Darcy, Defined Read online

  Darcy, Defined

  A Novel By

  Suzanne Williams

  Copyright © 2020 Suzanne Williams

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  ISBN-13: 9781234567890

  ISBN-10: 1477123456

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2018675309

  Printed in the United States of America

  To my husband, Dave, thank you for always supporting my work.

  To my mom, Jean, thank you for the editing expertise.

  To my friends Kirsten, Jessi and Barbara, thank you for all the helpful suggestions and insight.

  Chapter 1

  The first day of school always comes with mixed emotions. On the one hand, it’s sad to see the blissful autonomy of summer come to an end. For nearly three months I’d slept-in, read mysteries on the back patio, and even volunteered at the neighborhood farmer’s market to save myself from floundering boredom. But a little boredom had been nice for a change, and the best part was that aside from a few dishes here and there, I didn’t have to clean anything. On the other hand, there’s an excitement about all the new possibilities that await with the start of a new school year. Will I ace eleventh-grade chemistry? Will I make any new friends? Will I finally get a boyfriend? Will I go viral with my stellar dance moves? Take over as influencer royalty and become the most popular girl in school? As mundane as my first two years of high school had been, and as low as my social status was, I hadn’t totally given up hope for my junior year being more memorable.

  I walked into homeroom ten minutes early and took a seat in the back. Phone already in hand, I started browsing Peeps, the only social media platform I used. It’s best to look busy when you know you won’t have anyone to talk to. My only friend at East Point Prep, Maya, was in a different homeroom, and I knew I wouldn’t have a chance to talk to her until lunch, after fourth period.

  I occasionally glanced around as my classmates came into the room, but tried not to gawk. I’m engrossed in the world of digital socialization, I have so many comments to reply to on here, was the vibe I tried to convey, but really, I just wanted to look up and watch everyone. After a few minutes, I noticed Matt Holmes and two of his friends, Tristan Ivanov and Jordan Schneider, sit down a couple of rows up on the left. Matt Holmes is hot, by most standards. He’s tall, with strong shoulders and a chiseled jawline. Of all the boys in the junior class, he was the only one who looked like a man in his uniform tie and blazer. He had been playing varsity football since our freshman year, but never came across as the typical jock. Although I had never had a conversation with him at that point, I could tell he had a sensitive and intellectual side. In English class the year before, he’d read an excerpt of his essay on The Handmaid’s Tale, expressing genuine concern for Offred, and fear that our country was in real danger of devolving into a Gilead like society. He even brought up the subject of toxic masculinity and how to combat it, which made my heart nearly explode with admiration. After that, my crush on Matt Holmes was undeniable, but I knew with 99.9 percent certainty that I would never have a chance with him. After all, he had been dating Paige Evans since practically the first day of high school.

  I watched as Matt and his buddies settled into their seats, wondering if they might glance in my direction. Of course, they didn’t, so I went back to my phone, spending some more time scrolling through my nearly barren Peeps landscape, which consisted mostly of ads and click bait. I looked up when I heard the sound of writing on the chalkboard. Mr. Maloof, the homeroom teacher, was writing Welcome Back in big, swirly letters. The school day would officially start in one minute, and it was then that Paige Evans came into the room with her best friend Audrey. But instead of sitting next to Matt, who had an empty chair beside him, she went clear to the other side of the room, barely even looking in his direction. I could see that Matt had a pained expression on his face, and once he took notice of Paige, he seemed rather intent on not looking at her, unlike his friends, who made efforts to sneer at her and Audrey. Clearly, something about their relationship had changed over the summer, and I knew I needed to find out what.

  “You have to clean today?” asked Maya, opening a bag of pretzels.

  “You know it.” I unpacked my garlic hummus and carrot sticks. We sat at a table in the far-left corner of the cafeteria. In the middle of the cafeteria were the “popular” ones, where the athletes and student council executives sat. The further away you were from the middle, the less popular you were. That seemed to be the general rule every year, although how or why it was maintained I didn’t know. It was just something we all understood, and Maya and I understood our place in the furthest possible corner.

  “Ugh, but it’s the first day of school. Doesn’t it take at least a week for things to get dirty? That’s going to make your breath stink, by the way,” said Maya.

  “I’m not planning on making out with anybody today, so it’s fine. And you’d be surprised by how fast this place can turn into a dump if it doesn’t get cleaned daily.”

  Maya has been my best (and only) friend since freshman year. We’re both the poor kids at East Point Prep, something that bonded us as we sat together in homeroom, gawking at the luxuries that apparently everyone else but us had (brand new iPhones, designer shoes and handbags, $2,000 Versace blazers). But aside from our lack of expensive swag, our situations were different. She’s the second of four kids and I’m an only child. Maya’s parents, who are still married, work together in a small restaurant chain that they own (so they aren’t really poor, just not as mega-rich as everyone else at the school). I, on the other hand, was raised by a single mom who had to move in with her parents after giving birth to me so that she could quit her bartending job and finish her nursing degree.

  Now, we live in our own three-bedroom ranch style house in a working-class neighborhood a few miles away from East Point. When it comes to my education, my mom’s always wanted the best for me. The public schools in our area weren’t cutting it. The classes were too big, the teachers were overworked, and I wasn’t being challenged academically. My eighth-grade math teacher, Mr. Keith, saw that I had a knack for STEM subjects, so he recommended East Point during a conference with my mom.

  My mom knew about the school, and about the tuition cost, one we could only afford if we had absolutely no other expenses. Dr. Toth, one of the attending physicians in the ER where she works, happens to be married to the headmistress of East Point, Mrs. Masterson. My mom had worked with Dr. Toth for years, and had heard numerous stories of the school and its graduates, who were almost all destined for the Ivies. She had never thought that I could be one of them, but after her conference with Mr. Keith, she decided to see if she could use her work connections to secure a good education for me at a price she could manage. The following week, she printed out her tax statements and collected my school records to give to Dr. Toth. She explained to him that I was an excellent and hard-working student, that I’d be a great fit for East Point, but that as a single mother, she couldn’t make the tuition payments. “Maybe there’s some sort of scholarship she’s eligible for,” she’d said. Dr. Toth said he’d put in a good word for me with his wife and brought the documents home to Mrs. Masterson. A few days later, my mom received a phone call from her, explaining that she’d already awarded the scholarships for the following year, but that she had thought up a plan to help us out. Apparently, one of the
two school custodians had just resigned, and rather than replace him, Mrs. Masterson crafted what she called the “cleaning scholarship,” just for me. Basically, it allows me to attend East Point Prep at practically no cost, as long as I put in between ten to fifteen hours of labor per week.

  So, every day after school, I reported to the main office to get my cleaning assignment. It usually involved collecting trash from the classrooms, sweeping and mopping the hallways, polishing the glass doors and windows or vacuuming the various rugs around the building. Along with my assignment I’d get the keys to the janitor’s closet where everything I needed was stored. Luckily, the only full-time janitor, a middle-aged woman named Angela, takes care of the heavy-duty work, like scrubbing the toilets, but occasionally I had to cover that when she took vacation or sick days. Did I love being the only one at East Point Prep, the most expensive and prestigious private school in Cincinnati, on a cleaning scholarship? Not exactly. I knew that I was incredibly lucky to be there, and that any reasonable person would view this as a great opportunity, but it’s hard to see it that way when it makes you a social pariah in the eyes of your peers, the ones who play field hockey and soccer, do chess club and mock trial. The ones who go to parties and get invited to the school dances. The ones I wanted so desperately to be liked by, or just noticed by. But at least I had Maya, the only one at school who saw me as more than the cleaner.

  “I was thinking of joining the Debate Team,” said Maya. “Their first meeting is today. I wish you could go with me.”

  “Girl, you know I can’t do clubs. Plus, I’m too introverted to do be on the debate team anyway.”

  “I know,” she said with a sigh. “I just need to find more extracurriculars before I start filling out my college apps. Drama alone might not be enough. And I hate going to these club meetings by myself.”

  “Maybe it would be good for you to be seen without me once in a while,” I said. “You know being my friend makes you a reject by association.”

  “I disagree,” she snapped, throwing a pretzel at my face. “I don’t need to be friends with these rich-ass snobs anyway.”

  I appreciated her loyalty, but I knew she didn’t mean what she said, not completely. Maya was a social butterfly at heart. She was always able to make small talk with the popular kids in between periods or while changing for gym in the locker room. She never really solidified any lasting friendships with them, but sometimes I thought that she would have if it hadn’t been for me.

  “Speaking of rich-ass snobs,” I said, lowering my voice to a whisper, “I’m pretty sure that Paige Evans and Matt Holmes broke up. Have you heard anything about that?”

  Maya nodded. “She broke up with him last week. She’s got a new guy. He’s a freshman at Vanderbilt.”

  “Wow, so it’s still pretty raw. No wonder he looked so upset this morning.”

  Maya tilted her head and gave me a devious smirk. “Maybe he needs a little comforting, then. I bet you’re up for it.”

  “Yeah right.” I bit down on one of my hummus-laden carrots and began talking with my mouth full. “The dude doesn’t know I’m alive.”

  Maya leaned in toward me, her blond, wavy hair spilling out from behind her shoulders and landing on the table. “Then you need to change that. Make him notice you.”

  “I don’t know how to do that, plus he probably already has a long list of girls on his radar that doesn’t include me.”

  “Add yourself to that list, then. Trust me, guys don’t care about the whole popularity thing as much as girls do. They only care about one thing, and you know what that is.”

  Maya has a brother who was just starting out at Ohio University, so I always figured her musings on the inner workings of the teenage male brain were more informed than mine.

  “So how did you find out about Paige and her new boyfriend anyway?” I asked.

  “I overheard her talking about him during second period. She’s in my Spanish class. Apparently, they met in Costa Rica last month while volunteering.” Maya used her fingers to make air quotes when she said volunteering. It was what all the rich kids did during the summer to strengthen their college applications, usually in tropical, beachy locations. “I also heard her go on and on about how he’s coming up here this weekend. I guess her parents will be in Sonoma for a wedding and they’re letting her stay home. She’s having a party.”

  “Wow, you overheard a lot. Were you guys even learning Spanish?”

  “Mr. Braun was a few minutes late getting started. He and Ms. Rose were giggling out in the hallway. It was very flirtatious. I think you’re going to like her by the way. I had her for American Lit last period.”

  “I have her next period,” I said. Just then, the bell rang. We both stood and made our way into the crowded hallway together. “I wonder if Matt will be at her party.”

  “Paige said she invited him. I guess she feels bad about breaking up with him and wants to set him up with somebody.”

  “Damn,” I said, nudging Maya in the ribs with my elbow. “What are you, an undercover agent?”

  “I can’t help that Paige and her cronies were gabbing so loudly. Besides, you wanted to know.”

  “I guess I did. But it’s stupid, it’s not like any of this makes a difference in my life.”

  We huddled shoulder-to-shoulder as we walked the halls, avoiding collisions with the squads of lacrosse players and glee club hallway-performers until we ended up in the West Wing, where the junior class lockers are located. We stood outside Ms. Rose’s classroom. A few yards away was Matt Holmes, leaning back against his locker, looking at his phone. A lock of light brown hair fell into his left eye. For some reason it really bothered me, seeing that clump of hair in his eye, and I imagined myself walking up to him and gently stroking it out of the way. I imagined that he would smile at me, and then lean down to…

  “It could make a difference in your life,” said Maya, thrusting me back into reality. “We just need to find a way to get invited to Paige’s party.”

  At that moment a thought occurred to me, a thought about how I could possibly use my lowly status as student janitor to help procure a spot at the party of the most popular girl in the class. Maya was right. For months, I’d been hopelessly pining over a boy who I never thought would have any interest in me, and now here was what might have been the only chance I’d ever have to make an impression on him, and I couldn’t let it pass me by. If I really wanted my junior year to be any better than the previous two, I knew I’d have to take some risks. “You’re right.” I said. “I’ll talk to you after school.”

  As I turned to walk into class, I noticed Paige sitting in the front row with an empty seat next her. I saw my chance, and without hesitating, I took it.

  Chapter 2

  As I sat, I could see that Paige was holding her phone with Peeps pulled up, scrolling through photos of a handsome and preppy looking guy I assumed was her new boyfriend. After a moment of scrolling, she came to a photo of the two of them together. They were at a beach, Paige’s blond hair blowing in the breeze. She turned her head toward me and gave me a hint of a smile before looking back to her phone and the array of photos. For once, it seemed Paige was absent of her usual squad, which meant there would be an opportunity to talk to her after the period ended, that is, if I was able to get the courage to strike up a conversation.

  “Phones away now, unless you want to donate them to the Ms. Rose-needs-a-new-phone-as-her-old-ass-one-has-a-cracked-screen-fund.”

  I looked up to see a young woman with a wavy, red bob in a form-fitting, beige dress dropping a stack of books onto her otherwise clear desk. All around my classmates were sliding their phones into their backpacks or pockets. No one wanted to call her bluff.

  “Hello, scholars,” said Ms. Rose, leaning back against her desk and facing the class. She held up a sheet of paper and took roll, writing a little note next to each name after calling it out, presumably to help her remember what everyone looked like. After she’d finished, she
set the paper down on her desk and folded her arms across her chest. “Welcome back to school, everyone, and welcome to American Literature. Obviously, you’re here to read some of the greatest American novels, stories and poems, but that’s not all you’re here for.” She paused for a few seconds, looking around at our faces before continuing.

  “You’re also here to grow; as readers, as writers, as scholars, and as people.” I looked over at Paige, who was gazing up at Ms. Rose attentively. On my left, Tristan Ivanov was grinning from ear to ear, clearly thinking impure thoughts about our gorgeous teacher. Everyone, it seemed, was interested in Ms. Rose, in one way or another.

  For the next fifty minutes, Ms. Rose talked about her love of reading and getting lost in stories. She talked about her favorite novels, which included Beloved, To Kill A Mockingbird and The Awakening. She talked about finding her path in life; majoring in English in college, moving abroad to teach English, first in South Korea and then Portugal, and eventually getting a Master’s in Education from Miami University and landing her job at East Point Prep. Her demeanor was poised, yet warm and casual. She didn’t need to play any videos, write on the board or even pass out a syllabus. She just talked, and we listened, attentively.

  “So that’s what defines me,” she said as we neared the end of the period, “my love of literature and the power of the written word to transform our lives, the way we feel about ourselves and our role in society, its ability to change the way we relate to one another, to provide a perspective we wouldn’t otherwise consider. And of course, my passion for teaching, and sharing the literature I love with all of you, because you guys are the future. No pressure or anything, but without you, without your compassion and desire to make an impact, there’s no hope for the human race.”

  I looked around the room. Were we really capable of saving the global population from self-destruction? There were some really bright people in the room, like Natalie Suarez, who was destined for Harvard or Yale with grades and scores alone. But what could any of us do to prevent the environmental calamities, food shortages and widespread disease and war that were sure to come in our lifetime? My only plan was to work damned hard for as long as possible so I could save up to build an underground bunker in the middle of no-where, stocked with canned food and first-aid supplies. And then what would be the point of my fancy East Point Prep education if I was living with my mom in a bunker just trying to survive? Maybe it was all a lesson in perseverance. Just thinking about it gave me headache.