The Bennet Sisters Boxed Set (Books 1 - 4): The Bennet Sisters

By Mary Strand

All four novels from the Bennet Sisters series: taking fate for a wild spin.

1) LIZ: Pride, Prejudice, and Push-Up Bras

2) MARY: Being Mary Bennet Blows

3) CAT: Cat Bennet, Queen of Nothing

4) LYDIA: Livin' La Vida Bennet

Five teenage sisters named after the Bennet sisters in Pride and Prejudice take on fate - and Jane Austen - after two gorgeous guys named Bingham and Darcy show up in their Minnesota town and their whole world is turned upside down. But what's a girl to do?  Fight? Or . . . surrender?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mary Strand
• Release date: Sep 7, 2017
• ISBN: 9781944949099

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

The Bennet Sisters Boxed Set (Books 1-4)

The Bennet Sisters Boxed Set (Books 1-4)

Mary Strand

Triple Berry Press

These books are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Triple Berry Press

P.O. Box 24733

Minneapolis, Minnesota 55424

Pride, Prejudice, and Push-Up Bras Copyright © 2016 Mary Strand

Being Mary Bennet Blows Copyright © 2016 Mary Strand

Cat Bennet, Queen of Nothing Copyright © 2017 Mary Strand

Livin’ La Vida Bennet Copyright © 2017 Mary Strand

Cover design: LB Hayden

Editor: Pam McCutcheon

Logo credit: LB Hayden

All rights reserved. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. No part of this book may be used, reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means whatsoever without the author’s express written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

ISBN: 978-1-944949-09-9

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

Pride, Prejudice, and Push-Up Bras

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Being Mary Bennet Blows

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Cat Bennet, Queen of Nothing

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Livin’ La Vida Bennet

Acknowledgments

Copyright

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

About the Author

Also by Mary Strand

Pride, Prejudice, and Push-Up Bras

A Bennet Sisters Novel, Book 1

For Ann Barry Burns,

who gives the BEST advice,

and indulgently reads all my manuscripts,

and knows how to live.

With all my gratitude to:

Jane Austen, who wrote The Book in the first place.

Barbara Samuel, whose writers’ voice class inspired me to write this book.

Brenda Hiatt Barber, who gave me a set of training wheels when I set off on my first wobbly ride on my indie-pubbing bike.

Laura Hayden and Pam McCutcheon, collectively also known as Parker Hayden Media, LLC, who took a million technological worries off my shoulders and produced a fantastic result, including my publishing imprint’s logo and the cover of this book and basically everything except writing the words themselves. Pam also edited my words, beautifully.

Dulce Foster, who helped me with juvenile criminal law questions, although she’ll wisely deny having spoken to me. Any mistakes are my own.

Julie Hurtubise, who knows yoga far better than I do.

Beth Pattillo, who introduced me to 10 Things I Hate about You.

Jim Hoehn, who periodically gave me a rugby player’s version of a kick in the butt when my excuses not to write were pathetic, but he softened the kicks with music.

Key people who provided critiques or edits or brainstorming help, including (1) Micahlyn Whitt, who first steered this book to YA; (2) Carol Prescott, who answered my constant pesky research questions without ever once blocking my emails or phone calls (that I know of); (3) Sarah Lau, who put up with my endless questions about rock bands and people her age; (4) Ann Barry Burns; (5) Tom Fraser and Kate Fraser; (6) Connie Brockway and Susan Kay Law; (7) my Maui Writers Conference group, especially Jenny Crusie and Suzanne Kalb and Ardath Albee; and (8) Just Cherry Writers.

Michael Bodine, who has been utterly unable to teach me patience despite his best efforts.

My friends in Romex, especially the Pursuit and Business gangs.

Chapter 1

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.

— Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice, Volume I, Chapter One

According to Jane Austen, a guy who’s rich and single should definitely be looking. Of course, Jane Austen lived two hundred years ago, didn’t own a cell phone or iPod, and never even heard of the Beatles.

So I don’t give a rat’s ass what she thinks.

I also don’t care if, thanks to my mom’s long-ago wacked fixation on Pride and Prejudice, my name is Elizabeth Bennet and my sisters’ names are Jane, Mary, Catherine, and Lydia. I’m eighteen and in charge of my own life, thank you very much. At least, I would be if I weren’t still living at home and too poor to get my own apartment without Dad’s help—which comes with big strings attached—and too stressed from watching over my sister Jane to fix my lack-of-cash situation.

So, right now, I really needed to keep an eye on Jane.

Rachel Langdon, my best friend ever since third grade, moved with her parents into this wildly deluxe condo at the beginning of September, and Rachel finally invited Jane and me over after classes today to check out the condo’s rooftop pool. I’d rather have Rachel still living next door than in a fancy condo a mile away, but a pool is a pool. Especially on a gorgeous Minnesota day in mid-September.

While I swam a few laps in my trusty black-and-purple Speedo racing suit, Jane stripped down to a hot pink bikini, grabbed a chaise lounge, and checked out the guys hanging around the pool. Within ten seconds, five of them offered to get her something to drink, if not to hook up.

So much for a nice swim. Groaning, I climbed out of the pool, grabbed a towel, and headed over to Jane.

Rachel was stretched out on the chaise next to Jane, in brown-and-orange plaid bermudas, a Twins T-shirt, and a John Deere baseball hat pulled low over her forehead, reading an accounting textbook. It probably explained why none of the horde of guys slobbering all over Jane were paying any attention to Rachel. In fact, one sat down on Rachel’s shins as he stared at Jane, drooling.

Rachel?

She didn’t even glance at me, let alone shove the twerp off, so I figured she was either too embarrassed or too thrilled to say anything.

I swatted him away, then moved on to Jane.

She looked up at me, utterly innocent, when I started dripping all over her. I gave her The Look and got back a sweet smile. I said Jaaaaane, and her eyelashes fluttered.

When one of the guys actually sighed, I grabbed her hand and yanked her off the chaise lounge, then stalked down to the far end of the pool, Jane firmly in tow.

Liz, please! She hissed at me, probably because yelling out loud isn’t sweet, and Jane is the sweetest nineteen-year-old on earth. Sure, she’s guy crazy and so intent on finding Mr. Right that she forgets to go to class half the time, but sweet. In a crazed sort of way that guys never notice. "You didn’t have to drag me away. I barely said anything, and—"

Jane, you can’t find Mr. Right at the Langdons’ condo building. I kept my voice low and my grip on Jane firm. They have a pool. I’d like to get invited back. But when Mr. Right turns into Mr. Wrong, as he always does, and we suddenly have yet another place you can’t go, I lose my pool.

Jane sniffed. It’s just a pool. And there’s no reason why we can’t keep coming here.

I’m not giving up this pool, and I’m not giving up Rachel. I felt my teeth grind. Do I have to remind you about all the places we’ve had to stop going? The pizza parlor? The deli counter at Kowalski’s? Not to mention the friends we avoid just because you hooked up with their brothers?

You make it sound like I plan this.

I lifted an eyebrow.

I don’t. Jane glanced at the pack of frothing young guys hovering thirty feet away and gave a cutesy little finger wave. It’s just that, well, things don’t always work out, and it gets...embarrassing.

Embarrassing? I glared at the guys, but none of them budged. I’ve gotta work on my glare. That’s why Dad had to get you a new cell-phone number? Three times now?

Jane shrugged, but her gaze kept sweeping the pool deck, this time landing on a couple of fresh victims at the far end: one tall and blond, the other taller and dark. I mentally bet on the blond guy, who looked almost as sweet as Jane.

Excuse me, Liz. I just remembered I have to—

I grabbed her arm. You don’t have to do anything. Those guys live here, too.

I’ve never seen them before.

"You’ve never been here before. And I don’t want this to be your last time here. Or mine."

She headed toward the far end of the deck anyway, dragging me along, until we came to the edge of the pool. She suddenly twisted out of my grip, and I landed in the pool.

I came up sputtering. Hey!

All I got in reply was her cutesy little finger wave.

She can’t help how she is, Liz. Rachel glanced up from her accounting book when I finally flung myself onto the chaise lounge that Jane had vacated. Guys like Jane. She’s cute, she’s nice...

She’s determined.

But in a sweet way. Even you think so.

Well, yeah, but... Even after living next door to us all these years, Rachel didn’t really have a clue about Jane. Sure, Jane seems like your typical gorgeous college student with a major in English and a minor in cute guys, but I knew better. Dad figured it out the last time he had to change her cell-phone number, in July, which was the same moment he told me he’d chip in on an apartment for Jane and me only if Jane got over her cell phone issue, as Dad put it. As if I could keep her from all her relationships ending badly. Right.

Basically, I was stuck living at home for the next bazillion years unless I either shut Jane down or robbed a bank. So, even though I’m a year younger and would really rather let her do her thing, no matter how many cell phones it costs her, I’ve spent the last couple of months making it my job to protect her.

From herself.

I glanced at her now, chatting up the two hotties at the far end of the pool and somehow managing to wiggle her tush as she spoke. I groaned. Time to make my second save of the afternoon, and we’d been here only fifteen minutes.

Just as I pushed myself off the chaise, though, she suddenly scooted back to Rachel and me, her face stark white against the remains of her summer tan.

I sank back down onto the chaise, a whoosh of relief leaving my body, and looked up at Jane. What’sa matter? Neither one asked you out? I nodded at the chaise lounge on the other side of me. Pull up a chair. No big deal.

She plunked down on the end of my chaise lounge. "I-I think it is a big deal. Huge."

I rolled my eyes. Jane. There are millions of other guys in the world, and at last count half of them wanted to go out with you.

Jane shivered, despite the cloudless day and a temp in the upper eighties. They’re—

—just guys. I glanced over at the two hotties, still talking to each other and not even glancing at Jane, which I had to admit was weird. I mean, guys stare at Jane. Like, sometimes for hours at a time. Maybe they’re not into gorgeous girls in hot pink bikinis. Maybe they’re gay.

They’re not gay.

How would you know? You asked? I frowned at Jane before turning to Rachel for moral support, but Rachel was reading her accounting text. Shrugging, I looked back at Jane, who was now openly staring at the two hotties. It wasn’t Jane’s style, but, then, Jane wasn’t used to rejection.

Just then, I spotted the blond hottie sneak a peek over his shoulder at Jane, at which point the other guy walked away, out through the door. After a long moment and another puppy-dog look at Jane, the blond guy followed his pal. They’d barely arrived, in swimsuits they hadn’t even gotten wet, but I had a feeling they weren’t coming back.

Good. Two guys I wouldn’t have to protect Jane from. Or vice versa.

I patted Jane’s hand—and noticed her fist was clenched.

Geez, Jane. They’re gone, but so what? A dozen other guys here would like to get your digits.

Rachel snorted.

It’s not that. Jane stared at her fists, the knuckles of her hands now turning white. I kinda flipped when I found out who they were, so I, um, basically ran away.

You ran away? I blinked. Jane ran away from a couple of hot guys even though it’s her life mission to land a hot guy? "Who are they? Drug addicts? Perverts?"

Ha ha. Jane wasn’t laughing, though. In fact, she looked sick. It’s...The Book. It’s happening.

I frowned. The only one with a book open was Rachel, and I didn’t think Jane was talking accounting. What book? What’s happening?

"The Book. Pride and Prejudice."

Ever since Jane and I figured out, in middle school, that Mom had somehow talked Dad into letting her name the five of us girls after the sisters in Pride and Prejudice, we’d referred to it not so affectionately as The Book. We also had a few choice names for Jane Austen, and sometimes even Mom. We weren’t quite sure about Dad, who probably never even read it.

I shrugged. It’s just a book. Be grateful you didn’t get stuck being Lydia. Or Mary.

Jane finally looked at me, her eyes crazed and a bit like Mom’s when she skipped her bipolar meds. "I met them, Liz. They’ve come. Charlie and Alex."

Those guys who left? So?

"Charlie Bingham and Alex Darcy."

My jaw dropped as the names sank in. Just like—well, almost like—the names of the guys in The Book who hooked up with Jane and Elizabeth. Who married Jane and Elizabeth.

Holy crap.

Mom once admitted she’d actually hoped that naming us after the girls in The Book might make The Book come true, at least for Jane and me. We’d all laughed. Of course, by then Mom had gone to law school and become a divorce lawyer and done everything she could to keep us away from guys. Not that she’d exactly succeeded with Jane.

Until this moment, though, I’d focused on distracting Jane from guys long enough to move into an apartment with me and convincing Dad that Jane’s cell phone issue was over. I’d never given a serious thought to The Book actually coming true, and I definitely didn’t want Alex Darcy coming near me, no matter how hot he is. Not when I’m only eighteen, at least. I have plans for my life.

My knees suddenly shaking, I pushed Jane aside and went to the edge of the pool, then made a clean dive straight to the bottom. Drown myself? Good idea!

I didn’t drown myself, but I decided to keep it as an option, especially after I caught Jane three times in the next few days sneaking a peek at a beat-up copy of Pride and Prejudice that I kept trying to hide. But the phone didn’t ring and no one named Bingham or Darcy showed up at our door. Sure, I’d have to avoid Rachel’s pool for the foreseeable future, but it was the price I’d pay for keeping Jane safe.

Not that I’m totally selfless. I also wanted to keep myself safe—like, indefinitely—from any guy named Darcy. I didn’t believe Jane Austen could actually have an effect on my life, but I wasn’t taking any chances.

By Thursday, I’d almost forgotten about the Two Guys Who Must Be Avoided when Mom trotted in the front door after work, waving a sheaf of papers she plucked out of her briefcase. "I know you told me not to give it another thought, Jane, but I couldn’t not give it another thought, especially when his name is Bingham—so close!—and his friend’s name is Darcy."

Glancing up from his leather chair, my dad stared dumbly at Mom. Jane’s face turned red, and I tried without success to catch her eye. Since when did she blab to Mom about anything, let alone her latest couple of hot prospects? Even if their last names were Bingham and Darcy, we’re talking Mom.

Mom kept talking, even though no one else said a word. "Yes, yes, I understand his name is Bingham, not Bingley, and the friend’s name is Alex Darcy, not Fitzwilliam, but who on earth would name a child Fitzwilliam today? I mean, other than a Rockefeller or Vanderbilt or perhaps a Kennedy or—"

While she rattled off every rich family she’d ever heard of, my eyebrows rose. Mom, who named the five of us girls after characters in a book, was wondering how people named their kids these days?

Dad picked up the newspaper and pressed it into his nose. As I sprawled on the living-room rug with a Sudoku puzzle book instead of the freshman calculus problems my prof had piled on today, I glanced again at Jane. Deep in some novel she claimed was homework, she shrugged and pretended she hadn’t started Mom on her latest rampage.

Don’t you want to know what I found out? Mom’s face started to turn purple, which actually complemented her turquoise dress.

The newspaper dropped an inch or two, but Dad still didn’t say anything.

As if Mom ever waited for permission, especially when her eyes were popping out of her head. Well. Doreen Langdon says she doesn’t think anyone named Bingham or Darcy owns a place in their condo building, but the penthouse condo—four bedrooms!—is owned by a wild young man who travels quite a bit, and apparently he often lets his friends stay there while he’s away, which is very trusting of him in my opinion, but, then, I’m not his mother, or even his lawyer. But perhaps that’s where they’re staying.

I don’t think she even took a breath.

You didn’t say much about Alex Darcy, and Lord knows Liz— She broke off but waved her papers again, oblivious to the fact that I’d just snapped my pen in half. "Well, I took a moment to run a quick search on Charlie Bingham. Purely out of caution. I know you tend to get a little, well, obsessed with boys, Jane, but I just don’t think he’s right for you."

I snorted. Law school had definitely knocked the Pride and Prejudice fixation out of Mom if even a guy named Charlie Bingham wasn’t right for Jane.

Mom kept blathering, even though Jane had turned her back on Mom. Yes, he’s single, and I admit he seems fairly successful for someone who’s only twenty-one, but I—

I tossed the Sudoku book aside. Mom, will you quit already with the Google searches? We couldn’t care less. As I said it, though, I caught Jane trying to grab the papers from Mom’s hand, which didn’t exactly help my argument. "And Jane isn’t that obsessed with guys, so quit worrying."

Dad’s eyebrows rose, and he gave me a sharp glance.

Okay, Jane was obsessed, but she didn’t need Mom obsessing, too. Whenever Mom ran a Google search on one of Jane’s hot prospects, Jane tended to do the opposite of Mom’s advice. If she went after a guy named Charlie Bingham, I had a bad feeling it wouldn’t just kill my chances at an apartment. It might ruin my whole life.

"It’s for Jane’s own good. You don’t want to know some of the disgusting things I see in my practice. Mom shuddered. She lived in terror that one of us might hook up with someone like one of her clients. He could’ve been a creep, or a criminal, or even a Republican. So I ran a background check in case he asks Jane out. Not that I think it’s a good idea."

Mom darted a sideways peek at Jane, as if she were trying to figure out whether Charlie had already hit on Jane. I started to wonder that, too.

The newspaper crumpled into a heap on Dad’s lap. "May I ask why you’re running Google searches? I’m sure we’d all like to help Jane find a little more, ahem, balance in her life. Right, Lizzie? He shot me one of his Significant Looks, as if I didn’t know what he was talking about. But unless this young man is an ax murderer..."

Listen to you. But these things happen, and Jane is much too young.

Geez, Mom. Jane isn’t the one talking about it. I shot Mom a dark look, but she was too busy shoving the Google search into Jane’s outstretched hands to pay attention to me. "Jane meets a lot of guys, and one happens to be named Bingham. Not Bingley. So what? We’re all in our teens, including Jane, and no one is planning to run away and get married any day soon. We’ll let you know if we do."

Okay, I admit I was hoping to run away the first chance I got, but not to get married, and I’d rather not discuss it with Mom. Not until the day after I moved out. Trying to negotiate it with Dad was ugly enough.

I glanced at Jane, wishing she’d stand up to Mom for once, but her face went white as she gripped Mom’s Google printout.

Connie. Dad sighed. You said he doesn’t even live here, and it sounds like the tenants in those condos turn over more often than my car in the winter.

Dad raised his paper again, twisted his head to one side, and winked at me.

As Mom crossed her arms and glared at Dad, a sick feeling skewered the pit of my stomach. Had Charles Bingley—or, well, Bingham—found the Bennets like Jane Austen predicted? Like Mom had prayed for in high school, when she’d inhaled Pride and Prejudice and waited for her own Mr. Bennet to appear?

And why had she fixated on finding a guy named Bennet? Did she first try waiting for Darcy, but Darcy gave her the slip?

Law school had knocked some sense into Mom, but was it too late? The five of us girls were approaching the ages of the Bennet girls in The Book, and a couple of guys named Bingham and Darcy had magically appeared. Jane Austen must be rolling over in her grave. At the moment, I felt like leaping into the dirt with her.

Dad, a yoga master who reads the sports page and every book Deepak Chopra has ever written, obviously doesn’t have a clue about The Book. Mom has a clue, but she’s also bipolar, and sometimes the highs and lows of her fixations tend to smack us all upside the head. Right this moment, I wasn’t sure if Mom needed to take a pill or if I should just flush every existing copy of The Book down the toilet.

Instead, I decided to picture Charlie and Alex as dope-crazed drug runners with bad teeth. With any luck, gay to boot and therefore uninterested. Otherwise, I’m screwed. I’m a college freshman who plans to major in biomedical engineering. I am not looking for love. I just want my own apartment.

Howard.

Dad’s newspaper was back up again, higher than before. I think he’d given up on reading, but he didn’t respond. After twenty-three years of marriage, he should’ve known better.

Howard, I need you to support me on this. Tell Jane not to go out with Charlie Bingham.

The newspaper rattled, and Dad muttered something under his breath. Has he asked her out?

I piped in. Since when did facts get in the way of an argument around here?

Quit interrupting, Liz. This doesn’t concern you.

"Oh? Isn’t Alex’s last name Darcy?"

Mom blew out a few quick breaths, gasping between them, as if she were imitating Dad’s yoga breathing but not quite nailing it. I’m speaking to your father. Howard, I’m serious.

And I’m not involved. Lizzie and Jane don’t want our advice, and Lizzie already has plenty of incentive to handle this appropriately.

Mom frowned. Liz? Don’t you mean Jane?

Dad glanced from Jane to me, and Jane started frowning, too. Okay, I might not have told her about Dad’s terms for getting an apartment, even though I normally tell her everything. But she wouldn’t exactly appreciate Dad’s terms. Neither did I.

Dad finally turned back to Mom without answering her question. Connie, you’ve already done a Google search. At least the tenth she’d run in the last few months, and it’d been a slow period. I think that’s enough.

Mom’s voice approached screech level. "Enough? Who are you to say what’s enough? If it’s up to you, God knows who will prey on our poor girls."

It’s not up to either of us. Dad looked over the top of his newspaper at Mom. After all, Jane Austen lived two hundred years ago. Our girls are still teenagers, as Lizzie pointed out, and perfectly safe from any unsavory predators who happen to have the bad luck to be named Bingham or Darcy. And if they’re not, well, Lizzie will handle it. I have every confidence.

So, once again, Dad had way too much confidence in my ability to keep Jane out of trouble—and also knew more than he’d ever let on. Jane’s jaw dropped, and I tried not to choke on my surprised laughter.

Sputtering, Mom sank into the nearest chair.

Chapter 2

I am sick of Mr. Bingley, cried his wife.

— Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice, Volume I, Chapter Two

Sunday afternoon, after staring out the window at the bright late-September sun, I finally gave up on studying economics, slipped into a swimsuit, and threw a pair of running shorts and a Death Cab for Cutie T-shirt on top. Rachel had invited me to her pool again, and I wasn’t going to say no. Just to be on the safe side, I didn’t mention it to Jane.

I’d made it to the front steps, where I was lacing up my running shoes, intent on jogging the mile to Rachel’s condo and then cooling off with several laps in the pool. My shoulders tensed when the front door opened behind me.

Liz? Are you going over to Rachel’s?

I never lie, not even to Mom, and especially not to Jane.

I bent my head to focus more intensely on the laces.

"You are going to Rachel’s. I heard Jane sigh. And you’re trying to slip away without me."

I finished lacing and slowly turned around to glance upward at Jane. Why would I do that?

Because you think I want to— She gulped. —hook up with Charlie Bingham.

See, that’s the thing with Jane. Despite her constant manhunting, she couldn’t even say something like hook up without practically fainting. I always wondered what she did with all her conquests. Did she even kiss them?

I shrugged. I have no idea what you want to do with Charlie. I don’t even know if he’s still staying in Rachel’s condo building.

Jane started whistling to herself as she stared up into the sky, like she’d suddenly become Miss Nature Lover.

I frowned. "But I’m guessing you know if he’s staying there. Have you seen him again? How?"

I, er, happened to run into him at Kowalski’s.

My eyebrows rose. Even though you stopped going to Kowalski’s six months ago. After you went out with the assistant manager.

Mom needed something.

"Mom has them deliver. Or she asks me to go."

Jane fanned herself with a hand that was shaking. Weird. Mom was in a hurry, and you weren’t around, and I volunteered.

Whatever. I wanted to believe Jane—I mean, she never lies to me, either—and the best way to do that was to quit asking questions. So you saw him. With Alex?

Jane shook her head. He was alone. I ran into him in the produce aisle.

I zipped my lips, even though Mom’s idea of produce was French fries and even though running into a guy in the produce aisle was such a cliché. Even when Jane did it.

Jane glanced down at her feet, which I noticed were in flip-flops the same moment I noticed she had a beach towel under her arm. I guess I also happened to run into Charlie at Dairy Queen last night.

Last night? I squinted at Jane. You said you had to study at the college library, since it was so loud at home.

It was, and I did, but I stopped there on the way home. For a Diet Coke.

The fact that we had a twelve-pack of Diet Coke in the fridge, less than half a mile from the DQ, didn’t seem to occur to Jane. Sighing, I stood up. Anyway. Rachel invited me over this afternoon. I didn’t know where you were when she called, so I just told her I’d come. Alone.

I felt awful saying it, especially when my tongue landed on the word alone and stayed there. Jane and I had been through everything together, always, and were even closer than Rachel and me, and it wasn’t just because we were sisters. But it’d be better for everyone if Jane didn’t come with me to Rachel’s condo.

If Jane didn’t see Charlie, I wouldn’t have to worry about whether Jane Austen was haunting us from her grave, Rachel wouldn’t have to drop me as a friend when Jane inevitably broke up with Charlie, and Dad wouldn’t have to call the phone company again. The moment he did, I could kiss all dreams of my apartment good-bye.

No problem. Jane went back inside but returned to the steps, her purse on one arm and the towel still under the other, before I could taste even a wisp of relief. It’ll be okay with Rachel if I tag along, right? What a perfect day.

I took a deep breath, then another, but I just couldn’t tell her no. This was Jane, after all. Guy crazy and a little too interested in Charlie Bingham for my taste, but still the Jane who never really caused me any trouble.

I crossed my fingers, hoping today wouldn’t be an exception.

We’re in luck. Rachel’s stage whisper probably carried to the basement of her condo building, even though Jane had headed to the bathroom and no one else was in sight. Every guy in the building is in the party room watching the Vikings game. So you don’t have to worry about Jane.

I bit off the nervous grin that threatened. What makes you think I ever worry about Jane?

Rachel snorted.

I glanced at the door to the bathroom, but Jane was nowhere in sight. Does ‘every guy in the building’ include Charlie and Alex? Are they actually staying here?

They’re staying here, in the penthouse condo, just like my mom guessed. Rachel shrugged. But I haven’t seen them around much this week, and not at all today.

Whew. Do you have any idea what they’re doing here?

Not a clue. Alex dresses up more than Charlie, almost like he’s going to work, but Charlie looks like every other college guy I know. Except his pants don’t hang halfway down his butt like some of them.

I laughed even as I tried not to picture it. "So maybe I should let Jane go out with him."

I tossed my gym bag on the nearest chaise lounge and started to strip down to my swimsuit. My T-shirt was halfway over my head when I realized that Jane had been gone too long for a bathroom break. Uh-oh.

I yanked my shirt back down. Rachel, where exactly is the party room? By any chance would Jane—

She grabbed my arm and we both took off at a run.

I screeched to a halt just inside the open door to the packed party room, wondering how Jane had found it—three floors down and at the opposite end of the building—or how she knew that every guy in the building between fifteen and sixty would be here for the game. Did she have some special radar?

She sat in the middle of a leather couch in front of the big-screen TV, a guy on each side of her and a couple more at her feet. The only thing she needed was a guy feeding her grapes, one by one, and another one fanning her with a palm leaf.

A couple of other girls were in the room, but none of the guys seemed to notice them. Add Rachel and me, and that made two more invisible girls. I rolled my eyes and turned to Rachel, who stood transfixed, staring at Jane. Almost like she wanted to figure out her secret, if not take notes.

I waited until a commercial break, then waded through the crowd of guys until I got to Jane, who glanced up at me, then back at the TV. As if she’d been watching the game or, for that matter, the deodorant commercial on the screen right now.

C’mon, Jane. You wanted to go swimming, remember? With Rachel? I reached out a hand to help her up, but she burrowed into the couch. I belatedly recognized the guys on either side of her as Charlie and Alex.

Crap. Too late.

I grabbed her anyway. Seriously. We have to go. Now. Rachel’s waiting for us.

She clung to the arm of the blond guy. Charlie? He glanced up at me, offering a curious but friendly smile. I smiled back, then sneaked a peek at the other guy. Alex Darcy was cute bordering on hot, with black hair and wicked eyes and a lanky body that looked great in his jeans and polo shirt. Dang. I was hoping for someone more along the lines of u-g-l-y. Not that it mattered. His eyes barely flickered when I stood in front of him.

Meanwhile, Jane still wasn’t moving anything other than her lower lip, which stuck out in a way that guys amazingly find cute. Rachel isn’t waiting for us. Rachel is right here, watching the game.

Sure enough, Rachel had propped herself against a wall, her eyes fixed on the screen. I frowned at her. Rachel?

She waved me off. Oh, let Jane stay. I don’t mind—

Yes, you do. You invited us here to swim.

But Jane doesn’t have to—

I held up a hand to cut her off just as the game came back on and some guy in the back of the room told me to quit blocking his view.

I planted my feet and yanked Jane’s arm harder this time, jet-propelling her to her feet. Jane, we’re going.

She offered Charlie a helpless shrug and followed me out the door. Shockingly, Charlie didn’t join us, but I had a feeling my mission to rescue Jane from Charlie was only going to keep getting more difficult. After all, I’d been down this road with Jane before.

This time, she seemed to have brought Jane Austen along for the ride. Heaven help me.

A week went by, and I didn’t see or hear anything more about Charlie Bingham or Alex Darcy, which would’ve been a relief if it weren’t for the fact that I kept catching Jane smiling all the time. Like, even at Dad’s jokes.

She didn’t mention running into Charlie again, but I also didn’t ask. She stared at me blankly when I mentioned hitting up Dad for a rental deposit. My hopes of ever getting an apartment plummeted by the minute.

On Saturday morning, Dad whistled as he joined the rest of us at the breakfast table. Normally, at that hour, he’d still be in the lotus position in the middle of the living-room rug, his chanted "Om"s nearly drowned out by his stomach growls. I figured something had to be up.

As Mom stood at the stove and fried five pounds of bacon for her latest doomed attempt at Atkins, she looked up, saw Dad, and sighed loudly. Dad kept whistling. He grabbed the newspaper out of Mary’s protesting hands, bent and gave each of us girls a peck on the cheek, and plopped into his chair at the head of the table. But, totally unlike Dad, he didn’t immediately bury himself in the sports section.

He smiled at me. Is that a new top, Lizzie? I’ll bet the boys all like it.

I raised my eyebrows at Dad, because I was wearing a wrinkled maroon-and-gold Minnesota Gophers football jersey. It was game day, yeah, but—more important—I’d run out of clean clothes.

As far as I’m concerned, it doesn’t matter if boys like Liz’s— Mom turned to look at me and almost choked on the wad of limp bacon in her mouth. —jersey? My God, Liz, weren’t you wearing that last night?

And the night before, if we have to get picky.

Dad’s eyes twinkled. By the way, I invited Norm and Doreen to the block party.

Mom sniffed loudly, but maybe from the onions in the scrambled eggs burning on the stove. "Howard, you didn’t invite anyone else, did you? It’s one thing to invite the Langdons. After all, they used to live here. She sniffed again, and this time it definitely wasn’t the onions. But I wouldn’t put it past you to invite Charlie Bingham, just because Jane seems so fixated on him. The girls have plenty of time in their lives to meet boys."

We don’t need Dad’s help. We meet guys all the time at school or work. In bars.

Lydia! You’re too young to go to bars. Mom missed the fact that fifteen-year-old Lydia doesn’t work, either, or, for that matter, spend much time in school.

Yeah? Cat and I never get carded—

Shut up, Lydia. Cat shot her a glare that could’ve singed Lydia’s eyebrows.

Too late, Lydia clapped her hand over her mouth. Dad frowned, and Mom looked torn between horrified and impressed, which made no sense except that it was Mom. In any case, you shouldn’t focus so much on boys. And you’re better off avoiding certain ones altogether.

Jane flushed beet red.

Dad rolled his eyes. I had no idea you were so serious. I suppose I shouldn’t have let Norm introduce us.

Six heads whirled in Dad’s direction.

Dad shook his head. I was just being polite, discussing the Vikings. I prefer more spiritual pursuits.

Even Jane snorted. Besides his ongoing devotion to the sports page, Dad had been a rabid football fan before a major midlife crisis turned Dad on to all things New Age. He claims it’s inconsistent with his present journey, but I think it’s just that the Vikings have sucked lately.

Mom glared at Dad. You met him?

Dad shrugged. Norm and I ran into him in the lobby. But, no, I didn’t invite him to the block party. If you can believe it, he actually likes the Jets.

Just so he doesn’t like Jane. Or notice Jane. Or want anything to do with Jane. Not until she’s at least thirty.

Mom!

I patted Jane’s hand. Don’t worry, babe. Maybe she’ll relent when you’re twenty-nine.

I bet the guys at the party all like me best. Batting her eyelashes, Lydia fluffed her fingers through her long, thick brown hair. Cat and I may be the youngest, but I already have the biggest boobs.

"No, she is the biggest boob."

I’d mumbled my thought to Jane under my breath, but, next thing I knew, a peanut-butter-slathered bagel sailed through the air and clipped my cheek. Heh heh. The brat has good ears.

I spent most of that week—well, when I wasn’t in classes or studying or pretending to be—wishing Charlie and his pal Alex would disappear. Permanently. I hadn’t even spoken to the guys, I admit, but Jane was acting secretive, bordering on weird, and I knew what came next. With Jane, a major crush always led to major drama, hysterics, and, yep, a new cell-phone number.

I had to break the cycle before it broke Jane. And before it killed my only hope of getting an apartment.

Not that I had anything against good-looking guys in general or even Charlie in particular, but I couldn’t get past his name or his friend’s name. Besides, I’d promised Dad I’d keep Jane from getting into another mess with a guy. Even though Rachel insisted that no one had invited them to the block party, I had a bad feeling. I started sending fervent prayers skyward.

I must’ve sent those prayers to the wrong address.

Saturday night, Dad made his usual excuses, so Mom hustled the rest of us to the block party, loaded down with covered dishes and lemonade. Ten minutes after we dumped the food and drinks on a table in the middle of the barricaded street, the Langdons showed up, followed by a few more people. I groaned. Charlie, Alex, and a girl I’d never seen.

Spotting them, Mom turned white, then red, then a wild shade of maroon. Shockingly, though, she didn’t say a word. Instead, she grabbed Rachel’s mom, Doreen, and a pie and two forks. There went Atkins. Again.

But how could Charlie crash a party he didn’t know about? One guess. I grabbed Jane. Funny how Charlie happens to be at our block party, since no one invited him.

She tried to wriggle out of my grasp. No?

No. Unless you did.

I didn’t point out that Mom had ordered her not to, or that we didn’t need Jane Austen finding guys for us, or even that her friends already had enough trouble remembering her latest cell-phone number. When it came to guys, Jane wasn’t good at taking advice.

Why would you think I invited him?

I lifted one eyebrow.

Well, I didn’t. Or I didn’t mean to. She gave me her usual helpless smile. I guess it just slipped out. Oops!

When she couldn’t pry my arm loose, she dragged me over to Charlie. Next thing I knew, I was actually meeting him. Them. Charlie, Alex, and Charlie’s sister Stephanie. She looked like Charlie except for the long blond hair and the boobs and being way too skinny, which was probably what gave her that pinched look.

Alex looked from Charlie to Jane and back again, frowning and trying to catch Charlie’s eye, but both of Charlie’s blue eyes were scoping out Jane. Alex finally turned and gave me a quick up-and-down, then walked away.

As I stared at his back, I wobbled between irritation and embarrassment and feeling sick to my stomach. I hadn’t had a date in a while, I admit, but I wasn’t gross. Still, I glanced down at my shorts and tank top and wasn’t totally sure. Why’d I wear this, anyway? Oh, right. If Alex Darcy happened to show up tonight, I didn’t want him interested in me.

Mission accomplished.

Of course, a guy like Alex would never look at me twice. Or talk to me. Or whatever. Hot guys hit on girls like Jane—but Charlie was already doing that. Even if I weren’t wearing an outfit that made me look twelve, Alex would pick practically any other girl in this crowd over me. A brainy tomboy with next to zero in the way of hips or boobs? No thanks.

I bit my lip and told myself I wanted it this way. At least with a guy named Alex Darcy.

The Book scared me more than I wanted to admit—even though Bingham isn’t Bingley and there’s no such thing as fate. Sure, Jane’s constant search for Mr. Right seemed to leave her too distracted to search for an apartment with me, but she wasn’t looking to get married. Does anyone still get married at age nineteen? Anyone who’s not pregnant? Jane is a sophomore at the University of Minnesota, where I go, too. She spent her first year at Carleton, but the combination of me starting college and Dad losing his grip on financial reality sent her to the much cheaper U of M this year, which also meant moving back home. And, so far, not into an apartment with me.

Not that this was all about me. Even Alex ignoring me wasn’t about me. I told myself I just worried about Jane, who’d slipped behind a hedge with Charlie, chatting. Intensely.

As I tried not to listen in, I spotted Charlie’s sister, who groaned loudly when someone slipped an iPod into a docking station and started blasting tunes from the eighties. Charlie, who must’ve come from a different gene pool, grabbed Jane’s arm and started swiveling his hips. He danced like a nitwit on speed, but Jane didn’t seem to notice or care.

After a few songs, the street was filled with dancers, half of them probably the result of Lydia spiking the lemonade, and I might’ve danced if Rachel weren’t so shy or if I spotted a guy who looked like he didn’t slobber on himself. Instead, I walked across the street to the lemonade table. On the way I caught a conversation I wished I hadn’t.

Charlie and Alex were huddled on the other side of a tree, and sweet ol’ Charlie looked a little pissed.

"Geez, Alex. You could dance, you know, or at least talk to someone. Lighten up. This isn’t work."

Alex’s hooded gaze swept the street, as if trying to find something in it that didn’t disgust him. "I’m too busy warning you about Jane. I thought we were trying to get you away from stalkers."

Stalkers? Was Alex calling Jane a stalker? My misguided but sweet sister Jane? What?

Charlie waved his hand in the air. She’s not a stalker. She’s gorgeous. And nice, even.

Alex just shook his head.

What about her sister? Liz?

Something snorted out Alex’s nose. You’re kidding, right? I don’t do charity work.

Stunned, I sucked in my breath. I didn’t think they’d seen me, which would only make it worse, but I eyed a nearby utility hole and pondered the difficulty of throwing myself headlong into the sewer.

On trembling legs, I hobbled over to Rachel and told her all about it. Okay, an edited version, where I made fun of Alex and skipped the part about Jane being a stalker. Rachel hugged me, and after a few gulps of spiked lemonade, I managed to view the whole thing as hilarious. At least to an objective observer.

I wish I were one.

I slipped away from the party as soon as I could. Unfortunately, Mom and my sisters weren’t long behind me, so I couldn’t retreat to the comfort of my bedroom and my stuffed monkey, Philip. I had to stay downstairs for the party postmortem.

That’s when I found out that Mom had already heard from Doreen Langdon about Alex slamming me. Thanks, Rachel. Mom told Dad, of course, after she chewed out Jane for inviting Charlie. Then I had to endure Dad’s look of pity.

I didn’t need pity. I also didn’t need Alex Darcy, and I really didn’t need to keep thrashing around in this nightmare straight out of Pride and Prejudice. Alex Darcy? As if. Sure, I was tired and bugged and my name might be Elizabeth Bennet, but end of story.

Please, God.

Chapter 3

That is very true, replied Elizabeth, "and I could easily forgive his pride, if he had not mortified mine."

— Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice, Volume I, Chapter Five

By the time Jane and I hauled our butts upstairs, I was nearly comatose. After exhausting my entire repertoire of witty reasons why it was a Good Thing to be rejected by a black-eyed toad like Alex Darcy—hey, I didn’t even want him—I collapsed on my bed and stared at the ceiling.

Jane was bouncing on her bed. "Charlie is so funny and sweet. Blah blah blah. She didn’t mention his dancing, luckily, because I don’t love even Jane enough to let that one by. Wasn’t he nice to Mrs. Jacobson?"

She offered him a hunk of raspberry fudge. Even Dad would’ve been nice.

But still.

I threw my pillow at her. You’re forgetting the most important thing. He’s hot.

It wasn’t the most important thing, but I didn’t have a clue how to broach the stalking bit. Alex Darcy had to be a paranoid jerk for even thinking Jane could be stalking Charlie. Guys go after Jane. But how did Jane keep running into Charlie? Rachel was more my friend than Jane’s, so Jane wouldn’t be hanging out at Rachel’s condo. Was she using a tracking device? Or maybe, more directly, her cell phone?

I glanced at Jane, who flushed as she clutched the pillow. He kept asking me to dance. I mean, how flattering.

I couldn’t help picturing Charlie’s wild gyrations, but I kept a straight face. Unlike Alex, I was feeling charitable.

Duh. You were the cutest one there. Except for me, of course. Jane snorted. On Jane, even snorting sounds cute. When I do it, I sound like a pig in heat. I took a deep breath, wishing I could be okay with the thought of Jane hooking up with Charlie. I wasn’t. Are you going out with Charlie?

Liz! He hasn’t asked me!

Maybe because his sister was hovering? Alex, too, but I didn’t want to talk about Alex. You don’t like her as much as Charlie, do you?

Actually, she seemed sweet.

Jane likes everyone. And I mean everyone, no exception. But she’s really like that. The real deal. I can’t help loving her for it, even if it means that I spend way too much time protecting her from snakes. But Charlie isn’t a snake, I don’t think, and Jane wasn’t planning to date his sister.

I got up to retrieve my pillow, then patted Jane on the shoulder. You might be right. Personally, I thought Stephanie was a twit.

Liz! Jane looked askance but then gave me a sly smile. You just didn’t like her skinny butt.

You forgot the perky boobs, although I have doubts on how real they are. What’s your point?

We both laughed. Then Jane shook her head. Stephanie seems smart, actually, so I think you’d like her. She went to Vassar last year, but she’s taking a break and living with Charlie, at least for now—

At the condo?

Jane shrugged. What did you think of Alex?

I blinked at the sudden change of subject. His name is way too close to The Book. I gave her a meaningful look. Besides, he’s no Colin Firth. Or even Matthew Macfadyen. And he’s probably gay.

I hadn’t shared with Jane my earlier gay-drug-runner hopes for Charlie, but anyone that blond and angelic couldn’t be a drug runner, and he was too whipped on Jane to be gay. Unfortunately. Besides, it’d be better if Alex were the gay drug runner. He had the black hair for it, and the oh-so-black eyes. Or deep brown. I didn’t want to get close enough to tell, thank you very much.

Jane hooted. The guy is hot and definitely straight. Admit it. But he might be a bit shy.

Shy? Is that what we’re calling jerks these days?

He’s not a jerk. Seriously. I don’t think he likes to dance—

I rolled my eyes. At least not with me.

—but I saw him checking you out. And he talked a lot to Stephanie.

Who had the hots for him, I noticed, even though everyone knows that girls with bony butts are lousy kissers. Well, girls all know that.

Not that I cared if Alex and bony-butt Stephanie were locking lips. Besides, something about Alex annoyed me, and not just the stalking thing. Like, say, his eyes. Or the way his butt looked in jeans. Or the lopsided grin I saw him give Charlie once.

I frowned at Jane. Where do they all live? I mean, when they’re not using that condo?

Jane waved a hand in the air. I’m not exactly sure.

Or she wasn’t exactly telling me. But they’re going back wherever it is, though, right?

"I think we’ll be seeing more of them. I mean, I hope I—er, we—keep running into Charlie."

Seeing the dreamy smile drifting across her face, I figured she’d spend the rest of the night mooning over every nuance of the sweet and cute Charlie. Before she could mention the adorable freckle on his left forearm, I leaped back onto my bed and stuffed my pillow over my face.

Because his last name is Bingham and his friend’s name is Darcy and the whole stupid thing was making my head spin. I hoped I didn’t puke into the pillow.

At the crack of dawn Sunday morning—okay, ten a.m.—Rachel showed up at our door, just like old times. She hadn’t been swooned over at the block party by Charlie or Alex or anyone else, but she wasn’t the type to care. Rachel copes.

I saw you talking to Charlie Bingham last night, Rachel. Mom glanced over her shoulder at Rachel, offering a tight smile. What did you think of him?

I didn’t talk to him much. Rachel grinned at me. He seemed to spend most of his time with Jane.

"Well, no one cares how I feel about it..." Mom trailed off, inserting a big sigh to fill the void.

I rolled my eyes. Mom, it’s not a big deal.

Dad looked up from his newspaper. Don’t worry, Lizzie. Even if Alex Darcy didn’t notice you, I’m sure your mother worries about any number of unsavory boys liking you, too.

Rattled, I slammed back a gulp of juice, half of it sloshing onto my Coldplay T-shirt. I jumped.

Rachel patted my shoulder. Who cares what Alex thinks? I mean, the guy doesn’t even speak. I watched him for fifteen minutes and never saw his lips move.

I watched his lips, too. Nice lips. Not that I’d admit it.

Jane piped up. I told you, Liz. He’s just shy.

Shy? The guy drives a black Lamborghini. I don’t think the two concepts coexist.

Thanks, Rachel. I raised my slopped-over juice glass to toast her. You’re being supportive, right?

You don’t want him, Liz, any more than Jane should want Charlie. A forkful of eggs halfway to her mouth, Mom stopped talking long enough to look at me, tsking over my T-shirt. If you ask me— And when it came to dating, no one did. —even if he asked you out, I’d cut him off at the knees.

Groaning, I shook my head. There’s an easy one, Mom. I think I can safely promise that he’ll never ask me out.

But if he did?

His knees are history.

I didn’t want to ponder his knees, though. The more body parts of Alex Darcy I didn’t think about, the better off I’d be.

After the first month of classes, I figured out that engineering professors like to torment freshmen by piling on homework and springing pop quizzes. The combination left me too frantic to think about Alex, which was good, but too busy to keep tabs on Jane. Which wasn’t so good.

I don’t know what English professors do, but Jane seemed to have plenty of free time to keep disappearing on me. Was she seeing Charlie? No clue. I mean, he didn’t show up at our door. If he was emailing or texting Jane or calling her latest cell-phone number, she wasn’t admitting it.

But she still had a goofy smile on her face.

I tried to ask Rachel for advice, or at least sympathy, but she was too intent on lugging boxes of stuff from their condo to the rental truck her dad had parked in front. After I asked at least five times, she gave me a weird look and said they were taking all the stuff they didn’t need to Goodwill.

I don’t get why you didn’t haul this stuff to Goodwill before you moved in. I paused in the lobby, breathing a little hard as I shifted my grip on a big box. Wouldn’t that have been easier?

Rachel grunted. Sweat dribbled down her flushed face, and the pile of rugs and coats in her arms threatened to topple her. Dad doesn’t exactly think things through.

No kidding. Mr. Langdon was a brilliant inventor who could never remember where he left his car keys.

I shrugged. I guess he doesn’t have to. He can afford to buy a place in the most luxurious condo building in Woodbury, and he has us for slave labor. Perfect deal. I laughed as I nudged open the door with my shoulder, holding it for Rachel.

She looked thoughtful as she slipped past me. I miss our old house. I wish...

Yeah, you wish you were still living next door to us, so you could drop in whenever you want for all those fab home-cooked dinners my mom makes.

Rachel glanced over her shoulder at me. Your mom doesn’t cook. At all.

I made my way out to the curb, where I set my box in the truck before turning to help Rachel. Not true. She cooks. It’s just inedible.

Well, she can’t be good at everything. Rachel tossed a gorgeous black designer coat I could’ve sworn her mom bought a month ago on top of the heap. She’s a successful lawyer. You don’t have to worry about your parents running out of money.

I frowned at her. You’re kidding, right? What about my dad? And Jane having to come home from Carleton?

"Carleton is expensive. My mom doesn’t work at all."

I kept staring at the black coat in the truck, trying to work up the nerve to swipe it from the pile, but it was like stealing from the poor. Even if it wasn’t always the poor who shopped at Goodwill.

Yeah, well, your mom doesn’t have to work. I turned my back on the coat and headed inside, Rachel trailing me. The royalties your dad gets on his inventions obviously more than make up for it.

Back in the lobby, I glanced around again, comparing the marble floor with the frayed oriental rug in our front hall at home. I’d actually rather live in our own house than in a fancy condo building that didn’t feel like a home, and maybe Rachel felt the same way. I smiled, thinking about all my grand plans for getting an apartment someday, if I could somehow swing the money and get Jane to stop focusing on guys all the time. It’d probably be some dinky little apartment that made my house look like the Taj Mahal.

What’s so funny? My dad’s stupid inventions?

My jaw dropped as I stared at Rachel, who leaned against the elevator button, her arms crossed, her mouth...grim?

Huh?

I shook my head. I was just thinking about getting an apartment. You know. When—

"When you don’t have to