Adapt

by Melanie Rachel

  “What’s it like to date Will Darcy?” she asked breathlessly.

  A chorus of female voices began to toss out similar questions, and Elizabeth chuckled, resigned.

  “So, let me get this right,” she said, both hands now clasped behind her back. “I spent six years in the Marines, traveled around the world, and earned a Master’s degree in Cyber-Threat Analytics. But what you really want to know is how my love life is going?”

  “Yes!” came a chorus of girlish voices, Lydia’s among them.

  Elizabeth ducked her head slightly and rubbed the top of her nose with a finger. Good-humoredly, she replied, “I think I’m very afraid for the future of this country.”

  A slight Asian girl in the front row slowly raised her hand. Her voice was too low to be heard at first. Elizabeth waved Kit over to the stage and bent to hand her the microphone so that the girl could speak into it.

  “Staff Sergeant Bennet,” she said carefully, wincing at the volume of her voice, “you say you were unarmed in Brussels when the attack there began, and you were unarmed when you were chased by two photographers in New Jersey a few weeks ago. Is that correct?”

  How does she know about Jersey? Oh, Kit and Lydia. Figures. Elizabeth nodded.

  “I was just wondering,” the girl continued, her eyes trained somewhere over Elizabeth’s left shoulder, “how you knew what to do?”

  Elizabeth felt a jolt of unease, but before she could ask herself why, a male voice erupted from the middle of the crowd to holler, “She’s a Marine, stupid!” Her gaze shot over to the rest of the audience, quickly locating him.

  Another boy from the back stood up and cupped his hands around his mouth. “But she had no gun!”

  The first boy stood to toss a half-full water bottle at the second. “They’re trained for that, moron!”

  Elizabeth watched a man in sweatpants gesture to the first boy. A coach, probably. The student tipped his head up to the ceiling but joined the man in the aisle. The two walked out together.

  Other students began arguing and jabbering, raising the volume in the room to an uncomfortable pitch.

  Kit handed the microphone back to Elizabeth quickly while the teachers tried to reassert calm and the noise continued to build. As soon as she had a grip on the mic, Elizabeth stood and bellowed, in her most commanding, thundering voice, “Students, STAND DOWN!”

  It was a risk. She wondered what she would do if they all simply ignored her. She certainly had no authority here, and the students might have been offended to be addressed in such a way. Thankfully, they weren’t. Instead, heads swiveled towards her as a hush fell over the crowd. Three hundred and fifty pairs of eyes were instantly trained on her.

  “What’s your name?” she asked, looking directly at the young girl who was cowering in her seat, hiding behind a sheet of straight black hair. The answer was too low to be heard. She turned to Kit expectantly.

  “Kaylie,” Kit called.

  “Kaylie, that’s an excellent question,” Elizabeth said, staring at the girl, willing her to look up. Finally, she did, and Elizabeth smiled at her.

  Kaylie didn’t smile, but she did straighten her back and sit a little taller.

  “The answer is this. We all need to be aware of our surroundings so that should we need to protect ourselves, we can. In De Roos, that started with a couple of ceramic beer steins.”

  The word “beer” produced a few hoots, and someone hollered “Great stopping power!”

  “As it turns out, yes, they did have great stopping power. We used the steins to protect ourselves and others. We improvised. When I was being chased by photographers—and I will say that I did not know they were photographers—I looked around and saw that it was garbage day, and I happened to grab a bag of dirty diapers. So, again, I used what was at hand.”

  “Biological warfare,” contributed Kaylie, pushing her glasses up on her nose. Her voice was still quiet, but it was audible now.

  Elizabeth felt her face crack into a grin. “That’s right. If baby poop is what you have available to work with, that’s what you use.” She looked around the room, silently noting that a certain segment of the audience was gleefully repeating “baby poop.” I am so glad I’m not still in school. She tried to refocus their attention. “So, if you needed it right now, what would you be able to use?” She noticed several of the teachers pale and one wave her hands frantically, but what was she to do? The question had been asked, and it was a sad fact that students all over the country might one day need this information. They’d lose all respect for her if she backed away now.

  This resulted in a discussion of high heels, boots, rings, keys, pencils, heavy textbooks, and other items students might have at hand, though Elizabeth was very precise about the kind of emergency that would be necessary to justify such actions. After a while, Elizabeth checked her phone and realized she’d gone over her allotted time. Nobody had said a thing, and she apologized as she wrapped her talk up so the students could return to their classes or head to lunch.

  “Remember that the surest way to lose the power to escape a bad situation is to panic. When you panic, you stop thinking.” She gazed out across the sea of faces. “Stay calm and seek help, whether that’s getting away, talking to a friend or trusted adult, or, as a last resort, finding some way to stand your ground and protect yourself. But if you take that last option,” she warned the students, “you must also be willing to accept the consequences of your actions.” She said her goodbyes and placed the microphone back in its holder.

  The applause was loud and raucous, and Elizabeth acknowledged it briefly before stepping smartly down the five stairs to the floor to say hello to Kit. She caught a vague glimpse of Lydia struggling against the flow of bodies heading to the back doors and waved her forward.

  Kit threw herself at Elizabeth. “Lizzy, that was amazing! You are so cool.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “Didn’t you tell me only last night I was hopelessly old and out of tune with teenagers?”

  Kit elbowed her and laughed. She was nearly giddy with what appeared to be happiness and relief. “I don’t believe you ever were a teenager, Lizzy, but the way you got everyone to shut up was awesome. Kaylie is a sweet girl, but a very quiet one. It’s amazing that she even asked a question. I wanted to hit Robert Johnson when he shouted at her. Oooh, I could just kill him.”

  Elizabeth tossed an arm around Kit’s shoulder and hugged her. “You’re a good person, Kit.” She indicated the outfit. “You look great, by the way.”

  Kit smiled. “You think so?” she asked as she tentatively touched her hair. “I’m going for post-WWII.”

  Lydia had finally made her way to them. Her hair was pinned neatly away from her face, the rest cascading in soft curls down her back, and she was wearing a dress that was perhaps just a bit too tight in the chest. Thankfully, the hem on her skirt hit her knees, which Elizabeth presumed met the school’s dress code. She was also wearing one of her many pairs of platform shoes. Elizabeth thought that if Lydia scraped away about half the makeup she was wearing, she could easily pass as a senior instead of a sophomore, but she had no intention of pointing this out. Instead, she took note of it and added it to her list of worries. She reached out to lift a strand of hair from Lydia’s shoulder.

  “Why did you dye your hair, Lyddie?” she asked softly.

  Lydia blushed. “I was trying to match your shade, but it’s too dark. I’ll have to wait a bit before trying to go lighter.” She turned to Kit and changed the subject. “We are going to be so popular!” she gushed. “And I’m going to have almost three years to enjoy it!”

  Elizabeth was both amused and comforted. She hadn’t embarrassed them. They were happy with her. “I think you’re welcome,” she replied sardonically.

  Kit grabbed her arm. “Listen, Lizzy, while I have you here, I have a favor to ask.”

  “This wasn’t a favor?” replied Elizabeth, hooking a thumb back at the stage.

  “Another favor, then,” Kit
continued, ignoring the needling.

  Elizabeth nodded and waited.

  Kit pressed her lips together. “You know I’m applying to the Rhode Island School of Design, right?”

  “You’ve mentioned it a few times, yes.”

  Kit put her hands on the top of Elizabeth’s shoulders, as if to hold her in place. “I want to make you a dress. If you can get in the papers with it, it would help my portfolio stand out.”

  Elizabeth pressed her lips together. “What kind of a dress, Kit?”

  “Oh . . .” Kit’s expression became dreamy and faraway. “You love the old classics, right? Thirties, forties, fifties?”

  “Yes . . .”

  “I love them too, and I have the perfect dress in mind for you. I’m already working on it. It’s similar to one Ava Gardiner once wore, but with some cutouts to make it more modern.” She saw the doubt in Elizabeth’s face, but clutched her sister’s arm and continued, “You’ll love it, I promise. Please? You know I’m your favorite sister. Please?”

  Elizabeth began to laugh. She held up her hands. “I will try it on, Kit, but I can’t have any wardrobe malfunctions, so I’m reserving judgment until then.”

  Kit jumped up and down excitedly thanking her while Lydia tossed her hair. “Act your age, Kit,” she said with just a bit of derision. “Everyone knows I’m Lizzy’s favorite.” She grabbed Elizabeth’s wrist and pulled her towards the side door. “I want to show you something,” she said demandingly.

  Elizabeth easily pulled her arm free. “Ask me nicely, Lydia.” Kit snorted. Lydia rolled her eyes.

  “Please, my lovely, darling, badass sister . . .”

  “Lydia,” Elizabeth interrupted warningly. Why isn’t Aunt Maddy challenging Lydia to a hot dog eating contest?

  “Follow me,” Lydia demanded, ignoring her older sister’s disapproval. “You’re going to love this.”

  Chapter Two

  “Well, that’s unsettling,” Elizabeth said, staring up. She recognized it as one of a set she’d been ordered to do for the Marines recruiting effort before separating. “I thought those were only supposed to be in recruiting offices.”

  Lydia had dragged them into the computer club’s lab. It looked like any other room for computer students: gray walls and carpet, fluorescent lighting, rows of laptops chained to their desks, additional equipment in the rear cabinets under lock and key. Exactly like any other geek haven, she thought numbly, except for a three-foot poster of herself in her dress blues, her cover under one arm, plastered to the wall at the front of the room.

  “Oh no,” Lydia said with a laugh. “That’s not what I wanted you to see, Lizzy.”

  She dragged both of her sisters into the boys’ bathroom just off the main lab.

  “Voilà,” she said grandly, flipping on the light switch and waving her hand at a smaller version of another recruiting photo. Elizabeth was in her utility uniform in this one, looking straight at the camera. It was hanging directly above and behind the toilet. Elizabeth stared at it for a moment without blinking.

  “Oh. My. God.” Kit’s eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets as Elizabeth reached up and snatched the poster from the wall.

  “Lydia,” she said in a low voice, “I don’t think I want to know how you knew this was here.”

  “All the boys love me, Lizzy, even the geeks,” she said with a giggle. “Apparently, they love you, too.”

  Kit grimaced. “Oh, I think I may throw up,” she said, her lips curling up in disgust.

  “Get in line,” Elizabeth muttered. She turned on her heel and walked back into the lab, where she unceremoniously ripped the other photo off the wall.

  “Why?” Lydia asked. Elizabeth thought her youngest sister was genuinely perplexed. “It’s a compliment, Lizzy. They think you’re hot.”

  “Lyddie,” Elizabeth said, her voice preternaturally calm, “are there others?”

  “Well, I can’t go in the boys’ locker room,” Lydia replied with a snort, “but yes, I think I know where all the others are.” She gave her sister a hopeful look. “I could help you search the boys’ locker room if you wanted. I bet the principal would let you.”

  “Lydia . . .” Elizabeth growled. They would have to go to the principal. She couldn’t just stomp around campus tearing posters off the walls. To have to explain why was going to be humiliating, but she would try not to show it.

  “Do you see what I put up with?” Kit asked, motioning to her little sister.

  “Really?” Lydia asked with a pout. “I thought you’d see what a good joke this is.” She rolled her eyes. “Clearly, neither of you have a sense of humor.”

  Elizabeth was sitting in the kitchen with two empty beer bottles in front of her on the counter, her head pillowed on her arms. She hadn’t expected her day to go this way. As if the posters weren’t enough. When she heard Will opening the front door and the sharp clink of the keys being tossed in the blue bowl she didn’t lift her head, not even when she heard his footsteps and a soft laugh a few feet away.

  “It went that well, huh?” he asked playfully.

  She looked up, her chin resting on her forearm. Will was wearing a thin blue sweater over a white oxford shirt and light tan slacks. He had already removed his sportscoat. He always looks good. Jerk. “Where’ve you been?” she asked. “I thought you were working from home today.”

  “I was,” he replied, “but I had some things to take care of.” He returned the conversation to its original topic. “How’d it go?”

  Some things to take care of, or someone? “This day has been surreal,” she said and sighed. “Like, Salvador Dalí surreal.”

  He pursed his lips. “Jerry told me you called him to pick you up.”

  She grunted. “I had to speak with my aunt, so I went home with the girls and missed the express.” She closed her eyes, then opened one to peer up at him. “I didn’t have it in me to take the long train, and I needed to talk to you. Plus,” she said, tapping one of the bottles, “I can drink here without anyone commenting.”

  Will sat across from her. “Want to talk about it?”

  Elizabeth shook her head from side to side. “Not particularly, but I think it’s important that we do.”

  “That’s a dramatic announcement,” he said cautiously. “Was it your speech? I thought it was pretty good, myself.”

  “Didn’t give it.”

  He waited but she didn’t say anything else.

  “I could just call Kit and ask, I suppose,” he said thoughtfully, peering down at her.

  Fine. Let’s have this out. “She’s just as confused about it as I am. Lydia, on the other hand, may very well be planning a hit on you . . .”

  Will tipped his head slightly to one side, teasing forgotten. “What are you talking about?”

  Who, Will. Who am I talking about? Elizabeth stood and turned to the refrigerator. She reached in for another beer, which she set on the counter and Will immediately grabbed.

  “Hey,” she protested as the bottle flew out of her reach.

  “No ‘hey,’ Elizabeth Bennet,” he said seriously. “You’ve already finished two. Explain.”

  She resumed her original position and grunted. “I’ve been waiting for almost three hours, Will—a few beers isn’t a big deal.” She sighed. “I know we need to talk, but I don’t want to have another huge argument where I get mad, and I don’t want to go run tonight.”

  Will’s eyebrows pinched together suspiciously. “You have to be careful with your alcohol intake because of the concussion.”

  She frowned. “Who told you that?”

  “I looked it up,” he said flatly.

  She rolled her eyes. “It’s been months, Will.”

  “The alcohol limits never go away,” he insisted. “Once you’ve had a TBI, you really shouldn’t drink at all.”

  “Will,” she huffed. “I’m allowed to drink a beer or two if I spread it out and drink water. Which I have.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “I don’t li
ke the sound of that. Have you had more than those two?”

  “Mmmph,” was all she said. Elizabeth heard him step on the lever for the recycling bin. She’d put the first bottle in there hours ago.

  “Okay, that’s it,” Will said sternly. He took two bottles of water out of the refrigerator, ordered her to stand, and, despite her protests, ushered her down the stairs to the bedroom. He sat her on the bed and handed her the first water. “Drink it,” he commanded. “And then start talking.”

  She frowned but lifted the bottle to her lips.

  He changed clothes while she drank. He watched until she finished it, then came back to the bed in his t-shirt and some sweatpants, opened the second bottle, and handed it to her. “Sip this,” he directed.

  “Bossy,” she complained.

  “Apparently, I have to be the grown-up,” he shot back unapologetically.

  “Really?” she asked. “You’re the one acting like an adult?”

  “Elizabeth,” he said sharply, arms crossed over his chest, “what is going on?”

  Elizabeth pulled out her phone, touched the screen, and handed it over. “I had some trouble at the school, Will. Then I went to Aunt Maddy’s, and guess what? More trouble waiting for me there. It’s in the paper, it’s online . . . ”

  He stood still and stared at the photo on the screen. It had been taken at The Dakota. His lips parted slightly, but he didn’t say anything.

  “Who is Caroline Bingley, Will? Is she related to Batboy?” Elizabeth asked. “And why were you leaving a bar with her the same night we had our fight?”

  Will stared at the picture of himself and a drunk Caroline Bingley leaving The Dakota and getting into a taxi. He grimaced. “She called right after you stormed out.”

  Elizabeth just watched him, her green eyes piercing right through him.

  “She was drunk, Elizabeth,” he explained, knowing how ridiculous it sounded. “She needed a ride home, that’s all.” He studied the photo. Caroline didn’t look drunk from this angle, and she was hanging on his arm. Damn it. “Despite how this looks, I was just there to be sure she got home safely.”