by Cecelia Gray
FALL FOR YOU
The Jane Austen Academy Series # 1: A Modern Retelling of Pride & Prejudice
by
Cecilia Gray
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The last thing that the girls at the elite Jane Austen Academy need is hot guys to flirt with. Please. They need to stay focused on something that lasts much longer: an acceptance letter from an Ivy.
But over the summer the school has been sold, and like it or not, the guys are coming. And it’s about to turn the Academy—and the lives of its students—totally upside down…
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To say Lizzie and Dante are polar opposites is the understatement of the century. He’s a snooty Exeter transfer with more money than Google. She’s a driven study-a-holic barely keeping up with tuition. It’s obvious that Dante thinks he’s way too good for Lizzie. And Lizzie knows Dante is a snob with a gift for pushing her buttons.
But things are changing fast this year at the Academy. And when Lizzie’s quest to stop those changes blows up in her face, taking her oldest friendship with it, she has nowhere else to turn but to Dante, with his killer blue eyes, his crazy-sexy smile, and his secrets… Secrets Lizzie can’t seem to leave alone, no matter how hard she tries…
Copyright 2011 by Cecilia Gray
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without express written consent from the author/publisher.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons living or dead, or places, events, or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are products of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
Acknowledgements
Thank you to Kelly, for always bringing me back to the source material, and to Shelley for giving me the peace of mind to write knowing I have a net.
Thank you to Ingrid, Whitney, and Martha for being boy crazy.
And most of all, thank you to Jane Austen. I can’t hope to compete with the originals, so I’ll let my imitations serve as flattery.
Prologue
Jane Austen Academy Gazette—Editorial Section
September 20
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a student at the Jane Austen Academy must be in want of an admission letter to an Ivy League university.
How then can the Academy’s new owners justify doubling our high school enrollment to over 500 students? They have not only strained resources but also forced us to compete with new incoming students for the limited number of Ivy League acceptances available to Academy graduates.
To add further insult to injury, our previously all-female student body who enrolled for the upcoming year under the status quo of private rooms must now take on roommates to create vacancies for an incoming male student body—an arrangement that can only strain our academic performance as energies previously devoted to studies must now tend to social niceties.
The new setup is asking for drama.
The Jane Austen Academy Gazette would welcome a dialogue with the anonymous new owners of our beloved school who insist on hiding behind the figurehead of the so-called Jane Austen Academy Trust, should the former side of the equation decide to show up.
Until then, it’s a new academic year with new challenges for Jane Austen Academy students. I, for one, intend to rise to them.
Lizzie Egmont
Jane Austen Academy, Junior Year
Chapter One
Lizzie dragged her red suitcase behind her as she weaved through the crowded hallway searching for Ellie in the chaos that was the first day back in California at Jane Austen Academy. Or Jasta—rhymes with pasta—as she and her friends affectionately called it, although affection had not been the sentiment of the day.
“Way to stick it to them, Lizzie,” a girl called from behind her. “Great pre-term editorial!”
“I know,” Lizzie sang back with a satisfied smile. Every student was invited to submit a pre-term editorial as an audition to be the Gazette’s new managing editor. Lizzie wanted the position so much her teeth ached, but the honor never went to a junior, anyway, so she’d elected to use her editorial to ruffle some feathers instead.
She hadn’t been the only Jasta student who had freaked when she’d received the ominous email from the mysterious new owners of her beloved Academy. Its subject line had been “Improvements.”
There was nothing to improve. The Jane Austen Academy was quite possibly the most perfect place on earth and certainly the only place Lizzie felt completely at home being herself.
She supposed doubling the student body and forcing them to take on roommates was one thing. But bringing in boys was quite another. Although, if the excitement in the air was any indication, not everyone was irked by this particular component of change.
“It’s like they’re all cute,” a redhead squealed to her friend as they walked by.
“I know—how is it possible, right?” came the response. “Finally, someone to dance with at the Welcome Back dance.”
“Did you hear who’s here?”
“Who?”
“You’ll never guess! He’s famous—”
They must be freshmen, Lizzie decided as she yanked her red suitcase past the gaggle of giggling girls. Only freshmen would be placated by cute dance partners and famous classmates.
Lizzie had expected and therefore prepared herself for a more impressive than average male population at Jasta. She had it on good authority that the new students had been recruited by the evil new headmistress for their prowess in athletics and the arts…in addition to their parents’ prowess at donating money. Never mind academics. Never mind the rigorous standardized testing that the girls had been required to pass in previous years before approval of their applications. Leave it to the new headmistress to brush those elements under the table in favor of dollar signs.
Headmistress Berg had been the guidance counselor under the old owners, but had betrayed her employers and weaseled her way into the headmistress position. She was sworn to secrecy, as was the Academy’s new governing trust, about the identity of the Academy’s reticent new owners. It was no surprise to Lizzie that Bergie had stooped to such measures to put those cowards before the welfare of the students.
“Football brings in more money than any girls’ sports,” Lizzie’s source—Bergie’s secretary—had quoted her boss. “Even men’s Ping Pong would bring in more money. And think of how this opens up the theater program with boys in the cast. Especially the right boys.”
Lizzie gritted her teeth at the memory as her blood boiled. She wasn’t going to let this transgression slide. If anything, the blatant sexism in disregarding the Academy’s usual academic testing requirements was the perfect opportunity to let her pen be mightier than any dollar. If she managed to weasel a few journalism awards out of this to flash on her college admissions essay to Georgetown, all the better.
At least there was one good thing about being forced to have a roommate: She would be living with her best friend. Speaking of...
She spotted a flash of blond hair and hurriedly dodged around the groups of parents hugging their kids as they dropped them off—a ritual her own parents never bothered with.
“Ellie!” she called.
Ellie Dvorak spun around, half a
dozen duffel bags and all, as one flip-flop slipped off her foot. She grinned sheepishly as she dug her toe back in and shuffled toward Lizzie, already speaking even though she hadn’t reached her quite yet.
“—sang along with the radio the whole drive from Santa Cruz. It was driving me batty,” Ellie was saying as they hugged.
For the first time since receiving that ominous “Improvements” email over the summer, Lizzie felt calm. She squeezed Ellie and her half-dozen duffel bags tight. Email and phone calls over the summer just weren’t the same as having her best friend with her.
“Do you want to go to our tree?” Ellie asked, referencing their first-day ritual.
“As soon as we drop off the bags. Did you find our room yet?” Lizzie asked.
“Not yet, but I think we’re at the end by the bathrooms. Can you believe it? No more sneaking into your room after curfew! We get to be roommates for real.”
“It’s the only good thing to come of the ownership change,” Lizzie grumbled.
“Maybe not,” Ellie said, pulling away.
Before Lizzie could ask what Ellie could mean by that—what else could possibly be good about the change?—Ellie had taken off down the hall, somehow managing to race past her despite her armfuls of luggage.
Ellie stopped in front of a door near the end, turned to study the door across the hall, turned back, and dropped her bags to the floor. Lizzie immediately knew something was wrong by the frown on Ellie’s face. Ellie did not frown. Ever. Her expression was always carefree—just like her Santa Cruz roots. Even now she was wearing a tank top, board shorts, and flip-flops, and would probably waltz the outfit right into class even though who knew what kind of first impression it would make on the teachers.
“What is it?” Lizzie asked as Ellie’s expression darkened.
“The worst.” Ellie hugged herself tight and nodded at the dorm-room door.
Lizzie glanced over. Two paper signs had been taped to the door.
The top sign read Ellie in a handwritten scrawl. The i above Ellie’s name had been dotted with a red heart. The name beneath read—
“Emma?” Lizzie said with disgust. “They have you rooming with Emma? Can’t the new administration doing anything right? We sent in our rooming request ages ago.”
Lizzie knew she shouldn’t be surprised by this development. Putting Bergie in charge of anything was likely to yield suspect results.
“Actually, I lied—this isn’t the worst of it,” Ellie said with a sigh. She nodded at the door of the room directly across the hall. Lizzie spun around and read the two signs taped to the door. Her name, Lizzie, without any hearts over her i’s, and Anne.
Anne!
The nemesis to wreck all nemeses.
“It’s punishment,” Ellie said as she pushed open the door to her room. “For your editorial. I’m sure of it.”
“But that’s blatantly unfair and an attack on free press and my First Amendment rights.” Lizzie didn’t care what any stupid sign said. She tore off the sheet of paper with Emma’s name, marched across the hall, and switched it with her own. She returned to Ellie’s door and slammed the paper with her name on it, taking a little satisfaction in beating against the door so it would stick.
“They’ll know,” Ellie said.
“Then let them try and do something about it.” Lizzie rolled her suitcase into Ellie’s room and glanced around.
She had loved the setup of her old room. She’d had a bed in one corner, a loveseat in the other, a desk in the third, and a wardrobe in the fourth. She’d let stacks and stacks of books pile up next to the loveseat until each stack was like its own coffee table, where she could set drinks and, of course, more books.
Now, instead, there were two beds across from each other in one corner, two desks in the other corners, and a shared wardrobe between them. She felt so crammed, so trapped, so annoyed.
She spent every summer feeling invisible. Back in Chicago, her parents were always working, any local friends from elementary and middle school were off at summer camp, and she counted down the days until she was back at Jasta where she was seen, where she was heard, where she mattered. But now, it felt like nobody was hearing her even though she was practically screaming at the top of her lungs, This is a bad idea! The only way she could survive the ordeal was with her bestie, Ellie, by her side and as her roommate.
Only Ellie didn’t look as gung-ho with the roommate switcheroo as Lizzie felt. Her friend climbed onto one of the beds—she still had beach sand clinging to the strands of her hair that was likely to get on the sheets—and sat cross-legged, eyeing Lizzie with reluctance.
“What?” Lizzie demanded. “Spill it.”
“We’re going to get busted and then get in even more trouble.”
“Then let them bust us,” Lizzie said, opening up the wardrobe. She unzipped her suitcase and began hanging up sundress after sundress. It was one of the best things about California—the weather was always sundress-appropriate, unlike Chicago, which swung between freezing cold and sweltering heat.
“Bergie already has an eye on you,” Ellie said. “What if you get suspended?”
“Ha!” Lizzie attacked another hanger with a dress. “I’d love to get suspended. Then I could write the greatest exposé ever, get distributed by the AP, and have Georgetown begging for my application.”
“Does everything have to be about getting into Georgetown?” Ellie asked, lying back on her bed and staring at the ceiling.
“Everything is about getting into Georgetown,” Lizzie said. She eyed Ellie’s collection of duffel bags, wondering how Ellie could just sit back and not unpack. She wasn’t sure if she could stand to let Ellie live out of her duffel bags for the first month until enough of her clothes had made their way to the laundry that Ellie would finally put them away. Maybe she wouldn’t mind if Lizzie just—
A throat clearing caught Lizzie’s attention. She looked at the doorway.
Anne Escobar stood there, wringing her hands.
Anne was—had been—Jane Austen Academy’s legacy. Her great-great-great something-or-other, an eccentric Jane Austen fan, had opened the girls-only school in the Central Valley of California with her family’s railroad money. Unfortunately, the same eccentricity that had led to the school’s opening had also led to its eventual ruin as it was irresponsibly run into the ground.
Lizzie knew this because she’d written a series of articles lambasting Anne’s family in the Gazette last spring, when rumors of the ownership switch were circulating.
“Can I help you?” Lizzie asked Anne with false sweetness.
Anne held up the sheet of paper that read Emma and pointed to Lizzie’s name taped up on the door. “I’m pretty sure these were switched.”
“Hmmm, first I’ve heard of it,” Lizzie said, batting her eyes innocently. Ellie, who was quite possibly the world’s worst liar, had the good sense to roll over onto her side and face the wall. She hadn’t even taken her flip-flops off! Lizzie was beginning to wonder if Ellie’s lighthearted ways were going to extend to their room and what that would mean…she needed a neat space to work in, not a mini-sandbox.
“Well now you’ve heard of it,” Anne said.
“I’ll be sure to post the story in the Gazette,” Lizzie said dismissively.
Anne stood there, unyielding and looking gorgeous. Despite how much Anne irked her, Lizzie had to admit she was drop dead. Whereas Lizzie’s own features were pretty enough—chestnut hair and brown eyes—the same coloring on Anne was exotic and traced back to Spanish roots. Her jeans were designer, not from Target. Her shirts were always perfectly fitted and darted and actually had cleavage to cling to, whereas Lizzie’s hung off her like a coat rack.
Lizzie hated how easily Anne one-upped her with everything. Her hair was just the slightest bit lusher. Her eyes, richer. Her lips, fuller. And beyond the physical, her family legacy at Jasta gave her an edge academically. Teachers called on her first. She received the interesting extra-credit assignments.
But her sin, in Lizzie’s mind, was that Anne was completely oblivious to this nepotism. To her genetic blessings. To how easy things were for her compared to everyone else. She didn’t even have the sense to seem grateful. She acted like everything was her due.
“Can we get some privacy?” Lizzie asked, motioning for Anne to shut the door.
But Anne didn’t shut the door. She fisted her hands and lifted her head. “We’re roommates,” Anne said firmly. “I know because I received an early copy of the roommate assignments.”
“What a surprise,” Lizzie mumbled. “Special treatment? For Anne?” Although she wondered why Anne hadn’t fought the assignment if she’d known so early.
“The proctors will be coming by to check room assignments,” Anne continued, ignoring Lizzie’s slight. “Your plan to tape up a piece of paper—like that would change anything—won’t work.”
“Then I have a better plan,” Lizzie said, dispensing with hanging up her clothes entirely and crossing her arms. “How about we skip the part where we’re caught and head straight to petitioning Headmistress Berg?”
“Petitioning the headmistress?” Anne asked.
“Yes, you know, what normal students have to do when they can’t get their way all the time.”
Anne drew to her full height, which was still shorter than Lizzie’s, and her eyebrows lifted in challenge. “Fine. By. Me.”
“You wait here, Ellie,” Lizzie said. Ellie, happy-go-lucky beach spirit or not, was not a rule breaker. Her timidity would hurt their case instead of help it. She caught Anne’s gaze, which seemed to have grown stronger in the last minute. “You with me?”
“For once, yes.”
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