by Ruby Cruz
Darcy pulled me into his arms and sighed. “I would love for you to come with me, but I don’t want to impose. I know my aunt isn’t one of your favorite people, and it’s not likely to be a very fun time.”
I pulled away slightly and tipped my face up towards his. “I’m not looking for fun. Despite your aunt thinking I’m unworthy of your attention, I don’t hate her. Her father - your grandfather - has died and, even though you may not have been close with him, I want to be there for you and for Ana.”
Chloe, seeing us embracing, climbed down from her chair and ran over to us. “Group hug!” She grabbed us both around the legs.
I laughed even as I could feel her sticky fingers on my thigh.
Darcy grinned down at Chloe before swooping her up. “Hey, did you save any cinnamon rolls for me? I think you have all of them smeared on your face.”
“No,” she answered with a giggle. “They’re all in here.” She patted her belly.
“None for me?” He pouted. “I guess I’ll have to eat you instead!” He made a show of fake chomping on her while he tickled her, and the room filled with her excited squeals and laughter.
Second Opinions: A Lizzy and Dr. Darcy Story
~ Available Now! ~
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Ruby Cruz is a transplant from New Jersey to the mountains of West Virginia. A night shift nurse by trade, she spends her non-work hours caring for her husband, two young daughters, and rambunctious dog, all while ignoring/despising any form of housework. In her non-existent free time, she foregoes sleep to type maniacally on a laptop and hope that whatever she writes is comprehensible and enjoyable to readers.
By Ruby Cruz:
Meryton Medical Romances
First Impressions: A Modern Retelling of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice
Second Opinions: A Lizzy and Dr. Darcy Story
Broken Heart Rehab: A Modern Georgiana Darcy Story (coming 2016)
The Nanotech Series
The Infected (Book One)
The Recovered (Book Two – coming late 2016)
Teen Romance
My Nemesis
Facebook Page:
http://www.facebook.com/RubyCruzAuthor
BONUS EXCERPT
My Nemesis
In comic books, every superhero has an arch enemy, the one character in the world they are driven to defeat and yet find nearly impossible to vanquish. In the rare event the hero is victorious, the enemy often comes back even stronger and more resilient - ever striving to be the ultimate reason for the hero’s downfall. Superman had Lex Luthor, Batman had The Joker.
I had Trevor Morris.
Not that I considered myself a superhero. I remained plain, gawky Taylor Martin, newly branded senior in high school, but that didn’t mean Trevor Morris wasn’t my nemesis. He was the bane of my existence, a horrid creature put on this earth whose seemingly sole purpose aimed at torturing me and making me hate every moment of my teenage life.
My friend Shelly Johnson found him wonderful. Shelly always thought any guy with half a brain, a cute face and great smile was wonderful. But Trevor had never needled her as he did me.
I wasn't exactly sure why I'd become the focus of his negative attentions. Maybe it was because I refused to take his crap and, more often than not, flung it right back at him. Most other people bowed to him and thought he was cool and awesome. They went to him if they wanted an A in algebra or an invite to the best parties. I, on the other hand, thought he was a troll.
Okay, he wasn't really a troll. He was, as Shelly attested, pretty cute, if you liked the tall, dark-haired, preppy type. His never-ending antagonistic attitude towards me made him a troll, an attitude that probably stemmed from my attempts to bring him back down to earth every now and again.
So what if he was the full package: good looks, good grades, funny and popular? None of that mattered as long as he treated me like the dirt underneath his shoe.
Trevor and I had known each other ever since my parents and I had moved to New Jersey when I was eight. To say he and I hadn’t hit it off from the start would be an understatement.
I remembered that first day in my new school vividly. It had been snowing and, having lived in Southern California up until then, I’d never seen snow before. Before I knew it, I’d been yanked from the joyful wonderment of my first snowfall into a roomful of third graders who looked at me like I’d grown six heads.
The teacher, Miss Lynn, had told everyone my name, but then a dark-haired boy announced to the class that my name wasn’t really Taylor - I was really a Klingon he swore he’d seen on a rerun of Star Trek: The Next Generation. I suddenly faced a roomful of laughter. Looking back on that moment, I could see Trevor’s point: I was tall and skinny for my age, with a huge head of dark, bushy, curly hair. To top it all off, I’d lost a couple of teeth and my smile, as rare and shy as it was, had been uneven and probably hideous.
My personality, even at the age of eight, was pretty similar to the one I had at eighteen. Opinionated but introverted, I’d rather sit in a corner reading than engage in anything considered sociable or cool. After Trevor made that comment in the middle of Miss Lynn’s class, a change came over me, and before I knew it, I’d knocked him down and we were sent to separate corners of the room for fighting. Not exactly the impression I’d intended to make my first day at a new school.
The problems seemed to escalate from then on. Trevor, the class clown and instigator, had subsequently chosen me as his perpetual target. I’d been a model student at my previous school, always awarded for good behavior and grades - somewhat of a teacher’s pet. Because of him, that reputation changed and everyone in school viewed me as a bit of a troublemaker, prone to yelling at inopportune times and fighting.
My parents couldn’t understand my transformation. I’d never had any of these problems at my previous school, and I’d never been caught fighting with anybody, much less a boy I barely even knew. Finally, by fourth grade, Trevor and I were assigned to different classrooms, but the fighting hadn’t ended there. As he and I grew older, our dislike for each other intensified.
Sure, I might have had a hand in getting him in trouble a couple times since grade school, but those had been innocent enough. All I’d done was rat on him when he’d tried to “borrow” my math workbook and changed the answers to my homework. Or the time he’d tried to copy my answers to our test on the Civil War and I got him sent to the principal's office. It hadn’t been my fault his dad suffered a coronary when he was on his way to pick him up from school. That had been totally coincidental. At least, that's what I liked to tell myself.
Yes, I felt guilty about that, totally guilty, but he shouldn't have been cheating off me in the first place and his dad smoked three packs a day, and haven’t there been studies showing smokers were more prone to heart attacks? Still, a part of me didn't blame him for hating me after that. Even I would’ve hated me if put in the same situation.
Needless to say, after his dad died, Trevor’s attitude toward me worsened. I began to suffer from full-blown anxiety attacks whenever I would have to do an oral presentation if he was present. And God forbid if I gave a wrong answer in class – he would act as if I’d stripped naked and started blowing farts out my rear.
Eventually, I began to go on the offensive. Nothing completely vindictive or humiliating, not like what he would do to me. I would just do little things, like slip a questionable magazine into his locker or backpack so his latest girlfriend would find it. Or “accidentally” trip and spill the copper sulfate he’d painstakingly weighed out and measured in chem lab.
It sucked we were in many of the same classes together. We vied for academic scholarships for college and thus attended courses with the other overachievers and honors students in our senior class.
I’d actually been sort of psyched for that first AP biology lab. I liked science and had really enjoyed my AP chemistry course the previous year, which, incidentally, Mrs. Pula
ski’s brother taught. Plus, the thought of using the credits to place out of some freshman level science courses when I started college next year was motivation enough for me to do well.
On the first day of class, I had been sitting next to Yu, who was ranked first in the class and whom I had assumed would partner with me. After all, we’d been lab partners during AP chemistry the year before, so it made sense that we’d pair up again.
I was wrong - he had decided to partner up with his new girlfriend, Li. As I inwardly cursed him and hoped all the Ivy League schools rejected him, I noticed everyone else had chosen a lab partner - everyone but me and Ronnie Jackson. Ronnie was a nice enough guy and really smart, but he was always in desperate need of a shower. The thought of spending the entire year holding my breath from his BO was not a pleasant one.
I was trying to avoid Ronnie’s gaze when Ms. Pulaski spoke to the couple sitting behind me.
“Trevor and Kimberly - how did I guess?”
It wasn’t a big surprise they paired up with each other. They’d been an item ever since sophomore year and were the top-runners for “Most Likely to be Married after Prom.” I considered asking Ms. Pulaski if I could work alone when things went BOOM.
“As much as I’d hate to break up the Dream Team, Mr. Pulaski informed me your performance in chemistry last year would have been better if you’d been, err, more focused during the lab period.”
If they hadn’t been locked at the lip for most of their waking hours, she meant. Before I knew it, Trevor had plopped himself into the empty seat next to mine and Kimberly unhappily sat next to Stinky Ronnie. I suddenly wasn’t sure which was worse: having to endure Ronnie’s stench for a year, or having to endure Trevor’s presence.
A part of me suspected half of Trevor’s success in school resulted from talking his way into or out of any situation. So, I half expected him to do so now that we were stuck as lab partners. Surprisingly, he did no such thing.
Seeing the expression on my face, he announced, “Look, Taylor, I’m as unhappy about this arrangement as you are. The least you could do is act civil. Otherwise, it’s going to be a long year.”
Great, I thought, partnered with my personal nemesis. I considered going to Ms. Pulaski and asking to be switched to someone else, but just as I was about to raise my hand, I overheard her shoot down Kimberly’s request to do the same.
So, instead of demanding to change partners, I turned to Trevor and said as calmly as possible, “As long as we both pull our weight on the assignments, I don’t see why this can’t work.”
When Shelly found out about my new lab partner at lunch the next day, she freaked out, to put it mildly. “Oh, my God, Taylor, I can’t believe you got paired up with Trevor Morris. He is so cute.”
Her boyfriend Brett poked her in the side. “But not half as cute as you, honey.” Then she nuzzled her nose with his while I repressed the urge to gag.
I’d known Shelly since that first day in school when I was eight. After the requisite time in the corner, the teacher seated me next to a small girl with blonde pigtails. She’d turned to me and whispered, “My name is Shelly. Don’t listen to Trevor, he’s just a jerk. I don’t think you look like a Klingon.” She told me years later that at the time, she’d had no idea what a Klingon was, but even as a child, her gesture was indicative of her character: open and direct.
I found it amazing she and I had remained friends year after year. She was the popular and vivacious one; I was the quiet, brainy one. Since the first day of high school, though, we’d grown apart some, especially since she started dating Brett. They’d started dating in the spring, when they both starred in the spring musical. It was amazing how a guy who had so much energy and charisma onstage could be so boring in real life. I think the most extensive conversation I had with him involved a comment on the weather. It was a wonder he even knew my name. Then again, I didn’t have a size C-cup and silky blonde hair.
“Shelly, before I let those little matchmaking wheels start turning in your head, I have to remind you of two things. One – Trevor has a girlfriend. A serious girlfriend. As in, they’ll-probably-be-married-right-after-graduation girlfriend. And two - he hates my guts and I hate his.”
She managed to disengage herself from Brett, who began to nibble on her neck. “I don’t see why you despise him so much.”
I was shocked that she, my best and oldest friend, had forgotten Trevor and I were mortal enemies. “Hmm, let me think. He egged my house in fifth grade, tore up my signed Birds of Prey comic in seventh, broke my nose with a basketball in eighth, laughed during my oral report on T.S. Elliott last year…do I really need to continue?”
Shelly gave me a sheepish look. “Okay, you’ve made your point. But you’ll have to get along now that you’re lab partners, right?”
I shrugged. “I guess I have no choice, do I?”
As Shelly turned to give Brett’s kisses a little more attention, I played with my macaroni and cheese. Playing the third wheel to their personal porno was getting old.
I glanced over at Trevor and Kimberly seated with other members of the debate team, no doubt discussing strategies for their first meet. Trevor, as usual, held center stage and talked heatedly about something. Meanwhile, he ignored Kimberly as she played with his dark hair and fixed his collar for him.
Why was it that almost every guy I knew turned out to be a jerk? Shelly didn’t have this problem. Then again, Shelly was petite and curvy, pretty and popular. While she looked the typical heroine and could pull off spandex and a bustier, I was the mere sidekick: tall, flat-chested, average-looking with a slightly crooked nose. Even my eyes were unremarkable – not really blue or green or brown, just some hazel-y non-color. I’d always been too reserved to be popular and I didn’t make friends easily.
I glanced at Kimberly’s long, dark tresses and longed to have beautiful straight hair, not the rat’s nest residing on my head. Sometimes, it was tempting to shave off the brown curly mop that frizzed in damp weather if I didn’t put a bunch of gel in it or pull it into a ponytail.
I had to admit Trevor and Kimberly made a pretty good-looking couple: they both had dark hair, dark eyes, and perfect complexions. And Shelly and Brett were, of course, the model couple. Even Yu and Li looked good together, all Asian and Ivy-League. I felt like the ugly duckling in an ocean full of attractive swans who had already found their mates.
“So, who’s it gonna be?” Shelly asked breathlessly after emerging from a heated lip lock with Brett.
“Huh?” I had no idea what she was talking about.
“Homecoming is only a few weeks away. Who’re you gonna take?”
Who was I going to take? Until a couple of weeks ago, I’d thought that I was taking Joe Harriman, but that was out of the question now, the cheating jerk. And there was no way I was letting Shelly set me up with someone.
I sighed. “I hadn’t really thought about it. Obviously, I was going to take Joe, but now….”
“Honey, I feel bad enough that I fixed you up with him in the first place. You don’t have to go all pouty on me and make me feel even guiltier. I know a couple of guys from drama club who would die to go to homecoming with you.”
“Please. The last thing I need is another blind date for a school formal.”
“Well, then, how do you suggest that we solve this? And don’t give me any crap about you going stag.”
“Actually, that’s exactly what I want to do. Why should I be tied down to a single date when there are plenty of unattached males out there?” Problem was, I had no interest in any of those unattached males, nor did they in me.
Shelly sized me up with her critical eye. “Okay. If that’s the way you want to play it, there are some changes that need to be made.”
~
The next day at school, I felt horribly self-conscious. What was I doing? What was I trying to prove? I didn’t even look like myself. I looked like some straight-haired, cheerleader wanna-be.
“Brainiac,” I corrected.
“Whatever.”
So I let her take me to the salon where we split the exorbitant cost of having my hair trimmed, straightened and highlighted. Then she personally waxed and tweezed my eyebrows, discarded half the makeup I owned and drove me to Target to buy new stuff. After that, she took me clothes shopping, rationalizing that, “You need new outfits for your new look.”
In one day, I’d blown two months’ worth of savings.
I had to admit, I looked different, almost unrecognizable in the mirror. I felt like that girl from the Princess Diaries, a movie I really hadn’t wanted to watch until Shelly forced me to. I had a new look, but still insecure me in the inside.
Shelly was supportive and quite proud of herself by the end of the day. “Perfect. Now let’s see the guys resist you now.”
When I got dressed that morning, I couldn’t bring myself to wear any of my new clothes. It just seemed too much - wearing low-cut shirts that enhanced my meager cleavage, clunking around in heeled shoes, squeezing into skinny jeans. These clothes weren’t me and I vowed to return them by day’s end. I felt much better in my requisite T-shirt and my favorite pair of jeans. Gazing at myself in the mirror, I felt much more like Taylor. I couldn’t return my hair, though, so I was stuck with it.
When I walked into homeroom, I felt thirty pairs of eyes swing in my direction, and then I swore thirty voices buzzed about me. When random people began to notice and compliment the new hair, all my misgivings about my new look began to fade away. I felt attractive and sexy for once, and I started to wonder why I hadn’t let Shelly give me a makeover sooner.
When AP English rolled around after lunch, I took my usual seat near the front of the classroom. Other members of the class started filing in and, feeling a surge of self-confidence, I smiled and said hi to people I hadn’t ever had a real conversation with before.