Section I, Next Section
Posted on Tuesday, 6 June 2000, at 12 : 50 a.m.
Liz Fiennes heaved her last suitcase from her parents' minivan and lugged it into the dorm and up the stairs. The room she hauled it into held an ugly couch, a refrigerator, a microwave, and boasted one window to go along with the four doors. Liz made for the door on the furthest left and kicked it, because her hands were full. It was opened by her best friend and roommate, Mary Jane Lansdowne. Liz dragged the suitcase into the little room that comprised her and MJ's private portion of the six-person suite. "That's the last of it," she announced, dropping it on the floor with a thud. "And my shoulders are never gonna recover."
Her mother chuckled. "That's your fault for being such a clotheshorse, hon."
Her father was studying the bunked beds. "Sweetie, are you sure you don't want me to bring that top one down? I've got all the tools--we can do it in ten minutes--"
Liz rolled her eyes at MJ whose lips quirked gently. "No, Dad, it's fine. I like having the top bunk."
"Are you sure? That's an awful long way to fall . . ."
Liz gave a little shriek that was only half play. "Daddy," she said, putting her hands on his shoulders and looking straight into his eyes, thanks to the platform sneakers she was wearing, "I want to tell you something. I'm eighteen years old. I haven't fallen out of bed since I was six. That's two-thirds of my life ago. Furthermore, I'm at the one place I've aimed to be at for the last five years--the Longbourn Academy of Fine and Performing Arts. I can take care of myself."
After being instructed to call home regularly ("Yes, Dad,") eat right, ("I will, Mom,") and keep up with her studies, ("Is that really a problem?"), Liz was hugging her parents goodbye and saying, "I'll call tomorrow night. Promise." Both she and MJ, who had been hugged as well, accompanied the older Fienneses out to the car and waved them on their way.
Liz finally dropped her arm when the minivan rounded the curve and disappeared from sight. "Well," she said, "here we are. You wanna go explore?"
"I think I'll go back inside and unpack."
"Aw, pooey," Liz said, making a face. "Don't you want to meet people, Mojo?"
"Who?"
At that moment, a battered hulk of a car sputtered to a stop several feet away. A short, sturdy girl, dressed in cut-off jean shorts and a t-shirt that said "Photographers do it for the camera," leaped out.
"Hey, there's a people!" Liz exclaimed, and grabbed MJ's hand. "C'mon, let's go meet. Hey," she called out, strolling in the girl's direction."Need any help?"
The girl looked up from the trunk. "Please," she answered.
Liz grinned and put out a hand. "Liz Fiennes," she said. "And this is my roommate, MJ Lansdowne."
The girl shook it, then blinked as the names registered. "Oh, hey," she exclaimed, "you guys are some of my suitemates! I'm Char Lukasic."
"Cool!"
"So what are you here for?" she asked, unloading the trunk and passing bags and boxes to them.
"I'm piano. MJ's here for dance."
"Modern dance," MJ clarified softly.
"And you're photography, huh?" Liz asked as they started toward the front door.
Char, hefting a camera bag, made a face and said, "How'd you guess?"
Char's room was next door to Liz and MJ's. "Which one's the bathroom?" she asked, glancing around. "I had like a gallon of Gatorade on the way over."
Liz pointed. "Lucky you," she said, "you're next door to it. Does your trunk lock automatically?"
Char snorted. "That clunker? I'm lucky if the trunk closes reliably." She went into the bathroom and Liz and MJ went outside to get more of Char's stuff.
"What d'you think, MJ?" Liz asked, pulling an economy-size box of film from the depths of the trunk and settling it into her friend's arms.
"She's nice," MJ said.
"Yeah, she looks like my kind of chick. Especially that shirt."
"Um, Liz? Photographers do what for the camera?"
Liz's mouth opened, then closed. MJ, raised by parents who were practically Puritans, both in their view of the world and in their emotional demonstrations, didn't usually get dirty jokes. Even such relatively simple ones as Char's shirt often passed over her head, and a year of friendship with Liz was effecting only a very slow change. "Never mind, sweetie," she said, rooting around in the trunk one last time and then closing it. "It's not important."
She glanced up from struggling with the handle on Char's back left-hand door when an emerald-green convertible roared around the curve and screeched to a halt inches from Char's rusted bumper. "Hey," she called out, "snazzy car! Does it come with brakes?"
The tall, lean, dark-haired occupant didn't even look at her. At least, she couldn't tell if he had--trendy-looking sunglasses hid his eyes. He simply leaned over and pulled out a single bag, a backpack, and the case to a brand of electronic keyboard that was almost three times the price of the one Liz had saved up for all summer.
"Wow, you've got a lot of stuff," Liz said sarcastically. "Need a hand?"
"Buzz off," he snapped, and stalked inside, brushing past Char without a glance.
"Nice guy," Char commented, coming over and performing some complicated ritual with the recalcitrant handle that had it popping open.
"Yeah, his charm just dazzled me." Liz shot a glance over her shoulder, through the dorm building's open door, to where the rude boy was just disappearing up the stairs. "But you know," she commented, "it's a shame that such a snot of a guy has to have such a spectacular butt."
Part Two
Will Fitzroy juggled his keyboard and nudged open the door to the suite that would be his home for the next eight months. The butt-ugly couch, fridge, and nuke machine had been joined by a leather recliner and a wide-screen TV. Will grunted. It looked like one of his other suitemates was here.
He went directly to his room without bothering to meet whoever else was in the suite. Dumping his backpack and bag by the bed, he settled the keyboard case on the bed and pulled a small cellphone out of his back pocket. Speed-dialing a number with one hand while he opened up the case with the other, he put it to his ear and let out a hiss of breath. "Dammit, Tina." He dialed another number as he began setting up the keyboard underneath the room's single window, and cursed again when the machine picked up. "Tina?" he said after the beep. "Tina, pick up, would you? Fine, whatever. Turn on your cell phone."
With a grunt, he hung up on that and tried one last number. "Ma? It's Will. Yeah--yeah, I got here okay. Duh, the traffic sucked. It always sucks. It's like an LA city ordinance or something. Yeah--uh-huh. No, Chaz isn't here. He went back for the rest of his stuff. Yeah, the rest. You know Chaz--he's got more crap then possibly God. Yeah--yeah, I know it was nice of him to put my stuff in with his--I know he probably wouldn't've had to make two trips if I hadn't--Ma! Are you home? No? Rodeo Drive? Yeah, shoe sales are great things. You're shopping for Tina? Is she with you? No? Ma, she's not interested in clothes and stuff like that right now. She's got other stuff to worry about. Tell her to turn on her cell phone when you get home. Ma, she's been hiding in the house for the past three weeks, except for that one doctor's appointment. Of course she'll be home. Yeah--uh-huh. Yeah, I'm gonna eat dinner tonight. Chaz is dragging me to some stupid party. I'll have to eat in self-defense. Yeah. Bye, Ma. Yeah--jeez, yes, I put sheets on," he lied. "Goo--Uh-huh. Yeah, I'll be cordial to my suitemates. Yeah, love you too, Ma. Bye." He hung up and, having finished with his keyboard, went out to go park his car--which did come with brakes, no matter what a certain snarky female had said.
He was back in his room, muttering over the stereo connections when his roommate and lifelong amigo, Chaz Delmonico, walked in. "Hey," Chaz said around the armload of boxes.
"Hey," Will said, abandoning the wires and standing up. "How much crap is still in your truck?"
"Just a few boxes."
"I'll get it."
Chaz dumped his armload. "You're gonna need help with the recliner--unless you think I should take it home."
"Why?" Will asked, glancing at the one already in their living room. "We always need more recliners."
"This place is like Babe Central," Chaz told him as they clattered down the steps.
"Yeah?"
"There was this chick on the stairs when I was coming up--ow baby!"
Will grunted. Chaz fell in and out of love with the same regularity as he changed socks. "You talk to her?"
"Said hi. She just blinked at me with these big blue eyes. I think she's shy. A real doll, though. You know what a sucker I am for big blue eyes."
"You're a sucker for eyes, period, as long as they're in a female head. Get her name?"
"Her friend called her MJ. Oh--that one was major babe material too."
"Not as good, huh?"
"Yeah, she was, but I liked MJ better. You'll see her tonight."
"Man, I really don't want to go to this thing," Will protested, leaping into the back of the truck and passing down boxes.
"Dude," Chaz said earnestly, accepting a box that proclaimed "Art Stuff" on the side in neon green lettering, "it's our only chance of getting real food. All you brought for food is chocolate chip cookies and Dr. Pepper."
"So? What's wrong with that? I like chocolate chip cookies."
"So do I, but I crave meat, man! Burgers, dogs, steaks."
"Get real. I don't think they're gonna give us steak."
"Whatever. The point is, I'm gonna get you out and around people this year. You gotta stop living like the Phantom of the Opera."
"I like living like the Phantom of the Opera."
"Fine, but you gotta meet people, you know?"
"No, I don't."
"Yes, you do."
"No, I don't . . ."
Three hours later, Will was sulking on the recliner. He had lost the argument and was channel-surfing as he waited for Chaz.
"Hey," said a voice. Without looking up, Will identified it as belonging to Rick Lahser, one of the other four guys in the suite. "Are you going to the thing?"
"As soon as Chaz gets his butt out of the bathroom," Will grumbled.
"I'll wait with you."
"Whatever, suit yourself."
Rick dropped onto the couch, putting his feet on the yard-sale coffee table that had been his contribution to the living room furniture. He was tall, blond, and so thin as to be practically skeletal. It wasn't because he didn't eat enough--he'd brought enough food to practically overflow the fridge, not to mention the cupboard they'd staked out as a pantry. "So what are you here for?" he asked after three or four channels.
"Composition," Will answered briefly.
"Yeah? Cool. I'm here for acting."
"Yeah?" Will replied disinterestedly.
"Yeah. Shakespearean. I'm a major Bard nut. I've got the biggest collection of Kenneth Branagh videos on the planet--not just 'cause he's hot, either."
Will slanted him a sidelong look. "I'm straight, studmuffin. I wouldn't know if Branagh was hot or not."
Rick held up his hands in a gesture of peace. "Hey, okay. I can go either way myself, but I always support the right to choose."
Will grunted. "As long as you don't make a pass at me, I'm cool." He raised his voice. "Chaz, are you done
making yourself pretty, or what? Let's go!"
"Excuse me," Chaz said, sticking his head out of the bathroom door. Half his jaw was still covered in shaving foam. "Just because I happen to practice good grooming--"
Will shrugged and flipped the channel again. His grooming regimen for parties, unlike Chaz's, consisted of deoderant and shoving his hair out of his face. Shaving more then once a day was strictly for special occasions--like Halley's Comet. "Yeah, well, can you hurry it up?"
"I thought you didn't want to go," Chaz said from inside the bathroom.
"The sooner we leave, the sooner I can get out of there."
Rick snorted. "I can see that your wild parties are gonna keep me up nights."
Chaz came out a few minutes later, dabbing at a cut on his jaw. "Screw you, Fitzroy," he said without heat. You made me nick myself by hurrying."
"You want some cheese to go with that whine? Let's jet."
Part Three
I'm glad everyone liked the guys--quite a bit of them, especially the dialogue, (and Will's grunts) was based on guys I know from college. So when you read Will, Chaz, and Rick, you're reading bits and pieces of Brian, Adam, Neall, Jeremy, Dave, Jon, Nick, and Scott. If you see this, guys (HAHAHAHAHA), thanks. And now on to the party! BTW, I must apologize to all fans of the Misses Aguilera and Spears that may frequent this board. I didn't think either Will or Liz would go in for bubblegum pop.
"Want a chip?" Liz asked. She and Char were stretched out on their stomachs on the grass, as far as possible from the gigantic speakers that dominated the field where the Academy's first-night party was being held. Between them and the stage, there was a morass of people dancing, eating, and talking. Liz, who had danced and talked some earlier, didn't feel like rejoining any of it at the moment, but she would soon enough. She liked people too much not to.
Char shook her head. "I do, but I can't. What is that, the second bag you've hijacked?"
"Yeah. I like Doritos."
"Disgusting," Char pronounced. "Why aren't you the size of my car?"
Liz licked the Dorito residue off her fingertips. "Good metabolism."
"I could hate you. I really could."
Laughing, Liz waved the bag temptingly under her nose. "Doooooooooriiiiiiiiiitooooooooos . . ."
"Get thee behind me, Satan!"
"I think that's the DJ," Liz said. "If I never hear 'Genie in a Bottle' again, it'll be too soon. Haven't these people ever heard of Santana?"
Char thought about it. "Probably not. Where'd MJ go?"
"This totally hot guy kidnapped her," Liz informed her. "He was the one who said hi on the stairs--we told you about him."
"The one MJ got all moony about? Him?"
"Yeah."
"Did you catch his name?"
"Naw. I'll get it tonight." Liz grinned and rooted around for crumbs in the cellophane bag. "I really hope she doesn't get all shy and stuff. She's not used to guys paying attention to her."
"Are you serious?"
"Completely."
"But she's such a doll!"
"I know. She's majorly introverted, though, and the thirty-hours-a-week dance thing didn't help. Guys at our high school always wanted hot party chicks who would dress skanky for their men."
"Princes."
"Yeah. I just hope the guy who glommed onto MJ is different."
Will shifted against the tree he'd staked out and shoved his shades up his nose. He gonna shoot whoever was playing DJ if they put on one more Bite-Me Spears song. Jee-zus, hadn't these people ever heard of Aerosmith?
"Hey Will!"
"Yeah, what?" Will turned around to see Chaz standing behind him, grinning like a loon and holding onto a short, skinny, blond thing that must be the siren of the staircase. She looked vaguely familiar, but Will couldn't recall her offhand.
"Will," Chaz said at the top of his voice, "I want you to meet MJ Lansdowne. She's here for modern dance. MJ, this is my best buddy Will. He's a composer."
"Hi," she said, so softly that Will almost didn't hear her over "Oops! I Did It Again", possibly the most annoying song ever to be produced out of a human throat.
"Hey," he said. An extreme effort at cordiality, considering his mood. Even if he hadn't been in it, he never would have noticed her if not for Chaz. She was cute enough, he guessed, but he preferred tall willowy brunettes to china ballerinas.
The formalities done with, Chaz said, "Dude, why aren't you dancing? There are lots of babes to go around."
Will snorted. "To this crap?"
Chaz shrugged. "Okay, so the music's not the best, but c'mon. Be cordial or something, man."
"You sound like my mom."
"If I thought that was true, I'd kill myself. MJ, do you have any pals you can hook up with this unsociable moron?"
MJ bit her lip and said something Will didn't catch because the volume of that stupid song was rattling his eardrums. "What?" he yelled.
"She said her friend over there hasn't danced yet," Chaz hollered. "Liz something."
"Where?" Will hadn't seen where Chaz had gestured the first time.
Chaz pointed. "There!"
Will looked. If MJ hadn't been his type, this one was--at least five nine, and most of it leg, with short dark hair held out of her face by her sunglasses. Unfortunately, Will knew for a fact that she was also about ten times as smart-mouthed as he liked. It was the chick who'd made that crack about his car.
He did not want to dance with her. He didn't want to dance with anybody, but especially not her, and he knew Chaz would never let up if he wasn't rude enough. So he replied at the top of his lungs, "Decent, but not up to my standards."
Unfortunately, he said it at just the moment when the music cut off, and his voice rang loud and clear across the field. Heads turned, including hers.
It was impossible to pretend he'd been talking about someone, or something, else. Chaz was still pointing at her, making it abundantly clear that she was the subject of conversation.
Well, hell.
Part Four
The music had started up again before Liz could close her mouth. "Can you--" she spluttered. "What makes him think--"
Then she burst out laughing.
Char looked at her worriedly. "Are you okay, Liz?"
"Decent!" Liz whooped. "So I'm decent, am I?"
"Look, he--"
"Almost as good as tolerable! Or adequate!"
Char's lips were starting to quirk. "Gee, babe, you need to quit being so sensitive."
Liz just flopped back on the grass and laughed some more.
She could have been hurt--she could have been hurt very easily. But what would that have brought? Bad feelings, for a stuck-up rich kid that she didn't need to care about anyway? Better to laugh about it.
"You're really not mad?" Char asked.
"How can I be? It's too ridiculous. Decent!" she echoed, and started laughing again. "I wonder what his standards are," she said when she'd gotten her breath back.
"High," Char said.
"Obviously."
"No, you don't get it. I know him. That's Will Fitzroy."
Liz lifted a brow. "Am I supposed to recognize this name?"
"Probably not. Let me just put it this way: if there's a Royal Family of talent agents, the Fitzroys are it. They've been representing talent in LA and New York for a hundred years, and every one of them has had at least one Oscar or Tony winner in their stable, and most of the time more. Added to that, they have connections in every rank of the industry. You get a Fitzroy on the job, and you can put a movie together in three phone calls."
"Ooooo, a dynasty." And she could see how that kind of influence--and the accompanying wealth--would produce that kind of arrogant jerk.
"Exactly. Will's kind of the black sheep, as far as that goes. I saw him a lot when we were younger, but not as much lately--that's why I didn't recognize him at first. But the more I thought about it this afternoon, the more I figured it might be. And this just confirmed it--that remark is Will all over."
"Wait a minute, Char. If the Fitzroys are so all-important, how do you know them?"
Char flushed, looked away, and mumbled something.
"What?"
Char sighed, leaned closer, and muttered, "My granddad is Dane Casey."
Liz goggled. Dane Casey was one of the most influential directors in LA, second only maybe to Spielberg. Maybe. She knew, in a vague sort of way, that he was raising two of his grandkids after his daughter and son-in-law had died, but she'd never expected to be teasing one of them with Doritos at a school party. "Char!"
"Don't tell anyone," her new friend pleaded. "I love my granddad--he's totally the best--but I'm sick of being Dane Casey's granddaughter. I want to be someplace where I can be Char Lukasic, you know?"
Liz, who had spent years as "The Fiennes' daughter" and "Ricky and Matthew's sister" before she became "the piano-playing Fiennes", understood at once. "Don't worry about it--I won't tell anybody. Except can I tell MJ?"
Char shrugged. "Sure. MJ's not 'anybody'."
"But what about the people who already know? There's a lot of stars' kids here. Will they blab?"
"Naw. They don't care about it. Some of them are even in the same boat as me."
Liz just shook her head. The idea of being so used to superstardom in the family that it became something not to care about--or more, not to want--was completely beyond her reach. What did she know about stars? She was the daughter of an ER nurse and a grocery store manager.
But Char wanted to be treated like a normal person, and Liz decided to do that. Starting with . . . "C'mon, Miz Hollywood," she said, pulling Char up. "Let's go get some fat and calories."
"Oh my god," Char moaned good-naturedly. "More Doritos?"
"Even better," Liz said. "They just put out the real food." She grinned like a maniac. "Burgers . . . potato salad . . . soda . . ."
Char made a face. "I really wish I had more willpower."
"With me around? Fat chance."
"I really should become a vegetarian," Char said.
Liz stole a chip off her plate as they moved down the food line. "Why deny yourself?"
"It's good for the soul or something."
"Hey, if we're taking MJ as an example, sure." Liz waved at her friend, approaching the table with the hottie that had picked her up. "I'm gonna go meet, babe. Coming?"
"Sure. Just let me get a carrot stick to convince myself I'm eating healthy."
Liz snorted. "Delusions." She snagged a soft drink and set out to meet her friend's new admirer. "Hey, sweetie," she called out.
"Hi, Liz!" Even from this distance, Liz was able to gauge her friend's mood as a giddy, bewildered sort of happiness, and it was undoubtedly due to the curly-headed blond grinning down at her.
Juggling her plate, Liz managed to pop open the top of her Dr. Pepper just as Char caught up. "So who's this?" She'd been dancing when her friend had met him, so although she knew of his existence, because she'd been keeping an eye on MJ from the dance floor, she didn't know his name.
"Oh! Sorry--Liz, Char, this is Chaz Delmonico. He's a sculptor. Chaz, my best friend Liz Fiennes and our suitemate Char Lukasic."
Char stuck her bottle of water in her pocket in order to shake hands. Liz, with pocketless shorts, offered Chaz a smile instead.
He smiled back and said at once, "Liz, I have to apologize for my friend--for what he said. He's been in a mood, and I made him come--"
"Don't worry about it," she reassured. "It's not your fault."
"But--"
"Look, I'm okay. No broken heart, see? Don't worry about it." She nodded back towards the food table. "You a carnivore?"
"Yeah."
"Better get a burger before they're all gone." She offered one last grin and turned to find a place to eat.
And promptly ran smack into what felt like a brick wall.
"Ooof!"
"What the--"
She stumbled back, gasping. Her loaded plate and soda can had both spilled all over both her and whoever she'd run into. "Oh my God," she half-groaned, half laughed. "I'm so sorry, I--"
She looked up.
"Oh my God," she said again, and all the laughter had gone.
Will Fitzroy peeled the remains of her hamburger off his stomach and dropped it to the ground. It landed with a splat. Thanks to the half-bottle of ketchup she'd decorated the sandwich with, he looked like he'd been gut-shot.
"Look," he sneered, "just because your little feelings were hurt is no reason to dump your food all over me."
Her back went up. "My god, you do have an ego, don't you? What makes you think that your childishness could possibly have any effect on me?"
"My childishness? My childishness? Who was the one who started this?"
"You," she said promptly.
"I was not the one who made a crack about someone's driving."
"Oh, I'm sorry. Just because you came roaring up the drive at eighty miles an hour and stopped this far" she held up her thumb and index finger half an inch apart, "from my friend's bumper is no reason to assume you're a reckless driver. My mistake."
A crowd was starting to form around the pair of them. Heads were turning like spectators at a ping-pong match. Toe-to-toe and snarling, neither of them noticed.
"Hey, I'd like to see you drive with that kind of skill."
"I don't know how it is in your little world, Will Fitzroy, but where I come from we don't often confuse idiocy with skill."
"And where is that, Kansas?"
"No, LA."
"Too bad you're not back there."
"Think again. I've been aiming to get here for five years, and I'm not about to let the likes of you spoil it for me." She turned on her heel and stalked off, leaving him standing there with potato salad all over him and whispers from the crowd growing up like weeds.
Char and MJ caught up with Liz a few minutes later. She was striding back to the dorm to change her clothes. "Liz?" MJ said tentatively. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," she bit out. Her eyes were sizzling mad in a way MJ had only seen once or twice in their year's friendship, but already knew to be wary of.
Char observed blandly, "You know it's a good thing you didn't let him get to you."
"Char?"
"Yeah?"
"You know how I said earlier that I wasn't mad?"
"Yeah."
"Now I am." Her eyes narrowed, and if she'd been Superman, the entire dorm building in front of them would have been ashes. "Now I hate his guts."
Part Five
By the time she'd changed clothes and hiked back to the party, Liz had cooled off somewhat. She still hated Will Fitzroy's guts--that would not change--but now she was calm enough to refrain from throwing a rock at his head the moment she saw him.
She'd settle for tripping him.
She smiled evilly at that picture: the ultra-arrogant Will Fitzroy, with his designer shades ($300 a lens, don't you know) stumbling over her outthrust foot and falling face-first--no, no, full-length into . . . into what?
A mud puddle was always good.
Or perhaps another plate of food.
As long as it was her fantasy, she decided on a pile of manure. Fresh. Since it was a fantasy, she wasn't going to think about where she was going to get fresh manure on the grounds of an academy that didn't even like having rabbits on the premises, never mind horses and cows and other such manure-intensive creatures. She was just going to think about how it would smear all over his face, his clothes, and especially--especially--that supercilious sneer that made her blood pressure spike just by recalling it to memory.
Take that, Mr Prince of Hollywood!
Ahhh . . .
"I thought you'd still be mad," said a voice from above.
Liz, lost in her delightful little fantasy, blinked and brilliantly said, "Huh?"
And then she looked up at the owner of the voice.
After a long, long minute of just gazing, she thought to check her chin.
Nope, her tongue was still inside her mouth. She wasn't even drooling.
Well, thank goodness for small mercies, anyway.
The owner of the voice squatted down and held out his hand. "Jason Ford," he said. "Acting."
She took it automatically. "Liz Fiennes. Piano. What did you mean you thought I'd still be mad?"
"At Fitzroy," Jason elaborated.
"Oh, you saw what happened?"
"I think everybody did."
Liz winced. "Gawd," she said. "Just call me Katherine."
"Who?"
"You know. Katherine. The Shrew. In the play?"
"Oh--yeah. Sorry. I'm not too familiar with that one." He sat down beside her. "No, I don't think anyone thought you were a shrew. Probably half of 'em were cheering you on. I know I was. It's about time someone stood up to that pompous moron."
"You know him?"
"You could say that. His dad was my godfather. We grew up together."
Liz winced again, but for a different reason. "You poor thing."
Jason shrugged. "He used to be okay, but lately, he's been behaving like the King of LA. I mean, with what happened last winter and everything--" He broke off.
"What?"
"No--it's nothing."
"No, really, what happened last winter?"
"Well--promise you won't spread this?"
"Sure, if you want."
"Have you seen 'The Rumor Mill'?"
"Seen it? Only like five times!"
"The Rumor Mill"--the story of how vicious gossip had destroyed four lives--was the current come-from-behind blockbuster in the theaters. All four of the late-teenage leads, previously invisible, were suddenly the hottest commodities around. Every one of them was already working, for millions, on another big-name movie. Liz had seen it on opening day, and had dragged both her brothers and MJ to it before the weekend was out.
"But what does that have to do with you and Will Fitzroy?"
"He cost me a part in it."
Liz gasped. "Are you serious?"
"Deadly."
"What part?"
"Brian."
Liz gasped again. Brian, the second of the two lead parts, had been the juiciest part, and the actor who had played him was being paid ten million for his next film. The thought that Will had robbed Jason of such an oppurtunity--in his career, in his life--staggered Liz. "But--but how? Why?"
"The how I know. Here's the thing: Mackenzie Douglas--you know, the director--is a cousin of his. I'd done an audition and two callbacks, and I swear to God that part was in the palm of my hand. I could practically taste it. Then, after the second callback, I went to the studio cafeteria for lunch. Will and Douglas were talking at one of the tables, and, clear as day, I heard Will tell him, 'Don't give Jason the part. He can't hack it.'"
Liz's mouth dropped open. "And Douglas listened?"
"I don't know if you know, but Will has always had a talent for picking out surefire screenplays, perfect actors, and just the right director. I guess it's something he picked up from being connected to everyone in Hollywood all these years. I don't know why he's doing this composing thing when he could be a billionaire off producing alone. Anyway, he speaks, and people tend to listen. Especially people like Mac Douglas, who haven't proved themselves yet. Well, then he hadn't. So when Will told him not to cast me, he dropped me like a hot potato. Just a phone call saying, 'Sorry, kid,' and he went with the other guy."
"But why?"
Jason spread his hands. "The only reason I can come up with is jealousy. His dad was a talent agent, you know, and he'd been handling my career since I was three. I guess he thought his dad was paying too much attention to me or something."
"That's so childish."
"I know. He never liked me much, but he never used to be vindictive like that, either. It's even rubbed off on his little sister. She used to be crazy about me, but now--well, she won't give me the time of day now, thanks to him."
Liz reached out and rubbed his shoulder. "Don't worry about it. You don't need him for anything."
Jason looked up and smiled. "Thanks. I really need to hear that sometimes."
"No problem. You wanna dance?"
Part Six
The party started breaking up around midnight as the dancers, with their mandatory 8 am dance classes, began leaving. Liz found MJ cuddled up under a tree with Chaz and managed to pry her away after fifty or sixty gentle reminders of the late hour, MJ's early class, and her need for eight hours of z-time at night before she could function properly.
Liz waited patiently, a smile playing around her mouth, as Chaz and MJ said their interminable goodbyes, made plans for lunch the next day, and said goodbye one more time. Char saw her waiting and came over.
"Going?"
"Yeah, it's bed time for all good little dancers. How about you? Staying?"
Char shook her head. "I'm getting that antisocial feeling, and plus I'd better start getting on a sleep schedule that'll work with my nine AM class.
"If you expect sympathy from this quarter," Liz warned, "don't. MJ and I both have class at 8."
Char shuddered. "Inhuman," she said feelingly. "Wrong. Baaaaaaad."
"Yeah, I'm not too crazy about the idea myself. I just hope the prof is lively enough to keep us interested. Hey, is your roommate coming, or is she staying here longer?"
"Maria? No, she never came to the party."
"Get out! For real?"
"I tried to talk her into it, but she preferred to stay home and practice."
Liz's brows drew together. "Practice? Practice what? Classes don't start until Monday, except if you're a dancer, and she's--what, vocal music?"
"Yeah. A little overzealous, too."
Liz patted her comfortingly. "She'll get over it."
Char raised her eyes to heaven. "God, I hope so."
The two lovers parted, and the trio began hiking back to the dorm. MJ was uncharacteristically bubbly, which made the other two smile. "He's from L.A.," they were informed, "and his dad's a producer."
"Tony Delmonico," Char supplied.
"He's been sculpting since he was twelve," MJ continued, "and last year he won some big award for a piece, and he wants to sculpt me! I don't know why--I'm so ordinary."
"Yes," Liz told Char, "she honestly believes that."
"Well, it's true," MJ insisted as they went down the hall to their suite.
With a shrug, Liz opened the door. Then she blinked at the giggling and squirming taking place on the couch, shook her head, and went to her room. It looked as if Liddie Wickman, one of the occupants of the third room in the suite, had come back from the picnic early, and brought somebody with her.
MJ, bless her, only said, "I wonder if they allow boys in the girl's rooms?"
Liz shrugged. "What are they going to do about it?"
MJ's store of information had finally petered out, and Liz was able to tell her what Jason Ford had said about Will Fitzroy as they prepared for bed. MJ listened with her brows drawn together. "Oh, no," she protested. "I can't believe he would be so mean!"
"I can," Liz said definately, searching out the toothpaste. The school had been wise enough to supply each sleeping room with its own sink, averting what would have been a disaster of epic proportions from six girls sharing one sink. They still had to share one shower, but that was at least workable. "I mean," she continued, starting to brush her teeth, "a uy ish shuh a erk." She spat and continued brushing. "An' he ish sho hull of himshel a'--"
"Huh?"
Liz spat again. "The guy is such a jerk, and he is so full of himself," she repeated, "that I can just see him doing that."
"Chaz likes him."
"So maybe he's different around Chaz. That doesn't excuse what he did to Jason. I mean, really!"
"Maybe he honestly thought Jason wasn't ready for the part."
Liz shrugged, leaving MJ to her optimistic musings, and in a few minutes, to her sleep. Liz gave it a shot, but finally had to admit by 1:30 that she was not getting to sleep anytime soon.
She clambered out of her top bunk bed, moving lightly enough not to wake MJ, and went out into the living room. Char was already there, studying the contents of the refrigerator.
"Hey," Liz said softly.
"Hey," Char answered. "I'm looking for an AM snack. Want?"
"Sure."
"Blueberry yogurt good?"
Liz went to peer over her shoulder. "Oooh, give that cherry cheesecake flavor."
Char passed it over. "I'm studiously not looking at those Double Stuf Oreos you brought," she informed her as she went looking for a spoon.
Liz took out a handful of the guilty parties and a Dr. Pepper to add to her yogurt. "Yes," she intoned solemnly, "the devil is present in Double Stuf Oreos." She popped a dwelling of Satan into her mouth. "So did Liddie's--uh--gentleman caller leave yet?"
Char shook her head and passed over a spoon. "I think they're in her room," she said, pulling the top off the yogurt. There were thumps and giggles from the third room, and Char nodded. "Yep."
"Ugh." Liz made a face. "Bad mental image." She plopped down on the couch, legs folded. Char sat down on the coffee table.
"I practically gagged when we walked in here. First thing tomorrow is setting some ground rules for where to get it on with your visitors."
"If it hadn't been the first night," Liz said, spooning up yogurt, "I would have gone for the bucket of water."
Char, caught mid-swallow, starting coughing. "A bucket of water?" she gasped when she was finally able to speak.
Liz shrugged and popped the top of her soda can. "It's what you do with dogs," she said.
When Char had stopped laughing, she said, "You know, I feel kinda sorry for Katy."
Liz thought about that. Katy Wickman, Liddie's twin sister, was also her roommate. "I guess she's used to it. I mean, she has lived with her for eighteen years. Has she come back yet?"
"No, and I don't blame her."
"Blame who for what?"
Katy Wickman had come in, finally.
"Nothing," Liz said swiftly. "Want an Oreo?"
Katy looked at it with longing, but shook her head. "I like weighed myself this afternoon," she said, "and I like gained like a whole half a pound since this morning. I'm going to have to totally do an extra ten situps in the morning. I don't want to like go above 105 until I'm at least like fifty. The camera adds like ten pounds, you know."
Liz calculated that Katy was five foot five. Wasn't a hundred five pounds dangerously underweight or something? That's what her mother said, anyhow. Even an extra camera-induced ten pounds wouldn't keep Katy--or Liddie--from looking like a scarecrow. Liz shrugged and gave thanks that she had never been particularly interested in acting.
While Katy was making the agonzing decision between a celery or a carrot stick, Char got up and put in a tape. Halfway through the movie, Liddie's companion exited the third room and walked out the door without a word to any of them.
Liz stretched out on the couch as Katy got up and finally went to her room. Well, one day down, she thought. So far, she'd met several people she liked, a few people she could do without, and one person that was going to get his sunglasses broken the next time she saw him.
Not so bad for the first day, she decided, and fell asleep.
Part Seven
Chaz came in after two, grinning like a loon. Will sighed and took off his headphones. The signs were all there.
The moron was in love again.
He half-listened while Chaz waxed poetic about MJ Lansdowne, muttering "M-hm," and "Uh-huh," and "yeah," at logical intervals.
"She's been dancing ever since she was little."
"M-hm."
"She wants to join a professional company in New York City as soon as she graduates."
"Yeah."
"She graduated with a four point oh."
"Uh-huh."
"She's only known Liz for a year, but they're best friends."
"Yeah."
"So you really have the hots for Liz, huh?"
"Uh-uh."
Chaz shrugged and dropped onto his bed. "Had to check to see if you were listening, man. Don't you think you were a little hard on her?"
"Who, MJ?" Will asked, knowing exactly who his buddy was talking about.
"No, Liz."
"She deserved it. Brat." Will made a face at his ketchup-and-potato-salad-spattered shirt and shorts, lying in a forlorn pile in the middle of the floor.
"She didn't see you."
"Yeah, right."
"You know, MJ thinks she hung the moon."
Will started to say, "Shows what she knows," but he changed it to, "We all make mistakes."
"You could try apologizing."
"What for?"
"The decent crack."
"She started it."
"You sound like Mackie."
Chaz's half-brother was four. If it had been anyone else but Chaz, Will would have told him where to shove it. But because it was Chaz, he muttered, "She just brings out the worst in me or something."
Chaz snorted. "No kidding."
Will rolled his eyes. "I'm just going to ignore her. I mean, how often will I see her anyway?"
"Often," Chaz told him with glee. "She's a pianist."
Will groaned. Music Theory, Piano Technique, Music History were just some of the required first-year classes for any kind of music major--classes he and assuredly Liz The Brat Fiennes were both taking, and probably together, because the school was so small.
He cursed, long and loud.
Chaz just laughed.
Chaz was snoring--loudly--by three, but Will was still wakeful. He didn't feel like moving, particularly. He just didn't feel like sleeping, either.
He kicked off the sheet and stretched. Too hot in here.
He tapped his fingers on his stomach, idly playing a scale.
What right did she have to be such a brat, anyway?
At that thought, he grunted and turned over. Flicking on a light small enough not to rouse Chaz, he reached for a pencil and a clipboard that held several blank sheets of staff paper.
Whenever he had insomnia, he would doodle, musically, until his mind was clear and quiet, and he got sleepy. Just scribbling random notes down, random times, random jumps. Sometimes he didn't even note the time value or divide the bars, and they were just dots on a sheet, looking like a composition made up completely of whole notes, in one bar.
Sometimes these midnight doodlings were actually worth something in the morning. More often, they got tossed.
F, E flat, A.
She was kinda good looking. If you liked the smart-mouthed kind anyway.
Half note, whole note. E flat, B, C.
It was the eyes that got you first. Those green eyes, not the color of leaves or moss or any of that stuff, hit you like a blow straight to the solar plexus.
A run of sixteenth notes, from middle F straight on up to high C.
They were the color of--what was that stuff his chem teacher had burned to create that flickering green flame?
A series of thirds, all the way down again.
Calcium, carbon--one of those c chemicals. He didn't know--he was a musician, not a scientist.
A sustained low F, for twelve beats, underneath those sixteenth notes.
But that's the color they were, anyway.
A grace note, a clever, insouciant little fillip of sound, added to the beginning of that series of thirds.
He'd never seen eyes that particular color. Maybe there weren't any. Maybe Liz Fiennes was the only one.
Without knowing it, Will worked for three hours, until his eyes were burning and his brain was Jell-O. He'd used up six sheets of staff paper, covering them with notes and phrases. He was sweating lightly and the pencil, sharpened time and again, was down to a stub.
In the delicate pre-dawn light, he blinked at the pages full of melody and harmony. It looked good, he thought fuzzily, reading it through and hearing the music in his head as he always did when he read music. It looked really good. Maybe a little tightening up and polishing were needed, but the main theme was there, energetic, carefree, merry, and freely sexy in the way he'd always associated with swing dancers.
He'd play it when he woke up, Will promised himself, and, flopping back on the pillows, was asleep before the sun had finished rising.
Part Eight
Liz woke up when MJ came back from the shower. She rolled over onto her stomach and blinked at the clock across the room. It said seven-thirty.
Eight o'clock class, Liz, she reminded herself, and willed herself to be more awake. It didn't work too well. She dragged herself into a sitting position and promptly whacked her head on the ceiling.
MJ looked up at the thump and the yelp that accompanied it. "Are you okay?" she said softly.
Liz rubbed the sore spot. "I'll live," she said ruefully. "I 've got to learn not to sit straight up in bed though."
When Liz came back from the shower, her eyes were clearer and her stride resembled its normal energetic bounce rather then the zombie shuffle it had been before. She dressed quickly, not bothering with make-up, and took her loaded backpack out into the main room, where MJ was doing her stretches using the back of the couch as a makeshift barre. "Want some yogurt, sweetie?" she asked, dropping the backpack on the couch and going to the fridge.
"Just a little," MJ murmured abstractedly, touching her head to her knee and holding for the count of ten.
Char said from her doorway, "How do you do that?"
Liz turned around. "What are you doing up?"
Char rolled her eyes and came into the room, closing the door behind her. She was wearing cut-offs, battered sneakers, and a t-shirt that said, "1.2% Nice--You wanna take a chance on the rest of it?" She was also carrying her camera. "Maria woke me up this morning."
Liz's brow furrowed as she poured half a container of yogurt into a neon pink plastic bowl for MJ. "Maria? Her first class isn't 'til ten--it's with me. What's she doing up?"
"Her scales," Char snorted.
"Oh, my God," Liz groaned. "Since when?"
"Seven."
"Ugh. What'd you say to her?"
"Just asked her if she could let me sleep. Then I got a twenty-minute rant on how the voice was like a muscle and if it wasn't exercised every morning it would atrophy. I'm glad I fell asleep out here Saturday night."
"Deeeelightful."
"Perhaps you could ask her to do it later in the day," MJ suggested, bringing her left leg down and bringing her right one up.
"I did. She got mad at me."
"Doesn't know the meaning of compromise, does she?" Liz said, setting MJ's yogurt down on the coffee table and settling down on the arm of the couch to eat her half, which was accompanied by a buttered blueberry bagel, an apple, and a can of Dr. Pepper.
"Nope." Char shrugged. "I'll get used to it. Or I'll kill her. One of the two." She went hunting for her own breakfast.
MJ finished her stretches and started to bring her leg down, only to be stopped short by Char's exclamation. "Wait a minute!"
Both girls looked up. "What is it?" MJ asked.
"Just hold that," Char mumbled, dropping her unadorned bagel on the counter and picking up her camera.
Liz looked over at MJ and shrugged, and the flash went off. "Perfect!" Char exclaimed.
They both looked at her as if she were crazy.
"It's the contrast," Char explained, not terribly clearly. "MJ, do you have any more stretches to do?"
MJ shook her head. "That was the last of them."
"Don't worry about it." Char took another shot as MJ settled herself properly on the couch.
"What's the contrast?" Liz asked, peering at Char. "Babe, are you sure you got enough sleep?"
"Between the two of you," Char muttered, lifting the camera to her eye again. "MJ, all in a black leotard, delicate and elegant and perfect--"
MJ murmured, "Oh, really," and concentrated on her yogurt.
"--and you, Liz, in a tie-dye tank top, shorts, and sandals, slouching and casual and carefree. Your feet are up on the table, MJ's are properly on the floor. You've got soda, she's got a bottle of water. Your hair's in your eyes, hers is all pulled up. You look like people from two different planets. But you can look at each other and say without words, She's nuts. It's the contrast, and the connection. It's fascinating, absolutely fascinating." She took another shot, as if to prove it.
Liz stared at her. Then she shook her head, as if to rattle her brains back into place. "Hon," she said, "go back to sleep. You're babbling."
Char just shook her head and laughed. "You'll see when I develop the pictures."
Was there no mercy from heaven?
Liz gritted her teeth as, for the third time that morning, Will Fitzroy walked into the same classroom she was inhabiting. Why couldn't she have been lucky? Why couldn't he be in Maria's sections of PT and Music History instead of in hers? Then she'd only have to share this one class with him.
But nooooo. She had to spend the entire morning within twenty feet of him, except for the wonderful few minutes walking from class to class.
Aaaargh!
He dropped into a seat across the room, as if he were no happier about this then she was.
Well. Good. Fine. She was delighted with that.
The woman who strode in a few minutes later and introduced herself as Dr. Salvatore was a tall, lean woman with short curly dark hair. "Welcome to the one and only section of Music Theory. You," and she ran her eye over the fifty or sixty bodies in front of her, "are freshmen in various music-related majors, including instrumental, composition, conduction, and voice. If you are not dedicated to your music, leave. I have no time for slackers in my classroom."
No one left.
"Good. I know this is a lecture class, and as such regarded as an easy, even a desirable one to skip. Too bad. Attendence is mandatory. I allow only four misses before you are failed. The only time an exception will be made is for a death in the family, or serious illness and/or serious injury on your own part. And may I remind you, the school requires at least a passing grade in Music Theory for you to continue on in your studies. If you are here on conditional, the grade must be a B or higher."
Around Liz, students shifted and muttered. Some of them, with already-demanding schedules, had been counting on an easy class. It looked like this wasn't it, especially for the conditional students, who were there on a sort of probation. They had been the ones on the borderline for admittance, and as such, had to keep grades and performances to a higher standard then others for the first year.
Dr. Salvatore continued, "The time allotted to us is, of course, quite insufficient. I don't wish to use any more of it then necessary on attendance. In order to faciliate this, you'll sit in alphabetical order. I will call out each name in order, and you will verify your presence and sit in the seat I indicate for you. This will be your seat all semester."
She started with "Bradey, Mina," and continued with all the steadiness and resolve of a torpedo, even over the sounds of people shifting seats.
Liz settled herself into an aisle seat, pleased with it and the professor. She hated blow-off classes, and this was about as far from a blow-off class as you could get.
Her pleasure was blown away when the next name was announced.
"Fitzroy, William."
The Jerk dropped into the seat next to her, shoved his sunglasses up his nose, and stretched his legs out until his big stupid feet were braced on the seat back in front of him. Surreptitiously, Liz scootched her butt as flush to the far side of her own seat as she could without actually passing through the armrest.
Dr. Salvatore had paused in her recital of names. "Mr. Fitzroy."
"Yeah?"
"Do you have an eye ailment I should be aware of?"
"No."
"No hypersensitivity to fluorescent light, perhaps?"
"No--ma'am."
"Then remove your sunglasses at once, and do not replace them while in this lecture hall. No student of mine will sleep through my class without severe penalties."
To ripples of muffled laughter, Will took off his sunglasses and hooked them in the neck of his t-shirt. Dr. Salvatore nodded, then swept the hall with her stentorian gaze. "That goes for all the rest of you wearing sunglasses or baseball caps or anything else that could concievably shield your eyes. Remove them at once, and leave them off."
There was a soft rustle of the items at fault being removed, and as the doctor continued, Liz snuck a sidelong glance at him, expecting to see a sneer or even a snarl on his face.
Instead, there was something like respect in his eyes.
At least until he glanced over at her.
Liz whipped her gaze back front and center and concentrated on keeping herself from blushing.
As the attendence was completed and class was begun, Liz thought, A whole semester sitting next to Mr. "Decent, but not up to my standards". How was she going to survive?
How was he?
Part Nine
Liz leaned against the door of her dorm building. "I had a great time, Jason."
He grinned at her. "The movie sucked."
Liz laughed out loud. "That was part of the fun. I mean, how did that woman get around without falling flat on her face? Nobody can tell me those were natural!"
He laughed with her, and then shifted closer. "It doesn't have to end now, you know."
Her easy smile faded. "Yes, it does."
For a moment, just a moment, there was something almost ugly in his eyes. "What, am I moving too fast or
something?"
"No, it's not you, Jason. I'm just--not ready yet. Period."
He lifted a hand to touch her hair. "How do you know?"
"Jason," she said softly, "I have to know a guy a lot longer then a week before I can trust him that much." She shifted away and pulled her key out of her purse. "I'll see you."
"Next Saturday?"
She paused. "Maybe." She unlocked the door, and let herself in. It swung closed and locked automatically behind her. She gave Jason a smile and a little wave through the glass and turned towards the stairs.
"That was Jason Ford."
Liz stopped in her tracks, staring at Will Fitzroy. He was sitting at the bottom of the steps, and had obviously seen everything through the glass of the door. "Very good," she said coolly, folding her arms. "You get an A for the night."
"Why are you dating him?"
"What are you, the Gestapo?" Dammit, why couldn't he live in one of the other buildings? Why did he have to be in hers?
"Look, he's no good. You shouldn't be anywhere near him."
"Oh, well, then I'll just go out and dump his butt because the great Will Fitzroy says I should. Thank you so much for your guidance. I don't know how I lived eighteen years without it."
"Would you shut that snotty mouth? I'm telling you, if you knew what I knew--"
"I know everything."
He stopped dead in the middle of rising to his feet. "Everything?" he said in a cold voice.
She lifted her chin. "Everything."
"And you're still dating him."
"What, just because you didn't want him to have the chance of a lifetime means he shouldn't have anything else either? My god, you are childish."
He blew out a breath. "He told you about 'The Rumor Mill.'"
"Damn skippy."
"And that's all?"
"That's enough. That's more then enough."
"Well, you're pretty quick to judge."
"You know what, when he told me about it, I couldn't believe that anyone could be that small. Now I can, because it's you."
She started to brush past him, but he grabbed her arm. "I'm telling you, if you really knew everything--"
Her eyes dropped to his hand on her arm, then lifted, so cold they froze the words in his mouth. "Take your hands off me. And don't touch me again."
He dropped her arm and stepped back, sneering. "Fine. Go ahead. You'll figure it out soon enough. But far be it from me to ruin your fun. Or Jason's."
In the same deadly cold tone she'd used to tell him to take his hands off her, Liz told him precisely where he could go and what he could do with himself when he got there. Then she pivoted neatly and ascended the stairs with all the dignity of a queen ascending her throne.
Will stood for a moment, glaring at her slim back. Then he turned and went into the game room.
The hell with her, he told himself, slotting quarters into the pinball machine. If she wasn't going to listen, he certainly wasn't going to waste his time.
Upstairs, Liz picked up the phone. "Jason? It's Liz. So what were you planning for Saturday?"
Part Ten
"Are we boring you?"
Liz looked up at MJ, across from her, and Char, sitting on her side of the booth. "What?"
"Are we boring you?" Char repeated. "You're playing scales on the table top again."
Liz looked down at her hands, then used one to pick up her soda. "It was the 'Ode to Joy', not scales."
They were taking advantage of the Longbourn Eaterie's Sunday-night menu, which was about ten times better then what they usually served. It had become an informal tradition over the past months.
"Whatever," Char said now. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
"You've been preoccupied for three days," MJ said softly.
"I do have an excuse--the midterm for Theory is tomorrow."
"Well, I thought--you know--the whole Jason thing might be what's on your mind."
Liz stared at her friends--MJ still in her dancing clothes, Char in jeans and a t-shirt that said, "Oh, evolve!"--and laughed. "What, you think my heart is broken or something?"
"Well," Char said, poking at her salad, "you guys were going out for a month and a half."
"Yeah--and it was a bad idea from the start. I would've put an end to it a long time ago if I hadn't--" been so determined to prove Will Fitzroy wrong. Liz grimaced.
"Hadn't what?" Char asked. "Why did you go out with him for so long if it was such a bad idea?"
Liz shrugged and applied herself to her sandwich. "Inertia, I guess. It's kinda nice having a boyfriend."
"Even one who dumps you for the vocal music Playboy bunny of the year?" Char said bluntly.
"He didn't dump me--we agreed to break up."
Char crooned under her breath, "Liar, liar, pants on fire . . . "
"Okay, fine, he dumped me. But only because I didn't do it first."
"He was a moron. Why aren't you on a rampage or something?"
"Because I don't care. Kinda sad, but there it is."
"Are you sure?" MJ asked. "Because sometimes--these things take a little time to hit."
"It's been a week and a half. Don't you think that if it honestly mattered to me, I would have blown up his car or something by now?"
Char and MJ looked at each other. Char nodded. "Probably."
"See?"
"You really are okay?" MJ asked again.
"Yeah. We're better off as friends anyway. I mean, the worst regret I have is that I didn't get a great guy like you found. Speaking of which--it's your two-month sometime this week, isn't it?"
"Thursday." MJ blushed a little, and smiled.
Char studied a really weird-looking tomato for a moment, then dropped her fork and shoved the plate away to lean her elbows on the table. "So what are you doing?"
"He wants to take me out."
Her two friends hooted. "Ooooh, something different for a change!" Liz said.
"Where to?" Char asked.
"Someplace in LA."
"Boy, you sound enthusiastic."
"I'd kind of--rather stay in and watch a video or something. We go out every weekend."
"Why don't you tell him?" Liz said. "And while you're at it, tell him how you feel about all those gifts he keeps giving you."
"I don't want to hurt his feelings."
"So you're just going to keep accepting jewelry and pagers and cellphones and--"
"He hasn't given me a cellphone, Liz."
"If you ask me, it's just a matter of time."
"Look, he just wants to make me happy. It's not his fault that I don't appreciate all the nice things he gets for me."
"If he really wanted to make you happy--"
"Liz, please! I know how you feel about this, and maybe I should talk to him about it, but--I just don't want to rock the boat, you know? I've got something great here, and I don't want to spoil it."
Liz would have said something more, but Char murmured, "Heads up--boyfriend and jerkwad at six o'clock."
Sure enough, Chaz and Will, bearing food, were walking in their direction. Chaz slid into place beside MJ, giving her a quick kiss as he did so. Will dragged a chair over from a free table and sat at the end.
Liz, on the outside and therefore next to him, grimaced a little. "Didn't think I'd see you here."
"Why not?" he asked. "I do have to eat."
"I'd've thought you would be studying for the Theory test." Unspoken, but clear, was the rider, Too bad you're not.
Will gave half a shrug. "I already studied all I need to." Not for a free shot at Jason Ford would he admit that he'd woken up at six this morning to study, nor that he was going back to do the same. "What about you?"
"This is a study break," she said haughtily.
"Yeah, right."
She fumed silently, and he almost grinned. Sometimes it was just too easy. Half the fun, of course, was how she gave just as good as she got. The other half, of course, was when she didn't, and her eyes went dark and she started scowling and wrinkling that cute nose up--
Cute nose?
Jeezus, man, he told himself, you need sleep, if you're starting to think that anything about Liz Fiennes is cute.
"In fact," she said, standing up, "I'm going back to study now. I don't know about you, but I do intend to pass this test."
"Grade in trouble?" he needled.
"No, and it's going to stay that way." She gave him a saccharine smile. "If you'd like me to explain some of the harder parts for you--"
"I'm just fine, thanks."
"You keep thinking that. Maybe it'll come true." She patted him on the head and scooted away before he could take her hand off at the wrist. "Bye, everyone!"
Char left a few minutes later, leaving him alone with Chaz and MJ. He ate silently, watching them from behind his shades.
He didn't know what it was, but something about MJ bothered him. More specifically, something about how she acted around Chaz. She was . . . different then anyone else his best friend had ever gone out with.
Ever since middle school, Chaz had adored the female sex. Tall, short, fat, thin, blonde, brunette--he loved 'em all. Yet underneath it all, they'd been the same.
MJ wasn't.
She was quiet, barely ever smiling even in Chaz's presence. She accepted his kisses and hugs, but never instigated them. If Will had been going on MJ's reactions to Chaz alone, he would have said they were no more then casual friends.
He just couldn't figure out what she was getting out of it. She didn't seem to want Chaz.
He picked up his glass, noticed that it was empty, and went for a refill. He had to wait for a pair of girls to finish with the Dr. Pepper spout. He spaced out until his friend's name caught his ear.
"--must be totally loaded," one of the girls was saying. "I mean, you know who his dad is, right?"
"Yeah. That MJ Lansdowne is smarter then I gave her credit for. Look how quick she caught him. How long have they been going out for, the whole year so far?"
"I think so. I bet he gives her all sorts of stuff. And as for MJ--you know what they say about still waters running deep."
"Yeah--very deep. You know, if she's ever stupid enough to dump him, I'd help soothe his broken heart in a second!"
He didn't notice at first that the girls had left, so deep in amazement was he.
That was it.
Will couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it yet. MJ was just trolling for a rich, generous boyfriend, and Chaz, with his habit of going through money like water, fit the bill perfectly. It explained everything, especially the strange words he had heard while walking up to the table--I've got something great here, and I don't want to spoil it.
Sure she had something great--to a girl like that, a rich, dupable guy was something great, all right.
The habit of protecting his naive, slightly younger friend came naturally to Will after ten years of friendship, which was why he only waited until they were in the room before saying, "Chaz--man--can I talk to you for a minute?"