Enthusiasm (9 page)

The next morning—Saturday—I awoke to feel bouncing near my toes. I opened my eyes in wonder. Ashleigh, and so early! I could count on one hand the times she had willingly gotten up before me—and two of those times she had forgotten to turn back the clock for daylight saving time. Her enthusiasm must have reached quite a peak.

“There! Admit it. Was I not right to insist on our attending the dance? Did I not tell you that you would meet your Bingley and I my Darcy? Was he not
wonderful
? His charm, his gallantry! Come on, get up! Let’s go give Samantha back her handbags and see if Zach’s still there. Maybe he can tell me more about Darcy.”

“Okay, okay. Ouch! I’m coming, you don’t have to pull my feet off,” I said. I was a little surprised to hear Ashleigh refer to Ned as Mr. Darcy. The square-set young composer seemed sweet enough, but nothing like the proud, aristocratic, icy-fiery hero of
Pride and Prejudice
. Nor did tall, teasing Parr seem in the least like the insipidly agreeable Mr. Bingley. And why should Zach be able to tell us anything about Ned, when Parr was the one he knew? I attributed Ashleigh’s confusion to Love. The tender passion is not known for sharpening the intellect.

I packed up some schoolbooks and a favorite sweater—I was spending the rest of the weekend at my father’s—and wheeled out my bike. Ashleigh rode beside me, chattering swoonily about the dances, the dresses, the music, the ballroom, and—most of all—the gentlemen. Mr. Darcy, she maintained, was the picture of perfection, although she generously allowed “my” Mr. Bingley to be an intelligent, lively, pleasant fellow. I smiled to myself at the thought of anyone preferring Ned to Parr, although certainly he—Ned, that is—seemed made for Ashleigh, with his musical enthusiasm and pocketful of peculiar objects. They even looked a little like each other, with the same curly hair and warm brown eyes.

When we reached the Lius’, the doctors were planting bulbs in their garden. “Hello, girls,” said Lily. “Samantha’s in the kitchen. We just finished eating pancakes, but there’s some batter left—you can have it if you’re hungry.”

“Mmmm! Thanks, Dr. Lily,” I said.

“You better cook it first,” said Haichang.

“You don’t think pancake batter would make a good drink?” I asked.

“Is Zach around?” asked Ashleigh.

“He must be,” I said. “The Saab’s here.”

“He’s still sleeping, the lazybones,” said Lily. “Serve him right if you eat up his pancakes. Go on, before the griddle cools down.”

Sam was putting the butter away in the fridge, but she gladly took it out again when she saw us. She spooned batter onto the griddle.

“How was the boy hunt?” she asked. “Zach says you landed a couple of live ones.”

“We did indeed have the good fortune to make the acquaintance of two young gentlemen of high character and pleasing appearance,” said Ashleigh.

“Hmm, not quite how Zach put it. What about you, Julie? Did you have a good time? Meet any lofty and pleasing gentlemen?” asked Samantha.

“As a matter of fact, except for the really embarrassing parts, it was surprisingly fun. The guys we met were really nice—one of them was that friend of Zach’s you and I ran into in the Sports Barn. I overheard some of the girls making fun of our dresses in the bathroom, but none of the guys seemed to mind how we looked. Lots of them danced with us, anyway. On the whole, it was one of the more successful of Ashleigh’s marshmallow-headed schemes.”

Ashleigh gave me her Reproachful Look. “You met Grandison Parr before?” she cried. “Why did you not tell me?”

“Oh—I—There wasn’t much to tell. We just passed him at the mall—he didn’t even talk to us, and Sam couldn’t remember his name.”

“Oh, that guy? I like him,” said Sam. “But be careful. If this were a real Jane Austen story, one of those guys would turn out to be a cad who’s only after your money.”

“Scratch that—for me, anyway,” I said.

“Or your honor, maybe—or just your clothes—remember that movie
Clueless
?” added Sam.

“Yes, well, if this were
Clueless
, we’d all fall in love with Zach,” said Ashleigh scornfully, flipping the pancakes.

The person in question chose that moment to make his appearance in the kitchen, clad only in pajama bottoms and looking pleased with himself. Zach obviously shares the widespread opinion that his shirtless torso is a magnificent sight.

“Good plan! I wish you would. Then you’d be nice and give me those,” he said, reaching for the pancakes with a fork.

Ashleigh fended him off with her spatula. “Keep your fork to yourself,” she cried.

“I bet if I were
Grandison Parr
you’d let me have them. No, more than that—you’d make me my own batch. In heart shapes,” said Zach, easily evading her spatula like the fencer he was. He skewered a pancake and crammed it into his mouth, then followed it with a chaser of syrup, drizzled directly from the bottle, which he held a few inches above his lips.

Ash jittered with indignation. “If you were Grandison Parr, you would never rob a defenseless female in this manner! You villain! You unspeakable adder! You are not fit to speak the name of the noble Mr. Darcy!”

Busy as I was admiring Zach’s syrup caper, it took me a moment to realize what Ashleigh had said. As soon as I did, an electric shock went through me.

“Darcy,” I gasped weakly. “Darcy—Parr?”

I bit my tongue to stop myself from revealing any more of my feelings before I had a chance to understand them myself. It was too late, however. Every eye was upon me.

“Why, yes, of course, Parr! Who did you think?” said Ashleigh. “Ned? Ned the Noodle—you thought
he
was Mr. Darcy?”

“No, of course not, don’t be silly,” I protested. “Frankly, neither of them seems much like Darcy to me.”

“Really? You certainly didn’t say so earlier this morning. I seem to recall you agreeing with me when I asserted that Darcy was wonderful. Are you not protesting just a teeny, tiny bit too much? Methinks?”

Zach took up the cry. “Look, she’s blushing! Oho! Sensible Julie isn’t so sensible today, is she, now? Who would have thought those Foreskin boys would break
two
hearts!”

“Stop it, you guys! I mean it! Ig—Ned—emphatic ig! I
really
don’t like him. I mean, I like him fine, but I don’t
like
him.”

In my agony, it seemed, I had turned into a second grader.

Ashleigh gave me a look of happy condescension. “Now, now, my dearest Julia, I cannot see why you refuse to admit it. Ned is a very agreeable fellow indeed—almost as handsome as my Parr. The two of you are a perfect match, exactly the same height. And he likes you, Julie—you know he does. He danced the last dance with you, and the first dance. He tried to talk Parr into bringing you a Sprite instead of a ginger ale, so we could get back to you. And he even asked me for your e-mail address—well, he asked for both of our addresses, but I gave him yours. I could tell that was what he really wanted.”

Could she be right? Could Ned have developed feelings for me like mine for Parr?

Samantha saw my discomfort and tried to help by turning the conversation from my affairs to Ashleigh’s. “
Your
Parr? Are you admitting
you’re
in love?”

Alas, Ashleigh’s answer pained me more than all the previous conversation.

“In love?” said Ashleigh. “How can I answer
that
? If you believe—like our English instructress, Miss Nettleton—that true love comes only to those who, upon first meeting, speak together in rhyme and meter, so that their conversation produces a sonnet, then no. But I confess that never before have I encountered so gallant, so courageous, so handsome a gentleman as Grandison Parr. If ever there was a man born to capture my heart, then that man is Grandison Parr. And although modesty warns me to discount them, I believe I saw signs that he returned my regard. He danced the quadrille with me. He drew me apart from the others as he searched the campus from end to end for ginger ale, thus affording us quiet time together, accompanied only by Ned. He queried me most particularly about my childhood, my abode, and the society I keep, showing a keen interest in all my doings. And he took my hand in his to write his e-mail address on my palm—writing I preserve to this day, and will as long as hygiene permits it!” She held her hand up triumphantly, palm out.

“Yup, I saw that part,” agreed Zach. “Well, aren’t you the lucky girl! Won’t you please, please give me another pancake? Surely I deserve a booby prize.”

She shot him a look of scorn and handed the pancakes to me instead. But although I tried to eat as if nothing had happened, they stuck in my throat. As soon as I could, I escaped to my father’s house to brood over my troubles.

Chapter 8

I Renounce my Dream
~
I maintain my Dignity
~
I carry boxes
~
I E-mail
.

W
as Ashleigh right? Had Grandison Parr, over the course of the previous evening, developed feelings for Ashleigh?

There could be no doubt about
her
feelings for
him
. I knew that enthusiastic gleam in her eye all too well. Had I been deluding myself, daring to imagine that he might like
me
? Sitting on the bed in the room I shared with Amy’s sewing machine, I went over the events of the previous evening in my mind, just as I had through the night. What a difference there was this time! Every clue that had raised my hopes could equally well dash them.

At first, Parr’s promptness in rescuing us from the turkey-faced doorkeeper had seemed like evidence that my hero had noticed me, and maybe even liked me. But was that just wishful thinking? Wouldn’t the gallant fencer have sprung to the aid of anyone in distress? Or maybe—I shuddered at the thought, then shuddered at myself for shuddering—maybe it was Ashleigh’s daring and charm that had persuaded him to help us. After all, her liveliness, along with her rapidly developing maturity of looks, seemed to appeal to guys—especially in that crimson dress. Even Zach had noticed it. Why not Parr?

Then, Parr danced the first quadrille with her. I had put that down to her energy—she had pulled him onto the dance floor. But he certainly hadn’t tried to resist, and they seemed to be enjoying it, chatting away. When he and I waltzed, our conversation seemed stilted and awkward. (Remembering the waltz, I felt his hand once again on my mind’s waist and shivered with pleasure and distress.) The night before, when I looked back on our first conversation, I hoped its awkwardness might be due to our mutual attraction. Maybe he felt shy with me at first, just as I felt with him. But maybe not—maybe he merely found me dull.

Nobody could ever find Ashleigh dull.

Then there was Parr’s long disappearance during the ginger-ale quest. At the time, I wondered whether he had been trying to abandon me entirely, but when he showed up with the elusive soft drink, I was touched. What a lot of trouble he’d taken for me, I thought. Now, though, Ashleigh’s theory seemed equally likely: that he was trying to spin out his time with her.

The other apparent signs of Parr’s feelings toward me—his friendly teasing, his disapproval when creepy Chris got too close, and his Cinderella remarks, which put him in the role of the prince—also melted away on closer inspection. I bit my lip to keep from crying with jealousy. Why did Ashleigh always get
everything
? Not only had she taken over my enthusiasm for Jane Austen, but now she seemed hell-bent on stealing my secret love!

For a long time I struggled with myself, feeling bitter resentment and condemning myself for it. After all, I could not question Ashleigh’s generosity or the purity of her motives. When she fell for Parr, she had no idea that I had gotten there first. You could even say the whole thing was my own fault for not taking her into my confidence from the start. Ash would never have looked twice at a boy she knew I liked. She was too loyal. For my sake, she had even given up her plans to become a nun at age eight, when she learned that Jewish girls couldn’t enter a Catholic sisterhood. If she had known my feelings, I believed she would have tried to suppress her own.

No, if somebody had to suppress her feelings, it should be me. After all, I was much better at it than Ashleigh. I would prove to myself, if it killed me, that I could be as generous as my friend.

Still, if Parr didn’t see me in a romantic light, it didn’t necessarily follow that he had chosen Ashleigh. She and I were far from the only ones who admired the handsome fencer. I remembered the Wharton girl in the bathroom with the crush on Parr. She considered him beyond her reach. She thought he was already taken. Well, perhaps he was—not by me or Ashleigh, as she seemed to assume, but by someone else!

And even if Parr’s heart
was
free, did Ash or I stand a chance with him? Impossible to say. For, as I gradually realized, he was stuck in Forefield, and we would have no chance to get to know him better.

Hopeless, hopeless, all of it. The world that had seemed so bright and sharp faded to gray. Even the leaves blazing outside the window looked washed out, as if fall no longer mattered. I lay back on the bed, closed my eyes, and let tears leak into my ears.