Never Been Texted

by Linda Joy Singleton

  “Who’s this Prince guy?” she asks.

  “Don’t know. I’m not even sure it’s a guy.”

  “Oh, it’s a guy, and he’s got it bad for you.”

  “Not me!” I lower my voice when other kids glance at us. “He’s got the wrong girl. I think my phone number belonged to his girlfriend.”

  “Poor guy. His heart is breaking.”

  “Yeah, and I’m getting the messages instead of the girl he loves.”

  “So? He needs to forget about her and find a new girl.” Rory grins wickedly. “Maybe you.”

  I swat her arm. “Don’t be stupid. If his girlfriend knew how much he misses her, she’d forgive him and they’d get back together.”

  “So, do something about it.”

  “Like what?” I spread out my hands helplessly.

  Rory twists her lips, a gesture I know to mean she’s scheming, and before I can stop her, she taps a message on my phone. “That should do it.”

  “Noooooo! Rory!” I cry, grabbing for my phone. “You didn’t!”

  “Oh yes, I did,” she admits proudly.

  I stare in horror at the text she’s sent to Prince.

  See you there.

  There was a young prince who was hunting and coming past her, and he saw how pretty she was, and he asked, “Who’s she?” (J.F. Campbell)

  I refuse to speak to Rory and ignore her texts. Her reply to Prince will only result in more heartbreak for the poor guy when no one shows up. What did Rory hope to accomplish? That I’d meet Prince, he’d take one look at me, fall crazy in love, and forget about his girlfriend? As if I’m going to meet with a stranger who could be a pervert, stalker, or OMG…old!

  Rory is a hopeless romantic, always trying to hook me up. She believes in happy endings and dreams come true. But I’m dealing with homework, mean girls, forgotten birthdays, and a pee-stained shoe. Some guy isn’t going to make my dreams come true. That’s my job.

  Prince doesn’t text back. I compose several texts to him, trying to explain he has the wrong number and the wrong girl, but the words come out stupid and I delete them.

  After school, I listen to music as I do my chores. I do not think about texts. When I finish with the dogs, I toss my stinky clothes (and shoe) in the washing machine and take a shower. As I towel off, I glance at the clock. 3:42. Prince will be arriving at Stone Face Fountain soon. He’ll wait and wait and wait. I didn’t send the text, so why do I feel so guilty? I know why. I don’t want to be that girl who hurts a guy, even if I don’t know the guy and I’m the wrong girl.

  I grab my phone, fully intending to text Prince the truth.

  A tap of my finger powers the phone, flashing from black to light. But instead of the usual apps, an image appears of a huge carved stone spouting water into a cement fountain. I recognize the fountain, a gift to our town from the mayor upon his re-election, commissioned by a famous sculptor for mega-bucks. It’s supposed to be an artistic representation of Mayor King’s face. But when I look closely, I only see squiggly lines carved into an ugly chunk of stone.

  What’s Stone Face Fountain doing on my phone? I didn’t click a link or an app. Rory! I think angrily. She did it! Interfering again like a misguided matchmaker. But how’d she send this photo without an email or text? As I stare at the palm-sized screen, the photo transforms into a video – trees blowing, birds flitting from branches, and fountain water rippling. A shadowed figure walks toward the Stone Face Fountain and…

  My fricking phone goes black!

  Seriously, it shuts off now? I tap on the power, but the video has vanished.

  I don’t actually make a decision to leave home, so I’m surprised when my mind clears and I’m holding Toffee’s leash. We’re on Castle Street sidewalk heading toward the Stone Face Fountain monument.

  As I near the monument, I see a figure sitting on a cement bench by the fountain. OMG, it’s him! He’s half-hidden by shadows, but I’m certain it’s the same guy from the strange video. He’s holding a bouquet of daisies that seem to droop as he waits.

  I dive behind a huge oak tree, whispering to Toffee to be quiet. The flowers and sense of sadness add to my certainty that I’m staring at Prince. From the back, he looks my age with athletic shoulders and wavy sandy-blond hair. What should I do? Go up to him and explain about the texts? Confess that his girlfriend isn’t coming?

  The thought of talking to him, face to face, squeezes my heart. I have little experience talking to guys. When I was on the Brain Bowl, there was this really hot guy I liked, but I couldn’t find the courage to tell him. With the nickname P.U. Ashlee, it’s no shocker I’ve never had a serious boyfriend. And I have no idea what to say to some other girl’s boyfriend.

  So, I hide behind a tree, watching. Maybe if I see his face, he’ll be more real to me and I’ll find the courage to talk to him.

  Toffee wiggles, her golden tail smacking against the tree trunk. Prince lifts his head at the sound, looking around. He gets up from the bench, tall and handsome in snug black slacks and a navy-blue buttoned-down shirt, the sort of clothes a guy wears to impress a girl. A guy thoughtful enough to bring flowers. A guy whose heart breaks because the girl he loves won’t talk to him.

  When he steps from the shadows into the sun, I see him clearly.

  He’s tall with sandy-brown hair curly around his ears and arms ripped with muscles like he works out, but it’s his face that steals my breath away. Not because he’s heart-thumping hot (he is) or because he goes to my school (he doesn’t), but because he’s famous (at least in Castle Top).

  Derrick King.

  The mayor’s son.

  And Beatrice Palmquist’s boyfriend.

  I may not have any special talents, but I’m smart enough to know when to run the hell away from trouble. I pull Toffee away from the tree, but when I jerk to the right she jerks to the left. Her leash flies from my fingers, flinging me off balance. I topple backward and land smack on my butt.

  Toffee runs toward the fountain. When I hear a shout and a splash, I cover my eyes. I can not look.

  Of course, I do look and die a few gruesome deaths right there on the grass. Toffee has jumped into the shallow fountain surrounding Stone Face, splashing water all over Prince. I mean, Derrick.

  “I’m so sorry!” I rush forward. “Toffee! Come here right now!”

  Toffee is having too much fun to obey, nipping at water and prancing in circles like a doggie ballerina, pirouetting sprays of fountain water. She is such a show-off.

  When I reach the fountain, I lunge for her leash. But Toffee sashays around the fountain and the leash dances along with her. I chase after the leash, stretching my arm over the fountain…almost touching…a fingertip away…

  I grasp the leash just as Toffee jumps sideways.

  Screaming, I tumble into the fountain.

  “Here!” Derrick cries, holding out his arm. “Grab my hand.”

  As his fingers touch mine, Toffee jerks the leash, and me. My feet fly out from beneath me. I’m in the water again. Derrick loses his balance, too. His arms flail and he topples with a splash. Bright yellow and white flowers fling high into the air, petals fluttering to the fountain like fairy sailboats.

  “Um, are you okay?” Derrick sits in two feet of water, shaking his head like he’s confused.

  Soggy hair drips in my eyes as I nod. No cuts or broken bones and my fairy-bird henna survived, too. Still there are no words for my utter humiliation. If I say “I’m sorry” for the rest of my life, that won’t come close to the apology he deserves.

  Still, it’s not like I purposely pushed him in the water. I lift my chin high as I face him, bracing myself for his anger. He blinks fountain water and pushes sopping hair from his eyes. He frowns down at his drenched clothes then back at me. I cringe, sure he’s going to start shouting. Instead, he does something that shocks me. He bursts out laughing.

  And I find myself laughing, too.

  Until I remember that cell phones don’t mix well with water.
>
  “Oh!” I cry, jumping to my feet. “My phone!”

  I let go of Toffee’s leash and dig into my pocket, holding my breath as I grasp my mauve phone. Not a drop of water on it. My mauve phone is not only marvelous, but it’s miraculous, too. I spit out a daisy petal that slopped into my mouth and sigh with relief.

  “You’d better check your phone,” I tell Derrick.

  “How’d you know I have a phone?” he asks, his dark-blond brows arching.

  “Uh, doesn’t everyone?” I climb out of the fountain and bend over to pick up Toffee’s leash. We both shake ourselves to dry.

  Derrick checks his black phone, biting his lip nervously until the power lights up the tiny screen. He blows out a sad sigh. “Damn.”

  “But your phone is working,” I point out, puzzled by his misery.

  “Yeah. Only no new messages,” he says in a heavy tone, like the tiny phone in his hand weighs more than the Stone Face Fountain.

  “I’m so sorry for everything. You’re all wet and your flowers – such pretty daises – are ruined.”

  “I don’t need them.” He scowls down at the ground, stomping on a soggy daisy. “She’s not coming.”

  I know who “she” is and why she isn’t coming. Beatrice hasn’t been getting his texts. She must have changed her cell number to punish him for not wanting her in Talent-Mania. Once he “learns his lesson” and agrees to influence his father’s vote, they’ll get back together. She’ll win the contest, scholarship, and crowning title of Miss Castle Top.

  And I’m standing here, dripping wet.

  “I-I have to go,” I say, tugging on Toffee’s leash.

  “Wait.” He stares into my face. “What’s your name?”

  I almost answer until a horrible thought jolts me. What if Beatrice has talked trash about P.U. Ashlee? I imagine her laughing about the “pathetic loser with pee on her shoe,” twisting truth into outrageous lies. And who wouldn’t believe her? While she isn’t model-pretty (her nose is pointy and her mouth is too thin), her sophistication and confidence dazzles everyone. Compared to Beatrice, I’m a boring plain Jane.

  “Jane,” I blurt out. “Um, that’s my name.”

  His grin flashes white teeth that are perfect except for a gap between the top two. “I’m Derrick.”

  “I know,” I say then wish I hadn’t when I see the dark flush on his face.

  “Of course you know who I am. Everyone does.” He scowls, raking his hand through his soggy hair. “My father doesn’t exactly keep a low profile.”

  I twist a corner of my shirt to wring out water. “He is the mayor.”

  “But I’m not – although Dad expects me to follow in his footsteps.”

  “You say that like it’s a death sentence.”

  “It is. To me.”

  “He can’t make you do anything you don’t want to. Tell him how you feel.”

  “I wish it was that easy.” He gestures to Stone Face, crafted in an abstract image of his father. “Even here, I can’t get away from my father.”

  I nod, sensing he needs to vent and not knowing what to say anyway.

  “Everyone expects me to be just like him, but I’m not.” Sitting on the edge of the fountain, he hangs his head as if he’s drowning in dark thoughts. “I hate all the lying in politics. My father talks about helping the ‘little people’ but the only people I see him helping are his big-shot political cronies. I can’t be fake like that. Besides I only got a C minus in public speaking and get nervous giving speeches.”

  “Nice speech,” I say, applauding.

  He glares. “You don’t understand.”

  “I do. If there was a class for coping with unrealistic parental expectations, I’d sign up for sure,” I say, thinking of my stepdad and how we both disappoint each other. “And really, I liked what you said. You didn’t come off as nervous.”

  “You’re easy to talk to.”

  “Well, thanks.” I can’t take my gaze from his lips, watching as they curve into a smile that carves adorable dimples in his cheeks. “I like hearing what you have to say. If you wanted to be in politics, you’d be really good at it – the best mayor ever.”

  “Never happening,” he says with a firm headshake.

  I sit beside him on the rim of the fountain, my focus now on a curl of hair waving across his forehead. I have to force my hand to stay by my side and not reach up to brush the curl from his eyes. When I realize I’ve been staring without saying anything, I ask, “So, what kind of career do you want?”

  “That’s the problem. I don’t know. I’m good at some things but great at nothing. All I know for sure is I want to do work that helps people.” His eyes, deep brown with sweeping lashes, gaze off to the treetops for long seconds before he turns back to me. “What about you?”

  “Me?” I suddenly remember I’m talking to a guy – a famous, hot-looking guy who has a girlfriend – and my cheeks burn.

  “Yeah, you. I wasn’t talking to your dog. What sort of career do you want?”

  I shake my head. “You’ll think it’s weird.”

  “I saw a news segment on weird jobs. You want to be a taxidermist, submarine cook, or shark tank cleaner?”

  “Nothing that weird,” I say, laughing.

  “Come on. Spit it out.”

  “Okay, but don’t laugh.” I glance over at Toffee who is chasing a floating leaf in the fountain. “I want to work with dogs…and other animals, too. I feel a strong connection with animals and know they have emotions just like people. I’m going to be an animal therapist.”

  “Cool. I’m a big fan of animals. My dog Pete is more like my best bud than a pet. You should see him, nearly as huge as this fountain. He’s a mastiff. This tiny pup of yours is a Queen Bee, isn’t she?” He reaches out to pat Toffee’s wet head.

  “Yeah.” I will not mention working in the kennels.

  He flashes his adorable gap-toothed smile again. “Our chef has a Queen Bee, and she raves about how clever and well-behaved it is.”

  “Toffee is too clever sometimes,” I say with a stern look at my dripping dog. “And she’s usually better behaved.”

  “She’s better behaved than my Pete. I think you’ll make a great animal therapist. If Dad has his way, I’ll never leave this boring town.”

  “There are worse things than living here.” Like not being able to afford the education you want. “And FYI, Castle Top is not boring.”

  “Seriously?” He snorts. “Castle Top isn’t much of a city. No theater, sports arena, or mall. There’s nothing to do.”

  “There’s a lot going on if you know where to look.”

  “And you know?” he asks skeptically.

  “I don’t live high on a hill behind locked gates. I take Toffee walking a lot and know what’s going on in my neighborhood.” I gesture beyond the park then quote something Mom used to say whenever I complained about being bored, “Boring is a state of mind, not a location.”

  “Ouch. I think I’ve just been insulted.”

  I meet his gaze, press my lips knowingly, and nod.

  “Prove it to me,” he challenges. “Show me the real Castle Top.”

  I think of his girlfriend (who doesn’t deserve him) and the texts he doesn’t know I received. But those are minor things when presented with a challenge. There’s a reason I’m at the top of my honors classes; no matter how tough the assignment, I never give up.

  “You’re on,” I tell him, gripping tight to Toffee’s leash. “But it’ll have to wait ‘til the weekend since I have homework and chores. Can you meet me back here at noon on Saturday?”

  “I’ll be here.” He shines that amazing grin on me. “See you then, Jane.”

  She was taken to the young prince, dressed as she was. He thought she was more charming than all others maidens in the land. (Serbian tale, author unknown)

  I check my phone on my walk home and find a zillion – or to be exact – eleven messages from Rory saying “I’m sorry” with lots of promises never to sen
d a text from my phone without permission again.

  You are forgiven, I text her.

  She replies: Thx. Where are you?

  Walking home. I grin as I jump over an overgrown root cracking through the sidewalk. Guess who I met?

  Do tell.

  Him.

  I swear I can hear her squeal from the four blocks away. When my phone rings, it’s Rory calling for details. This is a role reversal since I’m usually the one calling her for news about her latest boyfriend. Of course, Prince isn’t my boyfriend or anything, but it’s fun being the one to dish about a guy.

  Rory seems genuinely surprised when I tell her about the Stone Face Fountain video playing on my phone. If Rory didn’t send it to my phone, who did? She’s so excited, though, that I shrug this off and launch into the story of meeting Derrick. I tell her every soggy detail.

  “Prince Derrick likes you!” she squeals.

  “He’s not really a prince. Want to bet Beatrice gave him that ridiculous nickname? And he doesn’t know anything about me.”

  “You’re going out with him!”

  “We’re only going to walk around town. Not a date.”

  “Exactly like a date.”

  “Not anything like a date.”

  “You’re soul mates fated to meet,” she insists with a romantic sigh. “He must have already broken up with bitchy Beatrice – or she stupidly dumped him – so he’s free to fall in love with you.”

  I should tell her that Beatrice is punishing Derrick, not breaking up with him. But I never told her about being bullied by Beatrice because she’d go into angry BFF mode and try to fight my battles for me. It’s not like Derrick is interested in me anyway, especially after I was responsible for him falling into the fountain. He laughed it off, but he was just being kind. I can’t even think about how I must have looked without makeup and my hair kinking into tangles – even more of a loser than usual. He’s already forgotten me, I tell myself. Yet my heart jumps when I remember his teasing eyes and nice laugh. Rory’s phone beeps with call waiting, and she squeals that it’s another “client” for her henna designs and clicks off. I’m relieved to stop talking about a relationship between me and Derrick that isn’t going to happen. Sighing, I slip my phone into my pocket and head on home with Toffee.