Personally, I'd Rather Lick Sand: A Modern Pride and Prejudice Variation Romantic Comedy

by Ari Rhoge

  “There's this boy working the noon shift at Cold Stone,” Kit said, grinning widely, blue eyes bright. “He's so adorable. Baby-faced. We met up with him there —— I really like him.”

  “He's in my third-period class, Kit,” Lydia snorted, taking a seat beside her mother. “If there's one girl he's going to ask out, it'll be me.”

  Kit mumbled, “you're going out with Jeremy.”

  “I'll probably ditch him soon.”

  Jane sent me a worried little glance from across the table and I couldn't help but snort, causing six pairs of eyes to find mine.

  “What, Lizzy?” Lydia challenged peevishly. Neither of us were a member of the other's fan club, despite that one point of significance of being related by blood. This girl was the prime example of being able to love somebody without necessarily liking them.

  “Nothing at all,” I said, smiling politely, pecking at my salad. “Just that you sound like an itty-bitty skank.”

  “Language, Elizabeth,” Dad warned, but I knew this was just to curry favor with Mom — a moment later, he concealed a smirk and took a bite from his salmon.

  “I'm just selective about the guys I date, okay?” Lydia rolled her eyes. “God, are you even seeing anybody?”

  “What is this, the topic of choice?” Jane asked, incredulously. “Where is this coming from?”

  “Did you miss the part about this household being 86% female, Janey?” Dad asked, smiling ironically.

  “Actually, Lizzy —” Mom steepled her fingers, taking a sip from her glass. “— Jane was telling me your new housemate has an older brother. Did anything happen from there? Or are you serious about this other boy?”

  I looked up, aghast. Jane stifled a laugh with the palm of her hand, and I elbowed her.

  “Um, definitely not,” I muttered. “He's just my friend's brother. And in a twist of ass-biting irony, he turned out to be the same editor who rejected my manuscript. So, that's a hell no, in all respects.”

  “Your manuscript was rejected?” Dad looked up, wide eyed and mid-chew.

  “Dad, I've told you this.”

  “Oh.”

  I love my father, really. But you know how some people screen phone calls and claim they listened to the messages? John Bennet has the habit of doing this with actual conversations.

  “Is he good-looking?” Mom and Lydia pressed simultaneously. Big shocker there.

  “No,” I mumbled, actually preferring they bring up George Wickham instead. What was this sick fascination with Will Darcy among those close in my life? Before they had even met him?

  “He's actually pretty gorgeous,” Jane said, laughing, and I nearly choked on my juice. “Just getting you back, Lizzy.”

  “Really?” Mom raised both eyebrows, leaning forward. “What does he do again?”

  “Did you guys miss the part about my manuscript?” I asked, shocked. God, my family could be overwhelmingly dense sometimes — it was like speaking to several brick walls at a time.

  “Does he know you as the girl whose manuscript he rejected?” Kit asked, through a mouthful of potato salad.

  “No, he knows her as his sister's rude housemate,” Jane said, smiling widely. “But he's very cute. Tall and dark and rugged. Some stubble, strong jaw. That kind of thing.”

  “I'm uncomfortable,” Dad muttered, darkly and to nobody in particular.

  “Darcy's an asshole, okay? End of story.”

  “Well, there is that,” Jane admitted, sheepishly.

  “Dude, he sounds hot,” rationalized Lydia. Marin and I wore identical grimaces.

  “Lizzy, do me a favor and don't date,” Dad warned, chasing a pea around his plate with his fork. “I'm getting tight-chested just listening to this conversation.”

  I blushed, burying my face into my hands.

  “How does it feel to have the spotlight, Thing #2?” Jane trapped me in a headlock, kissing my cheek. “Isn't payback sweet?”

  “I'll never bring up Charlie again,” I swore, feeling a headache coming on.

  “My pet name, Thing #1.” Dad narrowed his eyes at Jane. “No touching.”

  • • •

  The next day, I was buried under textbooks, research, and a thesis paper on stem cell research. And salvaging my sanity was Georgy, thankfully. She had practically built a fortress out of the papers and alternative assignments for the ones she had missed during the last couple of weeks. And she was pleasant company enough, especially since Jane had left around five in the evening for a date (insert your relieved eye-roll here) with Charlie Bingley.

  “Not a date,” Jane had insisted, blushing.

  “Yes, well, your shade of eyeshadow seems to think otherwise.”

  Georgy decided to take a 15-minute break from her studying, and surf channels, though being not at all thrilled with the results. “Hey, do we have HBO?”

  “Do you have the money for HBO?” I asked her, highlighting a passage.

  “Personally, I don't,” Georgy said, smiling widely, her blue eyes narrowing.

  “If you ask your brother,” I murmured, turning a page. “I will hurt you in creative and interesting ways.”

  “You're a sweetheart, Lizzy,” Georgy said, dryly, inspecting a strand of her dark hair.

  “You already know I love you, so my threats are always empty,” I justified, grinning. “I mean, seriously… who's safeguarding your secrets here? It couldn't be Lizzy Bennet.”

  “Gotchya,” Georgy said, wincing, and tracing circles on the couch. “Actually, there's something I wanted to talk to you about, Lizzy.”

  I looked up. “Please don't tell me you got a second job.”

  “No,” she said, laughing, surprised. “God, no. It's just that I might have — sort of, kind of — invited Will over for a quick visit.” This was all shared in a rushed exhalation, and she winced afterward for good measure.

  I snapped my textbook shut, and rose to my feet. “You know, I think now's a good time to go for that grocery run I've been planning all weekend.”

  She leaped up and stopped me, a hand on my wrist. “Look, I know you two clash. But he's flying back to North Carolina tonight, and I told him he could stop by. He won't be over for too long… I just don't want to see you leave the house on my behalf.”

  “Technically, it'd be his behalf,” I mumbled, hotly. But Georgy simply jutted out her lower lip, and I snorted. “Georgiana Darcy, I can't believe you're trying to pull a lip-quiver here. You're nowhere near that cute.”

  “Liar.”

  I sulked. “I hate you.”

  There was one absolutely karmic, utterly astounding, insert-angelic-choir-here incident that arose from Will Darcy's visit. And it happened to be his rental car completely fizzling just down the street. Because car batteries are a bitch. I was perfectly inclined to sit on my ass, continue studying, and let the Darcys handle this. In fact, Will Darcy probably wouldn't end up setting one foot inside this house. Can we say 'bonus point'? Because I can.

  But the pesky thing about consciences is that you can't fully tune them out. Besides, I was the only one who knew their way around the garage — and, more importantly, their way around the bright-orange emergency toolkit inside the garage, which, lo and behold, included scarcely used jumper cables. So, after several expletives, and a quick snatching of supplies, I gunned up Charlotte's Pinto (mine for the weekend), and met the Darcys at the corner of Doe Run down the street.

  • • •

  Will Darcy watched in frustration as Elizabeth Bennet pulled up to the curb in a bruised and battered Ford, which was nearly falling apart at the seams — indeed, it seemed as if the grill would clatter to the asphalt at any given moment. He raised an eyebrow at Georgy, who ignored this in favor of leading Lizzy snugly to the corner so that she was in an ideal position in front of the Lincoln's open hood. Then she clambered out, cables in her grasp.

  The first thing he noticed about Lizzy was that her hair was down — it might have even softened her expression if she wasn't scowling. Why was
she scowling? The second was that she was completely barefoot. And then he couldn't stop himself from muttering, “what, no shoes?”

  “Nope.” She popped the word from her lips, craning over the engine. “I'm going for a Frodo Baggins kind of look today.” She didn't even waste time to look at him, and half of her body disappeared beneath the hood of the vehicle.

  Georgy laughed, scratching her head. “Sorry, what?”

  “Lord of the Rings,” Will mumbled, coming to Lizzy's side. “Look, thank you… but I can use jumper cables.”

  “Wait, let me make sure your battery's actually dead,” she said, helpfully, palm outstretched. “Give me the keys. I'll check the wipers and the headlights. It might just be your starter.”

  “It's not,” Darcy insisted, looking at her carefully.

  “Give me the keys.”

  And then there was no arguing. He dropped them into her palm and waited patiently by the hood as she got settled inside. At the very last moment, he thought he saw something questionable with the engine, and leaned forward. This unluckily happened at the same time that Lizzy decided to experiment with the horn. Darcy flinched, clamped his ears, and slammed his head on the hood.

  “Oh!” Georgy yelped, rushing forward.

  “Sorry!” Elizabeth called out cheerily from the driver's side. “I heard a bang.”

  “Oh, that was just my crushed skull,” Darcy said, seething, grasping at his head. “Son of a bitch.”

  Lizzy joined them shortly, arms crossed over her chest. “Well, the good news is that your battery's probably fine. Wipers and, you know, horn work well,” she said, pursing her lips, possibly to conceal a smile. “Your ignition makes a strange clicking noise though, so it's probably the starting motor. Maybe a stuck gear.”

  “I didn't know you were a mechanic,” Darcy mumbled, through a throbbing headache, sitting down carefully at the curb. “Jesus Christ, this hurts.”

  Lizzy sighed, sweeping a hand through her hair absently. “I should go get you some ice.”

  “I'm on it —— I'll call AAA too,” Georgy insisted, starting back toward the house. She jogged down the steep street, and disappeared from view.

  Darcy sighed, cradled his head, and felt a presence sit beside him.

  “How's the head?” Lizzy Bennet chirped, a little too brightly.

  “I'll tell you when I regain consciousness,” Darcy muttered, peeved.

  “Oh, shut up,” she snorted — and, to his surprise, she shoved him. He looked over at her incredulously, but she was busy trying to unknot the ends of her long hair. He caught the scent of her shampoo, and glanced down, distracted for a moment.

  “She should be here soon,” Lizzy muttered, under her breath, hugging her knees.

  “How do you know so much about cars?” Darcy found himself asking her.

  She looked back toward him, amused. “Oh, that? Well, I used to do sexual favors as a young teenager down at Jiffy Lube to get help with my car. I learned quite a lot, if you know what I mean.”

  Darcy blinked twice, and opened his mouth.

  Lizzy rolled her eyes. “My dad taught me the summer of my 16th birthday during a botched road trip to Ocean City. Come on, Darcy… take a joke.”

  “You just said it so seriously.”

  “Yes, but align some math here.” She raised an eyebrow. “I'm not some slut.”

  He shuffled his feet, uncomfortable, and she sensed it.

  “So,” Elizabeth started, cheerily. “Fancy seeing you at Starbucks the other day. Did you come to stalk me?”

  Darcy scowled, sitting upright at the accusation — which unfortunately made his head throb all the more, so he slumped his shoulders.

  “Don't worry, I'm just being a jackass,” she admitted, nonchalantly, tracing circles on the sidewalk. “You told me Charlie dragged you.”

  “Yeah,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. He cast her a sidelong glance, and cleared his throat. “You, um —— you work with George Wickham.”

  “This is true,” she said, carefully, brown eyes watching him.

  “Fascinating,” he muttered, darkly, kicking some dirt with his foot. He was suddenly having a hard time grinding out sentences.

  “I'd say so.” Lizzy rose, stretching her legs. She was doing an excellent job of avoiding his eyes when she said, ever-so-casually, “it seems we share a mutual acquaintance, Mr. Darcy.”

  And then he couldn't account for the way his fists clenched a fraction tighter. Lizzy noticed the slight twitch of the muscle in his jaw, and she leaned against the Navigator with curious observation.

  “Did I strike a nerve?” she asked, coolly.

  “I don't really think that's any of your business,” he responded, with an equal amount of warmth.

  “I see,” Lizzy said, nodding her head mockingly, chewing on her lower lip in thought. “This information isn't disclosed to the general public, then?”

  “What, is this a joke to you?” Darcy asked her, carefully. “What did Wickham tell you?”

  “Oh, we're on a last-name basis, are we?” she said, smiling brightly. “That's all warm and fuzzy.”

  “Elizabeth —”

  “Look.” She held up both hands, her jaw tight. “I don't want to talk about this. It isn't even my situation to talk about, okay? Let's just drop it.”

  “I want to know what he told you,” Darcy said — and the intensity of his gaze made her glance away self-consciously for a moment.

  She sighed, and pinched the bridge of her nose, and Darcy rose to his feet.

  “What, is this a height thing?” She looked up at him with disbelief. “Will Darcy clears off at six feet and suddenly he's intimidating? I'm not telling you either way, pal — put your big-boy pants on and get over it.”

  But, for a minute, she was intimidated. It was something about the way he was looking at her. Sure, she had expected him to be pissed off. But there was something deeper there that made her question, for about a millisecond, what George Wickham had told her — before she remembered who it was she was speaking to, and sobered.

  “I got the ice!” Georgy suddenly barreled up the street, startling them both. She reached them, and halted mid-step, frowning and confused. “What happened?”

  “Nothing,” Darcy muttered, taking the ice from her. Lizzy looked away.

  12

  —

  An Inconvenient Truth or Two

  “Let me get this straight,” Charles Bingley said, carefully, eyeing his rear-view mirror for a split second. “Your rental's starter is fucked up. The AAA towed the Navigator away — it's safely in the hands of Hertz, now — and I'm the poor schmuck dragging your angry Yankee ass to the airport.”

  “Did you miss the part about my angry Yankee ass being sorry for cutting your date with Jane Bennet 30 minutes short?” Darcy asked, experimenting with the Prius's seat adjustment. “Because I think I threw it in my explanation three times.”

  “But, see, your being apologetic can't be emphasized enough, if you ask me,” Charlie answered, dryly, smirking as he weaved into another lane. “It's okay, by the way. We probably just missed dessert at Piccolo Trattoria.”

  “I'm going to go on ahead and pretend I know what that is. I might even nod, if you want.”

  “It's a restaurant. And, wow, aren't you tense, Darce?” Charlie said, laughing, glancing at him skeptically. “Are these pre-flight jitters? Maybe you need a drink.”

  “No, it's nothing like that,” Darcy muttered, rubbing his temples. Though, at this point, he certainly wasn't against scrounging for a beer. It was astounding how his headache still seemed to be present — and pounding, no less. It was like a permanent reminder of the girl who had given it to him in the first place — by force.

  “Is this something you're going to explain? Or am I wasting my own time here?” Charlie cut to the chase — after years of practice, he knew his way around dissecting conversations with Will Darcy.

  “The latter, definitely.” Darcy leaned his head back, closed h
is eyes. He didn't have the patience to even think about Elizabeth Bennet, let alone to tell Charlie what had happened a few hours earlier.

  “Good. Now, I have something I'd like to ask you,” his best friend admitted, smiling brightly. “It's something you're going to ridicule me about — and you might even question my sanity — but I have to ask. Do you believe in love at first sight?”

  “Only on Tuesdays,” Darcy snorted, looking up. He straightened at Charlie's incredibly serious expression. “Oh, God — Charlie, no. Please don't say what I think you're going to say.”

  “I can't help myself,” he said, shrugging feebly, positively grinning. “Will, I seriously think I am. Or, at least, love at first date. I'm crazy about this girl… I'm absolutely crazy about Jane.”

  “I can count the number of your relationships that have started this way on both hands, Charlie.” Darcy frowned, holding up his fingers. “That alone should say something.”

  “You're just the eternal pessimist, Will… what do you know about love?” Charlie snorted, sparing him a sidelong glance. “Except for the occasional fling, or two, and that three-month stint with Regina Whatsherface during our sophomore year.”

  “Rebecca,” Darcy corrected, frowning slightly. “… I think. —— And don't change the subject. You're probably just attracted to Jane. She's smiley, polite, and pretty. It makes sense that you would look at her like something you won at a slot machine.”

  “I'm not even going to bother listing the number of things derogatory about that statement.” Charlie rolled his eyes. “And she's not like the others. God, she's just so great. So sweet and good-hearted. I've never met anyone like her.”

  “Is she into you?”

  “I hope so,” Charlie said, laughing. A hint of skepticism crossed his face for about a second, but he glanced up, nodded. She had to be.

  “That's obviously a solid basis for entering a relationship,” Darcy muttered, dryly, turning toward the window. “She just seems kind of distant, Charlie. Don't get so attached that you leave yourself susceptible to getting dicked over.”