Summary: Ophelia hates being named after a Shakespearean character – drat
her obsessed parents! But not as much as she hates Will Carlyle. Or
Annoying Sod, as he's better known. Will can't stand burnt broccoli. But
he'd rather eat it than endure five minutes in the same company as Ophelia
Jones. When their respective best friends start mooning over each other,
and are determined to inflict their happy state of lovestruck-ness on their
feuding companions, things get interesting...(I hope!)
*****
The morning sun beamed brightly through the crack in the curtains and skated over the floor, the desk and finally the lump in the bed. A loud thumping sound broke the heavy silence in the small room, and the door resounded with each blow of a determined fist.
"Wakey-wakey, sunshine!" chirped an irritatingly chipper and high-pitched voice.
"Still alive in there?" enquired another, trying and failing to hold back the vibrations of laughter.
"Groan," said the lump in the bed.
A hand fought its way through the layers of sheet and blankets, and slowly, cautiously, pulled the covers back. A tousled head appeared, two squinting eyes peering through wild strands of mahogany hair.
"What?" snarled the head to the general vicinity of the door.
Undaunted by this less than welcoming greeting, it swung open and two grinning faces peered around it.
Ophelia Jones hauled herself to a sitting position, and immediately regretted doing so. Pressing the back of her hand to her mouth, she willed the instant hit of nausea away and continued to glare at the intruders as they cheerfully clumped into the room. Each footstep drummed into Ophelia's skull and then proceeded to tap dance on her nerve endings.
Her cousin Hannah folded her arms and leaned back against the wardrobe. Their mutual friend Jessica Montgomery quirked one eyebrow at her, and daintily sat with one ankle crossed over the other.
Lowering her hand, Ophelia swallowed several times, just to make sure that she wasn't going to disgrace herself any further, peeled her tongue from the roof of her mouth and then snapped, "Cut it out!"
"Cut what out?" Hannah enquired innocently, exchanging wickedly amused glances with Jessica.
Ophelia could have uttered some form of a scathing retort, but, as her mouth tasted somewhat similar to how she imagined a pair of Will Carlyle's athletic socks would, brushing her teeth suddenly seemed like the pressing priority.
"So," Jessica said conversationally, "We ran into Mrs. McCorkindale in the hallway and she said to remind you that you offered to help show guests around the school for Open Day this morning."
"As to which," Hannah chipped in, "I replied 'Ha!'"
"- Derisively," Jessica said, nodding.
"Yes, derisively. 'Mrs. McCorkindale' I said, 'Mrs. McCorkindale, you are doing my cousin a total misjustice! Ophelia? Forget that she had offered to be an usher? Ridiculous!' I said."
"Exactly. Pah!" Ophelia gargled around a mouthful of toothpaste.
"It's far more likely that's she's forgotten that it's Open Day at all," Hannah finished, eyeing her foaming friend expectantly.
"Mrrnph!" Ophelia spluttered in indignation.
"So you didn't forget?" Hannah inquired, disdainfully swiping a thread of toothpaste from her cheek.
Ophelia spat, replaced her toothbrush in its holder and straightened.
"No," she replied after a pause, left eye twitching – Ophelia's left eye always twitched when she was lying, her right when it was going to rain: both signs had proved exceedingly useful to her friends over the years.
"No," she repeated more firmly, the left side of her face spasming out of control. She clapped a palm over it and continued, "But you'll have to tell her I can't do it. I have the flu."
There was a brief silence, quickly replaced by an explosion of hooting laughter.
"Yes?" she snapped frostily.
Hannah cleared her throat noisily but, other than the occasional smothered snigger, remained silent. The quietest and most sensitive of the trio, she had always been tactful.
Jessica, however, had not.
"Well! Hannah! How insensitive are we? Our good friend here has the flu - "
"I'm not entirely convinced that it isn't something more serious," Ophelia broke in dramatically, "Like malaria. Or scurvy. Or jaundice! Does my skin look yellow-ish to you?" She thrust an arm under Hannah's nose.
"Yes," Hannah said without bothering to examine it. "But it's not my fault that you can't read labels. Of course, 'Sunless Tanning Cream' and 'Moisturiser' are easily confused."
Jessica shook her head in mock self-loathing. "Our best friend in the whole world has potential malaria no less! And we didn't even notice. Of course, it would have been difficult for us to tell last night, what with the vodka bottle obscuring the view and all."
Hannah, losing her reticence, giggled. "That's true. However, probably a bad sign when she started having that fit."
"I think she was dancing, dear."
"No kidding! Are you sure? I could have sworn that it was a seizure of some kind. Especially when she climbed onto that table. Dancing, you say?"
"I suppose it was possible that she was trying to obtain medical help."
Pursing her lips, Ophelia shook her head. "Tragic," she uttered in dignified tones.
"Oh, no one's arguing with that," Jessica shot back, grinning.
"I was mildly tipsy."
"You pulled your skirt up around your waist and danced a jig."
"I only had one drink to welcome in the new school year. Five at the most."
"You hit Jeremy Holland in the head with peanuts."
"So what? That sounds like something I would do when I'm sober."
"You blew the peanuts out of your nose!"
"It WAS attractive," Hannah added, "Particularly when you tried it with a mouthful of rum."
Jessica picked up Ophelia's school skirt and tossed it at her face.
"Have a shower and meet us in the west courtyard in ten minutes. There's hay in your hair, by the way. I won't even ask."
"And if you promise not to drink again for the rest of the year," Hannah said, smirking in a manner that Ophelia found particularly offensive, "I promise to only show the photos of you flashing passing cars to half the amount of people that I was going to."
She and Jessica stepped over Ophelia's party clothes strewn haphazardly over the floor and made their way out the door, ignoring their friend's indignant squawks.
"By the way," Jessica said, popping her head back in, "Will arrived this morning."
On that final parting shot, she disappeared with a flutter of fingers, laughing at the expression on Ophelia's face.
*****
Trying to walk without moving her head, opening her eyes or throwing up all over the clean vinyl floor was proving more difficult than anticipated. Ophelia cracked one eye open, made sure that she wasn't heading for any obstacles and gratefully eased it close again. Only to land squarely on her ass as a walking stone wall veered into her path.
"Oof," she groaned, and looked up. Her gaze sparked to life with instant fury.
"You!"
The 'wall' looked surprised for a second, before the corners of his mouth quirked up in a sardonic grin.
"Ah yes. What would the first day of school be without the Annual Hangover? Poor baby. Well, I've hope you've realised what the results can be when people have no self control," Will informed her sanctimoniously.
Pompous git!
"Oh, I have," Ophelia replied airily, "As, I'm sure, have your parents." She smiled innocently at him, inwardly congratulating herself on her own wit, and waited for a helpful arm to be extended. Surely even The Sod would have the basic manners to assist her to her feet. Especially when it was because of his overly-developed pecs that she was still plopped on her rear in the first place.
Apparently not. He folded his arms across his chest, and glared down at her.
"I see that The Mouth is as large as ever," he commented.
"Merely trying to compete with your ego, Will, darling," she snapped, clambouring to her feet.
Bitchy shrew! "Well I'd love to stay and chat," he said insincerely, "But I have to go and get the rest of my stuff from the car before it starts raining. Or are the facial spasms a permanent fixture now? Since I've never been that lucky, I'm sure I'll see you later."
Ophelia stuck her tongue out at his broad, departing back. Ever since their one date way back when they'd been fifteen – of which she remembered little: she'd blanked it from her memory with the other Great Traumatic Events of her life – she and William Carlyle had been firm enemies. One more year at Harrigon, a co-ed boarding school firmly ensconced in the country, and he would officially be out of her hair forever. Theoretically. She wouldn't actually be at all surprised if he turned up and wrecked her wedding or the birth of her first child or something at some later date. Life seemed to have a habit of taking the piss like that.
Ten months. She could make it. Maybe.
It wasn't that she hated school – far from it. Oh, she wasn't wild about Chemistry and, quite frankly, she'd rather blow watermelons out of her nose than attempt long division, but Harrigon was a great school with only two major flaws. One – the worst one – was the arrogant prick currently swaggering out of sight. The other was the English Department's penchant for teaching Shakespeare. Ophelia did not like Shakespeare. She had never liked Shakespeare. And her given name was the major source of tension between herself and her parents.
Robert and Amanda Jones adored everything to do with the sixteenth-century bard. They were both actors. They wrote textbooks on the plays. They had named their dog Oberon. And their daughter, Ophelia. Mostly because her mother had continued to play that very role in a community theatre production of Hamlet while in labour, refusing to push until after she'd drowned herself. Both of her parents took great delight in recounting the story of Ophelia's birth to any unsuspecting person who lingered in their presence for more than thirty seconds, whether they had asked to hear it or not. Hence, Ophelia's entry into boarding school at an early age.
Hearing raucous laughter and loud voices, Ophelia rubbed her aching head and peered out the window into the east courtyard.
William Carlyle, Jack Harrington and Robert Brent were clapping each other on the back and, clearly in some bizarre male bonding routine, smacking each other round the head.
Ophelia jerked back as Will instinctively glanced up at the window where she stood, but not before she saw his mocking grin and his lips move in what was almost definitely an insulting and/or lewd comment.
Shit. It was going to be a long ten months.
*****
The morning sun beamed brightly through the crack in the curtains and skated over the floor, the desk and finally the lump in the bed. A loud thumping sound broke the heavy silence in the small room, and the door resounded with each blow of a determined fist.
"Wakey-wakey, sunshine!" chirped an irritatingly chipper and high-pitched voice.
"Still alive in there?" enquired another, trying and failing to hold back the vibrations of laughter.
"Groan," said the lump in the bed.
A hand fought its way through the layers of sheet and blankets, and slowly, cautiously, pulled the covers back. A tousled head appeared, two squinting eyes peering through wild strands of mahogany hair.
"What?" snarled the head to the general vicinity of the door.
Undaunted by this less than welcoming greeting, it swung open and two grinning faces peered around it.
Ophelia Jones hauled herself to a sitting position, and immediately regretted doing so. Pressing the back of her hand to her mouth, she willed the instant hit of nausea away and continued to glare at the intruders as they cheerfully clumped into the room. Each footstep drummed into Ophelia's skull and then proceeded to tap dance on her nerve endings.
Her cousin Hannah folded her arms and leaned back against the wardrobe. Their mutual friend Jessica Montgomery quirked one eyebrow at her, and daintily sat with one ankle crossed over the other.
Lowering her hand, Ophelia swallowed several times, just to make sure that she wasn't going to disgrace herself any further, peeled her tongue from the roof of her mouth and then snapped, "Cut it out!"
"Cut what out?" Hannah enquired innocently, exchanging wickedly amused glances with Jessica.
Ophelia could have uttered some form of a scathing retort, but, as her mouth tasted somewhat similar to how she imagined a pair of Will Carlyle's athletic socks would, brushing her teeth suddenly seemed like the pressing priority.
"So," Jessica said conversationally, "We ran into Mrs. McCorkindale in the hallway and she said to remind you that you offered to help show guests around the school for Open Day this morning."
"As to which," Hannah chipped in, "I replied 'Ha!'"
"- Derisively," Jessica said, nodding.
"Yes, derisively. 'Mrs. McCorkindale' I said, 'Mrs. McCorkindale, you are doing my cousin a total misjustice! Ophelia? Forget that she had offered to be an usher? Ridiculous!' I said."
"Exactly. Pah!" Ophelia gargled around a mouthful of toothpaste.
"It's far more likely that's she's forgotten that it's Open Day at all," Hannah finished, eyeing her foaming friend expectantly.
"Mrrnph!" Ophelia spluttered in indignation.
"So you didn't forget?" Hannah inquired, disdainfully swiping a thread of toothpaste from her cheek.
Ophelia spat, replaced her toothbrush in its holder and straightened.
"No," she replied after a pause, left eye twitching – Ophelia's left eye always twitched when she was lying, her right when it was going to rain: both signs had proved exceedingly useful to her friends over the years.
"No," she repeated more firmly, the left side of her face spasming out of control. She clapped a palm over it and continued, "But you'll have to tell her I can't do it. I have the flu."
There was a brief silence, quickly replaced by an explosion of hooting laughter.
"Yes?" she snapped frostily.
Hannah cleared her throat noisily but, other than the occasional smothered snigger, remained silent. The quietest and most sensitive of the trio, she had always been tactful.
Jessica, however, had not.
"Well! Hannah! How insensitive are we? Our good friend here has the flu - "
"I'm not entirely convinced that it isn't something more serious," Ophelia broke in dramatically, "Like malaria. Or scurvy. Or jaundice! Does my skin look yellow-ish to you?" She thrust an arm under Hannah's nose.
"Yes," Hannah said without bothering to examine it. "But it's not my fault that you can't read labels. Of course, 'Sunless Tanning Cream' and 'Moisturiser' are easily confused."
Jessica shook her head in mock self-loathing. "Our best friend in the whole world has potential malaria no less! And we didn't even notice. Of course, it would have been difficult for us to tell last night, what with the vodka bottle obscuring the view and all."
Hannah, losing her reticence, giggled. "That's true. However, probably a bad sign when she started having that fit."
"I think she was dancing, dear."
"No kidding! Are you sure? I could have sworn that it was a seizure of some kind. Especially when she climbed onto that table. Dancing, you say?"
"I suppose it was possible that she was trying to obtain medical help."
Pursing her lips, Ophelia shook her head. "Tragic," she uttered in dignified tones.
"Oh, no one's arguing with that," Jessica shot back, grinning.
"I was mildly tipsy."
"You pulled your skirt up around your waist and danced a jig."
"I only had one drink to welcome in the new school year. Five at the most."
"You hit Jeremy Holland in the head with peanuts."
"So what? That sounds like something I would do when I'm sober."
"You blew the peanuts out of your nose!"
"It WAS attractive," Hannah added, "Particularly when you tried it with a mouthful of rum."
Jessica picked up Ophelia's school skirt and tossed it at her face.
"Have a shower and meet us in the west courtyard in ten minutes. There's hay in your hair, by the way. I won't even ask."
"And if you promise not to drink again for the rest of the year," Hannah said, smirking in a manner that Ophelia found particularly offensive, "I promise to only show the photos of you flashing passing cars to half the amount of people that I was going to."
She and Jessica stepped over Ophelia's party clothes strewn haphazardly over the floor and made their way out the door, ignoring their friend's indignant squawks.
"By the way," Jessica said, popping her head back in, "Will arrived this morning."
On that final parting shot, she disappeared with a flutter of fingers, laughing at the expression on Ophelia's face.
*****
Trying to walk without moving her head, opening her eyes or throwing up all over the clean vinyl floor was proving more difficult than anticipated. Ophelia cracked one eye open, made sure that she wasn't heading for any obstacles and gratefully eased it close again. Only to land squarely on her ass as a walking stone wall veered into her path.
"Oof," she groaned, and looked up. Her gaze sparked to life with instant fury.
"You!"
The 'wall' looked surprised for a second, before the corners of his mouth quirked up in a sardonic grin.
"Ah yes. What would the first day of school be without the Annual Hangover? Poor baby. Well, I've hope you've realised what the results can be when people have no self control," Will informed her sanctimoniously.
Pompous git!
"Oh, I have," Ophelia replied airily, "As, I'm sure, have your parents." She smiled innocently at him, inwardly congratulating herself on her own wit, and waited for a helpful arm to be extended. Surely even The Sod would have the basic manners to assist her to her feet. Especially when it was because of his overly-developed pecs that she was still plopped on her rear in the first place.
Apparently not. He folded his arms across his chest, and glared down at her.
"I see that The Mouth is as large as ever," he commented.
"Merely trying to compete with your ego, Will, darling," she snapped, clambouring to her feet.
Bitchy shrew! "Well I'd love to stay and chat," he said insincerely, "But I have to go and get the rest of my stuff from the car before it starts raining. Or are the facial spasms a permanent fixture now? Since I've never been that lucky, I'm sure I'll see you later."
Ophelia stuck her tongue out at his broad, departing back. Ever since their one date way back when they'd been fifteen – of which she remembered little: she'd blanked it from her memory with the other Great Traumatic Events of her life – she and William Carlyle had been firm enemies. One more year at Harrigon, a co-ed boarding school firmly ensconced in the country, and he would officially be out of her hair forever. Theoretically. She wouldn't actually be at all surprised if he turned up and wrecked her wedding or the birth of her first child or something at some later date. Life seemed to have a habit of taking the piss like that.
Ten months. She could make it. Maybe.
It wasn't that she hated school – far from it. Oh, she wasn't wild about Chemistry and, quite frankly, she'd rather blow watermelons out of her nose than attempt long division, but Harrigon was a great school with only two major flaws. One – the worst one – was the arrogant prick currently swaggering out of sight. The other was the English Department's penchant for teaching Shakespeare. Ophelia did not like Shakespeare. She had never liked Shakespeare. And her given name was the major source of tension between herself and her parents.
Robert and Amanda Jones adored everything to do with the sixteenth-century bard. They were both actors. They wrote textbooks on the plays. They had named their dog Oberon. And their daughter, Ophelia. Mostly because her mother had continued to play that very role in a community theatre production of Hamlet while in labour, refusing to push until after she'd drowned herself. Both of her parents took great delight in recounting the story of Ophelia's birth to any unsuspecting person who lingered in their presence for more than thirty seconds, whether they had asked to hear it or not. Hence, Ophelia's entry into boarding school at an early age.
Hearing raucous laughter and loud voices, Ophelia rubbed her aching head and peered out the window into the east courtyard.
William Carlyle, Jack Harrington and Robert Brent were clapping each other on the back and, clearly in some bizarre male bonding routine, smacking each other round the head.
Ophelia jerked back as Will instinctively glanced up at the window where she stood, but not before she saw his mocking grin and his lips move in what was almost definitely an insulting and/or lewd comment.
Shit. It was going to be a long ten months.