1.
It is well understood that on college campuses, particularly those with a 30-70 male-to-female ratio, the arrival of a new and attractive young man is a cause for some excitement (and a lot of primping). So, when a rock star moved into the mansion built by the founder of the town and school, the female students of Vickroot University gossiped accordingly.
Charlotte Lucas dropped a sack of books on the couch, titles like Picasso's Pleasures and Luxuries of Leonardo's Age gleaming gold along the spines. "Guess what?"
The Bennet twins had spread their own books over their apartment's kitchen table. Jane had braided her long, red hair neatly back, but Lizzy had pens stuck through her short brown ponytail.
"You've finished your Art History thesis," guessed Jane Bennet, barely glancing up from the anatomy textbook in front of her, "so you now know you're definitely going to graduate."
"The totally hot and wealthy teaching assistant you've been after finally proposed," said Lizzy, reaching for her mug of peppermint tea and sipping it.
"Even better," Charlotte promised. "Someone's renting Netherfield."
"Really?" Jane flipped a page and uncapped a hilighter. "It's been closed since my junior year of undergrad."
"Which one's Netherfield?" Lizzy asked Jane, pushing away from the table.
"Come on, Lizzy," Charlotte scoffed. "You ski around Netherfield all the time."
"Oh, the mansion?" said Lizzy, standing. "The really big one behind the university? I thought it was condemned.—Anybody want any tea, while I'm up?"
"No, I'm good," Jane mumbled in the general direction of her textbook. Then, she looked up. "Hey, do we have any coffee left?"
Charlotte threw up her arms, desperate to share the news. "Guess who's renting it!"
"The Olson twins," said Lizzy, pouring coffee beans into the grinder and letting it run.
Charlotte snorted. "Would I really be this excited if Mary Kate and Ashley moved in next door?"
"Guess not." Jane smirked. "Brad Pitt, then?"
"Bing," announced Charlotte, smugly. "Charles Bingley."
"What?" yelped Jane.
"Who?" asked Lizzy.
Charlotte pretended to swoon, flopping on the couch and kicking off her heels. "I know."
"Bing?" gasped Jane, staring at Lizzy as if she couldn't believe they'd shared a womb. "As in the B. of B.F.D.?"
"That's the one," sighed Charlotte.
"Oh, my God," said Jane.
"Wait—which one?"
"Charles Bingley is the one of the guitarist-vocalists for the band B.F.D., my poor musically-challenged friend," began Charlotte. "He's tall and blond and dimpled. And loaded, too."
"Which one is B.F.D., though?" Lizzy asked.
"We went to their concert last summer, Lizzy," Jane reminded Lizzy.
"We went to a lot of concerts last summer," Lizzy reminded Jane.
"I have their poster in my room," Charlotte told Lizzy.
"You have at least fifty posters in your room," Lizzy told Charlotte, laughing.
"Hold on; I'll put on their CD," Jane said. "You'll remember them when you hear them."
"They're the band that uses literature and poetry in their lyrics," Charlotte explained, as Jane dashed off to her room to collect her CD's. "You know, like their song 'If I' came from William Carlos Williams' 'Dance Russe,' and 'Come away to prison' came from King Lear."
"I remember that one!" cried Lizzy, wrinkling her nose and scowling. "That was Lear talking to Cordelia; that should've never become a love song."
"That's what everyone says, Lizzy!" shouted Jane from her room. "But it's still a beautiful song. You can't just hate something, because it comes in a different package than you're used to."
"That was deep, Janey," grinned Lizzy.
"Come," sang Charlotte, in a throaty, off-tune soprano, "let's away to prison. We two alone will sing/like birds in a cage."
"Got it!" cried Jane, gleefully, coming out of her room and diving at the stereo. "I can't believe you don't remember them, Lizzy; this is their first hit. It's from Robert Frost's 'Fire and Ice.' This one's Dar singing (he's the other vocalist), but you'll remember this one."
A low, mournful a-cappella spilled out of the speakers, (Some say the world will end in fire) and the melancholy of its notes hung in the air between them (some say in ice).
"Uh-oh," said Lizzy (From what I've tasted of desire).
"What?" asked Charlotte and Jane together (I hold with those favor fire).
"Wasn't this the concert where you got trashed and I got food-poisoning?" Lizzy asked Jane.
The pluckings of a guitar interrupted Jane's attempt to remember. "Oh, fuck," she muttered, covering her face. "It was."
Charlotte dropped out the chair and grabbed Jane's arm. "Is this the same one where you accidentally left Lizzy in the dressing room of one of the band members?"
"It was unlocked," Jane protested, "and all I noticed is that it had its own bathroom for Lizzy to puke in."
"You were pretty trashed, though," Lizzy reminded her.
"You're one to talk," said Charlotte smirking, "if you were the one puking."
"Food poisoning," Lizzy emphasized.
"She wasn't drinking; she was our designated driver," Jane admitted. "So, I had to go off and try to figure out a ride for us."
"So, you had to leave me," Lizzy continued, "without a cell phone in a strange man's dressing room."
"A strange man you didn't recognize," Jane retorted.
"No..." breathed Charlotte, disbelievingly glancing from Jane to Lizzy.
"I saw a lot more of the toilet bowl than anything else," Lizzy shrugged.
"What did you say?" Charlotte asked.
"Oh, the usual rants," Lizzy grinned.
"She slammed his album to his face," Jane said. "'Play On' took a real beating, didn't it?"
"Okay—I really like Twelfth Night and all, but singing 'If music be the food of love, play on' seems to be a little too exploitive of the whole literature-as-lyrics novelty," Lizzy protested. "And then, the whole 'Are you ready, sir?'/'I prithee, sing' deal at the beginning of the song—at a certain point, that's not cute anymore, right?"
"You told him all this?" Charlotte asked, and when Lizzy nodded, she laughed. "Why didn't he kick you out? Why didn't he call security?"
"If I remember correctly, he couldn't find his cell phone either," Lizzy said.
"And, obviously your wit and diplomacy blew him away," Charlotte said.
"You did say that you really, really liked one song, though," Jane said, trying to keep a straight face.
"Which one?" asked Charlotte.
"This one," replied Lizzy.
"No, which singer?"
"Oh," Lizzy said and thought for a second. "Um…Dar, I think."
"Great," Charlotte grinned, "the moody one."
"This song's my favorite," Jane said, skipping forward a few tracks so that a smoother baritone filled the room and an acoustic harmony bounced along in the background:
I have filled them
Emptied them
And proceeded to fill
My next pause
Fold of the future….
Do I contradict myself? Beat-long pause
Very well then, I contradict myself.
And the husky voice from 'Fire and Ice' chanting breathlessly: "I am large, I contain multitudes."
Lizzy laughed. "Song of Myself?"
"You just like it, because this is one of the few that Bing sings," Charlotte teased Jane.
"That's not true," Jane protested. "He sings a lot of songs: this one, 'Kidnapped' from Nikki Giovanni's 'kidnap poem,' and he sings a lot of 'Play On.'"
"You do have a crush on Bing," Lizzy realized. "Why didn't you tell me!"
"Well, he was just so nice to us, when he found you in Dar's room," Jane said slowly.
"He was nice to you, you mean," said Charlotte, "because you were gorgeous, even trashed."
"No, he was nice in general," Lizzy admitted before Jane could protest. "It was really nice of him to both call a cab for us and pay for it."
"He paid for it?" Charlotte marveled.
"Just pulled two crisp one hundred dollar bills out of his money clip, handed it to the cab driver, and said, 'Please see them home safely, sir,'" Lizzy grinned. "Very gallant."
"Well, it's not like it'll ever come to anything," Jane said. "He's very talented and very handsome, and I'm just a lowly graduate student trying…"
"Bullshit, you're a doctor-to-be," Lizzy retorted, walking back to the table with a steaming mug of fresh tea, "a couple years from graduating at the top of your class."
"Lizzy, I'm only in the top twenty," Jane chided. "Don't exaggerate."
"Well, you're obviously the most beautiful student at this university," Charlotte mused. "You have a chance as much as any of us do."
"That's very kind, Charlotte; thank you," Jane said, "but both of you are—"
"Don't be so demure, Jane," Lizzy said, hugging her. "You know you're very, very cute."
"Very easy for the twin to say," said Charlotte, laughing.
"The fraternal twin," Lizzy corrected Charlotte.
Charlotte gasped. "Maybe he'll come to the party tonight!"
"What party?"
"The Harvest Ball, Lizzy," Jane said sternly. "I'm on the committee, remember?"
"This is the formal one where the whole town's invited, right?" Charlotte asked.
"Wait—it's tonight?" Lizzy said. "Ugh, why am I so behind with everything?"
"You've been in the darkroom all week," Jane reminded her. "Working on your portfolio."
Lizzy made a face and blew on her tea. "Oh, yeah."
"Are you coming?" Charlotte asked.
"I have to," Jane said, laughing. "I'm on the committee."
"I know; I was asking Lizzy," Charlotte said.
"I have to," Lizzy said, grinning. "Jane's on the committee."
"You don't have to go, just because of me," Jane told Lizzy.
"Well, I know you don't mind, but all your little med-student friends will be all, 'her own twin, so unsupportive,'" Lizzy said.
"They're really nice," Jane protested. "You just need to get to know them."
"They're really nice, because they sleep in class and they can borrow your notes later," Lizzy said.
"And you're going to be the first doctor in history with neat handwriting," Charlotte explained.
"I just need to go through my film, and see if I have any indoor exposures left," Lizzy mused.
"No, you're not bringing your camera," Charlotte said.
"What? Why not?"
"You're the only girl I know who realizes that she's going out and tries to figure out what film to take before she knows what she's going to wear," Charlotte said.
"Well, it doesn't matter what I wear," Lizzy said. "I'm not going to be in any of the pictures; I'm the one taking them."
"You're never going to get a boyfriend, if you hide behind your camera and smell like developing solution all the time," Charlotte said.
"I'm not the one looking for a boyfriend," said Lizzy, smugly. "You are; stop projecting."
"I'd like pictures of the ball," chimed in Jane.
"See," said Lizzy.
"Fine, but I'm dressing you," said Charlotte.
"No," moaned Lizzy, reaching for her camera bag and unzipping the front pocket for film inventory. "Whenever you dress me, people always look at me."
"That's the point, Lizzy," Charlotte laughed.
"Not when you're a photographer," Lizzy snapped. "It's so much harder to be invisible when your skirt barely covers your ass."
"Tough luck, babe," grinned Charlotte.
2.
When people asked (and sometimes when they didn't), Lizzy liked to tell them that a photographer's place was on the edge—the edge of the crowd, the edge of a cliff, the edge of a really spectacular shot. She liked to be in the shadows with her lens focused on what was happening in the light, because she hated poised pictures and loved candid photos. So, when Charlotte dressed her in a long-sleeved but tight black mini-dress with red beaded necklace and earrings to match her shoes, Lizzy had a hard time keeping herself on the outskirts of the ballroom; for one thing, men kept coming up and asking her to dance. Lizzy declined every time and said that she was working, gesturing toward her camera.
After taking shots of the whir on the dance floor, Lizzy found Charlotte, entertaining her fellow ball-goers with the story of Lizzy in Dar's dressing room; it got funnier and more embarrassing as the night went on. People, especially girls—coiffed in their flashy best—would gather around and hang on every word, even if they'd heard the story before.
There was a photograph in it. Lizzy composed it in this way: Charlotte, in the center—mouth open, wine glass and eyebrows raised; flanked on either side by wide-eyed young women with curls pulled back at their temples; a cluster of young tuxedoed men with their backs to the camera, but leaning slightly forward. Click. Lizzy named it, "Flashback of Fame."
"And the best part is—" Charlotte said, and Lizzy grimaced and braced her self for her roommate's punch line. "There was a poster of Dar right over his shoulder, and Lizzy still didn't know who he was."
Lizzy shrugged and waited for the laughter to die down before she said, "What can I say? It was dark; I was sick."
One of the poor freshmen seemed scandalized. "Did you really say all that?"
"Yeah," Lizzy replied, as apologetically as she could. "But at least all of it was true. Plus, it's not like I'll ever see him again."
"How can you say that, Lizzy?" Jane scolded, smoothing down her light blue satin dress with neatly gloved hands; she looked like Cinderella, if Disney had colored the princess's hair red. "I'm so embarrassed. I was so drunk."
"Yeah, you were pretty drunk," Lizzy agreed, snapping a quick picture of the shadows Jane's gloves made across the smooth fabric of her skirt.
"Lizzy!"
Lizzy snapped a picture of her sister's indignant, wide eyes—one of them divided by a slash of red hair that had worked its way loose. "You're still a very pretty drunk, though."
"Lizzy!"
"Well, you are," Lizzy insisted, slinging her camera back over her shoulder, "and you act a lot better than most drunks. Actually, you handle yourself better when drunk than some sober people I know; I'm sure he was still impressed."
"He was just so—" Jane started, tugging at the tops of her gloves.
"Nice," Lizzy finished, pulling her camera out again to photograph the way the two skirts clashed in their purple and red-gold glory, the way the ruffles of one made the other seem so straight. "You told me."
"I know; I've told you a lot." Jane pressed her lips together, looked at the floor, and smoothed her skirt again. "Do you think I'm silly?"
"Of course," Lizzy replied. "I'm your sister; I know how you slept with a ketchup packet under your pillow for a week just because Bobby Whitman dropped it off his tray."
"That was middle school," Jane said, "and I meant, about this."
"Well, he really helped us out," Lizzy admitted. "That cab fare was really expensive. I just liked how he subtly gave you his number."
"He wanted to make sure we got home all right," Jane protested.
"Right, and when you called him, it just so happens that his cell phone automatically got your number, too."
"It did not," Jane scoffed.
Lizzy grinned. "I bet he saved it under 'really, really hot drunk redhead, with (fraternal) twin.'"
"Well, I would've hoped he would've at least remembered my name," Jane grumbled, and Lizzy laughed and hugged her.
Jane sighed and looked into her empty goblet, grimacing at the golden liquid in the bottom. "Do I want another glass of wine?" Jane asked.
"Hmm—what do you have to do tomorrow?"
"I should finish memorizing the bones in the wrist," Jane admitted.
"Half a glass, then."
"Genius," Jane grinned.
"I like to think so," Lizzy grinned back.
Lizzy sipped from her glass (rich, red merlot—exactly how she liked it) and watched Charlotte flirt with a mildly interested sophomore; she snapped an idle shot in case the sophomore ended up becoming the love of Charlotte's life (of course, Lizzy had negatives of a lot of Charlotte's potential loves). She skimmed the room and took another idle shot of a couple leaning against the wall, the older woman's green skirt giving new, abundant life to the silk-leaved tree that they were hiding behind; Lizzy was pretty sure the guy kissed the woman in the green dress was in her Anthropology of the Middle East seminar. She walked on and moved her lens to the wine bar—the reflections of the glass throwing green, white, and brown flecks of light against the walls. The outstretched hands reaching for the fullest bottle. The stains spreading across the white tablecloths, the dark purples of the red and the eager golds of the white meeting in a muddy brown.
Lizzy hoped idly that Jane didn't have to help clean up.
She was trying to figure out how to compose a photograph that incorporated both the group of nervous freshman boys and the gaggle of giggling but expectant freshman girls, when the door between them opened and in strode a much more photogenic bunch. Lizzy lifted her camera up to her eye and clicked quickly, hoping that she'd gotten in all four of them: the two young women wearing the most expensive labels in the room and the snooty expression to match; the tall, handsome young man who showed a family resemblance with them, whose blonde hair peeked out from a very bad, brunette wig; and the taller young man, with long limbs stretching down his suit and hair so dark it shone. Lizzy allowed her lens to trail longingly on his figure, on the long legs and narrow waist, on the unruly hair and the dark, darting glance; she guessed, by the way he steered the group to a less conspicuous spot in the corner of the ballroom, that he was the leader. Or else—she decided, after noting the wigged man's stumbling walk—he was just the only sober one in the bunch.
Lizzy walked off, shooting stills of dancing couples with flying skirts and inappropriately placed hands on the way; she looked for Jane again but she'd lost her. Charlotte was gone, too; maybe, she'd gotten lucky with the sophomore. Lizzy wondered if there was anyway to try to get a bird-eye shot of the dance floor.
"We are too old to be crashing a party," said a clipped but vaguely familiar voice behind her. "Especially this party."
"Shut up, Will," said another voice—this one slightly slurred. "It's a graduate student party; you know how you can tell?"
"I won't humor you, Charlie; you're drunk."
"They're drinking wine, not beer; higher educations cultivate higher tastes."
Lizzy snorted under her breath; she noticed a couple—a young woman in a pink silk dress and a man with a blonde ponytail--dancing in the center of the floor, spinning to a tempo all of their own and holding onto each other like they'd never let go.
"Is that supposed to be a joke?"
Lizzy pulled her camera up, trying to tease a photograph out of their happiness, but the other dancers swung in and out of the frame.
"It's a fact—a proven, scientific fact."
"I forgot how opinionated you are when you're drunk."
"Opinionated, Will? You're calling me opinionated?"
"Charlie, where are your sisters?"
One of the loving dancers lifted up his partner, swinging her around so that her skirt trailed like a comet behind her. Click. Lizzy really hoped that this one would come out.
"What sisters? Did we bring my sisters?"
"Yes, both Caroline and Louisa."
"Shit, Louisa's here? Can you keep an eye on her, Will? I don't think her marriage can handle another affair."
"Even if it's only a one-night fling?"
Lizzy bristled at Will's biting tone.
She wasn't the only one. "Will, that's not funny; I'm serious," said Charlie. "I'm sure she really loves him, and he really loves her."
"Yes, but the problem is that they can't stop loving other people."
"Will, just because you're pissed that you can't go home doesn't mean you can be an asshole."
There was a pause; Lizzy took another shot of the couple in love. Both partners' feet were on the floor, but the young woman's arms were as tight around his neck as if she were still holding on. A kiss was an inch away.
"You're not concerned at all about Caroline?" That was Will.
"Caroline isn't married; besides," here, the one called Charlie's tone took on something like amusement, "I think she's saving herself for you."
"She is not saving herself at all; she's racking up quite a bit of practice."
"Ugh, Will—I didn't need to hear that."
"Well, I didn't need to hear that Caroline's 'saving herself for me,' either."
"Touché—why are we talking about Caroline?"
Lizzy heard Will's smile. "I asked you where they were."
"Shit—where are they? Should we send out a search party?"
"Relax, Charlie; they're checking out the wine selection." Lizzy automatically turned her attention to the dining room table, still loaded with empty and half-empty bottles of wine. "I don't know how you could miss them; they're the only ones in the bunch who managed Gucci and Chanel." They were also the only women dressed in black, although stylishly—even elegantly. The shorter one was a little round; she had little bit of a tummy stretching the black material of her dress, but she was showing enough cleavage that most males wouldn't notice anything else. The tall one looked like most model-wannabes that Lizzy had met: a body that was all long legs and no chest, a face that was all big eyes and little, pouting lips.
"Fuck, she had to be beautiful tonight, didn't she?" breathed Charlie.
"Well, Caroline's quite pretty, I'll give you that," Will said. Lizzy stiffened; his voice was right over her shoulder. "But Louisa's let herself go since her marriage; I asked her when the baby's due and got smacked quite hard."
"Not them, Will; her," Charlie said. "Look. Between them."
Lizzy looked and noticed with a start that Jane was helping Caroline and Louisa pick and pour from the bottles of wine, a smiling blue beacon among the snooty darkness. Lizzy snapped a shot and wondered if she was too far away for it to come out.
"Yes, she's attractive," Will admitted grudgingly.
"You don't remember her?"
"Should I? Have we met her?"
"She's the sister of that girl who turned your dressing room into a puking zone," Charlie said. Lizzy's mouth dropped open, but she closed it quickly. She couldn't believe that she'd failed to recognize the B.F.D. singers again; it was a good thing Charlotte wasn't around to tease her. "I still have her number in my phone."
"You still have her number?" Will sounded aghast, but Lizzy grinned and stored up an "I told you so" for the next time she saw Jane.
"I couldn't remember her name, though, and I wasn't sure she'd care to remember me."
"You kept her number, Charlie? Please don't tell me that you rented that house, because it sits across the street from her school."
"Of course not," Charlie said, and Lizzy actually heard Will's (ie. Dar's) sigh of relief. "I figured she must have graduated by now.—I'm going to go talk to her; how do I look?"
"The wig isn't helping you," Will said.
"It's my disguise," Charlie grumbled.
"It's your demise," replied Will.
"Very funny, Will, but we don't write our own lyrics," Charlie said. "Why don't you find a nice girl to dance with?"
"Sadly, both your sisters seem to be occupied at the moment," Will replied. Lizzy glanced around, grinned, and lifted her camera to capture Caroline draped over a graduate student and the married Louisa groin-to-groin with an undergrad senior.
"There are other women here besides my sisters, Will," said Charlie.
"And not one I know and not one I'd ever dance with," snapped Will.
"What about that one's twin?" Charlie said, indicating Jane. "I'm sure she's here somewhere, and she was pretty attractive herself."
Lizzy decided then she was all right with Charlie Bingley making a move on her sister.
"Brilliant, Charlie," replied Will sarcastically. "I'll just be sure to keep her in sight of a toilet while we go at it."
Lizzy snorted a little more audibly this time and felt both men's attention turn to her; she turned around and walked forward, side-stepping three couples and excusing herself before she trusted herself to look up at their faces. When she saw Dar's wide-eyed stare and Bing's wig askew, a grin sprouted on her mouth, and she ducked her head to hide it.
"I think she heard me," Will said, almost amused.
"Will, I think that's her," said Charlie. "That's the sister."
"Oh, bloody—"
Lizzy noticed Charlotte across the room and started laughing, startling three couples in her way; although slightly disgruntled (apparently that sophomore had not been the love of her life after all), Charlotte smiled. "What? You've done something evil to my dress, haven't you? To get your revenge for forcing you to borrow something with so much cleavage and so little skirt."
Remembering this, Lizzy tried to pull the black fabric up to cover more of her chest. "That's a good idea, but even better."
Charlotte smiled, when she saw where Lizzy was trying to point. "I already know that those are Dar and Bing from B.F.D., Lizzy; most people recognized them when they walked in the door."
"Well, good for them," said Lizzy, "but what's Charlie Bingley doing right now?"
"Lizzy," groaned Charlotte, "you're the last person I would ever suspect that would want to play a game of Let's-Watch-What-the-Famous-People-Do-Now."
"Just answer me, Charlotte." Lizzy snapped an idle shot of two women toasting each other with a clink of their wine glasses.
"He's walking, Lizzy; I don't see what's so exciting about walking."
"Now what's he doing?"
"Walking, Lizzy." Charlotte yawned.
"And now?"
"He's still—Oh, my God; he's talking to Jane!"
"Hurrah!" cried Lizzy, whooping and watching her twin accidentally knock over the row of empty wine glasses she'd been placing in the recycle bin. "Uh-oh—Jane looks a little nervous."
Charlie Bingley set about trying to help her pick them up. "He doesn't seem to mind much," Charlotte said.
"He's a little nervous, too," said Lizzy, as Bing's dark-haired wig slid off his head and knocked over three bottles that he'd just righted. "They're so cute."
"They're going to have adorable children when they get married," said Charlotte.
"Whoa," said Lizzy, snapping a shot of Jane and Bing's hands overlapping around the neck of a wine bottle. "I was going to just leave it at 'Jane's going to hook up with a ridiculously attractive young man tonight,' but okay."
"Trust me on this," Charlotte said. "I can just tell. She's so sweet, and he's so…"
"Nice," finished Lizzy, laughing. "Oh, look; they're going to dance."
"Doesn't look like Jane wants to," Charlotte commented, as Jane tugged her hand out of Bing's.
"No, look—she's just gotten something on her gloves; she's taking them off," Lizzy said, as Jane pulled off both long gloves. "Serves her right for trying to wear white."
"Either that," Charlotte said, as Jane beamed and reached for Charlie Bingley's hand, "or she just wanted a little more skin-on-skin contact. Where are you going?"
"Well, if he's really my future brother-in-law, I'm going to want a picture, right?" Lizzy said, grinning.
"Or you could just find your own partner," Charlotte called after her, but Lizzy was already gone. ("Or I could," said Charlotte to herself and set off to do just that.)
Lizzy pushed her way through the crowd, camera in hand, and schemed about the best way to get a good shot of them. There was a tiny landing above them, barely a catwalk, next to the ballroom's band stage, but it was enough and Lizzy knew she'd regret it if she didn't manage to get this picture. It had been a long time since she'd seen her twin this happy; she just wanted to get a good shot of that face—of her sister's wide, white smile and her sparkling blue eyes to keep for a day when Jane needed cheering up. Jane's head was on Charlie Bingley's shoulder; Lizzy heard gossip riot around her.
Climbing up onto the landing, Lizzy made enough noise that she was sure that the couple would turn and notice her, ruining the picture, but both of them were too absorbed with the music and each other to pay much attention to a photographer. Lizzy lifted her camera and finished the roll, while Jane and Bingley revolved around the dance floor. Bingley made Jane laugh, and Lizzy's camera caught the glee in her face for putting a grin on hers. Jane pressed her face into Bing's shoulder, and Lizzy snapped a shot of him bending to smell her hair. The song changed, and Lizzy caught the surprised delight in Jane's smile when Bing spun her and started trying to swing-dance with her (Jane was hopeless at swing; the twins had both taken lessons together when they were in middle school. The dance instructor had made Jane cry, by telling her that she had two left feet, and they'd been expelled from the class when Lizzy had told the instructor that she had only one connected eyebrow and a moustache to boot).
Lizzy stopped and bent to change the film, when someone pulled the camera roughly out of her hands. "No photographs," the one called Dar barked and began pushing the buttons on the side of the camera.
"What the fuck?" snarled Lizzy, snatching at it; Dar batted her hands away with one arm. "Hey, that's mine; give it back."
"No photographs," Dar repeated, still trying to open the camera and expose the film.
"No!" cried Lizzy, as the camera snapped open. Lizzy shoved him hard into the wall before snatching the camera out of his hands.
"Are you completely mad?" Dar asked Lizzy, scowling and rubbing his shoulder (apparently Lizzy had pushed him harder than she thought).
"Lizzy!" Jane shouted, letting Bingley go and crossing the room.
"He just ruined an entire roll of film!" Lizzy snapped.
"No, he didn't," Jane said, picking the film out of the camera. "Look, it's already re-rolled."
"Oh," said Lizzy, her mood brightening considerably.
"Give that to me," said Dar, reaching for it.
"Like hell, I will," Lizzy growled, taking the from her sister and cradling it with her camera.
"I'm sorry, sir," Jane tried to explain. "My sister's very—"
Bingley appeared above Jane's shoulder. "Will, what's going on?"
Will grumbled, "I didn't think I'd have to deal with the paparazzi here of all places. In little, bitty Hicksville of America—"
"Paparazzi?" Lizzy snapped.
"Lizzy—" Jane started, pressing a hand to her twin's shoulder.
"Yes, and if it weren't for you and your stupid money-grubbing colleagues—" Dar growled.
"Will—" Bingley started.
"Me?" Lizzy said. "What do I have to do with anything? What 'money-grubbing'? You better just be glad that you didn't actually ruin my roll of film or I'd—"
"Elizabeth Zipporah Bennet!" shouted Jane.
Bingley followed her example and shouted, "Fitzwilliam Henry Darcington!"
"Darlington," Dar corrected icily.
"I'm sorry, sir," Jane began again, addressing Dar. "My sister's a photographer, and she's very protective of her camera."
"Oh, she's a photographer," Bingley said, with obvious relief.
"Yeah, I just wanted to take a picture of my sister," Lizzy said. "I don't sell my pictures."
"She didn't mean to cause such a fuss," Jane said. "In fact, I'm sure there's something she wishes to say to you, Mr. Darlington." Lizzy rolled her eyes. "Right, Lizzy?"
"Oh, come on, Jane," Lizzy grumbled. "That's the oldest guilt-trip trick in the book; I'm a decade too old for that one." Jane glanced once at Bingley, and Lizzy sighed irritably. "Fine, I apologize Mr. Darlington for shoving you and causing a scene."
"And Will's got something he'd like to say, too," Bingley said, clapping Dar on the back.
Dar glowered down at him. "I have nothing to say," he said, before storming off.
"Asshole," Lizzy muttered, before slinging her camera over her shoulder and storming off on her own.
3.
Though the rumors spread across campus so fast that in every class on Monday, Lizzy heard four different variants of, "Hey, Lizzy; heard you got in a fistfight on Saturday with Dar from B.F.D," the Bennet-Bingley relations weren't damaged by Lizzy and Will's falling-out. The campus gossips were also buzzing with the news that Jane Bennet and Bing from B.F.D. were going out, although Jane protested that they were only friends. Friends or not, Lizzy was only a little surprised to notice that Jane spent at least three hours a day every day for the next two weeks on the phone with a certain rock star, but Charlotte grinned whenever the phone rang and hummed the wedding march. Jane was beginning to glow; she was even starting to whistle as she did the dishes and to sing while folding laundry. She even started carrying the phone around in the pocket of her sweatshirt, which Lizzy caught several photos of; if any of them turned out, she'd call it "Symptoms of Love."
"Have you two even gone out on any dates?" Charlotte asked after Jane spent no less than four minutes saying goodbye to Bing before finally hanging up.
Jane blushed, and Lizzy stifled a laugh. "We've met for coffee a couple times, but he feels so uncomfortable near the campus with everyone staring at him all the time."
"Stupid of him to rent a house right across the street from the university, then," Charlotte said, flipping the page of her art textbook. "He could take you to the city for a nice dinner or something; no one's keeping him in suburbia."
"His sisters are in town," Jane protested. "He doesn't want to leave them, and I can certainly to relate to that."
Lizzy looked up to grin at Jane and then returned her attention to her film negatives.
"Has he kissed you yet?" Charlotte asked.
"We're just friends, Charlotte," Jane protested. (Which means no, Lizzy thought.)
"Friends, my ass," muttered Charlotte. "I know I spend several hours on the phone with all of my friends; I'm sure young Bing talks to young Dar and Fitz on the phone at least four hours a day."
"That doesn't make any sense," Jane said. "Will's living with them; why would they talk on the phone?"
"Because that asshole might not feel like bothering to get up."
"Lizzy," Jane scolded, "you can't just hate Will forever."
"No, of course not," said Lizzy, lifting another set of negatives up to the light, "but give me till at least the end of the semester."
Jane would have protested again, but the phone rang and Jane pulled the cordless out of her pocket and left the room to answer it in private.
"He only gave her about three minutes to rest her voice," said Lizzy, smiling.
"You wouldn't hate Dar so much if you hadn't thought he was hot," Charlotte said.
"What?" yelped Lizzy, dropping her negatives. "He tried to ruin a roll of film."
"I bet you end up fucking him someday," teased Charlotte.
"Charlotte! William 'Dar' Darlington? Never," promised Lizzy. "He's an asshole; you should've heard how he talked to Bingley. And what he said about Bingley's sisters."
"Have you met his sisters?" Charlotte asked. "I talked to them at the Harvest Ball, and I'm sure whatever he said, he wasn't exaggerating."
Lizzy would've asked more about the Bingley sisters, but Jane walked back into the room, seeming puzzled. Charlotte mock-gasped. "That was less than a minute!" Charlotte said. "Do you two 'friends' have nothing left to say to each other?"
"That was Caroline Bingley," Jane said slowly.
"Uh-oh," said Lizzy, putting down her negatives.
"What does she want?" said Charlotte.
"She just wants me to come over," said Jane. "To get to know me a little better."
"Go to Netherfield? Cool!" Charlotte said. "Has anyone else we know ever gone to Netherfield?"
"Isn't that a little weird, though?" Jane asked. "Why wouldn't Charlie invite me over? He kept telling me how he wanted to introduce me to his sisters, but that he wanted to pick a day when they were in a good mood—"
"Maybe they were PMSing or something," Charlotte offered.
"For two weeks?" asked Lizzy.
"Hey, it's happened," said Charlotte, defensively. "You should still go, Jane; no telling when a Vickroot student will get a chance like this ever again."
"Of course, I'm going," said Jane, surprised. "I already said I would; it'd be rude not to. Lizzy, can I borrow your car?"
Before Lizzy could agree, Charlotte piped up, "Why don't you just walk? It's not that far."
"Hmm, I'd like that," Jane said, peering outside at the autumn-tinted trees. "It's a such a pretty day."
"It's cold, though," Lizzy said. "Bundle up."
Jane rolled her eyes. "Thanks, little sister."
"I'm taller than you."
"I'm older than you."
"Only by twelve minutes and thirteen seconds," Lizzy protested.
"I've got a scarf, are you happy?" Jane said.
"A hat, too," Lizzy insisted.
"It'll mess up my hair."
Lizzy snorted. "It'll recover."
"Wear your earmuffs, instead," suggested Charlotte.
"Perfect!" said Jane and ran into her room to find them.
"You're certainly being helpful," Lizzy told Charlotte, suspiciously.
"I'm a helpful person," Charlotte said, turning back to her magazine; Lizzy waited. "Of course, if she's going to be there until after dark—which I daresay she will--someone's going to have to drive her back. And I bet, that someone's going to be young Bing, and I'm really curious to see what kind of car Mr. Bingley drives."
"Expecting a Porshe, huh?" grinned Lizzy.
"No, Jaguar," Charlotte replied.
An hour later, Lizzy didn't care much about what kind of car Bingley drove; she was more concerned with the rain that had started falling. She called Jane's cell phone a couple times, before deciding that Jane must have turned it off. "Jane's a big girl," Charlotte reminded Lizzy gently. "Plus, a little rain never hurt anyone."
"This is freezing rain, Charlotte," Lizzy pointed out. "Look at the trees." The trees outside were glistening with the tell-tale shine of ice. "I checked and it's supposed to start snowing soon."
"She'll be fine," Charlotte insisted, but Lizzy heard the unsure note in her roommate's voice.
The phone rang, and Lizzy ran to answer it. "Jane?" she cried.
"Um, no, it's Charlie. Who is this? Is this Lizzy?"
"Yeah, it's me; is Jane there?"
"She's here," said Charlie uncertainly, "but…"
"But what? Is she okay?"
"She's kind of sick; she's got a fever and she's pretty out of it. I'm just calling to make sure that she's not allergic to any medication—"
"Hold on," Lizzy told him. "I'll be right over."