Wish You Were Eyre

  “I wish I was,” she says bitterly.

  “Is he completely nuts? This is prom we’re talking about! Prom! You know, the once-in-a-lifetime deal with the picture that goes in your scrapbook forever?”

  Emma snorts. “It won’t be going in mine, that’s for sure. Not anymore.”

  “Don’t say that! Can’t you try and talk to him again? Does he know that you’ve had your dress picked out since you lived in England?”

  She shakes her head and her gaze drops to the floor.

  “Look, you’re going to go,” I tell her, “even if you have to come with Darcy and me.”

  Her head snaps up again at this. “I am not going to prom with my brother!”

  “Yeah, I guess that wouldn’t be too fun, would it?” I give her a rueful smile. “Maybe if I talk to Stewart, it could help.”

  “You won’t get anywhere, trust me,” she replies. “He’s convinced that Sophie is this poor, misunderstood creature and that it’s his duty to take her under his wing and make sure she has a good time. It’s some knight-in-shining-armor complex or something, I don’t know.”

  “What about making sure his girlfriend has a good time?” I stand on my tiptoes, scanning the room and trying to locate our friends. This calls for an emergency mother-daughter book club meeting if anything does. “Leave it to me,” I tell her, and push my way back through the crowd again.

  The following afternoon the five of us rendezvous at Cassidy’s house. After admiring her new medal and her silver co-captain’s championship plate, we retreat to the turret, where Emma and I fill everyone in on the latest development.

  “Let me get this straight,” says Cassidy when we’re done. “Stewart actually said, with a straight face, that he wants to take you and Sophie Fairfax to the prom?”

  Emma nods glumly.

  “Put him in the penalty box,” says Cassidy in disgust. “Stupid Stew-rat.” She turns to Becca. “He’s your brother, Becca. What is he thinking?”

  “Don’t look at me!” she protests. “It’s not like he asked my advice.”

  “So what are we going to do?” asks Megan. “To help Emma, I mean.”

  “I really, really wish our Cooking with Clementine episode was running this week, instead of after prom,” says Cassidy. “That would give Mademoiselle Velcro something to think about.”

  We all nod.

  “What if we could find Sophie another date?” asks Becca. “Wouldn’t that solve the problem?”

  “The dance is a week from Saturday,” Megan points out. “All the senior boys must have dates already.”

  “Not necessarily,” says Becca. “There are always a couple of last-minute break-ups and cancellations—”

  “And there are probably a few shy guys who haven’t asked anyone yet,” I add.

  “Spoken like a true formerly shy person,” says Megan, and I stand up and curtsy.

  “Too bad we can’t sic Kevin Mullins on her,” says Cassidy. “That would be a punishment worthy of the crime.”

  That gets a smile out of Emma—the first one I’ve seen her crack in days. She starts to giggle, and pretty soon we’re all laughing.

  Kevin has transferred his affections from me to Sophie and has spent the better part of the semester trailing around after her. It’s completely ridiculous, of course, and hugely entertaining to watch—like a chipmunk pining after a panther or something.

  “Let me talk to Darcy,” I say, pulling out my cell phone. “Maybe he knows somebody who needs a date.”

  “Hey, you guys,” says Emma as I’m tapping out a text, “while we’re all here, I told Jess this already, but I overheard something weird at the hotel we stayed at for the hockey tournament.” She describes the phone conversation between Megan’s parents. “Any idea what that was all about? It sounded serious.”

  Megan makes a face. “I have a pretty good idea,” she replies. “My mother just won’t let this whole engagement thing go. She’s totally convinced that Sophie’s grandfather is some big gold digger. I think she’s hired a private detective to check up on him.”

  “No way!” Cassidy looks shocked.

  “Wow,” echoes Becca.

  Megan nods. “Yeah, no kidding. I don’t want to be around when Gigi finds out, either. She’s going to hit the roof.”

  “From what I overheard, it sounds like he discovered something,” says Emma.

  “Maybe, I don’t know,” Megan replies. “I haven’t gotten wind of anything, but my mother’s been all caught up with the election for the past few days, so for all I know she’s dropped it. She’s not really going to have time for snooping now that she’s mayor.”

  “Isn’t Monsieur de Roches coming to visit soon?” asks Cassidy.

  Megan nods again. “Next week.”

  “Maybe she’s planning on confronting him then.”

  We’re quiet for a bit, mulling this over. How awful for Gigi, I think. I can’t imagine which would be worse—finding out some deep dark secret about your fiancé, à la Jane Eyre, or finding out that your own daughter hired a private detective to check up on him. It’s a lose-lose situation.

  “How’s your grandmother doing these days, anyway?” I ask.

  “She’s in her own happy little Gigi bubble,” says Megan. “She dances around the house singing “La Vie en Rose” all the time, and when she isn’t doing that, she’s on the phone with Monsieur de Roches or meeting with the wedding planner.”

  “They’ve set a date already?” asks Cassidy.

  “Yup. First weekend in June.”

  “Wow, that’s really fast,” I tell her.

  “Are they going to get married here or in France?” asks Emma.

  “Here. They talked about Paris, but Gigi wanted to make sure all of us could be there, and destination weddings are super expensive.”

  “Is she going to have bridesmaids and everything?” asks Becca.

  Megan nods again. “She wants my mother to be her matron of honor, but that will depend if she and my mother are still talking by then. Right now things are pretty tense at home. And Sophie and I are supposed to be her bridesmaids.” She doesn’t sound too thrilled about this.

  “Hey, just think—you’ve always wanted a sister!” jokes Cassidy.

  “Ha ha ha,” Megan replies grimly. “That is so not funny. By the way,” she continues, “Gigi’s planning a brunch to introduce Monsieur de Roches to everyone after he arrives. Your families will all be getting an invitation in the mail soon—it’s a week from next Sunday.”

  “The day after prom?” Emma asks.

  “Yup.”

  By the following Monday we’ve lined up a date for Sophie. Jeremy Elliott, a friend of Darcy’s from his baseball team, broke up with his girlfriend over the weekend, and he was thrilled at the prospect of having someone else to ask.

  “I think he’s as much interested in rubbing his girlfriend’s nose in it as anything, according to Darcy,” I tell Emma.

  “That’s Sophie’s problem,” she replies. “I’m just glad she’s off my hands. And more important, Stewart’s.”

  The rest of the week zips by, thanks to a rush of baby animals at the rehabilitation center where I volunteer—warmer weather always brings a spate of new cases—and the flurry of preparations for the prom.

  “You’re so lucky you get to go,” sighs Adele, flopping onto her bunk one night as I finish telling them about the latest in the Emma-Stewart-Sophie saga.

  That’s one drawback to Colonial—there’s no prom. There are a couple of private boys’ schools in the area that we have dances with during the year, but it’s not the same as a traditional high school prom.

  “I hear Kevin Mullins is still available,” I tell her. “I could totally set you two up.”

  Frankie laughs. My roommates are only too familiar with Kevin Mullins. He used to ride his bike over herre constantly the first year I was Colonial. “Adele Mullins,” she says. “Now that has a nice ring to it.”

  “Thanks a bunch,” grumbles Ade
le.

  “Y’all shouldn’t make too much fun of that poor kid,” Savannah points out. “It’s guys like him who end up running computer companies and Internet start-ups.”

  “Revenge of the nerds?” says Frankie.

  “Exactly.”

  My roommates have all been really good sports about the whole prom thing, and, in fact, have turned the event into a group project. The three of them tagged along shopping with my mother and me when it came time to find a dress, and they helped pick out the shoes and accessories to go with it. This past week they’ve spent every evening poring over fashion magazines in search of the perfect hairstyle for me.

  On Thursday afternoon Emma rides her bike over to join me at Mr. Mueller’s rehabilitation center, and I finally get an update.

  “Stewart was kind of annoyed when he found out about Sophie’s date,” she tells me, holding a baby rabbit while I feed it with an eyedropper. “I never let on that we’d pulled some strings behind the scenes. Anyway, he didn’t exactly apologize, but we’re talking again.”

  “So you’re definitely going to go to prom with him?”

  She nods. “Yeah. It still feels a little awkward, but I really don’t want to miss it.” She gives me a sidelong glance. “I just wish he would—that he was more like . . .” Her voice trails off.

  I pretend like I’m not paying attention, and focus on the tiny rabbit instead. I’m pretty sure she was going to say that she wished Stewart were more like Darcy. It hasn’t been easy for Emma this spring. It’s not that her brother is a perfect boyfriend. He has his faults, too. He can be absent-minded sometimes, especially when sports are involved. He got so wrapped up in some hockey tournament for instance, he forgot to give me the Valentine’s Day card he’d bought for me. I got it three days late, along with a huge apology. Still, so far he’s showing Stewart up at every turn, and I know Emma can’t help comparing her relationship to mine.

  On Saturday afternoon the two of us go to the salon together and get mani-pedis and updos. Well, I get an updo. Emma cut her hair short again over spring break, and there’s not a whole lot the stylist can do with it besides fluff it up a bit. Still, it looks really pretty. I was just going to wear my hair in its usual braid or maybe leave it loose around my shoulders, but my roommates wouldn’t hear of it.

  “Prom wouldn’t be prom without an updo,” Frankie said firmly. “Don’t come back without one.” She and Adele and Savannah are meeting me at Half Moon Farm afterward to help me get ready.

  “See you in a while,” I say to Emma when I drop her off at home after we’re finished at the salon.

  “See you when I’m gorgeous!” she replies, sounding more like her old cheerful self.

  “You’re always gorgeous,” I tell her, and she blows me a kiss.

  Emma and Stewart and Darcy and I are going to the prom tonight as a foursome. We decided to keep it low-key, and didn’t bother lining up a limo. With Stewart and Darcy both saving for college, it just didn’t make sense to spend money on it.

  “Too bad I don’t have Briggs anymore,” Savannah said when she found out. Briggs was her chauffeur, but after our first year at Colonial she begged her parents to recall him to Atlanta and send her a bike instead. She was tired of looking like a total snob. Plus, Concord is so small and Colonial is smack dab in the middle of town, so it’s not like she really needed anybody to drive her around.

  My roommates are waiting for me upstairs in my room, and Adele squeals when I walk through the door.

  “I love the rosebuds the stylist tucked in!” she says, rushing over to inspect me. “They’re the exact same shade of pink as your dress!”

  Frankie motions with her hand. “Turn around so we can see the back.”

  I do, and the three of them sigh. There are more sighs when I put on my dress.

  “Didn’t I tell you?” says Savannah, adjusting the hem. “It’s perfect.”

  Savannah’s the one who spotted it. I wasn’t convinced at first—strapless is a little out of my comfort zone, plus the spangles on the tulle overlay seemed a bit much.

  “Are you sure I don’t look like one of the good fairies in Sleeping Beauty?” I ask, turning this way and that to inspect myself in the mirror.

  Frankie grabs a riding crop off my desk and holds it out to me, her eyes sparkling mischievously. “Your magic wand, milady.”

  Savannah plucks it away from her. “You’re beautiful,” she assures me. “And no, you don’t look like one of Sleeping Beauty’s fairies.”

  The doorbell rings downstairs, and a moment later my mother calls, “Jess! Darcy’s here!”

  “I guess it’s time,” I tell my friends.

  “This is so exciting, I think I’m going to cry,” says Frankie, dancing up and down.

  “I feel like the mother of the bride,” says Adele.

  “Thanks, you guys,” I say, giving them each a hug. “This wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun without you.”

  “Hang on a sec,” says Savannah as I turn to go. “We need pictures!” She whips out her smartphone, and they all take turns getting their picture taken with me, and then we manage a group close-up.

  “Jess?” my mother calls again.

  “Coming!”

  My parents get all teary-eyed as I start down the stairs, which is hugely embarrassing. I still feel a tiny bit silly in my dress, as if I’m wearing a costume for a part in a play—Belle, maybe, the character I played in Beauty and the Beast back in middle school. But I also feel more than a tiny bit grown up and thrilled, especially when I see the look on Darcy’s face.

  “So where’s my corsage?” he teases as I go to stand beside him.

  I laugh, looking up at him. He towers over me – I’m stuck at five-foot-nothing, as my father puts it, just like my mother. Five foot two and a half, to be exact. Exactly a foot shorter than Darcy Hawthorne.

  “Can you believe this is our baby?” my mother says, tucking her arm through my father’s. “She’s all grown up.”

  Darcy grins. “My parents said the same thing about ten minutes ago.”

  “To Emma?” my mother asks.

  “No, to me! Although I believe the exact words were ‘he’s all grown up,’ not ‘she.’”

  We pose for pictures, and of course Dylan and Ryan want to get in on the act. They insist on making faces, so my father shoos them away after a couple of shots.

  “How about one with all the roommates?” my mother suggests, and Savannah and Adele and Frankie crowd around me.

  “We could always just skip prom and stay here tonight,” I tell Darcy, as my friends and I smile for the camera. “They’re getting takeout from Leaning Tower of Pizza.”

  My roommates love hanging out at Half Moon Farm almost as much as I do, and they were thrilled when my parents invited them to stay for dinner and a DVD.

  “Not gonna happen,” Darcy replies, taking my hand and tugging me toward the front door.

  “Have fun, you two!” says my mother. “Drive carefully, and give us a call if you’re going to be out past midnight.”

  “We will, Mrs. Delaney,” Darcy promises. The door shuts behind us, and he turns to me, smiling. “Whew! We made it out alive!”

  We stop by the Chadwicks’ to pick up Stewart next who, like Darcy, is wearing a tux. They both look great. So does Emma. She shows up at the Hawthornes’ door wearing the lavender dress she bought in England. She picked it because it matched her old glasses, which she doesn’t have anymore, but the pale purple shade is still a really flattering color on her.

  “Wow,” says Stewart when he sees her. “You look beautiful, Emma.”

  “He’d better tell you that about a zillion times tonight,” I whisper to her a few minutes later. “He owes you big-time.”

  We go through the whole photo routine again with Emma’s parents, minus the pesky little brothers, although Pip does manage to wriggle his way into one picture. And then we’re off.

  Even though we opted not to get a limo, the guys spring for dinne
r at the Colonial Inn, and it feels like old times again as we talk and joke around during our meal. Stewart has decided on Middlebury, and he and Darcy trade notes on the college classes they’re thinking of taking and the summer jobs they’re hoping to find. Best of all, Stewart doesn’t mention Sophie Fairfax once.

  The bubble bursts about halfway through the dance.

  I’m floating in Darcy’s arms, looking around and thinking how perfect everything is—prom this year is at the Plaza, one of Boston’s fanciest hotels—when all of a sudden there’s a commotion on the far side of the room.

  “How dare you steal my boyfriend!” I hear someone screech.

  “Uh-oh,” says Darcy, peering over the crowd of couples on the dance floor. “That’s not good.”

  “What’s not good?”

  “Jeremy Elliott’s old girlfriend just showed up.”

  “In the middle of prom?”

  “Looks like it.”

  There’s some more screeching, and then the crowd parts and Sophie rushes by, looking stricken. Stewart darts after her, leaving Emma standing alone on the dance floor.

  Things unravel quickly after that. Both Emma and Sophie are in tears, and Emma insists on leaving immediately. I don’t want to bail on my best friend in her moment of crisis, so I tell Darcy we need to leave, too. Nobody says much on the drive home. I glance over the back of the seat a few times to where Stewart is sitting between Emma and Sophie. They’re all stony faced.

  It’s really awkward.

  Darcy heads for Strawberry Hill first.

  “Merci,” Sophie says quietly when we drop her off at the Wongs. “Thank you all for rescuing me. I don’t know how I would have gotten home otherwise.”

  “There’s this wonderful invention called a taxi,” Emma mutters.

  “Emma!” says Stewart. He turns to Sophie. “Let me walk you to the door.”

  I hold my breath on the drive back toward town. The atmosphere wafting from the backseat is glacial.

  “You can drop me off here,” says Emma, when we get to the Hawthornes’. Stewart starts to get out of the car, too, and she shoots him a look. “Don’t even think about it.”

  After a brief stop at the Chadwicks’ to let Stewart out, we continue on to Half Moon Farm. Darcy cuts the lights as we pull into the driveway. He parks over by the barn, then turns to me and lifts an eyebrow. “That went well.”