Free The Secret Diary of Lizzie Bennet by Bernie Su, Kate Rorick Page A

unassuming. Meek,” I replied, keeping on subject. “Darcy is not meek. He makes his opinion very well known.”
    “Apparently not.”
    “Char, stop it, okay?” I couldn’t help it. “I can’t joke with you right now about this stuff. I have four term papers due this week, my write-up on the videos for
Dr. Gardiner’s class, three exams to take, and then sixty essays to grade. Not to mention finals are in a few short weeks. I can’t even think about what I’m going to do for a
video this week, let alone play along with your wild Darcy theories.”
    “Fine.” Char threw up her hands. “I’m sorry. I know this week isn’t fun. It’s not fun for me, either.”
    “Yes, but you already turned in all your projects at least. All that extra editing-lab time. Kiss-ass.”
    She smirked back. “Fair enough. How can I help?”
    “Do you have a time-turner?”
    “If I did, I wouldn’t give it to you. It’d be my secret.” Charlotte laughed. “But seriously, what if I do a video this week? I can take that off your shoulders at
least.”
    I couldn’t help but feel relieved. “Would you? That would be so great. But I know you don’t like being the main one on camera.”
    “I can handle it once.” She shrugged. “Besides, I’ll get Jane to help me.”
    “What will you talk about?”
    “Something with narrative cohesion. Probably Bing. Or something similar.”
    Char smiled at me, and I smiled back, grateful. I don’t know what I’d do without my bestie. She always has my back.

F RIDAY , J UNE 1 ST
    There is something in the air around town today. The hyped-up heartbeat of anticipation. The bitter taste of adrenaline filling your mouth. The faint but distinctive smell of
chlorine.
    The . . . abdominal muscles on display.
    “Woo-hoo! It’s Swim Week!” Lydia screamed as she climbed into my car.
    Oh, no. Not now. Not this.
    Our sleepy little central California town is noted for two things: its Brady Bunch–era suburban architecture and the fact that sometime in the seventies, an Olympic swimmer was from here.
Not a famous one or anything—I think he might have come in fourth (just shy of a medal!) in the 200-meter breaststroke. But he (or she? I can’t remember) dedicated all his post-Olympics
money to building a state-of-the-art swimming program and facility right here in town.
    It was a huge economic disaster, but it did leave us with a honking big pool. The builders also got some state funding for it—which is why for one week, once a year, our hamlet gets
invaded by collegiate swim teams from all across the state for the Speedo-and-shaved-chest bacchanalia/competition known as Swim Week.
    “Aren’t you excited? It’s going to be awesome! All those hot guys . . .” Lydia looked over the top of her sunglasses at me.
    “Not really. I have a lot of work to do before the end of the semester.”
    “You know, I’ve found that my schoolwork gets a lot easier if I party a little bit beforehand. A little beer makes my papers
way
better.” She nodded at me, all
innocence.
    “I haven’t found that to be the case.”
    “Ugh, we need to get you out of the house. You are in danger of becoming criminally boring. You, me, Carter’s, every ranked freestyle swimmer in the state . . .”
    “Yeah, well, I don’t think you’re going to Carter’s anytime soon.”
    Seriously. The last Carter’s incident was two weeks ago. I still haven’t emotionally recovered. But Lydia is a bouncing ball of energy, ready to go go GO!
    “You can’t stop me.”
    “No, but your car privileges are still suspended.” Hence my picking her up from school today. “And I certainly don’t have to drive you.”
    “And whose fault is that?” Lydia pouted.
    I could barely contain my sarcasm. “
Yours
.”
    Contrary to what Lydia likes to believe, neither Jane nor I mentioned to our mother what happened at Carter’s last time. But this is a small town. Word got around. And for once, my mother
showed some sense and