"Oh." Wick wiggled in his seat. "She goes to Longbourn, so you might know her."

I looked down at the floor, embarrassed.

"Who?" Lydia prodded, not getting it.

"Sylvia Kent. She's a senior."

Sylvia Kent.

Sylvia Kent?

Sylvia Kent!

I tried to process what he was saying. I knew who Sylvia Kent was, but it didn't make sense. I thought he despised the girls at Longbourn just as much as I did. I was trying to understand, but there was a part of my brain that just wasn't letting me. Sylvia Kent?

Wick could tell with one look at me that there was something wrong. I'm sure I wasn't being very subtle with my confusion, but Wick knew me. We had an understanding between us -- or at least I thought we had, until the words "Sylvia Kent" left his lips.

He turned to Lydia. "It's Lydia, right?" he asked. She became overly pleased that he knew her name. "Could you give me a few minutes alone with Lizzie?"

Lydia got up, went to an empty table, and started texting.

I couldn't look at Wick. I was so horrified that I'd assumed he had any feeling for me at all.

"I'm sorry I didn't say anything to you sooner," he began.

I cut him off. "Oh, it's fine. You didn't need to say anything to me. It's not like we were, um, dating or anything."

He leaned back in his chair. "I don't want you to be mad at me -- I do have an ulterior motive with Sylvia. Her dad runs a pretty big law firm in New York. Entertainment law, not nearly as prestigious as Mr. Darcy's corporate law office. But since that didn't work out, I thought I'd try to make a connection a different way. An internship at his law firm practically guarantees acceptance at an Ivy League school."

I was trying to reconcile everything Wick had said to me in the past about the spoiled brats at Pemberley and Longbourn with what he was saying now.

He continued, "I know that I must seem like a hypocrite to you. That's why I didn't want to tell you. But you're still fairly new to the whole rich crowd. Lizzie, you've got to understand that we need to take advantage of our situations when we can. Hang around with them long enough, you start to appreciate it, even as you work to undermine it. There's a big difference between connections and connection. What I have with Sylvia is a matter of connections. What I have with you is a matter of connection. One is vastly more important than the other, and I'm sure you can imagine which it is."

All I could do was nod. I excused myself and went to the back room. I was equal parts hurt, angry, and embarrassed by his revelation. I really liked Wick, and I'd foolishly thought he liked me. Maybe, in a twisted way, he still did. But what really did matter most -- connections or connection? He was the first guy I met here who'd understood me. He liked me for who I was. But was that enough? After all, I didn't have a rich family or fancy job prospects.

He hadn't once mentioned that he liked Sylvia. Did that mean he could still like me? Or that liking had nothing to do with it? Could I truly fault him for taking advantage, when I knew that neither of us would ever be given an advantage?

I looked at my gray coat hanging on the employee coatrack. Colin still refused to admit he bought it for me, so I couldn't have returned it even if I wanted to. But even though I knew that, I wondered: Did keeping the coat mean that I was taking advantage of my situation? Did I feel the same way about Charlotte going to the prom with Colin that I did about Wick and Sylvia?

It was bad enough to see friendship and love in terms of politics. But seeing it in terms of business was even worse. I looked out from the back room and saw Wick patiently waiting for me. Then he looked up. Saw me. And we hung there for a moment.

I knew I was overreacting to what he'd said because I wanted him to like me. I was taking it personally.

The question was: How personal did it really get? Was I frightened by his desire for connections, or by my own lack of them? I stayed there in the doorway until he got the hint and left. It's very easy to get a boy to leave a room. It's much harder to get him to leave your thoughts.

Seventeen

THE FOLLOWING WEEKS BECAME A CYCLE OF SCHOOL, homework, practice, and work. The pranks and vitriol lessened as students started studying for midterms and the prom committee called meetings practically every evening. The piano had become the only bright spot in my day. I felt like I was accomplishing something, anything by making my way, slowly yet surely, through Rachmaninoff.

Jane and I stayed in most nights. She became more and more depressed as the list of girls with prom dates grew and grew. Adding insult to injury, she was having a very expensive dress made for her. Her mother seemed to think that everything would eventually work out, and didn't want her to be unprepared.

Neither one of us even bothered to attend the "mandatory" prom orientation meeting where the rundown of activities was discussed, media release forms were handed out, and preinter-views were scheduled. (Charlotte decided to brave the meeting, only to be told the wrong room. Then, when she finally arrived, they claimed they didn't have any more forms for her.)

I had even begun looking forward to work more, as it was my only real social interaction during the week. Wick didn't come in nearly as much anymore. Being around each other was suddenly awkward. For the first time since I'd met him, I felt censored. I couldn't be open around him and tell him what I wanted to say: Why her? Why not me? But we both already knew the answer to those questions.

While Wick stayed away, another presence emerged. Much to my dismay, Darcy began making regular appearances during my shift. I tried to avoid any conversation with him besides inquiries into his beverage selection.

"I think that guy has a thing for you," Tara said one day, motioning to Darcy.

"Hardly," I replied. "He despises me. Although probably not as much as I detest him."

Tara smirked. "My, we certainly have strong feelings for someone, don't we? Are you sure you detest him, or is it something else?"

"Please."

"Well, he only sits down with his coffee when you're here. When you aren't, he leaves."

"Believe me, he's only doing it to punish me."

The punishment continued for another couple weeks. Finally, nearly a month after Charles's party, he caught up with me on my way home. He was with a guy in his late twenties.

Darcy and his friend joined me on the sidewalk. "Hi, Lizzie," Darcy said, as if we'd just happened to encounter each other. "We're heading over in your direction -- do you mind if we walk with you?"

"I'm Will Fitzpatrick," the guy said to me. "It's my ten-year reunion at Pemberley. I'm just visiting my little cousin before heading to our party."

"Hi," I replied. He had a friendly disposition, very opposite to Darcy.

"Fitz, this is Elizabeth Bennet," Darcy said, making the proper introduction.

"Please call me Fitz -- all my friends do. With two Wills in the family, it just made it easier for everybody to refer to us by our last names."

I smiled politely, although I wasn't really interested in why everybody called Darcy by that name, and not Will.

"I've heard a lot about you," Fitz said warmly.

"That's unfortunate," I replied. "I can assure you that I'm not nearly as awful as your cousin has made me out to be."

Fitz laughed. "Awful? Quite the opposite. He only has nice things to say."

"I'm afraid it is only Lizzie who has unkind words to say about me," Darcy added.

Fitz stopped in his tracks. "What exactly has my idiot cousin done to deserve that?" His smile was curious and friendly.

"I'm glad you asked; I've been wondering the same thing," Darcy replied drily.

"Well, how much time do you have before your party?" I responded.

"Oh, Darcy!" Fitz grabbed Darcy by the collar. "You have such a way with the ladies. Miss Bennet, on behalf of my family, my sincerest apologies for whatever offenses Sir Grumpsalot over here has bestowed upon you."

He reached out his hand and did a slight bow. I accepted his hand with a laugh and nodded in acceptance of his kind gesture.

"Maybe I should skip the reunion and instead try to make amends. Come to think of it, there are a few former teachers that I wish to avoid." He winked at me.

Several girls from my dorm walked past with big, puffy garment bags.

"Oh, wow, I forgot that 'tis the season for prom insanity." Fitz shook his head. "Are you suffering from pre-prom pandemonium?"

"Absolutely not," I assured him.

"Good for you. Even some of Darcy's friends seem to have lost their minds. You had to talk one friend out of going with some real character, didn't you?"

Darcy's expression changed immediately.

I felt my blood begin to boil. I had assumed it was Caroline who was keeping Charles away from Jane. But it was Darcy. Of course it was Darcy.

"What's this?" I asked.

Darcy just brushed it away. "Nothing, it's nothing."

Yes, it was nothing to him. But it was everything to Jane.

"Oh!" Fitz glanced at his watch. "I must make my way to the Headmaster's House. Lizzie, a pleasure." He shook my hand. "Cousin" -- he turned to Darcy -- "don't be an imbecile. Good families are dime-a-dozen, but a good woman is rare."

We watched him cross the quad toward Pemberley.