Disclaimer: Alright, Kiddos! The concept is Jane Austen's, but the craziness is MINE.

Author's Note: This is a modernized version of Emma, but we start from Harriet Smith's (a.k.a. Haley Jones) perspective.

"You were running out of a burning building? How does that make you FEEL?"

"First of all: you're trying to interview a SQUIRREL. Second of all: are you a journalist, or are you a shrink? 'How does that make you feel?' Really? If I had to guess, I'd say running out of a burning building made him feel hot."

The squirrel began to squeak indignantly, so I retracted my outstretched fist, which I had been pretending was a microphone. Admittedly, I had gotten a bit too near my interviewee's pile of nuts.

"That was some first-class reporting, Hales. Eat your heart out Barbara Walters!"

In a rare moment of immaturity, attempting to interview a squirrel notwithstanding, I give Robbie a shove, and he falls out of the tree. Fortunately, we're on the lowest branch, so I can enjoy the sight of his ass in the air. Unfortunately, he'd been holding his camera at the time, so I also enjoyed the sight of a broken lens.

Well...HELL!

I was going to pay for that one. I wasn't sure when, and I wasn't sure how, but payment was inevitable. At least, it was inevitable if I wanted to keep Robbie around, and losing Robbie Martin was not a sacrifice I was willing to make. He wasn't just my first, and only, one-night stand. He wasn't just my favorite camera man at The Goddard School of Journalism. He was my best friend, who had, unbeknownst to me, grown up in the county next to mine. His parents were farmers, and his chosen uniform of overalls, a plaid shirt, and work boots reflected how he had been raised. My grandparents, who I had lived with since I was five, because my mother was dead, and my father, whoever he was, was...somewhere, were also farmers, so my ideal outfit was no different than Robbie's.

The pair of us stuck out like sore thumbs among the immaculately groomed heirs and heiresses who attended The Goddard School of Journalism, which was tucked away in Greenwich Village. The Goddard School of Journalism was one of those tiny colleges that you don't know exists, until they try to recruit you with an information packet. However, Celeste Goddard, who had taken over the school following her father's death, knew how to get her students' feet into any door. My door of choice was People Magazine. Even though I had no desire to lead an interesting life, I was fascinated by those who did lead interesting lives. It wasn't even the relationships or scandals that appealed to me. I just wanted to know the little things: what they ate for breakfast, where they shopped, what their parents did for a living, etc.

"Oh, SHIT," I shriek, banging my hand against my forehead.

"Ouch," I whimper, as Robbie rolls his eyes.

"An eye-roll? That's ALL I get?"

"After the way you treated my camera...HELL YES!" Then, because he's a cheeky bastard, he kisses my forehead.

"Now...why did you hit yourself?"

"Oh, SHIT," I repeat, and he grabs my hand to keep my forehead from suffering another blow.

"I'm supposed to be at Celeste's in twenty minutes."

"Since when?" He relaxes against the tree trunk, and closes his eyes, but he doesn't start fake-snoring, so I know that getting him to cooperate shouldn't be too much of a hassle.

"Since she called me this morning to give me my marching orders."

"I bet those marching orders didn't include interviewing squirrels," he teases, as he pulls me to my feet.

I could kill him, but the damage I've already inflicted upon his camera will have to do for now. After all, I can't kill Robbie, hide the body, and make it to Celeste's in twenty minutes.

I knock on the front door two minutes before our scheduled meeting time, but Celeste doesn't answer, so I use the back door, which leads into her kitchen. She's sitting at the table, with various magazines spread out in front of her, and her phone pressed firmly against her ear.

"That's right. Her name is Jones. Haley Jones. No. Next week is not too soon. You're the best! Uh-huh. You too. Uh-huh. Goodbye." With a triumphant smile, Celeste hangs up the phone, and rushes toward me, scattering magazines as she goes.

Needless to say, that was an unsettling conversation to walk in on, so I'm not sure what to feel when Celeste charges at me.

"Haley, my dear, you won't BELIEVE what has happened!" Celeste had taken my hands, and she was whirling me around the kitchen, before I had a chance to catch my breath. She was beaming, and I was flying...right into Robbie's arms. THANK GOD for Robbie! He had an uncanny knack for being right where I needed him. Who knows what I could have broken if Celeste had thrown me into the counter.

"Is everything alright, Celeste," I pant.

"Everything is more than 'ALRIGHT' you wonderful girl!" She's about to throw herself at me again, so Robbie steps between us, which doesn't faze Celeste, whose handshake leaves him wincing.

"What's going on, Celeste," Robbie prods, and I LOVE him for trying to take some of the heat off of me.

"They want Haley!"

"They?"

"THEY! People Magazine, of course!"

And then...I do hit the counter...after I faint.

When I come to, Robbie's camera is next to me. Apparently, I decided to yank it out of his hand on my way to the floor.

"Do you have some kind of vendetta against this camera," Robbie growls.

"What were you saying about People Magazine, Celeste," I hastily interrupt what I'm sure could be one hell of a lecture.

"I'm not sure I should tell you, dear."

"I'm already on the floor, Celeste, so I don't know how much more damage I can do."

"Well, People Magazine wants you to interview someone from a reality show."

"Why do they want ME?"

It's Robbie's turn to interrupt, because I'm treading into dangerous waters. I've always suspected that the success of Celeste's students has something to do with an exchange of sexual favors.

"Who do they want her to interview, Celeste?"

"This isn't really anything to faint over, Haley. It's just a little interview with some music producer's daughter named Harmony Woodwin."

non-damsel: I don't know what possessed me to do Emma, EMMA!, of all things, but...if this doesn't suck, you can consider it my gift to you. Your stories gave me so much enjoyment, I just wanted to give a little back.