Fall For You [The Jane Austen Academy Series #1] (5 page)

The girls sprang apart and took up separate stations, fingers flying.

Lizzie nodded inwardly with approval—these girls were hungry for print space. These girls were the kind she could use to distract Bergie while she dug into the real story: the new administration’s evil plans to destroy her beloved Academy.

Her email pinged. As new faces filtered into class—including a few boys—she asked for clips. She was relieved to find a few seniors had come. She’d been worried they’d boycott a junior appointment, but they didn’t seem interested in the post. By the time Anne arrived—could she seem any more unjournalistic, standing in the back corner?—Lizzie had begun reading through the clips. Everyone was a solid writer, except one girl who was coming in as the cartoonist.

“Everyone here? Good. My name is Lizzie Egmont. I’m the new managing editor, which I’m sure will come as a surprise to anyone who read my pre-term editorial.”

A few snickers trickled through the room.

Lizzie grinned. “I’m really looking forward to this year. Unlike the last managing editor—” whom Lizzie did not name, “—I will accept features ideas from anyone at any desk. Features are open to anyone and everyone, and I want you all doing at least one feature this year, no matter what desk you’re on, okay? That goes for freshmen, too.”

A couple of people clapped and there was a rustle through the room. Lizzie noted with satisfaction that several of the students were scribbling—ideas, hopefully. Past managing editors had been notorious for handing out assignments to friends first, and worthy ideas later. She intended to be sure everyone had a fair shot at white space.

She beckoned to Anne. “Don’t stand in the corner.”

“Sorry. I didn’t know…”

“Come sit by me,” Lizzie said, patting the stool next to her. After all, they
were
in this together.

“Thanks.” Anne took up her perch. “So…how do these welcome back interviews work?”

“I don’t want to keep everyone waiting, so do you mind if I take a moment to read through the sample clips and assign them to their desks?”

“Go ahead…but aren’t they already at their desks?”

Lizzie smiled. “Sorry, old-fashioned term. Their
desk
is their assignment. You know—features, news, sports, entertainment.”

Anne nodded slowly. “What’s your desk?”

“Mine is to finish Bergie’s pointless interview assignment, read and approve features and other stories, and then break the story of the year—corruption in the upper echelons of new management.”

“Corruption?” Anne frowned. “I don’t like the new administration, either, but there doesn’t seem to be any evidence of corruption.”

“I need to find the evidence,” Lizzie explained patiently. “This is what journalism is. You sense a story. You investigate. You report.”

“So…what do I do?”

“Maybe you could write up an announcement for the dance this Friday while I finish these desk assignments.”

Anne pulled a pen from the cup of mismatched pens and pencils on the desk and began scribbling ideas on a spare sheet of paper. Lizzie went back to reading clips and assigning desks—making sure to assign an equal number of boys and girls to the sports desk.

She heard the front door open as she was finishing up a note, followed by gasps and hushed conversation sweeping through the room.

She looked up. There was just a girl awkwardly standing there. Young—definitely a freshman—with dark blond hair and ice-blue eyes. There was something familiar about her eyes. Where had she seen eyes like that before?

Then, behind her, in walked Dante, her first interview, with Edward in tow.

Standing next to Edward, with his wide, eager grin, made Dante even less approachable than he already was with his lips compressed in a grim line. Maybe everyone had gasped because of how
annoying
it was to have him around.

No…that couldn’t be it. As much as she found it hard to tear her eyes away from Dante and her line of judgmental thoughts, Lizzie’s curiosity about what was riling up her staff won out.

Lizzie looked back at the front door. Josh Wickham leaned against the open doorway.

He looked just like he did on television. Lanky, jet-black hair streaked with chunks of blonde, blue eyes, and flirty lips.

That’s what everyone was quivering about.
Who
everyone was quivering over.

Well, she wasn’t going to be impressed by the teen acting sensation when he was obviously a recruitment coup for Bergie.

“Are you here for the features interviews?” she asked coolly. “Dante, Josh, and—?”

The door opened again—and in walked that incredibly hot guy who could be a model, hotter even than Josh, if Lizzie was going to be honest. His shoulder knocked into Josh as she brushed by him.

Anne’s pen flew out of her hand.

Lizzie ducked, barely avoiding a smack in the cheek.

“Sorry,” Anne mumbled.

Lizzie glanced down at the profiles from the manila envelope. “You are…?”

“Rick,” Anne said in a strangled voice.

“Rick,” Lizzie echoed. “Rick Wright. You’re all here for the features interviews.”

“If that’s what you want to do with us,” Josh said with a quirk of his lips.

Lizzie ignored him.

Dante only nodded. Of course he couldn’t dignify her with an actual response. Instead, he pushed forward the girl with the same ice-blue eyes as his own.

Lizzie had almost forgotten about her. She’d have to make an effort to focus on these girls. They were who mattered, after all.

“Hello,” the girl stuttered.

“Can I help you?” Lizzie asked with a touch of sympathy. She remembered her first day at the Academy and this girl looked just as overwhelmed.

“I was hoping…I hadn’t requested this elective, but I was hoping you would let me in?”

“Name?” Lizzie asked.

“I’m Dante’s sister,” she said.

“I hope that’s not on your school ID,” Lizzie said, hoping some gentle teasing would lighten her nerves.

The girl blushed. “No—it’s Georgiana.”

“Great to meet you, Georgiana. I’m Lizzie. Welcome to Jasta.”

“Jasta?”

“The Jane Austen Academy—that’s we call it on the inside.” Lizzie gave her a wink. “So, why do you want to be a journalist?”

Dante cleared his throat. “Isn’t this an open elective?”

Lizzie reared back like she’d been slapped. “Well, yeah.”

“Then she doesn’t really need your approval to join, does she?”

Lizzie bristled, rising in her seat. If she’d had even a shred of hope that she had misjudged Dante earlier, it had now left the building. She ignored him and looked straight into Georgiana’s eyes. “I’m short one reporter on the new-student features. I don’t want you to interview your brother—journalistic integrity, you understand—so why don’t you take Josh? Once I see your writing, we’ll decide what to do with you.”

Georgiana blushed even more and stammered, “All right.”

Lizzie didn’t miss the disappointed grumbling from some of the staff, as if they could have also landed a Wickham interview by waltzing in late.

“In the back, there,” Lizzie pointed, directing Josh and Georgiana to the other end of the room.

“Let’s see,” Lizzie said, “that leaves—”

“I’ll take Dante,” Anne said quickly.

“Yes, please,” Dante and Rick echoed.

Lizzie looked disbelievingly among the lot of them. The class was split between watching Josh make his way to the back of the room and watching her authority being usurped. “I make the assignment decisions around here. Anne—you take Rick into the other corner.”

As Anne got up, Lizzie patted her stool. “Dante, you’re with me.”

* * *

Dante walked up to the stool, but instead of sitting, he used his foot to push it backward and out of the way. He then leaned against the desk on his left hip, coolly crossed his arms, and stared at her.

Lizzie swallowed. He was closer to her this way than if he’d been sitting. Taller, too. Looming over her, even. As though he were the one in charge—which he wasn’t. She looked up into his eyes, noting a darker rim of blue outlining the lighter irises, and swallowed again as a chill breezed down her spine.

It would look silly if she stood up so he wouldn’t feel so tall, and besides, she would have to stand on the stool to be taller than he was, anyway. It seemed he had gained the upper hand—for now.

Lizzie used her finger to inch his bio closer and fished a recorder from her pocket. She set it on the counter and pressed Record.

Dante’s eyes shifted to the small, palm-shaped device, and Lizzie saw something there—not annoyance, not judgment, but for a moment, perhaps nervousness.

He was nervous beneath that icy exterior?

Good.

“Dante—” His eyes snapped up to meet her gaze, so fast and unexpected she lost her train of thought entirely. “Dante,” she repeated firmly, “Why did you leave Exeter to attend the Jane Austen Academy?” She intended to use the name
Jane Austen Academy
at least a dozen times in the printed interview.

Dante hesitated—and while she believed it was because of his snobbish nature, the reporter’s instincts in her clawed their way up.

Was he hesitating because he was hiding something?

“The academic record of this institution speaks for itself, and I’m proud to be part of the first wave of male students.”

Lizzie pursed her lips—the answer sounded like something out of a media kit. Not real at all.

“What do you miss most about Exeter?”

“The anonymity.”

Lizzie straightened in her seat and studied him. She could have sworn there was a sparkle to his eyes, a slight lift to his lips. Was he being funny?

“What do you plan on accomplishing while you’re at the Jane Austen Academy?”

“Asking for drama.”

Lizzie blinked—then recognized the line from her own pre-term editorial. Dante was quoting her own words back to her. Was she supposed to be flattered? Was he mocking her? Did he hope to fluster her? Well, she was not going to be deterred from the assignment. “What are your plans after graduation?”

“Georgetown.”

“Georgetown?” Lizzie bit out. “That’s—”
Where I’m going.

Georgetown? Georgetown! Her school. And it was well known that Georgetown only offered one annual acceptance to a Jasta student, except for 1982 when a set of genius triplets had all made it in.

Georgetown!

“What was that?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she said. “Georgetown then? Decided? Any backup schools?”

He gave her a strange look that said
Dante of Exeter and now the Jane Austen Academy did not need a backup school.

“Is that it?” Dante asked.

“No,” Lizzie bit off. This was the very reason she’d protested doubling the student admission. This—Dante—
Georgetown!
Her hop, skip, and a jump to being a White House press reporter.

“One more question,” she said. “Since your attendance at this school was precipitated by the new owners, would it be fair to say that another change in ownership might see you returning to Exeter?”

Dante’s mouth snapped shut and a flash of irritation crossed his features.

Lizzie smiled to herself. Just as she suspected. He didn’t care about the Academy or being part of its legacy.

“Lizzie!”

Lizzie turned to the back of the room—it was Dante’s sister Georgiana calling her. But before she could say anything, Dante had taken off in a flash and was by his sister’s side.

“Are you okay?” he asked, dipping his head.

Georgiana held out her digital recorder in the palm of her hand. Several shards of black plastic had broken off it.

“Sorry.” Josh ran his hand through his hair and gave a sheepish smile. “I think I broke it.”

“There’s a spare in the drawer behind you,” Lizzie said.

Josh reached into the drawer and set the recorder in Georgiana’s hand. Lizzie could have sworn that as he pulled his hand away, Josh traced his finger over Georgiana’s wrist and palm.

Georgiana flinched.

Lizzie opened her mouth to protest—she would not have one of her reporters harassed—but before she could speak, Dante leapt up and grabbed Georgiana’s hand.

“This interview is over,” he said, dragging Georgiana away despite her pleas and protests.

Rick stood abruptly to follow, leaving a shaken Anne tapping her pen against a notepad.

* * *

“That could have gone better,” Lizzie called to Anne, who pushed in Rick’s chair and her own and walked back to the front of the class. “Back to work—above-the-fold doesn’t write itself,” she said to the students who had been distracted by the melee. Their heads snapped back to their monitors.