Though some might be skeptical about her sincerity, Jane honestly does feel guilty about giving Diana an endless amount of grief during the preparations for the ninth grade play. But messing with her, and especially Trixie Belden, is way too easy. Showing up at the cast party Diana hosts after the play is a bold move- maybe even provocative, considering Jane's earlier actions toward her. Which is exactly why Jane chooses to attend.
Because, really, she doesn't have a lot to lose at this point. Her so-called friends have abandoned her, and none of her family bothered to be at the play tonight (Bill and Uncle David at least have an excuse- they're at the Hoyt farm helping deliver a foal- but her parents don't.) Most students at the high school aware of her existence view her solely as gossip fodder, or with disgust. Or worse yet, with pity.
So, does Jane have any regrets or reservations about crashing Diana Lynch's party?
None whatsoever.
While Diana was the star of the stage, Jane is the star of Diana's party. She spends most of the evening effortlessly charming Mr. and Mrs. Lynch, who are happy to see her and exclaim aloud about how she and Diana no longer spend as much time together as they did when they were younger. Jane talks and laughs with them as Trixie's glare bores into the back of her head.
Well, it's hardly her fault if Diana doesn't tell her parents about what goes on at school.
"I must say that your dress is simply stunning, Jane," Mrs. Lynch tells her. "Actually, I adore your entire outfit!"
"Thanks," Jane says with a smile. Her dress is blush pink tulle, with tasteful silver and white beads sprinkled throughout the bodice and trailing throughout the above-the-knee skirt. A wide ribbon banding her waist highlights her slim but full figure.
Cassandra, one of Diana's younger sisters, tugs on Jane's hand. "Can I look at your rings, Jane?"
"Me, too!" Pleads Savannah, her twin. "They're so pretty."
"Girls, be polite," Mr. Lynch warns them.
"Oh, don't worry, Mr. Lynch. It's fine," Jane says with a wave of her hand, and it honestly is. She slips the jewelry from her fingers, handing the rings with the baroque locket and the cluster of pastel-hued flowers to Cassandra, and the ring shaped like a teapot and the one painted to resemble a piano keyboard to Savannah.
"You're really nice, Jane," Cassandra says, admiring the two rings on her fingers. "Diana gets mad when we go into her room and play with her stuff."
"Oh, does she?" Jane sends a clandestine smile at Mr. and Mrs. Lynch, one that oddly feels less artificial than usual. "I can't imagine why that is."
All three of them share a chuckle as Cassandra and Savannah marvel at the rings. Even as they laugh, uncertainty suffuses through Jane; she's losing her grip on if she's pretending, or if she's honestly enjoying the company.
"Oh, is that Jamie Kenworthy who's coming this way?" Mrs. Lynch says. "I want to congratulate him. He played Romeo wonderfully."
"Actually, dear, I think his name is Jaime," Mr. Lynch corrects her, but Mrs. Lynch is already calling "Jamie" over.
The pause in conversation allows the realization to dawn on Jane that the room suddenly seems too crowded, confining to the point of being claustrophobic. Panic floods through her; she doesn't want to have another of her dizzy spells and be the center of attention as some fragile flower with a case of the vapors.
With a murmured excuse, she steals away from the Lynches and slips unobtrusively into the hallway. She's hoping to find a balcony or terrace of some sort that would allow her to catch a sobering blast of cold winter air, but she's too anxious to wander through these enormous halls with no idea of where she's going. Eventually, she sidles into an open doorway, praying not to encounter anyone there.
Luckily for her, the room is empty. Long and rectangular, it appears to be an art gallery. Jane's pace slows as she glances from left to right at the different portraits.
In the center of the far wall is a wide mirror that must stand at seven feet, the broad border intricately carved.
Moving closer, Jane takes the time to critically study her reflection in gold gilt frame, and decides that, for once, she likes what she sees. She's getting attention from all sides tonight, undoubtedly because her outfit is gorgeous.
To tone down the elegance of her dress, the rest of her outfit is deliberately more casual. A long bone white cardigan, with a floral lace front and an extended back, is worn open and with tacked half-sleeves. Sienna brown boots loosely lace to calf height, the leather ending in an upward curve just over her knees. The wide expanse of bare, burnished leather draws attention to the rich color and the gold hook-and-eye closures of the boots, contrasting against her bare legs.
The soft curls of her long sunflower blond hair are twined into a waterfall braid, woven with a silky white ribbon. Her makeup is an elaborate and careful bridgework of strategic concealer and color on her face, but structured to give the appearance of being very natural. Without the rings, the only jewelry on her person is a pair of rose stud earrings.
Her fashion choice is topnotch; no wonder the Lynches couldn't stop complimenting her. Well, that, or they were desperate to justify their presence at a teen party to the guests. To be honest, Jane would rather not have a party at all if her parents would be there the entire time, but considering her parents' absence at the play tonight, Jane doubts their attendance would ever be a concern.
Her smile fades.
The Lynches seem like a nice family. It was refreshing to spend time with them, to laugh with them. She probably talked more with them in the past two hours than she has to her parents in the past two weeks.
Their conversation made Jane feel . . . happy. Comfortable, even good about herself, if only for a short time.
All self-satisfied thoughts flee from Jane's head as she stares into the gilded mirror, utterly dispassionate about her reflection to the point that it might as well be a stranger's. She leans forward, her forehead pressing against the glass, and she lightly touches her fist to the mirror. Briefly, she imagines putting her fist through her reflection, watching the impact tear at the glass and feeling the glass tear at her skin.
She may look gorgeous tonight, but it's only one night, and in the long run, it's useless, anyway.
What doesn't Diana Lynch have?
She has looks. Clothes. Money. Close friends. A functional family. A mansion. The starring role in the school play.
Jane has an ace report card, nice hair, and a few science and math medals. And her father's credit card when he wants her forgiveness. That's it. She's not all that pretty, and she no longer has any friends. Her parents would never buy her a role in the school play; they likely wouldn't even remember she was trying out in the first place.
Anger boils in her veins, and she thumps her fist against the mirror with more force, wishing she could break the glass, escape this world, and live in the one on the other side. Yet her ire flickers, then disappears, leaving her feeling drained and tired. An exhausted, empty shell.
"Jane?"
Embarrassed, she hurriedly steps back from the mirror, turning to find Jim Frayne standing a few paces away, a somewhat quizzical expression on his face.
A silence persists between them before Jane inquires icily, in an attempt to hide her own self-consciousness, "Can I help you?"
Jim's eyebrows rise ever so slightly, but his tone is even when he replies. "I'm heading home. Do you want a ride?"
He lives just on the other side of the Lynches, so he would definitely be going out of his way to take her home. Jane considers momentarily, hesitating over accepting charity, especially from the friend of people she's very deliberately treated terribly. "Thank you," she eventually says. "That would be great."
She follows Jim through the winding halls, grateful he knows the way. They don't speak as they walk, and she can't read his expression. She wonders if he notices how good she looks in this outfit, how polished and cultivated of a presentation she makes.
"Will Honey or Trixie be riding with us?" Jane asks, if only for noise other than their footsteps echoing on the glossy marble floor.
"They're spending the night here. They have a sleepover with Diana," Jim explains.
Oh. She supposes that most girls her age are still doing that. She might be, too, were anyone willing to associate with her after her family situation turned into something out of a Lifetime Channel Original Movie.
A butler materializes to present them with their coats on the way out. Jane slips into her wool trench coat, her fingers smoothly gliding over the gleaming brass buttons. This coat, with its toffee color and A-line swing skirt, is her favorite piece from her collection of winter attire. The cut and style make her look fantastic, which is exactly why she selected it as a Christmas present for herself. This year her parents were too busy with their feud to buy holiday gifts, so they gave her and Bill money and told them to do it themselves.
Oddly, as she and Jim walk to his car, the latest Ford Explorer model, she finds herself again wondering if he notices her. Not as someone who relentlessly antagonized his friends, but, well, as a girl. If he sees that her boots emphasize her toned, slim legs, or that breeze brushes back her long hair as she walks, bringing it to stream behind her like a silky cape.
She's never had much to do with boys; there's a few she's friendly with in passing from the swim and cross country teams, but none she's close to. A boy like Jim, though- she wouldn't mind being with a boy who was nice to her and looked beyond her mistakes.
They settle into their seats, and Jim starts the engine, only beginning to drive once they've both buckled their seatbelts. The sound of warm air blasting through the heater vents fills the car.
"Diana did a good job tonight," Jim says casually. Then he double-takes and glances at her quickly.
Jane is not offended; she knows his comment wasn't intended as any sort of burn on her.
As for Diana . . . she did an adequate job in her role. Nothing spectacular, nothing truly inspiring. Jaime Kentworthy put forth a very strong demonstration despite his inexperience. Unfortunately for Diana, his successes highlighted her failings, and Jaime hadn't been in theater long enough to recognize when he should cover for her or help her out. While Diana didn't have any major missteps in the performance, playing opposite Jaime punctuated her shortcomings.
Perhaps Jane should have felt gleeful or victorious when watching Diana stammer through her lines in front of a full audience, but at the time, she was rooted in indifference, only broken by short waves of secondhand embarrassment. Now, she's relieved to have the play finished, and though she's loathe to admit it, more than slightly ashamed of her behavior towards Diana.
She observes the nuances in Jim's expression. He's tired. They all are, everyone who was in cast and crew for the play. It's been weeks of preparations, and the last few days especially have been tense.
The play was an enormous effort, and now that it's done, a burden is off of Jane's shoulders. While it's good to escape her house when it turns into a war zone, Jane allowed herself to become too emotionally invested in the play and its outcome. It will be good distance herself from the drama department, for a time, at least.
"It was a worthwhile experience, collaborating on a play," Jane says neutrally.
A few beats pass in silence.
"I know you don't get along with Honey, Trixie, or Diana," Jim says carefully. "I don't judge you for that. I don't make all of my friends' conflicts my own. But I've heard some talk at school, and- I think I can understand why you behave the way you do."
Possibly Jane should be angry or outraged about his comment, but she just feels tired. Not simply late night weariness, but a deep, aching fatigue that starts in her bones and extends outwards, ensnaring every last part of her being. "Convenient, isn't it?" she says. "I spend weeks acting like a total bitch, but, oh, look, I have a sucky home life to blame. I guess that explains everything about my behavior."
There's no bite to her voice, due to lack of energy, and her remarks don't dissuade Jim. "I can respect that you're going through a rough time, Jane," he tells her quietly.
"Yeah, you, and only you." Jane sighs. "It honestly doesn't matter what rumors are going around about my family. I've already cemented myself as Jane Morgan, the jealous shrew who couldn't have everything she wanted. Unlike others, who are handed whatever they desire." She shakes her head fiercely, but she's unsure whether her frustration stems from jealousy or exasperation with her own antipathy. "Years from now, Diana and Trixie will tell their kids about Jane Morgan, who was a nasty, malicious girl and jealous of Diana's beauty, so she plotted against her to steal the role of Juliet. They'll probably also make me out to be a lying, scamming whore who stole someone's boyfriend along the way."
Silence prevails for the next several seconds, and Jane questions if she's shocked him. She hasn't, though.
"Not everyone's like that." Jim's tone is even. "Not everyone is intent on being bitter, on dredging up the past and casting themselves as the heroes and anyone who opposed them as the villains. Most people can move beyond that, can recognize high school immaturity for what it is, and leave it behind. And if they can't . . . it's because they're petty and self-absorbed and way too focused on making themselves into martyrs in a black and white conflict."
It's on the tip of Jane's tongue to tell him that people are petty and self-absorbed, that people are obsessed with making themselves and their friends look totally innocent all the time, at the expense of vilifying other people. Humans are simply bastards that way; they hold grudges for years and don't bother to consider the circumstances of anyone who has wronged them. There's not much else to it.
"People are capable of forgiveness, Jane," Jim tells her softly.
Forgiveness is a fairy tale.
That's what Jane wants to say, but the words die on her tongue. Because in all truthfulness, Jane wants to believe him. She wants to live in a world where mistakes can be forgiven and forgotten, instead of constantly rehashed and thrown back in her face as ammunition. She wants to be in a place where people are better, instead of content to give in over and over again to their vices without so much as a shrug of their shoulders. More than anything, she wants to be somewhere with people who aren't focused on themselves and their personal conflicts and nothing else.
She wants to be with people who aren't like her.
There's not a single light on in the house when Jim pulls the car around the front circle driveway, the tires scraping on the set stone.
"It doesn't look like anyone's home," he says, frowning at the dark windows of sprawling Tudor owned by the Sammaels. "Do you want to come back to the Manor House?"
Ignoring the sudden chill of unease prickling her spine, Jane shakes her head. "That's all right, Jim. My family is probably already asleep."
Jim doesn't seem entirely convinced. "If you're sure."
"I am." Jane unbuckles her seatbelt. "Thanks for the ride, Jim."
He gives her a smile, and she can suddenly see why Trixie Belden finds him handsome. "Anytime, Jane."
He waits until she's in the door before completing the circle and driving off, the car's taillights disappearing among the evergreens lining the long, straight section of the driveway.
"I'm home," Jane says softly as she closes the door behind her. She doesn't actually expect a response; her father thinks an impending divorce is permission to spend even more time with his mistress, Bill moved in with Uncle David shortly after their parents broke the news, and her mother is probably knocked out on prescription pills.
At times, Jane wonders which came first: her father's adultery, or her mother's drugs.
The dark makes it difficult to locate the light switch, and the blind swat of her hand only flicks on the furthest hallway light. She leaves it that way.
Weariness descends over her as she trudges into the kitchen, only flipping on the side Tiffany ceiling lights rather than the main overhead lamp. She's not sure she can handle full lighting right now.
The bouquet of long-stemmed red roses on the tiled island counter catches her notice, but she's instantly distracted by a low canine whine.
"Pepper?" Jane calls. "Where are you, boy?"
A jingle of dog tags, and then the fluffy Caucasian shepherd dog trots into view.
Jane reaches out and ruffles his ears. "What's the matter?"
The dog only whines again, pressing his sturdy form against her legs. The force against her knees brings Jane to grab at the island counter for support.
"It's okay, boy," she murmurs, stroking his fur absently while reaching for the card on the bouquet.
Her hand stills and then begins trembling as she reads the note.
Dear Jane,
I'm sorry to have missed your play, and I'm sorry for the ordeal your father and I have created for you in the past few months. Some things simply cannot be fixed, and some simply never should have been in the first place. I can no longer stand living in this house, and I need time to move on and reassemble my life. By now, I'm sure that my departure is not unanticipated, and that you can understand my reasons for leaving. I'll be sending you a forwarding address soon.
Your Mother,
Elissa Sammael
In her shock, vague anger surges in Jane at her mother's continued use of her husband's name rather than reverting to her birth surname.
Desperate, Jane glances about the room, waiting for someone to walk and reassure her that this really isn't happening, that her mother isn't gone.
No one comes, of course.
Panic rises within her, forming a choke hold around her throat. Jane tries to calm herself. Nothing in the kitchen has changed, really. She's just opened a card.
Her own rapid breathing whistling in and out of her lungs is the loudest sound in the entire house. Light pulses softly from the tinted glass of the lamps. The night stretches endlessly before her.
A void swallows Jane as she stands in the dim illumination, reading and rereading her mother's note, trying to rationalize the words. But the reality of the situation soon weighs on her shoulders, and Jane's entire frame wracks as a harsh sob wrenches its way past her lips.
Exhaustion and despair pull her to the ground; Jane sinks to the terracotta floor, shaking as tears gush ungracefully from her eyes. Emptiness ravages at the core of her very being as yet another part of her world collapses around her. Her hoarse sobs jolt her body with such force that a sensation of sickness coils in her stomach.
When is this going to stop? When is her life finally going to change for the better?
Brought by the sounds of her devastation, Pepper pads over to her and settles by her side, lying with his head against Jane's thigh. Jane manages a slight smile through her tears, and pets Pepper's flank with one hand, clutching the crumpled card in her fist with the other.
Diana Lynch tentatively approaches Jane on Monday morning before classes start.
"Hi," Diana says, looking somewhat uncomfortable.
"Hello," Jane responds. She doesn't pause in rifling through her locker to find the books for her morning classes. She does, however, note that Diana is carrying a Lurlene McDaniel novel. Really. Jane was beyond those by seventh grade.
Diana extends an envelope. "Here are your rings. Thank you for letting Cassandra and Savannah play with them. That was-" the words seem to catch in Diana's throat, "-nice of you," she finishes in a rush.
"You're welcome," Jane says briefly, accepting the envelope and placing it in her backpack.
Diana looks at the floor. Jane does not invite further conversation; the morning started off with her father screaming at her for little reason, and given the past few weeks, she doubts her day will really improve.
Yet a nagging persists in her mind, jabbing at her conscience, which is ignored all too often when it comes to Diana Lynch. She ought to be at least friendly to Diana after all she put her through with stealing Juliet's dress. Though she still regrets her various unkind remarks to the three Bob-White girls, Jane feels slightly less ashamed of her behavior now that Diana's acting has proven her accusations correct all along.
Maybe it's wrong that Jane should take satisfaction in such a vindication. But a rather large number of things in her life are wrong right now.
"I'll be going now," Diana says hesitantly. She turns and walks a couple of paces, but Jane calls out to her.
"Diana," she says, forcing her tone to be sincere. "You did a great job in the school play."
A surprised expression flits across the girl's feature, before a smile lights up Diana's whole face. Seemingly speechless, she only waves enthusiastically at Jane before returning to her route in the hall.
Jane watches her go, and a part of her aches at the sight of Diana's smile, longing for the simpler time when the two of them were friends.