AU where Darcy's more dark, protective, and rebellious and Emma's quieter and more innocent. Stewart and Emma meet in the newspaper room.

Disclaimer: MDBC, content, and its characters belong to Heather Vogel Frederick.

Mystery

Stewart's POV

I look across the room, past the many bookshelves of articles and walls of printed newspapers at the new girl at our weekly newspaper meeting, the first one of the school year. I haven't seen her anywhere before, especially not here.

She seems familiar, though, with short, characteristic brown hair, coiled perfectly, and soft chocolate eyes tucked behind glasses like the ones perched on my nose. Have I met or even noticed this mystery girl? It's like we knew each other in a past life.

Maybe my sister Becca knows her. Are they in the same grade? I honestly have no clue, but it could be true. Maybe the girl's a year younger than me, and a year older than Becca, or she's in my grade, or maybe she's new to Concord. Anything is possible. Whatever her age, I feel a need to know more about the mystery that just showed up at our newspaper meeting.

Whoever she is, this girl doesn't acknowledge me in the least, which half-pleases but half-disappoints me at the same time. I kind of want her to look at me, and I'd look at her if it wasn't so awkward.

Then again, she probably wants to be left alone, and I don't want her stalking me. Not that she would, because I'm not too popular.

Our regular teacher isn't here because of a journalism-related trip to Washington DC, so there's a substitute today. I think his name is Mr. Crandall? Perhaps that's the name. Anyway, he's very sociable and kind, much unlike some of the subs I've had.

He takes a clipboard, covered with pages of notes and messages about messages and articles, and begins to announce assignments for the new paper.

"Chadwick?" Mr. Crandall says loudly, over the buzz of chitchatting girls and boys present at the meeting.

"Yes?" I see his eyes glaze over the room as Becca and I both perk up and speak simultaneously. I wonder which one of has gotten their first assignment of the year.

"Sorry, which Chadwick?" I sheepishly ask. "There are two."

Mr. Crandall smiles sympathetically and says, "I'm looking for Rebecca Chadwick. Sorry for any confusion I may have caused."

My sister casually pulls a strand of golden hair away from her face, twirls it around her finger gingerly, and says, "I'm Becca Chadwick," in her most sophisticated, profound voice, the one I've heard as she practices dozens of times in front of the bathroom mirror at home.

"Okay, Becca, you're going to be working with Thomas Vanderbilt on an article about the possible adoption of school uniforms here at this fine school. They're still weighing the pros and cons, so we need a persuasive article, around five hundred words, giving a definite yes or no." Mr. Crandall says, smiling.

I inwardly laugh at Becca's face when Mr. Crandall says 'five hundred words', like it's a foreign language or an ancient code. Becca's not too smart, and she doesn't care about her grades at all. The best grade she has in a curricular class is a 73 in science. I don't understand how we're related sometimes. Okay, maybe all the time.

Becca's world is filled with her Fab Four friends, shopping for just about anything, going to the mall, and boys. Plenty of boys. Mustn't forget the infamous Zach Norton or the strange, annoying Third Bartlett (or Cranfield Bartlett III, whatever floats her boat). And don't, at all costs, leave out Darcy Hawthorne. If only she knew what he was like at school.

Thomas and Becca meet and begin to plan the article: who's going to edit, take photos, interview, and all that jazz. I can already tell that Becca's trying to act innocent and naïve in front of her partner, because she won't stop fluttering her thick Maybelline lashes and puckering her lips slightly, like an immature rosebud would.

Meanwhile, Mr. Crandall continuously calls out varying assignments throughout the class, and the pairs and triplets of students clan together and start scheduling everything to do with the article.

For some reason, I haven't been assigned to anything yet, and this agitates me greatly.

After our substitute finishes talking, he flicks a nervous glance over to me and to mystery girl.

"Are you sure I didn't call your name?"

"Positive." I reply instantly. The girl next to me hesitates, then nods once quickly.

Mr. Crandall looks over the list twice, squinting at its pages as if it holds the meaning of life, and traces his finger down the paper multiple times. He murmurs students' names under his breath and is surprised when he manages to match every person's name to their face.

"I don't really know why, but it seems that you two haven't been assigned to anything. Normally I'd ask your regular teacher, but I hear there's a huge convention today for the New England schools and I wouldn't want to interrupt anything important." Mr. Crandall's words leave me bewildered.

"So, um, what do we do until then?" The girl's voice shocks me because she hasn't spoken once this meeting. It's soft and whispery, just the way I'd imagined it, like the color of wind.

"Um…just get to know each other and be ready for any articles later on." This surprises me, because it's such a simple solution for such a complicated class. However, I'm not complaining. In fact, I'm eager to get to know the new girl. If she's new, that is. You never know.

From what I'm picking up, this girl is pretty quiet. As a fellow shy person, I can relate well. I know that somebody has to make the first step, otherwise the journey never starts.

Okay, okay, keep it simple, Chadwick. Contained. Reserved. Casual. Stay casual. Don't be overeager. Be simple. Relaxed. Calm. Serene. Be cool. I am cool.

Then again, don't be a total airhead. Be intellectual, but not too much. Not too simple that she thinks you're a total Neanderthal, but not too bookish, either.

"H-hi." I'm relieved to hear that my voice doesn't change to an unpleasant crack at the end. "I'm Stewart Chadwick. What's your name?"

"Me?" The girl says in the same tone as before.

"Yes, you." I reply, smiling.

Mystery girl tenderly pushes her glasses up with one finger and says, "Nice to meet you. I'm Emma, Emma Hawthorne."

I'm sure a scared, deer-in-the-headlights look begins to replace my friendly expression, because Emma (I still can't believe I know her name) leans in, frowns, and says, "Um, is anything wrong?"

One long gulp after the other passes down my throat and I hurriedly say, "Quick, off-topic question. Are you an only child?"

"No, I have a brother. What about you, Stewart?"

"One sister. Becca Chadwick."

"You're Becca's brother?! How?"

"I still don't understand how we're related."

"Figures, who would?"

Illusions race through my mind. It couldn't be. She couldn't be. It's just not possible. Is it? I have no clue. There's no way it could be true.

"Okay, another random question. Any relation to Darcy Hawthorne?"

I'm faking a smile, but inside I'm bracing for impact. She certainly looks enough like him, with the same curly brown hair and chocolate-colored brown eyes, to be his sister or cousin or something. I'm hoping for cousin, as in distant cousin, like twice-removed or something, or for no relation at all. This girl is too nice to have anything to do with that guy.

Before you judge me for, well, judging Darcy, let me just defend myself by saying that Darcy's dangerous. He's the terror of the grade. The kind of person that plays by their own rules, and finds it normal to always skip class or come in late, or unprepared. If I picked a single work to describe Darcy Hawthorne, I'd say he was…uncontrolled.

And to have this tame girl, this serene, shy, innocent little thing be his relative? I bet Becca and I have more in common! So, I cross my fingers tightly. And my toes. And my legs. I need some luck; and if Emma's his relative, so does she.

Emma leans forward, looks to the left and right like a little girl telling a secret, and groans. She admits it. "He's my older brother."

And with those four simple words, everything changes. Things have taken a turn for the worse. It'll be hard to get to know Emma without having to get to know Darcy, and I bet word will spread over at their house. As much as I like Emma, I can't stand Darcy. We're two different kinds of people. He's wild and crazy, just so frustratingly fast, the person who'd do anything to run faster or jump higher or tackle harder, and I'm not.

I'm quiet. I like literature and poems and, well, feminine things like cooking and cleaning and working. I'm a worker bee kind of person. Darcy's more like a queen bee. Buzz, buzz, buzz. Looks like there'll be trouble at the hive.