According to Jane (14 page)

It's not just about having babies, Jane. I'm getting ready to settle down, be with one person. I'd always heard that when you were truly ready for something in life, it would happen for you. Well, I'm there now.

And you can be certain of this? You can be fully assured of God's will?

It's not like the Big Guy told me his plans, no, but I can feel it. This is the right time. My relationship with Andrei is going strong. We have great chemistry together. It's got to be a sign that he's The One.

Jane did not immediately answer.

What?
I said.

She coughed.
I do not wish to dampen your enthusiasm, Ellie, but I believe in no such signs
.

My reaction was, I'll confess, a bit on the defensive side.

And how would YOU know? Can you see into the mind of God? Can you recognize a divine message when one appears in the world?

I waited for her to respond and, when she didn't, I lashed out.
I know our relationship--yours and mine--is kind of odd. I don't know anyone else who talks to ghosts of famous authors and, to be honest, it's frequently more of an inconvenience than a delight. But in the past, oh, almost twelve years, although I've learned a lot from you, I've also learned you have limits. This is one of those things you can't possibly know--

You are worried, are you not?
Jane asked quietly, ignoring my tantrum.
You fear he does not love you in the same way you love him.

I snatched at a light blue negligee, ripping it off its plastic hanger.
No,
I told her. I held the flimsy thing up to my body and glared at my reflection in the store mirror. It looked dreadful. I didn't look so great either.

Why do you fear this, Ellie?

I don't fear anything
, I insisted.
The time is right. HE'S right. I'm done talking about this
. I shoved the ugly negligee back on the rack and marched toward the dress section.

Very well
, Jane whispered.

And that was the first time I could remember her conceding an argument. Even then, I more than suspected I shouldn't have received quite so much satisfaction from this.

Vanity and pride are different things...
A person may be proud without being vain.
Pride relates more to our opinion
of ourselves, vanity to what
we would have others think of us.

--
Pride and Prejudice

J
ane and I had, of course, tangled before, over both shopping and men. There were times--
many
times--when we disagreed about some fundamental issue. In high school, for instance, regarding Jason Bertignoli and my need to do some very specific shopping for a very specific occasion.

Up until then, I thought I'd had a good handle on my emotions or, at least, that I was believable in my pretense. Turned out this wasn't quite true, although for the rest of my sophomore year, all of my junior year and up until spring of my senior year I kept the vow I'd made to myself after that horrid school dance: I did
not
like Sam. I did not like Sam in the rain, I did not like Sam on a train, I did not like him in trigonometry, he was such an S.O.B. (Sam "the Obnoxious" Blaine), you see.

Even Jane, who'd easily grown to be my closest friend and most trusted confidant--though, much to my disappointment, she continually denied any blood relationship between us--did not need to remind me of Sam's malevolence. But sometimes she did anyway.

She'd spout phrases like:
He is an insufferable fool.
Or,
He is a disgraceful presence in your neighbourhood.
Or simply,
He is such a Wickham.

And I had to agree. Seeing him with Stacy Daschell that night of the dance, and for two whole weeks afterward--until she dumped him for "Rockhead," the toughest quarterback in the class above ours--really did a number on me. He couldn't have chosen anyone worse. And, like an elephant, I had a long,
long
memory.

But an event loomed before me in late April of our senior year that had the power to weaken the resolve of most teen girls. A social affair that made even the normally sane, obedient ones forget their mothers' sage advice and their fathers' dire warnings.

Senior Prom.

I'd just heard Sam Blaine would be taking a pretty junior I barely knew, Amanda Roberts, to the big dance. I, myself, was currently unattached and had spent much of the early spring wallowing in a puddle of self-pity over this fact. So, when Jason Bertignoli leaned against my locker one afternoon and asked me to go with him to prom "as friends," I jumped at the chance.

Now, it's a truth universally acknowledged that a young woman in possession of an important date must be in want of a hot outfit. In the Marshall Field's fitting rooms that weekend, with my mom waiting for me just beyond the curtain, Jane studied my apparel possibilities.

Pray, Ellie, you are not wearing THAT, are you?
she said, her voice laced with her peculiar brand of British horror.

I held up the slinky, deep-purple dress that reached no lower than mid-thigh and had a lot of nifty black fringes.
This?
asked innocently, though I knew it was the cause of her shock.
I think I'd look great in it
.

It is scandalous. You would not dare
.

What makes you so sure?
I asked her, but I had the answer already. She knew me too well. We were the most intimate of companions, and conversations with her were nearly like talking to myself. Psychologists might've gone so far as to label my relationship with Jane "benign schizophrenia," but I, of course, attributed it to something else entirely: to the power of an author's mind to transcend time and space. A kind of literary
Twilight Zone
thing.

Or so I told myself.

On such days as those, however, when Jane argued vehemently back, I had to remind my confused psyche that consorting with the paranormal didn't automatically make me crazy.

It would be deplorable, and you know it,
Jane said, still fixating on the dress.

Yeah, I know it, but I just wanted an excuse to try it on,
I informed her.

Oh, well, if that is all,
Jane murmured sarcastically.

I slipped the dress over my head and let the silky fabric fall against my skin.

Jane gasped.

Truly, and without a shred of modesty, I looked stunning.

It is lovely on you
, she admitted as I admired my reflection in the three-way mirror.
But now is not the time for such a garment. You have not yet the maturity...or the nerve
.

I wanted to disagree with her--at least about the maturity bit--but, unfortunately, she was right. I didn't have the nerve. I wanted to be one of those women who made men's jaws drop in amazement. The kind of woman who'd turn male heads 270 degrees and make their testosterone levels skyrocket.

But I had a reputation to maintain: Bland, boring, brainy Barnett. I knew full well that while I was still in high school I wasn't allowed to change it, and I didn't dare try. Even if I waltzed into prom looking like a total knockout, I'd still be seen as the same old fish in the same old pond come Monday.

I sighed and opted, instead, for a traditional ankle-length, white gown with small pearl flowers. It was pretty. It was on sale. It was something Mom sanctioned. And, yeah, okay, it was as close to a wedding dress as I'd get for eons.

That is nice,
Jane said, a hint of disappointment in her tone when I tried the white gown on for the third time.

Yep.
I frowned. I looked nice, not beautiful.

You must stop this incessant worrying, Ellie. Truly. The day will come when life will embrace you as you embrace it. The day when you have learned to fully express yourself. Then you will not have to be as stringently proper as, indeed, you must be now.

Ah, yes. Cryptic projections about my future and the lessons I was bound to learn someday. All part of Jane's never-ending lecture series on Adulthood 101.

Jane continued,
And you will not have to concern yourself so rigorously with others' perceptions once the pressure to marry has passed.

She always spewed crap like this and, after a while, I had to say, it really pissed me off.
I WANT to get married someday, Jane.

Hmmph.

I DO. And, for the eight-thousandth time, there's no "pressure to marry" while I'm still in high school. Trust me. It's discouraged.

Officially, perhaps
, she said stiffly.
But that is not the truth as I have observed it
.

Look, just because YOU ultimately chose to stay single and to live in isolation with your sister rather than succumb to the rule of a man and the burden of bearing babies, doesn't mean I have to decide between similar fates. Women these days have as much power in a relationship as men do
--

Jane snickered. Loudly.

Oh, c'mon. It's...mostly true. Plus, we have birth control, so yearly pregnancies are optional, and we don't even have to sign any paperwork to live together. We can just move in
. I stopped a moment to catch my breath.
But, Jane, I'm seventeen and still a virgin. I'm going away to college in the fall. It's not like I'll let myself get emotionally attached to anyone. And as for Jason, he and I are friends, not lovers. Believe me, I won't get tricked into marriage
.

There was a long pause.

Jane?

Perhaps not
, she said finally.
Perhaps marriage itself will not be foisted upon you just yet, but beware, Ellie. I more than suspect you will be made to feel incomplete without it. The seeds of such societal artfulness are planted early and, if not tempered by the greatest and truest of loves, can be dangerous, too. You will cease to work on your natural talents, and you will have the passions of others set before you in place of your own. I fear this fate for you
.

I swallowed. I decided she was being a combination of mulish and nineteenth-centuryish (she could get like that sometimes), and she was making this whole prom thing out to be far more symbolic than it was. I told myself it was just a fancy dance, that I wasn't getting set up for anything, that I'd become my own person in time without any undue pressure to bend to the whims of men and society. That the fact that she'd been disappointed in love during her lifetime had influenced her perceptions of romance too much.

But as Mom and I paid for my pricey purchase, I had to wonder if maybe Jane hadn't amassed a bit more wisdom about human nature than I had. I wondered further where her prejudices ended and the universal truth about a woman's experience began.

"Heard you're going with that loser Bertignoli," Sam said to me at the start of our chemistry II class about a week before the big event. "Still have a crush on him after all these years?"

Sam's lab partner raised a very blond eyebrow at Sam. "You're talking about
Jason?
Jason Bertignoli? But he isn't a los--"

Sam elbowed him.

I'd be damned if I'd tell Sam Blaine, who'd been bragging about having the Hottest Prom Date in Town, that I was going to prom with anyone Just As Friends. So I said, "Jason's great. And he's hot. Really hot."

Sam's lab partner grinned.

Terrie, my lab partner, nodded helpfully.

Sam gave me a long, blank stare.

The bell rang and all conversation ended. As we left class three-quarters of an hour later, though, carrying our last week's quiz on molecular elements (I got 94 percent, Sam got 97 percent and, yes, I
did
keep track), Sam brushed up against me.

"Look," he said, "you know I hate that guy but--"

"If you're talking about Jason, yeah, I know you can't stand him. And I also know your hatred is totally immature."

Sam shrugged. "Whatever. I just wanted to say to...to be careful because, uh, sometimes guys like that aren't what they seem." He shrugged again. "Okay?"

My heart started pounding for no good reason. Sam must know something about Jason's motives that I didn't. I opened my mouth to question him but closed it again. What, exactly, would I ask? It would be humiliating and embarrassing and--

Jane scoffed at this.
Ellie, I dare say you ought not to give credence to the opinion of one such as this Wickham.

Before I could answer either of them, Sam said, "Later." He bolted down the hall.

Good riddance,
Jane hissed.

But what if he's right?
I said.
What if Jason has ulterior motives for wanting to go to prom with me? Maybe he's trying to make another girl jealous and Sam knows about it.

This was actually the only reason I could think of, besides that Jason really, truly liked me. I'd plunk down money that all the guys in my class knew I was a virgin, so I was confident I didn't have the reputation of being an easy lay.

If Mr. Bertignoli is a young man of little honour
, Jane said,
you shall soon be sensible of it. I, however, would think him a better suitor--if indeed you must have one--than Mr. Blaine. Thankfully, the latter seems well occupied with others
.

But maybe Sam's not entirely wrong
--

Nonsense
. Jane's response was swift and dismissive.
Your Jason may be of simple mind, but his manners are consistently pleasant and attentive, despite his limitations
.

Of "simple mind," you say? His "limitations"? Be nice, Jane.

Jane laughed as I raced toward my locker.
It is hardly a secret that Mr. Bertignoli lacks wit
--

Hey, Jason gets good grades in calc, which is more than I can say for most of the senior class.
Stacy Daschell, for instance, couldn't even get in to calculus or chemistry II, which blissfully meant I hadn't seen much of her since sophomore year.

He receives passing marks in mathematics. He is far from your intellectual equal, however,
Jane retorted.

I threw my chem II book in my backpack and fished out my Shakespeare notebook. Lit class started in four minutes. Jane really liked lit class.

If you're basing your view of who I ought to spend time with on the intelligence factor alone, how do you account for Sam?
I asked her.
He's a stellar science student. He routinely outscores me. And, though we're in different periods for calc, I know he does exceptionally well in there, too.

There was a pause.
It is true, of course, that intellect is not everything. One must also take character into consideration when drawing conclusions about a man's nature
.

Uh-huh
.

You are too, too generous to trifle with young men such as these. Either of them
, she added.
Your willingness to overlook their faults would be better suited to a saint. I have little patience for saints
.

Perhaps it's YOU who is too generous to trifle with ME
. I slammed my locker door shut.
I wonder--frequently, in fact--why you do it
.

She gave a girlish laugh.
Do not allow your imagination to get the better of your sense. The exalted beings of heaven have a logic all their own, and their infinite wisdom will surely be revealed to you. In time
.

I arched an eyebrow at the pervasive spirit of Jane Austen, knowing even if she didn't see me directly that she surely intuited my every emotion.
Don't try to tell me you're my guardian angel, Jane. I'd have a real hard time believing that one.
Especially now that I'd grown well accustomed to her mischievous streak.