—is awkward and clumsy, like a first kiss between two inexperienced sixth graders, teeth clicking together, slobbery. They’re supposed to be “easing into a co-ed environment” so Lizzy has some of her classes with the boys, like chemistry and math, but others only with Longbourn girls.
Charlotte doubles over laughing when Lizzy explains the kissing analogy to her.
“Oh my god, you’re so right. But also, like, why did middle school kisses have to suck so much? Was it because we all had braces?”
“Did you know that Collin had braces in seventh grade?” Lizzy cackles. “He used to coordinate the band colors with holidays.”
“What a dork,” Charlotte says. She’s smiling fondly, though, because Collin is her boyfriend now and she’s in that honeymoon-phase where everything he does is hopelessly endearing. Lizzy is pretty sure that Collin could admit to eating his own toenails and Charlotte would just sigh dreamily.
In early September, Lizzy’s sisters Lydia and Kitty guilt-trip her into attending a Netherfield basketball game.
“We’re scared we’ll get lost! Do you want us to get lost and scared? What if some big, mean senior boy hurts us?” Lydia whimpers as Kitty pouts her lips, alligator tears glittering in both twins’ blue eyes.
Before she knows it, Lizzy finds herself wearing her Longbourn crewneck and face-paint in the Netherfield colors. Honestly. Why did Kitty and Lydia have to start crying? She really needs to get better at not falling for their schemes.
The Netherfield athletic complex is packed with Netherfield and Longbourn students, all excited to watch the team get obliterated. Lizzy’s only come here once or twice before, so she’s really no help as they try to navigate to their seats.
“This is our row,” Lydia announces, halting abruptly.
“I’d be more willing to believe you if this weren’t the fourth time you’ve said that,” Mary grumbles.
“No, I’m definitely right this time!”
Muttering hasty excuse-mes, Lizzy squeezes down the row, brushing legs and stepping over feet until she reaches her seat. Lydia and Kitty sandwich Lizzy in on either side, while Mary takes the aisle seat, a book already open in her lap.
The game doesn’t begin long after Lizzy and her sisters’ arrival, and as predicted, the team is down by fifteen points within the first few minutes of game play. Once it’s close to the end of the first quarter, Lizzy collects concession stand orders. Lydia has very particular specifications for how she’d like her hot dog prepared, which Lizzy immediately forgets.
“Just text me,” she says, climbing over Mary’s lap to step into the aisle.
Lizzy joins the concession stand line, rising up on tiptoe to see the menu over the very tall boy in front of her. Do the soft pretzels come with the cheese sauce or does it cost extra? Lizzy cranes her neck, leans sideways—
She loses her balance and topples forward into the boy, bumping his back. He spins around, eyebrows knit together, but quickly softens, apologetic.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” he says. “Was my head blocking your view?”
Lizzy nearly loses her balance once again. Tall Boy has a great face. Chiseled jaw and dark eyes, a strong nose and blond hair. “No, no, you’re fine.”
They strike up a conversation as the line inches forward. Lizzy is a bit surprised that they fall into an easy banter so quickly, but he’s so charming that it’s simple, really, to counter each of his light-hearted jabs with one of her own.
When it’s his turn to order, Tall Boy turns to Lizzy. “What’re you getting? I’ll pay for it—got to make up for my stupid ass giraffe legs somehow.”
She laughs. “That’s okay. I’m buying for my three little sisters and myself.”
“No way. Whatever you order, it’s on me.”
“I can pay for myself,” Lizzy assures him, smiling. She pulls out her phone. “But if you really want to buy me food, you could take me out to dinner in town sometime?”
Tall Boy grins and they swap phones. Lizzy’s heart skips a beat when she notices that he’s added a name to his contact. George Wickham.
જ⁀➴
Before long, a large portion of Lizzy’s time is devoted to George. When she’s not spending time with him, she’s texting him, and when she’s not texting him, she’s thinking about him.
One Friday, Lizzy and George walk across the bridge between Netherfield and Longbourn together. Their hands brush every once in a while, sending sparks dancing over Lizzy’s skin.
“Hey, Liz?” George says.
She looks at him as the sunlight catches his eyes at just the right angle, lighting them from the inside. Warm and pretty. “Yeah?”
“Do you want to go to the fall formal with me? I know it’s over a month away, but-”
Lizzy lays a hand on his arm. “I would love to,” she says.
Lizzy could pass out from sheer happiness. He wants to go to the formal together. He likes her. George Wickham, with his lovely eyes and dimples and toned forearms that look ridiculously good when he rolls up the sleeves of a sweater, wants to spend time with Lizzy and thinks she’s pretty. George, who is funny and charismatic and has a smile that makes her head spin.
He’s nothing like that pompous asshole, Darcy.
Will Darcy. She can’t get away from the boy. He’s around at nearly every “group hangout” Charlie and Jane arrange, because those two stupid love birds still won’t leave the friend-zone nest. He's always at his table in the library, glaring at her when she checks out and returns books. They're in the same home economics class. She passes him in the hallway between lessons almost every day.
She sees him everywhere - but why is she even looking for him in the first place?
During the parenthood unit in home ec, Mrs. Gardener makes the mistake of pairing Lizzy and Darcy up. They're given a freaky-faced baby doll (an "infant simulator" as Mrs. Gardener calls it) and a ring of plastic keys that correspond to different needs the baby might have, like a diaper change or feeding. When the baby cries, the key for the correct need has to be inserted into a slot on the doll's back to make the crying stop. In addition, they also have to fill in a "parenthood diary" logging each time the doll cries and what its need was.
"Ugh, this is so stupid," Darcy says. "What's even the point?"
"To convince us not to have sex so the teenage pregnancy rate goes down?"
Mrs. Gardener hands Lizzy an infant simulator with a smile and instructs her and Darcy to fill out the first page of the parenthood diary.
As soon as the teacher's back is turned, Lizzy thrusts the doll into Darcy's arms. You’d think she handed him a ticking bomb by the horrified look on his face. She opens the booklet and immediately groans. “We have to name it."
“Why can’t we just say its name is ‘It’?”
“Because that’s stupid.”
He drums his fingers on the desk. They're nice fingers - long and slender, covered in ink from the blue ballpoint pens he insists are better than the mechanical pencils everyone else uses. “We could call it William Jr, after me," he says.
“Oh, hell no. She’s a girl, for god’s sake.”
“Because she’s wearing pink?” He raises his eyebrows at her. “How very narrow-minded of you. I didn’t take you as someone who would believe in gendered stereotypes.”
“I don’t!” She grits her teeth.
“Well, if you’re so insistent upon assigning a sex to this inanimate object, she can be a female. Why don’t we call her…Will…a?”
Willa. This has to be a joke.
“She can have my last name, then," Lizzy says, sniffing.
Darcy crosses his arms. “Fine.”
Lizzy crosses hers. “Fine.”
The bell rings and Lizzy walks to her next class. Not even five minutes later, the doll starts crying, much to her embarrassment. After fumbling for the keys and inserting them at random until she gets lucky and puts in the right one, Lizzy realizes this project might be even more annoying than listening to Darcy wax poetic about the Dark Knight trilogy (which is really saying something, because she came very close to murdering him last week when he monologued for twenty minutes about Christopher Nolan’s brilliance and the cinematic genius of Batman Begins).
The first chance she gets, she breezes into Darcy’s math class and plunks the doll onto his desk. “Baby Willa misses her daddy,” she says, grinning as Darcy glowers.
Before she’s halfway down the hall, she hears the baby’s electronic sobbing from the math classroom, along with Darcy’s frustrated groan.
He gets back at her, of course, dropping off Baby Willa at her gym class an hour later. “Willa was crying for her mommy,” he taunts.
Darcy’s gracious enough, though, to fashion her a baby sling out of his hoodie so she can wear the stupid baby on her back as she’s running laps, doing sit ups, and playing basketball. Willa cries no less than five times during the next two class periods, once while Lizzy’s taking a literal French test.
The dirty look Madame Dupont shoots her makes Lizzy want to throw the stupid toy out the window.
“I’m going to kill your father,” she mutters to the doll later that night. It was decided that she’d take home Baby Willa on Friday night and keep her throughout Saturday morning. After that, Darcy will be on Willa Duty for the rest of the weekend.
“You two are like a divorced couple negotiating your custody negotiations,” Charlotte remarked, watching them argue over the arrangements at dinner.
જ⁀➴
At noon on Saturday, Darcy meets Lizzy at the bridge to pick up Willa. The doll begins crying the instant she’s passed off into Darcy’s arms.
“Who would ever want to have children?” he mutters, shoving the proper key into Willa. She shuts up and they both sigh in relief.
“My mom did," Lizzy says. "She popped out five of us.”
Darcy raises an eyebrow. “And look at those children now.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m just saying—Jane’s alright, I guess, and you’re tolerable, but…”
She scowls. “Like your mother did a better job raising a callous asshole like you.”
“My mother passed away when I was three years old.”
“Oh.” Lizzy’s eyes widen. “Shit.”
“I don’t really remember her. She, uh, died giving birth to my little sister.”
“I–I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have–”
"It’s fine." Darcy sets his jaw and turns away. “It’s whatever, Elizabeth.”
An hour after this painful interaction, Lizzy walks with George into town for milkshakes, finally free from Willa Duty. it turns out that the project has also been on her boyfriend's mind.
“Why do you have to work with him?” George asks, staring at Lizzy from across the booth. He has a vanilla milkshake in front of him, while she has strawberry.
“It’s not like I had a choice," she says. "Believe me, I would’ve picked anyone else over him if I’d had the chance.”
George shreds his straw wrapper to teeny tiny pieces. “You should ask your teacher for a new partner, Liz. I don’t like the idea of you and Darcy spending time together.”
“I’m not asking for a new partner. The project is almost over.”
“But—”
“Is this about your silly grudge against Darcy that you refuse to explain?”
“It’s not a silly grudge.” George leans forwards on his elbows, staring her in the eye. “Look, Darcy and I were best friends as kids. He lived next door and when shit got bad with my dad, I’d spend nights at his place.”
Lizzy nods. “Okay.”
“Darcy was…well, I considered him a brother, but obviously he didn’t feel the same way. In our sophomore year here, there was one spot that opened up on the varsity lacrosse team. Darcy said he knew I wanted it and swore he wouldn’t try out, just in case he beat me or something crazy.” George pauses for a moment, taking a breath. “Then the bastard snuck to the tryouts after I left and he made the team over me. ”
“That’s awful. Why would he go back on that promise?”
George shrugs. “He just…didn’t care. He knew how badly I wanted that spot, how much my dad was pushing for me to make the varsity team. I’ll never trust the jackass again.”
Lizzy sits with this new information for a few minutes, sipping on her shake as it sinks in. Then a thought occurs to her:
“I didn’t know Darcy played lacrosse.”
George huffs a laugh. “You wouldn’t think it from looking at his scrawny ass, but the guy can play.”
“Damn.”
He leans across the table and brushes a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Let’s not talk about Darcy anymore.”
Lizzy closes her eyes and smiles.
જ⁀➴
Alumni weekend rolls around in October. Lizzy dreads the day her parents arrive all week.
Every year it’s the same shit. Her mother will call the school run-down and insult Headmistress Duncan’s perm, while her father will find the nearest armchair and doze off in it. At the banquet, her mother will complain that everything has too many calories. Her father will ask her about her studies and then he’ll have a couple beers and forget everything she tells him.
This year is somehow even worse than usual.
After they arrive and take off their coats, Lizzy introduces her parents to George. “Mom, Dad,” she says, hand curled around George’s bicep, “this is my boyfriend.”
“Hmmm,” is all her father has to say. Her mother, meanwhile, squeals unintelligibly about how handsome George is and pelts Lizzy with questions about when they started dating, which college he plans on attending, if they’re going to get married, how many kids they’ll have, etc.
They find seats in the auditorium, Mrs. Bennet still talking George’s ear off. He’s taken it all in stride, answering every question, no matter how invasive or inappropriate, with ease.
If Jane were here, their mother would be gushing about her perfection and her accomplishments and interrogating her about her boyfriend. But Jane is sitting in the front row with the Bingleys, Charlie and Caroline and their mother, a small, round-faced woman wearing at least five thousand dollars’ worth of clothing and accessories on her body, not even counting her designer stilettos. The Bingley family donate a shitton of money to Netherfield Prep every year, and rumor has it they’re not pleased about the merger.
“So, George, you play lacrosse? I imagine that’s how you’ve gotten that physique—”
“Stephanie,” Mr. Bennet interrupts, “shut up.”
Headmistress Duncan and Headmaster Lawrence (Netherfield’s director) take the stage and deliver a long, boring speech. Lizzy’s father falls asleep within ten minutes, snoring loudly.
Lizzy nudges his shoulder. “Dad, wake up,” she whispers, the stares from people around them burning into her skin.
He snores, if possible, even louder.
When the presentation finally ends, they file into the hall for the banquet. Mrs. Bennet complains about carbs while Mr. Bennet mixes up Lydia and Kitty’s names three separate times.
By the time dessert is brought out, Lizzy’s exhausted. She tries to pay attention to Mary as she talks about her favorite logical paradox, Schrödinger's cat, because the alternative is another conversation with her mother.
And then Mr. Bennet begins to choke on a piece of fruitcake.
The Bennet family devolves into pure chaos. Mrs. Bennet screams, “Help! Help!” while Lydia bursts into tears. “Is he gonna die?!” she wails, mascara tracks running down her cheeks. Mary reads a Mayo Clinic article aloud. Kitty, a former girl scout, attempts to administer CPR, as Lizzy shouts at her, “He needs the Heimlich, dumbass!”
Across the room, Lizzy catches Darcy staring at them. He’s the picture of revulsion, eyes scrunched, nose wrinkled, lips curled into a frown.
George gently nudges Kitty aside and proceeds to wrap his arms around Mr. Bennet’s abdomen, applying pressure until a chunk of cake flies out from his mouth. Mr. Bennet gasps for breath. “Thank you,” he says, clapping George on the shoulder.
Mrs. Bennet practically swoons. “You’re a hero!” she cries, fanning her face with a napkin.
Darcy’s still staring, but when Lizzy meets his eyes, he quickly looks away.
Her heart flip-flops in her chest.
જ⁀➴
The week after Halloween, Lizzy returns to her dorm after class, only to find Jane curled up in her bed. Crying.
Lizzy rushes forward, chest constricting with panic. “Jane, are you okay?”
In response, Jane lets out a hiccuping sob.
“Jane, please—”
“Charlie broke up with me.”
"What?" Lizzy halts. “What?”
“H-he’s been avoiding me all week, and at first, I thought that maybe he was just busy, b-but he canceled our plans to hang out three times, and…he’s left all my texts on read…”
Jane takes a shuddery breath, squeezing her eyes shut as a few more tears slip out from them. “So I talked to Will today and asked him if Charlie was mad at me…and he said that Charlie’s breaking up with me.”
“What the fuck?”
Darcy had something to do with this. Lizzy can just feel it. He must’ve said something to Charlie this week, something about their family, something about Jane, to make her look bad. Why else would Charlie break up with her? He’s in love with her.
They went to the Halloween party dressed as Cinderella and Prince Charming, for god’s sake. People who dress in couples’ costumes and Facetime every night before bed and hold hands in the hallway between classes don’t just break up out of the blue.
Lizzy wants to get revenge, wants to scream and yell and hurt Darcy like he surely hurt her sister, but Jane needs her right now. She’s crying and heartbroken, and that’s what really matters.
So Lizzy texts Lydia and Kitty and Mary to tell them what happened. They all pile onto Lizzy’s bed, turn on Lizzy and Charlotte’s DVD player, and watch Hugh Grant rom coms while eating an entire tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream. First Four Weddings and A Funeral, then Notting Hill, then Bridget Jones’s Diary, and finally Love Actually just to round out the catalog.
But throughout it all, Lizzy seethes. Darcy’s name is written at the top of her hit list, in blood red ink, underlined.
She’s going to end him.
જ⁀➴
Lizzy seeks out Darcy the next day. Fury and indignation pump through her veins. He’s responsible for the breakup that broke her sister’s heart, she's sure of it. He's going to pay.
She enters the library guns blazing, out for blood. Darcy's sitting at his usual spot, hunched over a textbook, taking down notes in a blue moleskine with his blue ballpoint pen.
“Darcy!” Lizzy growls.
He glances up at her and smiles. At least, Lizzy thinks it’s supposed to be a smile—it looks all wrong on his face, lips oddly curled, cheeks pinchy and scrunched. Weird.
“Fantastic,” Darcy says, snapping his moleskine closed. “I’ve been meaning to speak with you, Elizabeth.”
This catches her so off guard that she loses traction. “Huh?”
Darcy takes a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking,” he starts. He folds his hands on the table, eyes bright with…hope?
Lizzy’s so confused, she’s actually willing to hear him out. “Okay…”
“It would be mutually beneficial to attend the fall formal together. I understand that you’re going with Wickham, but he’s a fucking douche. Take me instead. It’s more…economical.”
Lizzy bursts out laughing. He can’t be serious. This has to be a joke…but since when does Darcy joke?
He’s staring at her expectantly. He’s waiting for her to respond.
Lizzy’s laughter dies on her lips.
“Economical?” she says. “Darcy, there’s no world in which you would be the economical choice over my boyfriend.”
“He’s a dick! Even someone like you could do better than him!” Darcy splutters.
“Even someone like me?! I’m pretty sure that you’re the dick.”
“I–I didn’t mean it quite like that. It’s just, your family’s kind of embarrassing and weird, and really, I’m doing you a favor here—”
“I wouldn’t agree to go to the dance with you if you were the last man on earth,” Lizzy spits.
“Technically, if I were the last man on earth, there probably wouldn’t be a fall formal in the first place—”
She's going to kill him. She's actually going to kill him. She'll have to go to jail, but it'll be worth it.
“Even if I didn’t have a boyfriend and you weren’t a pompous, insufferable asshole, you broke up Charlie and Jane!” She jabs a finger at him. “Don’t you dare try to deny it.”
Darcy holds his hands up, face pink. “I didn’t break them up, necessarily. I only pointed out that it seems that Jane doesn’t like Charlie as much as he likes her. He’s a complete simp for her, Elizabeth, and she…comes off as indifferent at times.”
“She does not! Just because she doesn’t go around talking about him nonstop, like she’s obsessed doesn’t mean she’s indifferent!”
“Charlie told Jane he loved her at the Halloween party and she didn’t say it back!”
“She wasn’t ready to say it back yet! That doesn’t mean she doesn’t feel it! God, you’re such an unfeeling robot. You don’t know anything about love.”
Darcy stands up, pushing his chair back roughly, and leans across the table to look her right in the eye. Lizzy’s heart is pounding; she’s so furious she can’t even see straight.
“What if I told you I love you and I hate it?” Darcy asks. “Because I love you so much it makes me sick, Elizabeth. Green-faced and puking everywhere, sick. You’re so wrong for me and I literally can’t get you out of my head.”
“What the fuck?” She turns away, chest heaving. “I can’t do this. I can’t fucking do this right now. What do you even mean?”
“I—”
“You’ve been nothing but horrible to me since the day we met—”
“It’s not like you’ve been much better yourself!”
“—and you love me.”
“Believe me, I’ve tried to stop.”
“What do you want me to tell you, Darcy? I don’t feel the same way. I will never feel the same way. So…just fuck off. You already ruined my sister’s relationship. Don’t ruin the fall formal for me, too.”
“Okay. I’m sorry.”
“You should be.”
When Lizzy walks away, he doesn’t try to stop her.
જ⁀➴