Free Enthusiasm by Polly Shulman

bottoms and looking pleased with himself. Zach obviously shares the widespread opinion that his shirtless torso is a magnificent sight.
    “Good plan! I wish you would. Then you’d be nice and give me those,” he said, reaching for the pancakes with a fork.
    Ashleigh fended him off with her spatula. “Keep your fork to yourself,” she cried.
    “I bet if I were Grandison Parr you’d let me have them. No, more than that—you’d make me my own batch. In heart shapes,” said Zach, easily evading her spatula like the fencer he was. He skewered a pancake and crammed it into his mouth, then followed it with a chaser of syrup, drizzled directly from the bottle, which he held a few inches above his lips.
    Ash jittered with indignation. “If you were Grandison Parr, you would never rob a defenseless female in this manner! You villain! You unspeakable adder! You are not fit to speak the name of the noble Mr. Darcy!”
    Busy as I was admiring Zach’s syrup caper, it took me a moment to realize what Ashleigh had said. As soon as I did, an electric shock went through me.
    “Darcy,” I gasped weakly. “Darcy—Parr?”
    I bit my tongue to stop myself from revealing any more of my feelings before I had a chance to understand them myself. It was too late, however. Every eye was upon me.
    “Why, yes, of course, Parr! Who did you think?” said Ashleigh. “Ned? Ned the Noodle—you thought he was Mr. Darcy?”
    “No, of course not, don’t be silly,” I protested. “Frankly, neither of them seems much like Darcy to me.”
    “Really? You certainly didn’t say so earlier this morning. I seem to recall you agreeing with me when I asserted that Darcy was wonderful. Are you not protesting just a teeny, tiny bit too much? Methinks?”
    Zach took up the cry. “Look, she’s blushing! Oho! Sensible Julie isn’t so sensible today, is she, now? Who would have thought those Foreskin boys would break two hearts!”
    “Stop it, you guys! I mean it! Ig—Ned—emphatic ig! I really don’t like him. I mean, I like him fine, but I don’t like him.”
    In my agony, it seemed, I had turned into a second grader.
    Ashleigh gave me a look of happy condescension. “Now, now, my dearest Julia, I cannot see why you refuse to admit it. Ned is a very agreeable fellow indeed—almost as handsome as my Parr. The two of you are a perfect match, exactly the same height. And he likes you, Julie—you know he does. He danced the last dance with you, and the first dance. He tried to talk Parr into bringing you a Sprite instead of a ginger ale, so we could get back to you. And he even asked me for your e-mail address—well, he asked for both of our addresses, but I gave him yours. I could tell that was what he really wanted.”
    Could she be right? Could Ned have developed feelings for me like mine for Parr?
    Samantha saw my discomfort and tried to help by turning the conversation from my affairs to Ashleigh’s. “ Your Parr? Are you admitting you’re in love?”
    Alas, Ashleigh’s answer pained me more than all the previous conversation.
    “In love?” said Ashleigh. “How can I answer that ? If you believe—like our English instructress, Miss Nettleton—that true love comes only to those who, upon first meeting, speak together in rhyme and meter, so that their conversation produces a sonnet, then no. But I confess that never before have I encountered so gallant, so courageous, so handsome a gentleman as Grandison Parr. If ever there was a man born to capture my heart, then that man is Grandison Parr. And although modesty warns me to discount them, I believe I saw signs that he returned my regard. He danced the quadrille with me. He drew me apart from the others as he searched the campus from end to end for ginger ale, thus affording us quiet time together, accompanied only by Ned. He queried me most particularly about my childhood, my abode, and the society I keep, showing a keen interest in all my doings. And he took my hand in his to write