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Anne meets Gilbert Blythe on her very first day of college, during her very first lecture, in the very first row of the lecture hall. He sits just five seats down from her, and aside from making an idle note in her mind that he’s handsome (broadly, objectively, in the same way that she thinks a lot of the students she’s seen around are, much closer to actual men than all the boys she’d known in Avonlea), she thinks nothing of him.
When they get paired off in a discussion group toward the end of class, it takes them all of thirty seconds to start screaming at each other.
“If you would just follow the text—”
“Right, because if there’s one thing about Shakespeare, it’s that there’s absolutely nothing worth reading between the lines,” Anne shouts over him, rolling her eyes.
“All I’m saying is that it might be worth looking at what’s already there before making up romantic tales to satisfy your tastes!”
“And all I'm saying is that I won’t be shackled by authorial intent when there’s enough ambiguity in the language left for a reader's interpretation!”
A throat clears nearby and the two startle apart, faces red and chests heaving. At some point, their other group mates must have left—along with the rest of the class—and they were too engrossed in their argument to notice.
“Well!” says Professor Stacy, looking more amused than annoyed. “While I’m impressed with your passion for Shakespeare, another class will be coming in shortly, so I’m going to have to ask the two of you to take this conversation elsewhere. Perhaps the quad! Or a mud pit. Whichever suits.”
With that, she hauls her bag over her shoulder and stalks out of the otherwise empty room.
Anne purses her lips, biting back a curse. She’d promised herself she would behave , and make good impressions on both professors and classmates, and she’d barely lasted an hour before making a scene. Her only saving grace is that Diana swears her hair has finally, finally darkened into a rich auburn, so while she’s sure her cheeks are blazing red, at the very least the effect is not so compounded by the brightness of her hair as it had been in her youth.
That, and the fact that the boy beside her looks just as sheepish as she imagines she does.
To her surprise, he barks out a laugh, this bright, clear sound that sets her heart racing and has something tugging in her chest.
He is handsome. She wishes he were less so.
“I guess I should get your name,” he says, mirth in his gaze as if all along they were sharing a joke rather than gearing up to tear one another’s heads off. “If I’m going to have a sworn enemy, I’d at least like to know what to call her.”
It takes everything in Anne not to snap back at him with some witty retort and instead let herself smile wryly, because she wants to smile at him; she’s not sure why her stubborn will is so insistent on keeping her from doing it. “It’s Anne,” she says, offering her hand to him. He shakes, and she’s so distracted by the feel of his hand in hers that she almost misses him introducing himself. “And I’m trying to get out of the habit of making sworn enemies,” she adds, still smiling, taking care to wrap the truth inside a joke.
Gilbert laughs again, and she delights in the sound. “That’s big of you,” he tells her, his own smile easy.
Anne shrugs, but she’s sure she looks pleased. “I thought so.”
“How many sworn enemies does one have to burn through before they decide they’ve had enough?”
“Four,” she replies, matter of fact, and Gilbert laughs again, caught off guard and staring down at his feet like he’s embarrassed. Anne bites back her own grin.
“Well, I’ve got another class to run to,” he says apologetically, and Anne feels that tug in her chest again.
Ask for my number, she wants to scream at him, but holds her tongue.
“Right,” is all she says instead, mustering another smile for him.
“I’d say it was nice meeting you, but I’m not sure a screaming match can really qualify as nice,” he says as he gathers his things, and it’s Anne’s turn to laugh.
“How about ‘See you Wednesday?’” she offers, and Gilbert’s face brightens, his boyish, teasing smile turning into something warmer. Something hopeful.
“Yeah,” he agrees as he backs toward the door. “See you Wednesday, Anne.”
He leaves, and Anne plops back down into her chair, feeling giddy and lightheaded, clapping a hand to her forehead and smiling ridiculously into the empty room.
*
“How was your first class?” Diana asks her when she gets back to their dorm. She has an hour between Shakespeare and Feminist Lit, and she wasn’t planning on spending it collapsed on her bed having a crisis about a guy she only just met, but, well. Welcome to college.
Anne climbs into her bed, lies face down against her pillow, and groans.
“So, about as expected, then?”
“I met a boy,” she laments, muffled into her bedsheets.
She hears Diana sit up and can picture the growing curve of her lips, the thrill in her eyes, but she doesn’t start squealing with it the way Ruby or Jane might if they were back home. She knows Anne well enough to take this seriously, and to handle the subject with care at the risk of scaring her off the topic forever.
“Is that such a bad thing?”
“Yes!” Anne cries. “I don’t even know him, not really. He might be completely horrid.”
“Or he might be completely wonderful,” Diana counters, and Anne can hear the smile in her voice.
Anne sits up, rubbing the feeling back into her nose. “How do I tell which he is?”
Diana shakes her head at Anne like it’s obvious. “Get to know him better. You’re a good judge of character, Anne. I’m sure if he was as horrid as you’re afraid he is, you’d already know. Maybe he’s even a kindred spirit.”
Anne chews on her lip, contemplative. “He did seem kind,” she begins, wary, and Diana rolls her eyes, extricating herself from the nest of textbooks and papers she’s made on her own bed to fix her hair in the mirror.
“Yes, and I’m sure his kindness was the first thing you noticed about him,” she says, amused. Anne tosses a crumpled page from her notebook in her direction and Diana lets out a surprised yelp that dissolves into laughter almost immediately. “What? Don’t tell me you don’t find this mystery guy handsome. Lying doesn’t suit you, and I won’t believe you even if you do.”
“It’s just—he’s too perfect,” Anne huffs, and that’s the issue, really. He seems too good to be true, so he probably is.
“Well, if you want to talk yourself out of having a crush on a perfectly nice boy, that’s on you. Now, come on,” she says, crossing the room to pull a groaning Anne to her feet. “I want to grab a coffee before class.”
Diana’s nice enough to drop the subject for now, but Anne can’t get Gilbert out of her mind, his stupidly cute smile, his annoyingly thoughtful comments in class.
He’s a romantic hero pulled right out of one of Anne’s favorite books, so much of everything she could want in a friend, a partner, that she’s sure he’s straight from fiction.
There must be something wrong with him. He has a fatal flaw; all heroes do. And Anne is determined to find it.
*
She doesn’t discover it in class on Wednesday, when he sits down next to her close enough that their shoulders brush, or when he shares a knowing look with her when a boy named Billy raises his hand to say he found Mercutio’s love for Romeo to be strictly familial. And when class ends and Gilbert asks her for her number under the pretense of meeting up on the weekend to study for next week’s quiz, Anne begins to think that maybe he really is just as Diana said: completely wonderful.
He texts her before she even makes it back to her dorm, starting with Hey, it’s Gilbert, as if she already forgot, as if it would be anyone else, and Anne feels like she’s flying.
She doesn’t discover it when they meet up in the campus library on Sunday, either, but discovers a lot of other things about him, like the fact that he’s using his inheritance to put himself through college, and he’s on the pre-med track but is taking as many English classes as his course load will allow, and—like he wasn’t already enough of a tragic, self-sacrificing figure out of a fucking fantasy—is helping his friend and late father’s business partner, Bash, raise his daughter after his wife’s passing.
Against all odds—and her better judgment—the more Anne gets to know Gilbert, the more she likes him.
So, of course, she finds his fatal flaw the moment she lets her guard down, and despite all the time she’s devoted to coming up with hundreds of horrible possibilities, it’s even worse than she ever imagined.
“Oh my god,” Diana says, grabbing Anne’s wrist too tightly and pulling her deeper into the crowd. They’re at one of the terrible Saturday night frat parties Diana keeps dragging Anne to so she can get face time with the higher ups of some sorority she’s rushing, and Anne is not nearly drunk enough for this.
“What?” Anne asks, shouting into Diana’s hair to be heard over the music.
“My ex. He’s here.”
For a second, Anne’s completely thrown, because she had no idea that Diana had an ex anything, until she remembers brief mentions of a guy Diana only ever called BG, someone she had met on vacation at her family’s lake house and with whom she’d shared a seemingly idyllic summer romance.
Anne had thought it sweet, this quick glimpse of puppy love, a perfect bookend to childhood before leaving for college. But Diana seldom brought it up even to Anne, and the few times she did, it was in the early hours of the morning at sleepovers, when all the lights were out and Anne could hardly see her face, scarcely hear her voice.
Anne can see her now, though, heartbroken eyes flashing under strobing neon lights, and when she follows Diana’s gaze to the door, her legs nearly give out beneath her.
BG.
Blythe, Gilbert.
Despite having walked in with a group, he looks as out of place at this kind of party as Anne feels, and only takes a solo cup when another party-goer claps him on the back and shoves one at his chest. The hand that holds it is stiff, and even from across the room, Anne can see the tension in his shoulders, and she feels compelled to quell his nervousness with a joke, a smile, a hand in his.
Diana’s ex, she reminds herself, feeling a lump in her throat that has nothing to do with the bottom-shelf liquor she’s been drinking all night. He’s Diana’s ex, and she’s still in love with him.
As if Gilbert can sense Anne watching him, he catches her eye, and she sees the relief wash over him at the sight of her. He raises his hand in a wave, his uneasy smirk breaking open into a full, beaming smile, and all at once Anne feels too drunk, like she might fall over or throw up or cry.
“Let’s get out of here,” Anne says, turning her back on Gilbert and clenching her jaw to keep her lip from wobbling.
She leads Diana through the crowd, away from Gilbert and toward the back door, and soon enough they’re stumbling outside into the musky September air.
Anne plays music on her phone as they walk back to the dorms, their standard practice for the past few weekends, only they’re not drunk and singing along to 2010s dance hits tonight like they usually are. They’re silent as they walk, and Anne can’t bring herself to play anything that will tear quite so violently through the quiet around them, instead pulls up the playlist she calls the haunted wood and queues up enough soft songs to carry them home.
When the line I find that I wish I was yours garbles through Anne’s shitty phone speakers, Diana reaches for Anne’s hand and holds it tight.
Neither one of them says a word.
*
In the morning, instead of getting ready to meet Gilbert in the library like she has been the last few Sundays, she sends him a text that she’s not feeling well and crawls back into bed with her water bottle.
Her phone buzzes a few minutes later, and she tries to ignore it, even manages to for all of ten seconds before her phone buzzes a few more times and her resolve fails.
Gilbert: No problem, feel better
Gilbert: I know campus food sucks so let me know if you want a home cooked meal, I can bring you some of whatever I make for dinner
Gilbert: Or anything else you might need, actually
Gilbert: Just say the word
Anne watches his text bubble appear and disappear a few more times, wishing he really were horrid. It would be so much easier if he did something awful, if he disappointed her in some unforgivable way.
But Diana was right: he’s completely wonderful, and she can’t have him.
Me: Thanks, Gilbert
Anne hits send, switches her phone to Do Not Disturb, and tosses it to the foot of her bed. From her cocoon of blankets, she stares at Diana, curled up in her own bed with her back to Anne, and Anne knows then that she’ll never take Gilbert up on his offer, no matter how much she wants to.
Instead, she rolls over, closes her eyes, and lets herself drift back to sleep.
*
On Monday, Anne waits until 9:59 before entering the lecture hall and slides into a seat in the back row, then slips out the moment class ends. She ducks into a bathroom to avoid being seen on the way out, and tries not to feel like the biggest coward to ever grace campus.
She’s not even surprised when he texts her a few minutes later, because of course he does, and it makes her heart ache, knowing that the first thing Gilbert did when he sat down for his next class was check in on her.
Gilbert: Hey, didn’t see you in class
Gilbert: Feeling okay?
Anne twiddles her thumbs over the keyboard for a few seconds, trying to come up with a response that isn’t I think I kind of really like you but you dated my best friend who is also in love with you and girl code takes priority here, sorry, and when she can’t, she just shoves her phone back into her bag.
Maybe if she ghosts him, he’ll resent her for it and stop seeking her out entirely. She thinks that might be preferable, all things considered.
Anne sleepwalks through her next class, takes notes on autopilot, and is dead on her feet by the time she heads back to her dorm, wanting nothing more than to clamber back into bed and wallow in her self pity. Maybe she can even talk Diana into getting a pint of ice cream from the campus store and watching Pride & Prejudice with her. They’ve had worse afternoons.
Then she rounds the corner and stops dead, because there’s Gilbert, sitting on the floor just outside her door.
He scrambles to his feet, straightening his shirt and scratching the back of his head, the most ridiculous attempt at looking casual that Anne has ever seen.
“Hey,” he begins, all nervous energy. “I thought you might want to look over my notes from today’s lecture, but nobody answered when I knocked. And I know you weren’t feeling well yesterday, so.” If he has more to say, he doesn’t offer it, so Anne picks up his slack.
“So you set up camp on the floor?”
Gilbert glances down at his backpack leaning against the wall, then back at Anne. “Something tells me you’ve never been camping before.”
Anne wrestles with her smile for a moment but can’t quite keep it down, and as soon as she cracks, Gilbert does too, pleased with having coaxed one out of her. It makes her stomach soar.
Then she feels her keys in her hand and remembers where they are, and that Diana is most likely just behind their door taking her Monday afternoon nap, and Anne snaps out of it.
“Thanks for the notes. I appreciate it, really,” she says. “But I think I might just lie down for a bit.” It’s not a lie—all she’s really felt like doing since the party is veg out—but she still feels guilty for keeping the whole truth from him, for treating him the way she has.
But if it’s a choice between hurting her new crush or hurting Diana, it’s a no brainer. And if Anne ends up hurt no matter what choice she makes, well. She supposes she’s just collateral in Diana and Gilbert’s tragical romance.
“Sure,” Gilbert says, concern and confusion mingling in his eyes. He looks as though he wants to say more, but settles for handing over his notebook instead. “See you Wednesday?” he asks, unsure, and Anne feels like she might be sick.
“Maybe,” she replies, turning away from him to fumble with her shitty lock, telling herself it’s only because she doesn’t want to witness the look on his face and pretending she’s not hiding her own.
She waits until she hears him begin his walk back down the hall before pushing open the door, just in case Diana should see Gilbert, but the scene before her when she finally does has Anne speaking without meaning to, practically without even realizing.
“What the fuck?”
Diana Barry is in her cramped, creaky, twin-sized bed. With a boy.
And Gilbert Blythe is halfway down the hall.
What the fuck.
“Anne!” Diana says, breathless. All her clothes are still on, but her makeup is smudged, her hair mussed, and the guy’s hand is underneath her shirt.
A second later, Gilbert is back at Anne’s shoulder, peering into the room from behind her. “Jerry?”
The boy in question smiles sheepishly. “Hey, man.”
Anne steps into the room, turns to Gilbert on the threshold and says, “Wait there,” then slams the door.
Diana’s covered her face with her hands by the time Anne has turned around and is staring at her one-eyed through her fingers.
“So, either BG is not code for Blythe, Gilbert, or you’ve suddenly gotten really good at rebounding.”
Diana closes the gap between her fingers, blocking her face entirely from view, though Anne can see blotches of red coloring her neck. “First one. Who’s Blythe, Gilbert?”
The boy on her bed—Jerry—is simply staring at Diana, supremely amused. “BG, huh?”
Diana aims a blind kick at him and only gets the mattress, making him laugh.
“What’s funny?” Anne demands, with more heat than is probably necessary. Clearly, she’s the only one here who’s not in on the joke, and she hates being kept out of the loop.
Well, she thinks Gilbert probably isn’t in on it either, and the thought tempers her anger, because she remembers all at once that Gilbert is outside her door, apparently completely uninvolved with Diana Barry, just waiting for Anne to let him back in.
Eventually, Jerry answers her question with a shit-eating grin. “BG. It’s French. Care to translate?”
Diana’s kick lands this time and the boy swears through his laughter.
“BG. Beau gosse. It means—” Diana falters, her face contorting the way it does when she and Anne take shots of their cheap flavored vodka. “It’s slang. For an attractive person,” she finishes.
Jerry hums. “I think a more accurate translation would be hot guy. I keep telling you that you need to practice your conversational French.”
“Very clever,” Diana says with narrowed eyes. “Though a minute ago you seemed to like my French just fine,” she quips, prim, and Anne finally begins to laugh, loud and bright, at the sheer ridiculousness of it all.
Diana cuts her a harsh look that reminds Anne remarkably of Marilla. “Don’t you have your own BG waiting for you in the hallway?”
Anne can’t even bring herself to feel embarrassed in the slightest, because she does, doesn’t she? And if she plays her cards right, he could be hers.
He’s the romantic hero, and this is her tragical romance.
“Enjoy the rest of your French lesson,” she says, then sidles out the door before either of them can come up with a retort.
Gilbert’s leaning against the wall across from her door, holding his phone as if he were reading something, though the screen has gone black.
Anne told him to wait, and he did. Despite the confusion, despite everything.
He really might be perfect.
“So, how much of that did you hear?”
At the very least, he has the decency to look apologetic. “The walls are pretty thin.”
Anne nods, and after a deep breath for courage, takes his hand. “Let’s go for a walk, then.”
*
In the end they don’t do much walking: the story itself takes less than five minutes to recount, and once they’ve recovered from their laughter, they spend the rest of their time making out behind the library.
“Next time, you really should just talk to me,” he says on a breath between kisses.
“How many times do you imagine something like this is going to happen?” Anne asks through her delight, giddy.
“You’re right. Once is enough,” he agrees, tangling their fingers and leaning back in, smiling against her lips.
And it is.