Fall For You [The Jane Austen Academy Series #1] (2 page)

She had loved the setup of her old room. She’d had a bed in one corner, a loveseat in the other, a desk in the third, and a wardrobe in the fourth. She’d let stacks and stacks of books pile up next to the loveseat until each stack was like its own coffee table, where she could set drinks and, of course, more books.

Now, instead, there were two beds across from each other in one corner, two desks in the other corners, and a shared wardrobe between them. She felt so crammed, so trapped, so
annoyed
.

She spent every summer feeling invisible. Back in Chicago, her parents were always working, any local friends from elementary and middle school were off at summer camp, and she counted down the days until she was back at Jasta where she was seen, where she was heard, where she mattered. But now, it felt like nobody was hearing her even though she was practically screaming at the top of her lungs,
This is a bad idea!
The only way she could survive the ordeal was with her bestie, Ellie, by her side and as her roommate.

Only Ellie didn’t look as gung-ho with the roommate switcheroo as Lizzie felt. Her friend climbed onto one of the beds—she still had beach sand clinging to the strands of her hair that was likely to get on the sheets—and sat cross-legged, eyeing Lizzie with reluctance.

“What?” Lizzie demanded. “Spill it.”

“We’re going to get busted and then get in even more trouble.”

“Then let them bust us,” Lizzie said, opening up the wardrobe. She unzipped her suitcase and began hanging up sundress after sundress. It was one of the best things about California—the weather was always sundress-appropriate, unlike Chicago, which swung between freezing cold and sweltering heat.

“Bergie already has an eye on you,” Ellie said. “What if you get suspended?”

“Ha!” Lizzie attacked another hanger with a dress. “I’d love to get suspended. Then I could write the greatest expos
é
ever, get distributed by the AP, and have Georgetown begging for my application.”

“Does everything have to be about getting into Georgetown?” Ellie asked, lying back on her bed and staring at the ceiling.

“Everything
is
about getting into Georgetown,” Lizzie said. She eyed Ellie’s collection of duffel bags, wondering how Ellie could just sit back and not unpack. She wasn’t sure if she could stand to let Ellie live out of her duffel bags for the first month until enough of her clothes had made their way to the laundry that Ellie would finally put them away. Maybe she wouldn’t mind if Lizzie just—

A throat clearing caught Lizzie’s attention. She looked at the doorway.

Anne Escobar stood there, wringing her hands.

Anne was—had been—Jane Austen Academy’s legacy. Her great-great-great something-or-other, an eccentric Jane Austen fan, had opened the girls-only school in the Central Valley of California with her family’s railroad money. Unfortunately, the same eccentricity that had led to the school’s opening had also led to its eventual ruin as it was irresponsibly run into the ground.

Lizzie knew this because she’d written a series of articles lambasting Anne’s family in the
Gazette
last spring, when rumors of the ownership switch were circulating.

“Can I help you?” Lizzie asked Anne with false sweetness.

Anne held up the sheet of paper that read
Emma
and pointed to Lizzie’s name taped up on the door. “I’m pretty sure these were switched.”

“Hmmm, first I’ve heard of it,” Lizzie said, batting her eyes innocently. Ellie, who was quite possibly the world’s worst liar, had the good sense to roll over onto her side and face the wall. She hadn’t even taken her flip-flops off! Lizzie was beginning to wonder if Ellie’s lighthearted ways were going to extend to their room and what that would mean…she needed a neat space to work in, not a mini-sandbox.

“Well now you’ve heard of it,” Anne said.

“I’ll be sure to post the story in the
Gazette
,” Lizzie said dismissively.

Anne stood there, unyielding and looking gorgeous. Despite how much Anne irked her, Lizzie had to admit she was drop dead. Whereas Lizzie’s own features were pretty enough—chestnut hair and brown eyes—the same coloring on Anne was exotic and traced back to Spanish roots. Her jeans were designer, not from Target. Her shirts were always perfectly fitted and darted and actually had cleavage to cling to, whereas Lizzie’s hung off her like a coat rack.

Lizzie hated how easily Anne one-upped her with everything. Her hair was just the slightest bit lusher. Her eyes, richer. Her lips, fuller. And beyond the physical, her family legacy at Jasta gave her an edge academically. Teachers called on her first. She received the interesting extra-credit assignments.

But her sin, in Lizzie’s mind, was that Anne was completely oblivious to this nepotism. To her genetic blessings. To how easy things were for her compared to everyone else. She didn’t even have the sense to seem grateful. She acted like everything was her due.

“Can we get some privacy?” Lizzie asked, motioning for Anne to shut the door.

But Anne didn’t shut the door. She fisted her hands and lifted her head. “We’re roommates,” Anne said firmly. “I know because I received an early copy of the roommate assignments.”

“What a surprise,” Lizzie mumbled. “Special treatment? For Anne?” Although she wondered why Anne hadn’t fought the assignment if she’d known so early.

“The proctors will be coming by to check room assignments,” Anne continued, ignoring Lizzie’s slight. “Your plan to tape up a piece of paper—like that would change anything—won’t work.”

“Then I have a better plan,” Lizzie said, dispensing with hanging up her clothes entirely and crossing her arms. “How about we skip the part where we’re caught and head straight to petitioning Headmistress Berg?”

“Petitioning the headmistress?” Anne asked.

“Yes, you know, what normal students have to do when they can’t get their way all the time.”

Anne drew to her full height, which was still shorter than Lizzie’s, and her eyebrows lifted in challenge. “Fine. By. Me.”

“You wait here, Ellie,” Lizzie said. Ellie, happy-go-lucky beach spirit or not, was not a rule breaker. Her timidity would hurt their case instead of help it. She caught Anne’s gaze, which seemed to have grown stronger in the last minute. “You with me?”

“For once, yes.”

* * *

The Jane Austen Academy was a four-story building in the shape of a rectangle. Its grand entrance boasted the school’s motto,
We Will Be Heard,
in iron lettering over the front gates, and the maxim was emblazoned above each of the stained-glass doors to the main wings.

The two long edges of the building were student housing—the north side now reserved for boys and the south for girls. One short edge was academic classrooms. The other short edge contained the science labs, a music room, and a small auditorium that served for assemblies and theater productions. A central courtyard held several picnic tables underneath the cool shadow of the properties’ apple trees which dotted the neatly trimmed lawn.

Behind the academic classrooms was a short path. Lizzie silently fumed next to Anne as they marched down the path past the cafeteria, past the gym and sports fields, and past faculty housing. Despite her focus, Lizzie gave in to the small luxury of the sun’s warm rays caressing her cheeks and tracing down her arms. The property’s apple trees grew closer and closer together until they formed a dense wood, much like they probably had when the property had boasted an apple orchard. The path wound through the trees to a small, red-brick cottage that was the headmistress’s home and office.

As they reached the white front door of the cottage, Lizzie heard Anne’s sharp intake of breath. They slowed to a halt, and she realized Anne was staring at the gold plaque that had been bolted to the brick.

Katherine Berg

Headmistress.

Lizzie felt an unexpected pang of pity for Anne. This had been Anne’s mother’s home, and her grandmother’s before that, and it likely would have been her home, too, once she graduated from college with her teaching degree. Anne was known for sneaking away during lunch hour to eat alone in this house—something Lizzie had always found strange, although she never mocked Anne for it like some of the other students. There were so many other things to hate about Anne, that it had never made the list.

Now this cottage belonged to some stranger, to some trust, instead of to Anne and her family.

“We can wait to speak to Bergie after grand assembly,” Lizzie offered awkwardly. “We’ll catch her in the auditorium before she comes back.”

“No,” Anne said, steeling her gaze at the sign. “We may as well get this over with.”

Lizzie almost asked Anne if she was sure she wanted to go through with this, but before she could, Anne grabbed the doorknob and turned it.

The door opened with a soft click.

Headmistress Berg’s voice carried down the hall—she was clearly on the phone and speaking in a rush, clipped tone. “…can’t run a school with a name like the Jane Austen Academy. We’re not even a liberal arts school. I already had the English teachers take Jane Austen out of the curriculum.”

Lizzie swallowed a gasp of indignation. She glanced over to Anne, who had come to a stop as her hand fluttered to her chest.

“I’m serious—get a lawyer on it if you have to. I want the name gone by Christmas.”

“It’ll never happen,” Lizzie said reassuringly to Anne. She may not have liked Anne’s legacy, but she didn’t want the school changed any more than it already had. Besides, changing a headmistress was one thing. Renaming the entire school was another. The new owners, whoever they were, had to know they couldn’t take it that far.

But Anne didn’t respond. She continued forward instead, as if quelling her surprise.

Lizzie followed Anne past the foyer into the front office, where Headmistress Berg was seated behind a grand oak desk.

The woman looked up from behind a pair of mint-green glasses shaped like cat’s eyes. As usual, Bergie looked like something out of the New York fashion pages. She was tall, lithe, and always dressed in bright colors that draped her body like some deconstructionist wardrobe malfunction. Today she wore a pumpkin-orange asymmetrical dress with pointy triangle shoulders.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” she drawled in a way that indicated seeing Lizzie wasn’t one.

“There seems to be a mix-up,” Lizzie said, “with the rooming assignments.”

“I’m not prone to mix-ups or mistakes, despite what our local press has been saying.” Headmistress Berg leaned back in her chair and steepled her long, limber fingers with an amused look.

“I requested Ellie and Ellie requested me, so there should be no reason for this.” Lizzie pointed between herself and Anne. She looked at Anne and raised her eyebrow, waiting for a supportive word.

“I’m sure you’ve realized by now that not every student request is granted,” Headmistress Berg said. “Anne, do you have something to say?”

“I didn’t make any assignment requests,” Anne said, “But it seems fair that Lizzie and Ellie’s requests should be honored.”

“The changes to this school are a challenge enough,” Lizzie said. “Having the support of my friend would make the transition less difficult.”

Bergie narrowed her green eyes. “Is there something you specifically object to in Anne as a roommate?”

Lizzie recognized a trap when she saw one—she couldn’t object to Anne, not on any real grounds. “Of course not.”

“And you, Anne, do you object specifically to rooming with Elizabeth?”

“Not in principle,” Anne said forcefully.

Bergie tapped her fingers together. “Perhaps your fear—”

“I’m not afraid,” Lizzie interrupted, drawing her head high. She would not let Bergie think she was scared.

“Poor word choice then,” Bergie said, rising to walk around the desk in front of them. “Perhaps the challenge you two need is to become familiar with one another. I had believed that placing one of our most promising students—” She smiled at Lizzie. “—with one of our most cherished—” She smiled at Anne. “—would be an inspired pairing.”

Lizzie refused to be charmed by her blatantly false flattery. “I’m sure Anne and I are more than eager to further our acquaintance. However, being roommates—”

“I’m so happy to hear you say that,” Bergie said, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. Lizzie fought to shrug it away. “Because I have been racking my brain trying to pick the perfect candidates to help me usher our Academy into this new era.”

“Be that as it may—” Lizzie began.

“It would mean the managing editor position at the
Gazette
, of course. I’ve yet to appoint someone.”

Lizzie’s mouth went dry.

Managing editor? As a junior? She would be the first junior ever in the history of Jasta to make managing editor, and it made her a shoo-in for next year. She would then be the only person in Academy history to manage the
Gazette
two years in a row.

“I also need a candidate to chair this year’s Welcome Back dance,” Bergie finished.