According to Jane (5 page)

Sam pressed his lips together until they were nearly colorless. He then focused the intensity of his gaze on Dominic, whom we spotted chugging the last of his beer and bumming a smoke off of Mick.

"Hey, Dominic!" Mick called out, too loudly because he was, as usual, thoroughly smashed. "Maybe you can score some more cash off your girlfriend and get us another coupla beers." He blindly looked around. "Where is Miss Moneybags anyway? She didn't take off on you again, did she?"

I sucked in some air and hoped, no, prayed that Dominic would take offense at Mick's words. That he'd say, even if only for appearances' sake, that he appreciated lots of qualities in me, not just my willingness to share my paycheck.

But Dominic said, also too loudly, "By the bar, I think. I'll go ask her in a sec."

As their voices floated back to Sam and me, I closed my eyes. I had to block out Sam's steady gaze. I didn't want to see that look of his, be it retribution or pity.

"So, that's how it is," Sam whispered, not unkindly, just very matter-of-fact.

My injured pride made me want to lash out at someone. At Sam. At Dominic. At anyone who crossed my path. Being that Sam was my only choice at present, I started with him.

"You know," I said in the iciest tone I could produce, "it's amazingly hypocritical of you, doing the medicine thing. I mean, I always thought doctors had to take an oath--'First, do no harm,' or something like that." I shook my head. "That's gonna be a tough one for you, considering your tremendous skill in hurting people."

I glanced at him once to see if I'd hit my target. I had. His face colored red and his jaw turned even more rigid. At first I thought he merely looked angry, but then I looked again. The expression in his blue eyes exposed as much worry as it did offense. I guessed I'd found a way to blister one of his insecurities while meting out my revenge.

Unfortunately, it didn't make me feel any better.

"When did you turn into this, this...person, Ellie?" he asked softly. "You're not who I remember. God, this can't all be because of me or what happened between us. Because I hurt you once, can it?"

I forced myself to stand up straighter. "Hey, you were the one who called what happened between us a 'stupid thing' from the past. What makes you think it'd affect me or that I'd care about it now?"

"Jesus, Ellie." His expression turned to one of pure pain. "I meant my idiotic reaction in school
after
what happened.
That
was the stupid thing you wouldn't forget..."

Sam's words still dangled in the air between us as Dominic jogged up ten seconds later. "Hey, darlin'," he said. "Seeing as how you're having a deep discussion of your own right now, maybe we could hang out here a little longer?"

My mind, reeling from Sam's revelation and the consequent reinterpretation of those end-of-high-school memories, couldn't shift gears so quickly. I knew Dominic wanted something, as usual, but I was in no mood to offer a light, agreeable response. I just stared at him.

Dominic glanced between Sam and me, but received only silence back from us. "Hmm. Are you getting hungry?" He studied his watch. "We've kinda missed our dinner reservation, but I'll order us up some nachos at the bar. Maybe a few beers, too."

"Thanks," I said flatly. After all these weeks he still didn't remember that I detested beer.

"But, uh--"

"Yeah?" I wanted to hear him ask for it this time. I wasn't just going to hand him another twenty.

Dominic turned to Sam. "Could you excuse us a minute? I need to talk to Ellie privately."

Sam raised both eyebrows and folded his arms across his broad chest. He didn't budge from his spot.

I silently blessed him for this, and even Jane, to my shock, murmured,
Correctly done, Mr. Blaine. For once
.

Dominic squinted at him and said, "Okaaaay" under his breath. Then he tugged on my arm. "Can we go over there for a sec--"

"I don't think so," I told him.

Dominic looked confused. "What? You don't think you can talk to me alone for a minute?"

"That's right." I sighed. It was crash-and-burn time for Type #4 (yes, I had categories for the men I dated), but a woman had to know when she couldn't fake it anymore. Since Sam had already guessed the truth, I'd been defeated on all fronts. No use pretending.

Dominic sputtered out a few incoherent syllables, but he finally managed to say, "What the hell?"

I let out a long, slow breath--one I'd been holding for about four years. "I'm sorry, Sam," I said.

Sam's eyes met mine. He half nodded and whispered, "Me, too. Really."

I then returned my attention to Dominic, who was staring at me like I'd just sprouted horns and was brandishing a sharp-'n'-shiny pitchfork.

"I'm not your chauffeur, your mommy or your meal ticket," I told him. "Get yourself a job and buy your own damn beer. And, in case there's any doubt, no, I'm not driving you home and, yes, this is goodbye. Have a nice life."

"Wait! Is this because I didn't buy you a birthday gift?" Dominic demanded. "Ellie, I
told
you I'd take you out to dinner. We were just running a little late tonight. It's not like we won't go sometime soon--"

I lifted my hand in a parting wave to Sam, who returned it. Then I gave Dominic the finger.

"Happy birthday to me," I said to myself as the bar doors swung shut behind me. I inhaled the warm Chicago night air and escaped into my car, planning to drive only a block or two so Dominic couldn't find me. I needed to sit somewhere for an hour and let everything wear off.

Happy birthday, Ellie,
Jane's voice echoed in my mind.
And good for you. Your life is just beginning.

Yes, it was. Finally.

I blinked back a tear, hummed a few bars of Boston's "Don't Look Back" and hit the gas pedal.

There is nothing like dancing after
all...one of the first refinements of
polished societies.

--
Pride and Prejudice

T
o know what, exactly, I
wasn't
looking back on and to understand the intricacies of my relationships with my sister Diana, my brother Gregory and my cousin Angelique, you'd need a detailed chronicle of our family dynamics. I don't have the patience (or the lifespan) to be that comprehensive.

Let's just say, though, that while Jane's appearance added a new zing to my home/school existence and bestowed upon me an amazing best friend, it made life instantly tougher for me, too.

The weekend after Jane's arrival, I was awakened early by a jostling--or, more accurately, a violent shaking--of my rib cage.

"Get up, geek," Di said, moving away from my body to flick up the window shade and flood my room with unwelcome sunlight. "Aunt Candice, Uncle Craig and our freak-show cousins are coming, remember? Get your butt outta bed."

I groaned. Yes, because Di's method of rousing lacked finesse, but also because any amount of time spent with our Indiana cousins was, and always had been, a trial of the highest order.

I tossed on some clean sweats and stumbled into the family room. My mother, already coiffed and lipsticked, raced between the kitchen and every other room in the house issuing commands. "Girls, get rid of this clutter on the kitchen table. Now! Throw that garbage out. And, for God's sake, Gregory, put away that stupid Rubik's Cube! They're going to be here in twenty minutes."

We, thus, began a frantic attempt at picking up our stuff. As we worked, my brother warbled a version of
The Music Man
's "Gary, Indiana" under his breath followed by a few choruses of "Pick-a-Little, Talk-a-Little." The former was a depiction of my aunt's hometown, the latter, her conversational style.

Di countered his thirteen-year-old notion of musical coolness with her own seventeen-year-old version: Madonna's "Like a Virgin." Normally, I would've tried to zone out, but Jane's newfound residence inside my head made that an impossibility.

Jane, ever the witty conversationalist, remarked,
Transcendent talent is not so rare as was once believed. Apparently, everyone these days has been blessed by the muses.

Yeah, I'm feeling real inspired right now,
I said to her.

She laughed.
Oh, do not judge them too harshly, Ellie. They would have been great proficients...

...
if ever they'd learnt
, we finished together in a sentence reminiscent of one of Jane's more obnoxious book characters.

I giggled aloud. Unfortunately, I was within Di's earshot.

She elbowed me. "Don't laugh at me, geek."

"Diana, try not to call your sister names," our mom bellowed from the kitchen.

"But she
is
a geek," Gregory offered. "She's so damn boring, no guys like her."

"Gregory, honey, it's not polite to swear."

Need I mention that in both instances of sibling abuse Mom neglected to demand an apology on my behalf or discount the Geek label? Didn't think so. Being the middle child (most ignored, least liked) was chock-full of touching family moments like these.

"Your sister's not a geek," Dad broke in, stuffing a box of snow hats and gloves into the closet and safely out of sight.

Ah, thank goodness for dear old Dad.

"She's just an intellectual," he added. "It takes awhile, sometimes years, for guys to learn to like that in a girl."

Terrific.

Such stunning words in your defense,
Jane mused,
the likes of which I have heard but rarely.

Well, they're commonplace enough around here,
I told her.

"'Course, she's nothing like Angelique," Mom said.

"No one's like Angelique," Dad admitted.

My cousin, Angelique Lawson, is a Genius
, I explained to Jane.
And my Dad's posh sister, Aunt Candice, never tires of telling us so
.

How delightful
, Jane said.
There is nothing like geniuses when a party is in want of enlivening
.

Angelique's sixteen but already a junior because she skipped a grade. And very musical. She takes her cello with her everywhere and will probably play it for us today
, I added.
And she'll never pass up an opportunity to speak French
.

Ah, tres bien. I consider myself well warned
, Jane countered.

Mere seconds later, the Lawsons' distinctive canary-yellow Cadillac pulled into our driveway. Angelique breezed cheerily into our house. On her heels was her mother, who swept inside like an empress inspecting the servant quarters.

"Bonjour!"
Angelique declared at the earliest possible moment. She flicked her long tawny-blond ponytail behind her and beamed a pretty grin at us so bright I had to squeeze my eyes shut.

"Oh, fuck," Di murmured next to me.

"I'm so
glad
to see you all," our cousin exclaimed. "We have so much
news!
"

"Aw, crap," Gregory whispered.

Di and I actually laughed at the same time to the same thing.

"Be nice," Mom hissed. So I clenched my jaw and steeled myself for all the fun I knew was coming. "Where's Craig? And Aaron and Andy?" Mom asked Aunt Candice, referring to our uncle and the five-year-old Twin Terrors.

"The flu claimed them," our aunt replied. She sniffed to indicate poor health was something she considered an inexcusable offense. "Angelique and I are on our own today."

"But they're on the mend, so please don't worry," Angelique hastened to assure us in that sweet, mature voice our genius cousin was known for.

Di rolled her eyes, and I, admittedly, was grateful not to have to deal with the little demons. Aunt Candice presented work enough just by herself, and Angelique, well, she was sweet but...draining.

"Let's sit down," Mom offered, ushering us all into the now clutter-free family room and serving lemonades all around.

I perched at the edge of the sofa with my drink and tried to blend into the decor. But, despite my best attempt at camouflage, Angelique chose me to cozy up to. My aunt scanned me speculatively but not with anything resembling loving kinship. It was, I guess, too much to hope I'd be ignored by these relatives, too.

"Our news is so
magnifique!
" Angelique exclaimed, seemingly unable to contain her enthusiasm. "We're moving."

Mom's eyebrows shot up in alarm. "Where?" She and my aunt had a strange but undeniable form of friendship.

Our aunt displayed her razor-sharp teeth. "To Illinois and--"

Her genius daughter burst in, "And it's so near you! We'll only be about twenty minutes away instead of three hours.
C'est absolument excellent, n'est-ce pas?
I mean--" She glanced between me, Di and Gregory. "Just think of the things we can all do together!"

Oh,
nooooo.

Mom clasped her hands together in unadulterated delight. Dad blanched. Di and Gregory appeared to be beyond speech.

"Wow," I managed. "That's unexpected, isn't it?"

"No, not really," Angelique said. "I've been accepted at Pierson's Academy. I was on their waiting list, but someone flunked out this semester, so I got in.
Un jour joyeux!
So, I'll start there right after winter break."

"You're going to a private girls' prep school?" Di asked.

"Well, um, yeah. I'll be able to study there for a year and a half before I start college, which should really help me--"

"Get into Harvard, Yale or Princeton," Aunt Candice interjected. "Stanford at the very least."

"Maybe you'd be able to show me around the area a bit after we move?" Angelique asked, biting her lip and gazing at us hopefully.

Gregory downed his drink in one long chug and left the room.

"Um, yeah, sure, we could probably do that...sometime," I said to our cousin. Di maintained a death silence.

"Diana, sweetie," Mom said, "maybe you could take Angelique to a few socials at the high school."

"Socials?"
Di said, choking on the word. "We don't have socials. Just a few lame dances and pep rallies. I think, though," she added as she shot me a demonic look, "Ellie really gets into crap--I mean, school events like that. She and Angelique could have an
awesome
time."

Mom, ignoring Di's wicked expression and my pleading one, said, "That's great. When's the next one?"

"This coming Friday." Di grinned. "Big school dance after the basketball game. I won't be going of course, but Ellie will, won't you?" She didn't call me a geek aloud, but it was implied.

"We're coming up here again to house hunt next week," Aunt Candice stated. "We'll make sure to drop off Angelique by seven or seven-thirty."

"Oh, make it six," our mother said. "Then she can have a nice dinner with us. Maybe pizza?"

Angelique looked thrilled, Di victorious.

Jane whispered,
Une tragedie, n'est-ce pas?

I sighed.
You're not kidding.

"Angelique, play us something on your cello," Aunt Candice commanded. "Mozart or Beethoven or one of those dead Viennese guys."

Une idee terrible,
Jane commented.

Enough already with the French,
I said.

My cousin retrieved her instrument from the car, readied it and glowed her warmest grin at us. "Mozart's '
Eine kleine Nachtmusik.
' A Little Night Music,'" she translated primly. "In G major."

Her fingers flew impressively across the neck of the cello. Her bow danced. For me, painful memories intruded.

I thought of the flute I'd failed miserably to master in seventh-grade band. The piano lessons I didn't have the aptitude for, even at fifteen. The time I broke two strings on Terrie's guitar when she tried to show me how to tune it. Despite my passionate love of music, my playing was horrible enough to deafen the ears of small animals.

So, I envied Angelique her musical gift, resented her for having her life together, but mostly I was ticked off because I couldn't hate her. She might be on the intense side and, yeah, more than a little annoying, but she was so damned
nice
to me.

I sighed.

Why was it that
I
couldn't be loved despite my flaws? Why couldn't
I
be "quirky" in a "cute" way? Why couldn't
I
excel at anything? Okay, correction: Why couldn't I excel at anything anyone
valued?

No one can be really esteemed accomplished who does not greatly surpass what is usually met with
, Jane remarked.
Your cousin, though, is rather accomplished
, she added, which only made me feel worse.

Yeah, I know.

Of course, your abilities are equally...well, perhaps even more desirable
.

I saw my dad squinting at a black, Rorschach-like smudge on the otherwise pristine family-room wall. It looked like a frantic butterfly, trapped in its 2-D prison. I longed to set it free.
Sure they are, Jane.

Pray, do I detect disbelief?

Now you're thinking, Sherlock.

There was a long moment of silence. Then she asked,
Who?

Never mind,
I said as Angelique continued on to the second movement.
Just tell me what you mean. How could my abilities, such as they are, be considered desirable? And before you say it, getting good grades doesn't count. No one cares.

Without an instant of hesitation, Jane answered,
You are more imaginative than any of them. Your cousin. Your siblings. Even your schoolmates. They have talents, to be sure, but beyond an intelligent mind there must be a creative spirit. It is not enough to absorb mere facts. True invention is in the application of vision. This you have in grand measure, far beyond your years and experience.

I don't know what came over me. Tears sprung to my eyes at her kind words. My aunt, misinterpreting as always, whispered proudly to my mother, "See how touched Ellie is by Angelique's performance. My daughter is a musical prodigy."

Mom bestowed a sage nod upon her. "It's as we always say, Angelique is a genius."

Jane said,
Ignore them, Ellie. Your turn will come. They will all appreciate you someday
.

I seriously doubted this, but hope was a powerful thing. For a moment, it trumped skepticism, and it buoyed my spirits in spite of myself. And I loved that Jane could do that for me. I loved that her wisdom, so evident in her most famous novel, seemed to shine through and illuminate the character of each person I met and, most impressively, of the people I knew best.

She single-handedly made me feel less like a loner. She made me believe it was okay that I was nothing like my Bad Girl Sister, my Dismissive Brother or my Genius Cousin. With Jane in my head and in my life, I could just be
me
, and this gift helped me deal with the worst of my adolescent high school existence.

The day of the game, however, I stood at my open locker, counting down the seconds until Angelique arrived and the solidification of my total lack of coolness was complete. I jammed my books into my straining backpack while, two lockers to my right, Jason Bertignoli stuffed his backpack with similar items.

Barnett.

Bertignoli.

Which left--guess who?

Blaine.

Three lockers down from Jason stood Sam, of course. (And can I tell you how much I
hated
alphabetical order?) He leaned against the gray metal and sent me an indecipherable look. He seemed about to speak, but then Jason waved and said a jovial "Hi, Ellie!"