Author's Note:

This is my first fanfiction, so reviews are very welcome. Just no flamers please!

I've changed a couple of the names of the characters, so if you get confused (which, hopefully, you won't be) just refer to this guide :)

(I just realized how much Max sounded like Mac, so I re-changed his name to Nate)

Eva= Jane

Lindsay= Lydia

Kat= Kitty

Nate = Charlie

Veronica= Caroline Bingley

August 26, 2:30 in the afternoon, which makes me think of Panic! at the Disco, which is not a good thing at all

Stupid school. Just as I'm beginning to master my summer routine of eating ice cream out of the container while watching reruns of the Office, during which Charlotte French braids my hair, I have to get the packet from Longbourn High School that issues my doom.

Okay, so I'm being melodramatic.

But my schedule is pretty close to my doom, no?

This year I'm taking British Literature, know as BritLit, which has the added advantage of close proximity to hot British accents, Biology (yes, my school's wacked that way), French III, Math III, U.S. History, Painting, and Physical Education.

Kill me.

As I am too uncoordinated to join any of the sports teams, I have been relegated to P.E, technically Physical Education, even though it's really just a stupid excuse for us to buy crappy sweats that have LONGBOURN HIGH emblazoned on them, as apparently Longbourn High School is lacking in school spirit. Clearly the faculty has never seen Lindsay and Kat's "Longbourn High School Stripper Dance."

It definitely mentions Longbourn High at least once.

Anyway, the sweats suck, and are really expensive. Apparently they're also quite legendary among the parents.

Case in point: the conversation I had with my mother about P.E:

I say as I enter the living room, where the TV is blaring: Mom?

Mom is watching reruns of the O.C: (sobs) Marrisa! Gone forever! (more sobs)

I wait 5 seconds to allow her proper mourning time, then say: Er, right… Anyway. Mom, I'm taking P.E. this year.

Mom still in hysterics over Marissa until I say the word, 'P.E.' at which point her head snaps up, and her eyes narrow suspiciously as she repeats: P.E?

I mistake her sudden interest as confusion, so I say soothingly: Yes, mom, the thing where we uncoordinated people band together as one and play kickball. You know, the game where you kick. the. ball.

Mom's hand suddenly jerks out and grabs purse, as if afraid I might steal it: P.E? Don't you need a uniform for that?

In a desperate attempt to salvage the situation, I say: Well, I guess so. I mean I can hardly play sports in jeans, can I?

Mom narrows eyes even more, strokes checkbook lovingly, then says grudgingly: No, I guess you can't. We'll buy some tomorrow.

At which point she flipped channels to the Proactiv commercial, which I've seen about a million times due to her obcession with Jessica Simpson, so I headed for higher ground, a.k.a. Eva's house.

Eva's house is great because we can crash on her couch and watch Grey's Anatomy and argue about whether McDreamy's nose is broken or not, all while debating the finer aspects of take out from the Golden Egg, the Chinese place near her house.

"The egg rolls are the best, but only if you know Mac is making them," she points out, while she puts in a well worn disc of Grey's. Eva and I are probably unhealthily interested in the sexpades of those attractive Seattle-ites (I'm guessing that's what you call them.) We have not yet progressed to the point where we bring out her Dad's medical tools, but last year we dressed up in his scrubs and strutted around her house pretending to be Ellen Pompeo. Good stuff.

"True. But if it's Greasy Tommy cooking, then don't even bother. Better wait until Thursday, cause then you know that Bianca is on deck," I say.

"Bianca! God, she was such a legend in middle school, wasn't she?"

I wince slightly at the mention of my version of hell. "Do we have to talk about middle school?"

She gets all huffy and serious then, like the time she tried to pierce my ears. "Yes, we do. Because we are going into 11th grade-"

"Shut up."

"BECAUSE we are gonna be juniors," she continues loudly (and rudely I might add) over me, "you need to get over middle school, and when I say middle school, I mean the Darcy Incident."

Oh, she used the words of the death.

The Darcy Incident happened at the last party of the year in 6th grade. There I was, flushed with hormones and whatnot from puberty, and therefore completely innocent to the shitty ways of boys. I'm minding my own business, taking a break from dancing with Char when I hear my name.

"Lizzie Bennet? You think that I would dance with her? Come on, Nate. You've got the only good looking girl of our entire grade." I look over, and there's Will Darcy, standing with his arms crossed over his chest with Nate standing next to him.

"She's cute, isn't she?" Nate grins stupidly in the direction of the girl before coming back to Earth. "Will, you're acting like an idiot. Just go dance with her."

"No." He said it so flatly, so devoid of emotion, that it crushed me. I'm not gonna lie- it hurt. A lot. But I have this image of fun and independent Lizzie, so I brushed it aside and ignored Darcy whenever I saw him. I continue to do my well patented cold shoulder to this day.

"The Darcy Incident is gone. I'm completely over it," I lie quickly.

She rolls her eyes at me and raises one eyebrow, which makes her look a bit drunk.

"Honestly, Eva! I'm over it. Done. Finito."

She raises her other eyebrow, and now looks completely piss drunk. Eva is sweet, so whenever she attempts toughness, she has the unfortunate ability to look completely idiotic.

"Fine, then. If you're so over the Darcy Incident, then I dare you to talk to him on Monday," she says, all challeng-y.

She's good. I'll give her that, because I like nothing more than a good Dare. I am queen of the Dares.

"I'll only do it if you talk to Nate." She blushes at this, and denies that she likes him, which I know is compete and total bull, because I have it on good information that she's been in love with him since kindergarten.

"Lizzie, you know that I don't I mean that's stupid why would I like him cause you know that there's nothing going on I mean if there were it would be so"

I cut her off. "Eva, you like him. And I'm pretty sure that he has a secret shrine built of you."

I'm not joking either, because Eva has always been drop dead gorgeous, with the perfect figure and blond hair and blue eyes. Plus she's the sweetest thing to walk the planet besides Bambi, but Bambi's kicked the bucket, so it's really no competition.

"Well what about you? Will has a thing for you. I know it." She states in her wise voice as she tries to hide her pleasure.

"Right. He totally wants to jump me," I say sarcastically. She looks as if she's going to say something, so I add, "Now can we talk about something else? Like how if it's Friday, then you're in luck, cause Mac's cooking at the Golden Egg. Mac's the best, right?"

"Agreed!" She sighs dreamily and I throw a pillow at her and all is forgotten about stupid Darcy and probably-equally-devoid-in-the-brain-department Nate.

This is one of the many great things about our friendship: that despite her belief that Will Darcy is my soul mate, we can both agree that Mac makes a damn fine egg roll.

Still same stupid day, only later

Just called Charlotte up, and it turns out that she's been put in Dance! DANCE, I tell you!

"Char, that can't be right," I said worriedly after she told me, because I had fully planned on Char being put in Physical Education too.

"Lizzie, I'm looking at my schedule and it says Dance," she repeated flatly.

"Still, maybe they-"

"No."

True friends are supposed to be more supportive. Like a bra.

"Char, I'll be the only one doing P.E! Come on. Can't you switch?" I beg, which is pretty hard to do over the phone but still. I'm a desperate girl.

She sighs, and I can almost hear the defeat. Char's never done anything that she really wants to do, partly because she's like that, and partly because life screws her over a lot. I feel bad for doing this to her. Maybe she wants to be a stupid dancer who twits around in pink tutus.

"I- sure, Lizzie. I'll switch." She says it in her quiet voice, the voice that kills me every time I hear it because she sounds so small and helpless.

I sit quietly for a couple of minutes, biting my cheek. Char will switch cause she's a good friend like that- I take back the bra comment- but she won't like it. Oh she won't complain or anything, but she won't like it, and it'll eat away at her until she breaks down. Her parents divorced when she was six, and she's always been good at hiding things she wants, for fear that it might never come back.

I rub my forehead before replying, "Char, if you honest to God want to be wearing tutus all the time, and you really love Fame that much, you don't have to switch."

Char hangs up on me. She hates when I make fun of Fame.

Grr. I was trying to be nice.

The world doesn't understand kindness.

Now I know how Gandhi felt.

Hungry. Must get food.

Technically the next day but screw it, I'm tired

No food in damn house. So desperate was I for nourishment that I drank one of my mom's weight-loss drinks.

Spent the next five hours throwing up. I then collapsed on the couch in exhaustion, only to be woken up by the sound of a fog horn.

"WHO DRANK MY INSTA WEIGHT LOSS?!?!!"

After which I spent the next four hours hearing my mother moan about how awful her life was, and how much cellulite she had. Am now wondering if I will wake up tomorrow with a baby's bottom.

Life is looking up.

August 28, 5:00 in the freakin morning

I am officially on a break with my alarm clock.

Why?

Before, it was all, "Oh you can sleep until the afternoon! What if I care?"

Now it is waking me up at fucking 5:00 in the morning.

The sun's not even out yet. Why the hell should I be up?

School sucks. No two ways around it. It just does, and anyone who tells you differently is wrong. Or just plain stupid.

And because I got my license this year, I'm legally obligated (legal my ass, parents) to drive Lindsay, Kat, and Maia to school. They're my sisters, and while I do love them, sometimes I wish they all lived in Norway.

Lindsay and Kat are practically joined at the hip. It's actually quite scary to see them- it's as if your eyesight's gone all wobbly and you're seeing double. Maia doesn't talk much, just mopes around and plays a bunch of depressing songs. She and I have some great chats about how much life sucks, so if I die in P.E, I'm leaving my room to her.

Maia's in 10th grade, so she's stuck with the not-quite-attractive-yet sophomore guys, and Lindsay and Kat have the pathetically pervy freshman to deal with.

As a junior, I've come to realize that Longbourn High is pretty much a dead zone for guys. No oxygen, nothing.

It'd be depressing if I didn't have McDreamy or Mac of Golden Egg fame to think of.

A few seconds later

Nope.

It's still depressing.

A few seconds after that

Although Mac is pretty hot.

Must get to first period BritLit.

Aw, fuck. I hate school.

Author's Note:

Please review guys! Feedback is appreciated, so yeah...:)

Next chapter Will and Nate show up, and I start off first thing with BritLit, as well as funny Mama & Papa Bennet interactions plus some more Golden Egg!

Also, if anything is confusing with the plot and/or characters, please tell me!

Thanks!

xoxo

rushmore