Chapter Seven

In Which Darcy Tries Her Best (And Fails, Miserably)

“I could drive,” Elisa offered, as she did every time she and Darcy got ready to make the commute to the college. “We don’t have to use the chauffeur.”

“He’s here and getting paid for his time no matter what. We may as well employ his services,” Darcy said, which was her response every time.

“Limo service makes me feel like such a douche,” she muttered, slinging her backpack over her shoulder.

“It’s not a limo. It’s a town car.”

Darcy, as she found out when she’d started staying at Netherfield, couldn’t drive. Instead, they were driven to and from class each day by Jordan, a chauffeur. She liked Jordan, but she didn’t enjoy being forced to sit alone in the backseat with Darcy.

“It doesn’t matter what you call it,” she said. “I still feel like a pretentious tool.”

“Do you feel that way when your mom or your sister drops you off someplace?”

“No, but they’re not hired to drive me around places. It’s different.”

“Not in my mind, it isn’t.”

Elisa sighed, shaking her head as they headed out the front door, where Jordan was waiting with the car. “Just—why didn’t you get your license when you were sixteen like everyone else?”

“Cars are giant, metal contraptions of death,” said Darcy, with the utmost seriousness. “If something goes wrong, I’d prefer not to be responsible.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Jordan said, rolling his eyes, but he was smiling. He opened the door for them.

“Thank you,” Elisa said, climbing into the back. As always, the car was perfectly clean, as if new. The Benitez family minivan often went months between much-needed cleanings, but according to Darcy, all the cars owned by Bobby and his family got washed once every three days and were vacuumed twice daily. Elisa had at first wondered who on earth had the time for that, before she remembered that there were probably people on the payroll whose entire job was car upkeep.

Jordan turned on the radio like he always did, and they began the drive toward the campus. She leaned her head against the window, singing softly under her breath to the tunes she recognized. Jordan, despite being about Bobby’s age, tended to favor 1970s funk and disco—the kind of music Elisa’s mom liked to listen to while she was cleaning.

As they pulled onto the highway, Darcy turned to face her and cleared her throat. “Um—I was wondering, have you finished your essay for A Clockwork Orange?” she asked.

Elisa glanced over at her. “Yeah. Have you?”

“Yes. Yes, I, um, I finished it last night.”

“Well… Good.”

“Good,” she repeated.

There was a pause.

“I enjoyed the novel a great deal,” she said.

Elisa had no idea why Darcy was trying to make conversation. She’d seemed fine with riding in semi-awkward silence before. Still, it was best not to antagonize her. They were in a small space, after all—it wasn’t like she could go sulk elsewhere.

“I liked it okay,” she said. “I think I prefer the movie, though.”

“I’ve never seen it. I don’t watch films often. Books are always better.”

Ah, a pretentious comment, right on schedule.

“Not always. The Graduate, Jaws, Fight Club, V for Vendetta—though that’s a comic—sometimes the movie is better. Not always, but it happens.”

“Did you know that the author of Jaws dedicated the rest of his career to helping sharks after he realized his book and the movie adaptation caused people to hunt sharks to near-extinction?”

“Yeah, I read that somewhere.”

“Oh.”

There was another pause.

“How are you today?” Darcy asked, sounding like the phrase was in a foreign language.

“Fine.”

“Oh. Good. Um, I’m fine as well.”

“Great.”

Darcy sighed, slumping over slightly in her seat.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Nothing, it’s just… I’ve exhausted my list of possible conversation topics for this car ride.”

Weirdo.

…

“Hey, Elisa.”

Elisa looked up from her bag. Professor DeCaro had just dismissed the class for the day, and they were getting ready to go and meet Jordan to head back to Netherfield Park. Kelly, a pretty, petite girl who sat behind them in class, had come over to their table.

“A bunch of us were planning to go get a drink. I know you’re not twenty-one yet, but the bar has food and soda, too. Want to come?”

“Isn’t it a bit early for drinking?” Darcy said.

Kelly ignored her. “It’s that bar on Mansfield and Woodhouse.”

“Sure,” she said, “that sounds like f—”

“Elisa carpools home with me.” Darcy cut her off, looking directly at Kelly.

“You can come, too,” Kelly said, though she seemed noticeably less cheerful about inviting her. Elisa felt a pang of sympathy for Darcy—just a bit.

She turned to her. “Come on. I’ve wanted to get out of the house lately, anyway. It’ll be fun.”

Darcy hesitated before deflating a bit. “Okay, I’ll tell Jordan to drop us off there.”

…

If Elisa felt like a tool being dropped off to class by a chauffeur, it was nothing compared to how she felt being dropped off at a college bar by a chauffeur. Darcy, however, didn’t appear to mind at all that some of their classmates were staring at them. She hopped out of the back seat and leaned in to talk to Jordan, who was still up front.

“Come and get us in an hour, please,” she said.

“You got it,” he said.

“Thank you, Jordan.”

The bar, the Hangover, was nothing like Eclipse. It was small and crowded, with TVs on the wall running multiple sports channels, used jerseys and old alumni photos as decor, and a bulletin board covered in pictures of people who’d managed to eat the Hot! Hot! Hot! Party Platter in under ten minutes.

It was much more what Elisa was used to—cheap, greasy food, sticky countertops, and too much noise to hear yourself think. She’d come here a few times with her parents and had fond memories of watching whatever game was on and listening to them reminisce about their college days. Her father swore by the bar’s platter of fried pickles and jalapeños as a hangover cure. Darcy, however, looked hilariously out of place. She visibly shuddered when she touched the countertop, immediately retracting her hand.

“Oh, sorry. I was just about to wipe this down,” the bartender said, not looking too concerned. “Now, what can I get for you?”

“Coke, please,” Elisa said, sitting on a stool next to a couple of her classmates.

“Same for me, please,” Darcy said, looking like she’d rather be anywhere else.

Elisa spent most of the time chatting with Kelly and her friend Amanda. Darcy didn’t say anything at all, except for a quick “thank you” when the bartender brought her drink. People had tried to invite her into the conversation, but either she didn’t notice, or she was doing a really good job at pretending she didn’t.

Elisa finally let it go and ignored her. If she wanted to sit there and not say anything, that was her choice. From what she could tell, the fact that she’d even gone out with the others was progress.

Eventually, Elisa got up to use the bathroom. On the way back, she passed the jukebox, which hadn’t worked in years. One guy, however, didn’t seem to have gotten the memo. He stood there, pounding lightly on the top of the machine.

“Come on, play, dammit,” he muttered.

Elisa repressed a giggle. “That thing’s been broken for almost half my life,” she said. “You think they’d put up an ‘out of order’ sign or something.”

The guy glanced up. He had dark gray eyes, and a handsome, cheerful face. He looked like he was a couple of years older than Elisa and was taller than her by nearly a foot.

“Scale of one to ten, how much of an idiot did I look like just then?”

“To someone who didn’t know the machine was broken? I’d guess a two and a half.”

“And to you?” he asked.

“A solid eight.”

“Well, make that the first time a girl has ever ranked me only an eight out of ten.” He gave an exaggerated, smarmy grin.

She laughed in spite of herself. “Oh my God, how conceited can you get?” she asked, though she didn’t doubt for a second that it was true. He looked a bit like Lucia’s favorite soccer player—tall, muscular, and like he had to fight girls off with a stick.

“Hey, I have to brag about my beautiful face. It’s all I have.”

“All you have, huh?” Elisa asked, leaning against the wall, tilting her head to look at him. “Not even a name?”

He smiled. “I suppose I have that, too.”

“May I have it, or have I offended you too much with my sad rating?” She’d never actually flirted with someone before, so she wasn’t sure if she was doing it right or not.

He paused, pretending to think it over. “I suppose I can swallow my wounded pride just this once. George Sedgwick. Just call me Wick—everybody does.”

“Okay, Wick it is. Avoiding confusion with another George?”

“Nah, I just never liked my name much. It’s cute on a toy monkey or a kindergartner, but by the time I was thirteen, I wanted something that suited me a bit better,” he said.

“Well, it does suit you.”

“You know what would suit me even better? What I’d really like to have?”

“What?”

“Your phone number.”

Elisa groaned aloud. “I should kick your ass,” she said, giggles escaping her, even so.

He smiled. “Oh, come on. I know it’s awful, but is it really awful enough to warrant physical assault?”

“You think I just give out my phone number to every idiot who punches a jukebox?” she said. “What do you think I am?”

“Well, if I can’t have your phone number, can I at least get your name?”

“Elisa. Elisa Benitez.”

“May I buy you a drink, Elisa, Elisa Benitez?” Wick asked.

Her heart hit the bottom of her stomach. “I’m only eighteen,” she said, suddenly realizing she had no idea how old he was.

He winced. “Yikes. Am I a dirty old man for still thinking you’re cute?” he asked.

“Depends. How old are you?”

“Twenty-two.”

Elisa smiled. “That’s not that bad. We’re both college students, then.”

“Oh, I’m not a student,” Wick said.

“Oh, really? Did you graduate already, or are you not a college kind of guy?”

Wick looked away for the first time since the conversation started. “It’s a long story,” he said.

She wanted to ask, but she shouldn’t pry—after all, they’d only just met.

“Anyway,” Wick said, hastily changing the subject, “What do you study?”

“English, because apparently, a future of living under a bridge in a cardboard box is where it’s at,” she said, chuckling slightly. “I’m actually here with my British Lit class.”

“Ooh, I love a girl who is well-read,” he said, grinning at her.

Elisa rolled her eyes to cover up the fact that she was blushing. “You’re shameless,” she said.

“I consider it to be part of my charm. Is it working?”

“Maybe a little.”

He smiled broadly. “I knew it.”

“Don’t get cocky,” she said.

“It’s probably too late for that.”

“Probably.”

“Is it such a crime to tell a pretty girl I like her?”

“There are worse things,” she admitted, smiling. “You know, twenty-two and eighteen is okay if you go by the ‘divide your age in half, add seven’ rule.”

“Now who’s shameless?”

“Is it such a crime to tell a pretty boy I like him?”

“Pretty boy? Ouch.” Even so, he was smiling. “Leave me some dignity, please.”

“You were trying to feed a dollar to a machine that’s been dead for nearly a decade. I’m not sure you have much to spare.”

“Fair enough.” He looked at Elisa intently. “The rule says it’s okay?”

“Yep, I did the math.”

“So, how about your phone number?”

“Okay.”

Wick grinned victoriously, handing over his cell phone so Elisa could put in her number. She was just handing it back to Wick when Elisa crashed back to reality thanks to the sudden and highly unwelcome sight of Darcy across the bar. She was coming toward them, shrinking away from anyone that came within three feet of her.

Elisa groaned, and Wick turned to see what had caught her attention. As soon as he saw Darcy, he went pale.

“I, uh, better get out of here. I’ll call you,” he said. “It was nice meeting you.”

“Uh—you, too,” Elisa said. What the hell?

He hurried off before she could ask why he was suddenly in such a rush. Somehow, she doubted the fact that he’d seen Darcy and decided to run for it was a coincidence.

“Jordan will be out front in about five minutes,” Darcy said, once she reached her. “I was wondering what was taking you so long, anyway.”

“I met a guy,” Elisa said, shrugging.

“Oh yeah?” She didn’t sound too thrilled by this turn of events.

“Yeah. He said he’d call me.” She couldn’t help but smile. “He’s nice. Cute, too.”

“Congratulations,” she said dryly.

They went out front to wait for their ride, Elisa still riding on the high of meeting Wick. Darcy, meanwhile, seemed to be in an even worse mood than normal. She could practically see the clouds darkening and the birds stop singing.

Just as Jordan arrived and the girls got into the backseat, Elisa’s phone went off.

“He just texted me,” she said, grinning from ear to ear.

“Desperate,” Darcy said, rolling her eyes.

“No, sweet. I like that Wick’s the kind of guy who is upfront about telling a girl he likes her. No head games, no playing hard to get—which, so far as I can tell, is speaking in goddamn code—Just talking.”

Darcy stared at her. “Not George Sedgwick?” she asked.

Elisa looked up from her phone, then. “You know him?”

Was every aspect of her life going to be touched and ruined by Darcy Fitzgerald?

“I’ve known him for years,” she said. “And, Elisa—listen to me. Stay away.”

“So he did leave because of you.”

“Yes. And he was smart to do so—if I’d seen him face-to-face, I would have ripped his throat out.”

Elisa raised her eyebrows. “You hate him that much?” Privately, she took this as a ringing endorsement in Wick’s favor.

“I despise him. And I’m trying to protect you when I say block his number and hope you never run into him again.”

“Why?”

Darcy hesitated. “I can’t tell you,” she admitted. “But—but trust me, he’s scum.”

Elisa gave her an exasperated look. “Oh, come on.”

“Listen, a lot of the reason why I hate him is not my story to tell,” she said. “But do you really think I’m so spiteful that I’d try to turn you against him for no reason?”

“You really want an answer to that?”

She looked hurt. “I can’t force you to believe me,” she said. “If I could tell you the full story, I would. But you have my word—I’m trying to look out for you. Wick is bad news. Run fast, run far.”

“We’ll see.”

Shaking her head, she turned to stare out the window. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she muttered.

…

Elisa and Wick texted for the rest of the evening, completely ignoring Darcy’s glowering whenever she pulled out her phone. She was almost a little embarrassed at how giddy she felt every time her phone went off, alerting her to a new text. She’d only just met the guy, and here she was—practically tripping over herself to answer every message. If Lucia were here, she’d definitely give her an earful about how she should be playing “hard to get” and how she should stop throwing herself at him if she didn’t want to scare him off. Personally, Elisa was more a fan of “if you like them, tell them so.”

Elisa was about to head to bed for the night when she passed one of the studies. Inside was Darcy, on her phone. She would’ve kept walking if she hadn’t heard her say, “Wick’s here.”

She stopped dead and stood outside the study door, holding her breath. Darcy was still talking to whoever was on the other end.

“I don’t know how long he’s been here… I haven’t seen him since—yes, yes, since then… I don’t know. I don’t know…” It was strange, hearing her sound this uneasy. “Well, the good news is, at least he’s not there with you… Look, try not to think about it… Has he tried to contact—no? No. Okay, good. Hopefully he’ll keep his distance. I made it very clear to him he was never to interact with any of us again… No, he doesn’t know. He was talking to Elisa… I tried. I tried, okay? She wouldn’t listen to me.” To her surprise, that did sound more like concern than like annoyance. “Look, she’s an adult, she’s free to ruin her own life any way she sees fit… Okay, I’ll call tomorrow. Try not to worry too much, all right? I love you. Good night.”

She’d never heard Darcy’s voice so soft or so gentle before.

Elisa quickly slipped away before Darcy had the chance to leave the study, heading down another hall to avoid detection. Her mind reeled with questions. Who was that on the other end? Why did Darcy say Wick would ruin her life? Why would she tell Wick to stay away from her, and why did he listen? And what didn’t Darcy want Wick to know?

Another text came through. It was amazing how easily one could be distracted by a flattering message. Elisa didn’t dwell on those questions any further—at least, not that night.

Her only other thought on the matter before heading to bed was wondering why Darcy cared if she dated Wick or not.

And why do I care that she cares?