Cat Bennet, Queen of Nothing: The Bennet Sisters, #3

By Mary Strand

With her twin sister in reform school and no longer in the spotlight, it should be Cat Bennet's turn to shine.  But when her twin isn't around, there is no spotlight.  Worse,  the guy Cat has always liked finds someone new, all of her friends dump her, and Cat's English teacher thinks Pride and Prejudice is all about Cat's family.  Suddenly, the whole school is either laughing at Cat or ignoring her.

But Cat isn't the "Kitty" of The Book.  Kitty was lame.  Cat isn't lame; she's just invisible!  So how does she become visible? Following in the footsteps of any of her sisters is out of the question.  Cat wants her own path, but she's always followed her twin's lead.  Right now, she's not sure who she is.  The spotlight is out there, right?  Maybe it's time to take a deep breath and leap for it.

The Bennet Sisters:  taking fate for a wild spin

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mary Strand
• Release date: Mar 2, 2017
• ISBN: 9781944949051

Mary Strand

Mary Strand practiced corporate law in a large Minneapolis law firm for sixteen years until the day she set aside her pointy-toed shoes (or most of them) and escaped the land of mergers and acquisitions to write novels.  The first novel she wrote, Cooper’s Folly, won Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart award and was her debut novel. Mary lives on a lake in Minneapolis with her husband, two cute kidlets, and a stuffed monkey named Philip. When not writing, she lives for sports, travel, guitar, dancing (badly), Cosmos, Hugh Jackman, and ill-advised adventures that offer a high probability of injury to herself and others.  She writes YA, romantic comedy, and women’s fiction novels.  Pride, Prejudice, and Push-Up Bras is the first in her four-book YA series, The Bennet Sisters. You can find Mary at www.marystrand.com, follow her on Twitter or Instagram(@Mary_Strand), or “like” her on Facebook (www.facebook.com/marystrandauthor).

Book preview

Chapter 1

[T]he luckless Kitty continued in the parlor repining at her fate in terms as unreasonable as her accent was peevish.

— Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice, Volume II, Chapter Eighteen

Idon’t know what Jane Austen was smoking when she wrote Pride and Prejudice , but I wish my mom had never read The Book, as my sister Liz calls it. On bad days, I even wish Dad had never met Mom. And I really wish Mom had discovered bipolar meds before she married a guy named Bennet, had five daughters, and named them Jane, Elizabeth, Mary, Catherine, and Lydia.

Because I’m Cat Bennet. And my life reeks.

I’ve never even read The Book, which is, like, two hundred years old and therefore totally lame, even if it weren’t about a family named Bennet with five daughters who have the same names as my sisters and me. My mom has read it a million times. She claims she got over it when she went to law school, but she still keeps a beat-up copy next to the toilet in the upstairs bathroom. My three older sisters all moan and groan about The Book, even though they all have perfect lives. Even Mary! The biggest loser I know suddenly has a new wardrobe and a boyfriend and a scholarship to some major geek college.

Not that I’m jealous of Mary. She’s annoying, sure, but I really just miss Lydia, who’s now stuck in reform school in Montana, thanks to the world’s worst dad. Ours.

Lydia isn’t just my twin; she’s my BFF. She has this way of catching the spotlight wherever she goes, and she always shared the spotlight with me. But then she snagged a job in Wisconsin Dells last summer with a circus troupe and didn’t even try to rope me an invitation. When Lydia left, the spotlight vanished, too.

So why is everyone suddenly staring at me?

I admit I missed whatever Ms. Mickel was droning about, but let’s face it: English 11 is pretty pointless if you couldn’t care less about writers who lived a bazillion years ago.

Cat? As I looked up from my doodling, which I frantically tried to cover with my English textbook, Ms. Mickel rat-a-tat-tatted up to me in her four-inch red heels. Don’t you, of all people, have an opinion?

I have a lot of opinions, but none I wanted to share with Ms. Mickel or the sea of faces watching me.

Uh . . .

Ms. Mickel rolled her eyes. With your last name, and the first names of you and your sisters?

Oh. Crap. I had a bad feeling, and it got worse when I saw the stack of paperbacks on Ms. Mickel’s desk, and way worse when the guy next to me snickered. But how would Jeremy Fisk know that Jane Austen had a sick fetish for a family named Bennet and my mom fell for it?

Jeremy, the class clown? A guy who dyed his spiked hair orange and purple this week? A total joke?

Ignoring Jeremy, I looked at Ms. Mickel. She wore a red silk skirt that matched her heels and barely met the dress-code length rules for skirts worn by students. Besides, it’s the end of January in Minnesota, and I don’t need to mention how stupid short skirts look on women over thirty, if not forty.

Worse, right this moment, she was staring at me from two feet away and tapping the pointy toe of her red stiletto.

I’ve, uh, never read it.

Jeremy snorted with laughter until Ms. Mickel told him to try to act a little less juvenile. Since Jeremy and every other guy in class had the hots for Ms. Mickel, partly because she wore short skirts in January when they weren’t seeing much other skin, Jeremy shut up.

Ms. Mickel turned back to me. "I happen to know your older sisters have read Pride and Prejudice. Haven’t they ever talked about it? Even after—"

As a low chorus of murmurs went around the room, my mind flashed to Lydia. But there’s no way anyone writing two hundred years ago could’ve foreseen what happened to Lydia, which totally wasn’t her fault. A guy led her astray. It happens.

I stuck out my chin. "It’s not exactly something we talk about. Like, it’s not about us."

I felt my face flushing, knowing how much my mom and older sisters did talk about The Book. I wished Ms. Mickel would find someone else to pick on. Like Jeremy. Or maybe Drew Mitchell, who kept refusing to meet my gaze no matter how much I looked at him. What was up with that? The minute you kiss a guy, or hook up with him, or whatever, he never wants to talk to you anymore?

Ms. Mickel turned to call on someone else, but her toe kept tapping next to my desk and we both knew she was just biding her time until she could nail me again.

Fine. I wasn’t gonna cave in, even if Jeremy laughed and Drew ignored me and my best friend other than Lydia, Tess O’Halloran, kept giving me weird looks. My life had been sliding downhill ever since Lydia left, but it felt different today. Worse. But why? Before, I was always with Lydia, in the thick of it, popular and cool. Now, it’s like I’m totally on my own. Shut out. Pointless. The queen of nothing.

But not invisible, unfortunately.

Ms. Mickel turned back to me. "So, Cat, you really mean to tell me that you and your sisters are named after the five sisters in Pride and Prejudice, but the subject has never come up in your house?"

I never said we were named after them. Maybe we just happen to have the same names.

In the same order. Except that you and your sister Lydia are twins.

We were in the same birth order, since I’m six minutes older than Lydia, but I didn’t feel like pointing it out. By now, half the class was nudging each other and whispering.

I hate Ms. Mickel.

She drew in a deep breath, as if it was torture just talking to me. I felt the same way about her. But your family never noticed the, er, coincidence.

One call to my mom and she’d know the truth. Fine. Let her call. I crossed my arms over my chest. Nope. No clue what you’re talking about.

Ms. Mickel shook her head as she returned to her desk and the dreaded pile of paperbacks. "Well, perhaps it’s time you acquaint yourself with the story of the Bennet family. The other Bennet family. Cat, would you please come up here and distribute the books to the class?"

The room erupted, my face felt like hot lava, and I slammed my hand against the top of my desk as I jerked to my feet. "It’s not about us. And I’m Cat, not Kitty."

Ms. Mickel whirled on me, smiling smugly, as I clapped a hand over my big stupid mouth.

Busted.

I wandered into the cafeteria at the end of third period, humming to myself, feeling on top of the world again. Mr. Dillingsworth hadn’t picked on me in U.S. History class and gave us a night without homework to celebrate the first day of the new term. Even better, a senior guy who hangs out with Mary’s boyfriend, Josh, sat next to me and kept accidentally knocking my stuff on the floor and picking it up. Cute.

I drifted through the food line, grabbing a salad with wilted lettuce and tomatoes that were probably laced with chemicals. I put a chocolate chip cookie on my tray, too. An instant lunch-fixer. Perfect.

None of my closest friends were in U.S. History class, so I didn’t know if they had lunch the same time as me, and I’d been so upset after English class that I hadn’t asked Tess. I headed in the direction of our usual table and sucked in a relieved breath when I saw my gang. Then I saw two new additions: Jeremy Fisk and a girl I didn’t know, who’d laughed at me in English class today almost as much as Jeremy.

Tess gave me a little wave, then pointed at the new girl. Have you met Chelsea Anderson? She just moved to Woodbury. Chelsea, this is Cat Bennet.

Chelsea slid me a once-over, her pointy nose crinkling, and just nodded.

She was next to Jeremy, which was poetic, since her short, spiky, bleach-blond hair complemented his purple-and-orange spikes. But Drew sat on the other side of Chelsea, their chairs practically fused together, and he looked so into her that I stared down at my tray and wanted to vomit all over my salad. Even though Chelsea wasn’t that cute. And even though Drew was the same dark-haired, smoky-eyed, gorgeous guy I’d fallen in love with on the first day of sophomore year, when he said hi and I lit up like a Christmas tree.

He didn’t say hi now. In fact, he didn’t even seem to notice me as I wedged myself into the last empty chair at the table, next to Amber Tomlinson, who was chatting up Tess so intensely that neither of them glanced at me again, let alone included me in their cozy little conversation.

Jeremy looked over at me and grinned, so I shot him a tight-lipped smile, even though I’d really wanted to swat him ever since English class. But no one else at the table said a word to me. Next thing I knew, my salad and cookie were gone and the warning bell for fourth period rang. When Tess and Amber turned their backs on me and left the table together, I just watched them walk away.

What the hell? Was I invisible?

Fifth-period Drawing class gave me a reprieve from Let’s Diss Cat Day, but I didn’t really know anyone in the room. Okay, I knew who most of them were, but they weren’t part of my crowd. Not cool, not even jocks. A lot of art geeks, no surprise, with some quiet types and nerds thrown in. They might be perfectly decent kids, but I had my own friends. At least, until today. But there had to be a good reason why my friends had suddenly gone missing. I just didn’t have a clue what it was.

I leaned back in my chair and doodled sketches of our teacher, Mr. Reiman, as he droned on about art supplies. An hour later, the bell rang, startling me.

I looked up at the clock, blinking, as my hand kept moving over my latest sketch, of a quiet kid in the front of the room. Frankie Vaughn. He had Coke-bottle glasses with black frames, wild tufts of red hair sprouting all over his head, and a totally angelic smile on his face that almost made him glow. Entranced, I’d forgotten all about time, where I was, and even that my friends would take one glance at Frankie and call him a loser. He actually seemed sweet.

I finally packed up my stuff and shuffled out of the art room and headed to Gym class, my sixth and last period of the day.

Tess wasn’t in Gym, but I spied Amber in the locker room and waved, relieved to see a friend.

Hey.

She glanced at the girl she was talking to—Chelsea—before looking back at me, a tiny frown creasing the center of her forehead. I shook my head. Chelsea must be clueless, thinking she could barge in and hang with our gang at lunch and now in Gym. But I’m a lot less snotty than Amber is about new kids. I mean, we’ve all been new at some point, right? I’d probably even ignore Chelsea’s pushiness if she hadn’t glommed onto Drew in the cafeteria today. I mean, seriously.

Before Amber could ditch Chelsea and talk to me, Ms. Gonzalez strode into the locker room, calling for us to change into gym clothes quickly. I rolled my eyes as I peeled out of my street clothes, then pulled on a pair of U of M sweatpants and matching sweatshirt and laced up my sneakers.

As Ms. Gonzalez clapped her hands and tried to hurry us, I thought about my not-so-great day. But English was an aberration. Lunch had to be an aberration. On the plus side, I had that cute senior next to me in U.S. History, and I liked Drawing, a chance to doodle without getting yelled at.

The instant I laced my second sneaker and slammed my locker shut, I went to grab Amber, but she turned her back and walked into the gym with Chelsea.

Amber? Wait up.

She must not have heard me, because she kept walking. Sure, Ms. Gonzalez was two feet from her now, clipboard in hand, so Amber couldn’t exactly stop and chat. But she could’ve turned around or said something. Right?

Class? We’ll start today with fitness assessments, then do some basic yoga poses before running a mile in the gym. Ms. Gonzalez’s gaze swept the perimeter of the gym. I see a few of you forgot your yoga mats today.

Shit.

Amber pointed at the purple mat under her arm and lifted her eyebrows at me. Shrugging, I grinned back. So I forgot a mat. Big whoop. God knows I see enough yoga mats at home, thanks to my dad, who left his engineering firm a few years ago when his midlife crisis called him to run a stupid yoga center.

Ms. Gonzalez blew a whistle. Let’s pair off for the fitness assessments. Line up with your partner, and I’ll walk you through it.

I didn’t care about the assessments—I could skip the hassle and just tell her I wasn’t my sister Liz and I didn’t work out—but it’d give me a chance to talk to Amber. I walked over to her right away.

Amber? Wanna pair up?

She glanced at me, looking sheepish. Geez, I’m sorry, Cat. I told Chelsea I’d pair up with her.

But you and I—

Sorry. She smiled, but in a fake way, and not at all like the girl I’d hung out with ever since Tess and I, along with Lydia, became best friends in seventh grade and Amber joined our inseparable little group. Maybe next time?

Stunned, I turned to walk away but heard Amber and Chelsea laughing behind me. I froze, even though I knew they couldn’t be laughing about me. Amber was my friend. Not as close as Lydia and Tess were, but my friend. Always.

At least, until today.

My sister Mary was waiting at my locker after school, the keys to the Jeep dangling from her fingers. She tossed them to me. I’m catching a ride with Josh. See you later.

As she strutted away, my jaw dropped. Even a couple of months later, I still couldn’t believe the transformation in Mary from geektoid of Woodbury High to girlfriend of Josh Lawton. I mean, a semi-cool skater dude and brainiac wants to kiss Mary? And no one is kissing me?

At least I had the Jeep. Dad painted it hot pink last year when he claimed he wanted to know where Lydia and I were at all times, but a hot-pink Jeep is better than a bike. Or my own two feet. Or a ride from Mom or Dad.

Tess hadn’t stopped by my locker after school like she normally did, and I didn’t see her in the parking lot, so I punched her digits into my cell phone as soon as I reached the Jeep. She answered on the first ring.

Hey, Tess. We never got to talk today.

Oh, sorry, Cat. I’m on my way— I could swear I heard giggling and voices in the background. I mean, I told my mom I’d go right home after school.

That’s cool. More like unbelievable, since Tess’s mom was always traveling or shopping or both. And never with Tess. I could come over. I’ve got the Jeep.

Oh, wow, I wish you could, but I’m kinda busy. More giggles, and there were definitely other kids with Tess. Maybe even guys. I have a lot of homework.

I frowned. But Tess—

I’ve gotta go, Cat. Talk to you later?

Stunned, I drove aimlessly around Woodbury, trying not to think about Tess or Amber or anyone else, and finally pulled up in front of our tired-looking, gray two-story Colonial house. Snow covered the yard, but I pictured the rows and rows of wacko-colored tulips that would appear in late April, thanks to Mom’s manic burst of planting last fall. Dad had finally pried the trowel and spade out of her curled-up fingers and hid the industrial-size bag of tulip bulbs, then helped her into bed. She stayed there for forty-eight hours.

I glanced up at the peeling paint on our house and wished Dad would let Mom loose with a few cans of paint and a roller. As I sat in the Jeep, staring at the house, I sighed. Everyone was gone. Jane and Liz had moved into an apartment in Minneapolis after Christmas, and I missed them more than I thought I would. Not that they ever hung out with me, but I missed being able to think they might hang out with me. Some day.

Finally, I turned off the Jeep and made the short but frigid trek across the snow-covered lawn to the front door. I opened it to the sound of silence. Mom and Dad must still be at work, and Mary playing kissy-face with Josh. Leaving me by myself.

I should be happy about it. I could hang out and relax, no real homework, no one to bug me. But I just felt cold. Alone.

And more lost than I wanted to think about.

I walked through the living room and headed for the kitchen, wishing someone made happy pills that emulated Mom in one of her manic phases. Actually, they did, but they didn’t sell them to teenagers.

Oh, wait.

I slid a quick, furtive glance out the living-room window. No cars except the Jeep. I half-jogged back to the kitchen and opened the door into the garage. No cars.

Biting my lip, I tiptoed to the cabinet above the sink, where Dad kept the liquor. He’d locked it up until Lydia left for Wisconsin Dells last summer, but apparently he thought no one else would partake. Ha. I opened the cabinet door. Rum and scotch and gin and more. Dad hardly drank, except when Mom went off her meds for too long, so I didn’t know why he kept the stuff.

Definitely not for me.

Actually, I hated the taste of it. Even at parties, I imbibed as little as I could get away with. Without Lydia here to notice and call me a baby, I usually grabbed a Diet Coke instead of a beer or shots or whatever.

But I’d felt lost ever since Lydia left, and not just because she was gone. My friends had changed, and today they’d made it crystal clear that they were done with me. By why? Should I ask Tess? Would she give me a straight answer?

I reached for a glass, then put it back. Mom and Dad knew I always drank Diet Coke out of a can, so they’d wonder if they saw a dirty glass in the sink. I suddenly found myself thinking like a criminal—or like Lydia, who always worked through all the scenarios before taking a step in the wrong direction.

Skipping the glass, I grabbed a can of Diet Coke from the fridge and popped the top. One long swizzle later, the can had room to spare for some extracurricular liquids. Like, say, rum. The bottle was mostly full, so no one would miss it, and I’d be happier if I drank it. I hoped.

I unscrewed the top and poured rum into my Diet Coke until liquid sloshed onto the top of the can. Perfect.

It slid down with only a slight burn, a pinch of my lips. Not as refreshing as straight Diet Coke, but happiness was eluding me, and rum offered the only cure in sight.

I kept swigging it down and pouring more in, finally opening another can of Diet Coke when the rum got too overwhelming. I felt a little loopy, a little fuzzy around the edges, maybe even a teensy bit happy. Maybe.

The grind of the garage door opener made me jump. I glanced at the counter, where my hand gripped a rum bottle that was now less than half full. How did that happen?

My hand trembled as I screwed the cap back on, but I got the bottle back up on the shelf and dumped the rest of the Diet Coke down the drain, then blasted water in the sink to rinse away the evidence. By the time I heard the back door open and Dad’s voice calling out, my butt was upstairs, safe in my bedroom.

I had to hide. After a frantic moment spent scanning my room through blurry eyes, I plunked down on my closet floor in the half where Lydia used to toss her clothes, pulled the closet door shut after me, and curled up in a ball.

One yawn later, I fell asleep.

I woke up in pitch-black darkness. I ached everywhere, my mouth tasted like a sewer, and I reeked in the worst way. No wonder Drew wasn’t interested.

Against my better judgment, I sniffed what turned out to be a nasty sock that Lydia should’ve either washed or burned before she left town.

Then I sniffed barf.

What a moron. I’d puked all over myself. Dad and Mom had probably called the cops by now to report me missing, and I’d be better off missing or even dead if Dad found out I raided his liquor stash and drained half a bottle of rum.

I tried to straighten to a sitting position, but I smacked my head against a tower of Lydia’s shoes and my hands flew to my throbbing skull. Another whiff of barf made me feel like puking all over again. Ugh. What a mess.

I also hadn’t exactly reached my hoped-for happy place, at least not after the first ten minutes of gulping down that vile rum and Diet Coke. So what was the point?

The door to my room banged open, and light shone through the cracks in the closet door.

She’s not— Dad’s voice broke off when I reached out for balance and slammed into more of Lydia’s shoes. I was gonna kill Lydia next time I saw her.

Unless Dad killed me first.

The closet door swung open, and I screeched and fell sideways into the room. I covered my eyes against the glare of the ceiling light and the even harsher glare zinging at me from Dad’s pinched face.

There you are. Hands on his hips, he shook his head. Do you realize I’ve spent two hours looking for you? Aren’t you a bit old for hide and seek?

He didn’t look even remotely glad to see me, and that was before his lips curled when he spotted the globs of barf on my shirt and pants. I looked down, too. It actually looked worse than it smelled, if that was even possible.

Dad frowned. You’re sick? But why would you sit in your closet? Why didn’t you—

He broke off suddenly, taking a step closer and a big sniff. Bad idea on any number of levels.

You’ve been drinking. He sucked in a deep breath, something I couldn’t do right now without puking again, and slowly blew it out. I figured he was counting to himself, seeking a Zen moment or patience or whatever. Maybe he’d get to ten before he killed me. Here? Alone?

I bit my lip and tried not to cry, knowing Lydia wouldn’t cry in this situation in a million years. Which was probably why she was now residing in Montana.

Cat? I asked you a question.

A few questions, actually, but the answers to any of them would only make me look even more pathetic, so I just stared at the floor.

Dad cleared his throat. Go take a shower. Unless you’re too drunk to stand up.

I glanced at Dad and saw his outstretched hand, ready to help his prodigal daughter to her feet.

I pushed myself up all by myself and brushed past Dad on my way to the bathroom.

He followed me. We’re not done talking about this, young lady. I want an explanation and an apology, and then we’ll talk about appropriate punishment. I’m disappointed, Cat. You may think you’re—

I slammed the bathroom door on his face.

Chapter 2

No, Kitty, I have at last learned to be cautious, and you will feel the effects of it.

— Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice, Volume III, Chapter Six

Anight’s sleep didn’t offer much relief, either from the aftereffects