That Girl, Darcy Read online

  “I didn’t know you were taking this class,” I said as I sat next to him.

  “Last minute addition,” he said as he thumbed through his book.

  I took out my copy of the book, Acting I, and started skimming through its contents. Chapter headings like “Tactics,” “Playing Against the Other,” or “What is Character?” didn’t catch my interest. Eventually the bell rang and the brothers dipstick joined us.

  Ms. Wright, a spry young woman of 67 with a shock of white hair, thick circular glasses, and more enthusiasm in her than all of her pupils combined, took the center stage. Her introduction was brief and lively. She didn’t like to beat around the bush, and within ten minutes we were working on our first assignment: building characters, with today’s task being creating backstories.

  “Remember,” cautioned Ms. Wright, “without character, there can be no conflict, and without conflict, there is no story. And speaking of—” she snatched a flyer from her desk and waved it at us. “I’m sure most of you have seen these around the campus. Our winter play is going to be Romeo and Juliet, and if any one of you is interested, auditions begin soon.”

  As energetic as Ms. Wright’s brief introduction was, I barely heard a word, because I was suddenly acutely aware of the presence of Darcy Fitzwilliam in the seat diagonal from mine.

  What are the odds? I wondered to myself. She still looked as disinterested as she had the last time I saw her, and she was working in her sketchbook again.

  The others noticed her too. Liam stared with his mouth slightly open, awestruck, while Kyle was at least hiding his eyes with his hands as he watched her.

  I cleared my throat loudly, and both of them jumped. “Can you stop staring?” I snapped.

  I heard a barely concealed snicker and pictured Darcy watching us with a derisive look on her face. I rolled my eyes and went back to ignoring her.

  “Winter play, huh?” Jake said to no one in particular.

  “Why is it always Romeo and Juliet?” Kyle complained. “Why aren’t there any plays about superheroes? I’d audition for that in a heartbeat.”

  “I think I might audition,” Jake said resolutely.

  There was a beat of silence.

  “What for?” asked Kyle.

  He shrugged. “I dunno, I think it’d be fun.”

  This was huge for Jake.

  I hastily said, “Go for it!” Jake wasn’t necessarily shy, just reserved. But it still created a shell, and anything that might get Jake to come out of his shell was okay as far as I was concerned.

  Jake brightened. “You think I should?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Jake smiled. “I’m going to need someone to run lines with.”

  “I’ll do it.” It didn’t exactly sound like fun, but if it helped, it would be worth it.

  Jake looked at me skeptically. “Are you sure? I’m auditioning for Romeo.”

  I shrugged. “Why not?”

  Out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of Darcy, and reflexively inclined my head her way. She was looking in our direction, stifling a laugh. What on Earth was so freaking funny?

  I didn’t know if she was laughing at me just to get on my nerves or because she actually found me funny. Either way, it was annoying. I came close to flipping her off, but held my hand at bay. I refused to give her the satisfaction of knowing she’d gotten to me, although, if I was being honest with myself, she’d done that shortly after we’d met.

  Chapter 5

  Lunch was one of the highlights of my day. Half an hour with my friends and a tray full of food. Seniors were allowed to leave if we wanted to, but few of us did. There weren’t many decent places to eat close by. Besides, who could afford to eat out every day?

  I wasn’t the only one excited about lunch. I’d read once about Spain’s Running of the Bulls, and the hallway leading to the cafeteria before and after lunch reminded me a lot of that. People were laughing, shoving and chasing each other, cliques reassembled and couples clutched one other. All the while hall monitors hovered, making sure everything stayed PG-13.

  For the most part, conversation was made up of the usual first-day-of-school banter. What happened over summer break, who broke up, who got back together, which classes sucked the most, who was pregnant. Gossip mostly. Today, that gossip gravitated toward the student body’s two latest additions.

  I kept hearing the same things. Bridget’s attractiveness rating was a solid ten out of ten. Some of the girls remarked on how perfect her makeup was—“her skin is flawless”—or her clothes—“her purse is Prada! Can you believe that?”—while most of the boys talked about . . . other things. Lots of guys were in love with her already, although whether or not she fancied anyone yet was up for debate. Aside from a rumor she’d had work done—“no one is born with that figure,” I heard some poor sophomore claim—nothing out of the ordinary was mentioned. I was relieved, for my cousin’s sake.

  When it came to Darcy, opinions were much more divided. People couldn’t make up their minds about her. She was pretty, most said, prettier than Bridget even. But she was also scary. Some said she was some hot, gothic revivalist, while others thought she was closer to a hipster than a goth because goths weren’t really a thing anymore. Someone was sure they’d seen Darcy’s exact same boots at a boutique in California for four hundred dollars, and someone else was convinced the silver necklace she wore had real diamonds in it. One thing everyone could agree on was that she hardly spoke, and she never smiled. That, at least, I could confirm from personal experience.

  I went through the a la carte line and bought a burger, fries, and the greasiest slice of pizza I could find before moving out into the rectangular cafeteria that smelled of polished linoleum and processed food. There was a smaller seating area outside, but nobody was stupid enough to try eating outdoors while it was still hot enough to recook your food and heat-fuse your butt to the seat.

  The benches inside were arranged in twenty-odd rows of nine each, and there was an informal pecking order when it came to where a person could sit. Underclassmen tended to gravitate toward the perimeter, tossing food at each other and acting like little monkeys. The upperclassmen generally chose seats in the interior, although we seniors could sit wherever we wanted without being questioned. My friends and I usually sat toward the middle. “The Eye of the Storm,” as we called it. From there I could see everything that happened, and yet be far enough removed so that if some idiot freshmen decided to start a food fight—like they always eventually did—I could escape relatively unscathed. Or I could at least have time to chuck a milk carton before the lunch monitors caught me.

  Today, Kyle, Liam, and Lucas were at our usual spot, but Jake was nowhere to be seen. I made a quick sweep of the cafeteria and spotted him at a bench toward the far wall, sitting with his new entourage. Bridget, of course, was right next to him, smiling like she’d just gotten the best news of her life. Calvin was across from her, wearing a polo that was a size too small, and next to him sat Luis, captain of the varsity soccer team. It shouldn’t have surprised me that he and Calvin would hit it off; Luis was as big a jerkwad as I suspected Calvin was. Both of them wore the same I’m-better-than-you smirk all the time.

  Most of that only barely registered in my mind, though, because sitting next to Calvin was Darcy. Seeing her there made me hesitate. I wanted to be there for my cousin; he was outnumbered and surrounded by snobby strangers. I couldn’t abandon him to the wolves. But Darcy’s presence made me reconsider it.

  For us seniors, none of the cliques that had existed during freshmen year were still around. After four years of going to the same school with the same people, we all pretty much knew each other, and while that didn’t mean that we were one big happy family, it did mean that who you hung around had less to do with what brand of clothes you wore and more to do with whether or not you actually had things in common.

  Apparently it was not the same wherever Darcy and her clan had come from.
They were very much a clique, keeping to themselves and not even trying to interact with anyone else. And there my cousin was among them, a lamb amongst foxes, and Darcy was by far the most foxy of them.

  It occurred to me that others would consider her foxy in the other sense of the word, but I quickly dismissed that thought. Taking a deep breath, I ventured over. What can she do to me? I asked myself. Somehow, the question made me feel worse.

  When I sat down at their table, Darcy glanced up, saw that it was me and, with a slight frown, went back to her phone. Calvin, however, kept watching me. It felt like he was sizing me up. I busied myself with my lunch and pretended I didn’t notice.

  Bridget leaned across Jake to smile at me. “How’s it going? Elliott, right?”

  I nodded, relieved. “I’m great, thanks for asking.”

  She laughed for no discernible reason. Why was she always so giddy? “We were just having a little discussion on the merits of physical attraction and how it applies to a long-term relationship.”

  I grinned. “A little heavy for lunch, don’t you think?”

  Calvin chuckled, and I suspected that he was the one to select that particular topic. “What’s your opinion on the subject, Elliot?” he asked.

  All eyes turned to me, even, for a fleeting second, Darcy’s. I swallowed my mouthful of burger. “I think everybody knows that at the end of the day, looks don’t really amount to much.”

  Calvin raised a perfectly-trimmed eyebrow. “But it would be a lie to say they don’t mean anything. We’re all visual creatures, don’t you agree? We’re hard-wired to appreciate the beauty we see. For instance, Darcy here is very lovely. None of us would deny that.”

  “That’s true, but—” I stopped at the realization of what I had just half-admitted.

  There was a quick silence. Darcy began typing with extra emphasis, her eyes wide. Had I not been too busy being embarrassed, I might have felt sorry for her.

  Calvin frowned. “Are you saying that you would date someone you weren’t physically attracted to?”

  I cleared my throat, carefully selecting my words this time. “I think that how important looks are really depend on what you’re searching for. If it’s a short-term, crash-and-burn type of thing, then looks would probably be the most important thing.” I glanced at Jake and Bridget, hoping that wasn’t what was going on between them “But if it’s a real relationship you want, something you hope will last, then I think a person is more likely to consider other things, like compatibility. Can the two of you get along? Do you really make each other happy? Things like that. Granted, looks still play a part, but in the larger scheme of things they just don’t matter that much.”

  Another silence overtook the table, only this one not as awkward. Bridget laughed again. “That makes a lot of sense, Elliott.”

  Calvin scoffed. “My whole point was that everyone has an ideal that they look for in a significant other. Everyone has their type. Let’s take my sister, for example. What’s your type, Bridget?”

  Bridget deliberated, twiddling her fingers. “I don’t think I really have a type,” she said quietly. “I mean, how should I know what I like until I see it? I think when I find the right person, I’ll know it.”

  At the words “right person” her eyes flickered to Jake, and he shifted in his seat, clearly pleased. I felt a swell of happiness for the both of them. Maybe they did make a good match.

  I stole a glance at Darcy and wondered what she thought about Bridget and Jake.

  “What about you, Darcy?” Calvin asked. “What are your prerequisites when it comes to the opposite gender?”

  I rolled my eyes. This would no doubt be the longest list ever recited. Even so, I waited, somewhat curious despite myself to hear just what it would take to impress the perpetually unimpressed Darcy.

  Our eyes met briefly, and I jerked my head away. “In order for a boy to catch my eye,” she began formally, “he must first and foremost have a good head on his shoulders. He must have decent manners, and be sensible. Also—” she glanced ever so briefly in my direction, and I continued to ignore her—“He should be at least six feet tall, preferably with blue eyes, and enjoy cooking, reading, and art. But especially reading. Intelligence, obviously, is a must. I couldn’t deal with an imbecile. He probably wouldn’t be verbose; he would understand that some people simply aren’t worth talking to and would know when not to waste time with them.”

  When I was sure she was finished, I laughed. “Do you expect him to fly, too?”

  She cocked her head to one side. “Excuse me?”

  “Nothing. Make sure you invite me to the wedding if you ever find this guy.”

  She stuck her nose up. “You’ll be first on the guest list.”

  Calvin turned to look at me. “How tall are you, Elliott?”

  I frowned, but answered, “Five-nine.”

  He smiled and glanced back at Darcy. “I’ve been six-two since, oh, the eighth grade, I believe. But who knows? Perhaps you’ll have a late growth spurt.”

  If I hadn’t suspected that Calvin had the hots for Darcy, it was crystal clear to me now.

  “Aren’t your eyes green?” I asked him. He scowled, but he said nothing. Jake burst out in a short laugh before stopping himself. I couldn’t be sure, but from out of the corner of my eye I may have caught Darcy grin.

  When enough time had passed to allow his embarrassment to fade Calvin turned his attention back to Darcy, who had long since transferred hers back to her phone. “How can you text so fast?” he asked as he studied her with hungry eyes.

  “Most people text fast,” she said without looking up. “It’s not exactly a feat.”

  Calvin would not be deterred. “But you text so accurately. Every word spelled out exactly, no LOL’s or TTYL’s, you even punctuate.”

  If Darcy was at all flattered, she didn’t let on. “It’s called auto-correct, Calvin. And a firm grasp of the English language.”

  “I think you can tell a lot about a person by the way they text,” said Bridget.

  This brought an amused, affectionate smile to Darcy’s face. “Oh, really? And what do your disjointed, barely comprehensible texts say about you, I wonder?”

  Bridget thought for a moment. “I think they say that my thoughts come quickly, I guess. My hands can’t quite keep up with my brain. Like how all doctors write with chicken scratch.”

  “I think it means you’re unorganized and impulsive,” said Darcy.

  “I’m pretty sure people still get the message,” said Jake, and I noted the starkly defensive tone in his voice.

  Darcy met his gaze. “I think if you’re going to write something, be it a text or a term paper, you should take the time to reflect before you begin. That way you say exactly what you mean without wasting anyone’s time; there’s no room for loose interpretation.”

  “Where’s the fun in that?” I asked.

  Darcy cast a critical eye my way. “Who said anything about fun?”

  “Isn’t fun a given? Aren’t we supposed to be having fun? Laughing, making jokes, things like that? We’re young; that’s sort of our hallmark.”

  “I think the world is too full of people whose first priority is fun.” She didn’t even try to mask the challenge in her voice.

  “And I think it’s too full of people who take themselves too seriously. Nobody’s perfect; why pretend to be?” I was almost enjoying this.

  “Some of us are closer to perfection than others,” Calvin interrupted, making a point to stare directly at Darcy as he said it.

  She dismissed his remark with a wave of a hand and said, “I’m hardly perfect.”

  “No?” Calvin pressed.

  “No.”

  Calvin looked at her even more adoringly. “I don’t believe it. What’s not perfect about you?”

  “I tend to hold a grudge,” she said without hesitation. “Once a person’s on my bad side, it’s usually where they stay.”

 
; I couldn’t help jumping in. “Hope I never end up there, then.”

  Darcy glanced at me, her expression strange and unreadable. I wondered just what she was thinking. That is, until I reminded myself that I didn’t care.

  * * *

  During my next free period I met with Mrs. Haggerston. We had a turbulent working relationship. I couldn’t stand her, but not because she was a horrible person. I couldn’t stand her because each and every conversation we’ve ever had—counting from freshmen year—has been about what I’m going to do with myself after I graduate. She was almost as bad as my parents. I would have preferred to not meet with her at all, but all seniors had to at the beginning of the year, so I figured I’d get it out of the way now.

  “Elliott, welcome back,” she said in that cheery, maternal voice she used with all of her students. “How was your summer?”

  “Brief,” I told her, and she laughed.

  “If I had a dime for every time I heard that, I’d be retired by now.” And then she set the chummy face aside and replaced it with her business face. “Have you given any thought to what we talked about during our last chat? You do remember what we talked about, don’t you?”

  “Sure.” How could I forget? We always talked about the same thing. My future.

  “Well?” she asked in a hopeful tone, although I was pretty sure she could already tell that I hadn’t.

  “I still haven’t made up my mind,” I admitted.

  “Elliott, you’ll be graduating soon,” she said patiently. As if I didn’t know that. “This is an exciting time, I know, and it can be a little overwhelming. I remember when I was a senior in high school.”

  Oh boy. I braced myself for a trip down memory lane, which would undoubtedly culminate in some life lesson for me.

  “I had a teacher who told me that high school was like a forest. We each have to find our way through that forest, but in order to do that, we have to have a compass. Do you understand what I’m saying?”