Never Been Texted

by Linda Joy Singleton

  We go down a narrow marble-floored hallway bordered with paintings of grim-faced old people. Are they Derrick’s ancestors? I wish I could look closer, but butler-bot walks too fast. After turning three corners, I pause to admire a waterfall spilling down a rock wall into a blue pool. An indoor waterfall! Seriously cool. Toffee squirms in my arms, and I know what she wants. “No, no swimming,” I say firmly.

  The Red Room dazzles with rust-hued carpet, antique cherry-red couches, and pleated burgundy drapes. Walls, a pale shade of blush, are lined with shelves of leather-bound books. And I smile as I think how I’ll tell Blake later about the books in the Red Room being “read,” too.

  Butler-bot instructs me to wait for the other contestants. When he’s gone, I wander around the room, running my fingers over leathery book spines and admiring vintage ceramic figurines. I hear the creak of the door opening and look up expecting to see another contestant. Instead, I stare into warm chocolate eyes.

  “Jane!” He’s clearly surprised but even more pleased.

  I look around and almost say “Jane who?” until I remember my fake name, but I’m too thrilled to see him to care what he calls me.

  “I can’t believe it’s you.” I shake my head, trying to make sense of everything. Seeing him after so long is confusing, mixing reality with my nightly dreams of us together (not exactly X rated but a few were sensuously close to R).

  “Why not? I live here.” Derrick grins with a hotness that could melt diamonds. “But if you want me to leave…”

  “No! Don’t go!” I start to grab for him until I realize what I’m doing. I slap my arm to my side and shrug like being alone with him at his home is no big deal. “So, um, how did you know I was here?”

  “I saw you with Perky, although I wasn’t sure it was you under that sweater.”

  “Perky?” I try to breathe normally, but Derrick’s so fine I can’t stop staring, longing oh so much to touch him, to make sure he’s really here.

  “Perkins, our butler. I know what you’re thinking. Who has a butler these days? But he’s more like family than an employee. He insists on being called a butler because he attended a professional butler academy and is proud of his certificate of ‘butlership.’”

  “I can’t imagine going to a school to learn how to open the front door.”

  “Oh, it’s more than that. He can greet guests in over a hundred different languages, including Latin and sign language. He’s versatile in skateboarding, too, and can do expert tricks like kick flips and pop-shove it.”

  “A skateboarder?” I snort. “I’d like to see that.”

  “And I’d like, well, it’s good to see you again. I acted like a jerk last time I saw you.” Derrick bites his lip. “You probably hate me.”

  “No hate.”

  “So we’re okay?”

  I nod, smiling.

  “Whew! I thought I totally blew it.” He swipes his hand across his forehead. “I’ve been trying to find you, to apologize for losing my temper.”

  “I know what it’s like to lose my temper,” I admit.

  “So how about we have a do-over, like we’re meeting for the first time. You may think you know about the mayor’s son, but there’s a lot more to tell.”

  “I have things to tell you, too.” I touch the cell phone in my pocket.

  “Me, first. There’s something you need to know.”

  “What?”

  “About my online status, it’s changed to single.”

  “Seriously?” I can’t hide my goofy grin. “You broke up with Beatrice and live to tell about it?”

  “She wanted to kill me.” He winces. “When I made it clear we were over, she threatened to go to my parents. I told her it wouldn’t matter because I’m making my own decisions from now on. That’s when she lost it, swearing and shouting like a crazy person. I tried to calm her by saying I still wanted to be friends, and she slapped me.” He rubs his cheek. “Hard.”

  “Ouch.” I nod sympathetically, although inside I’m grinning like a fool. He’s single! He’s free! I have a real chance with him.

  “Beatrice packs a wicked punch. But after a few days she cooled down and shocked me by apologizing, something she never does. She accepts that we’re not together and is okay with just being friends.”

  That doesn’t sound like the bitch-queen I know and loathe. If they’ve been through for a week, why is she pretending they’re pre-engaged? She isn’t acting like anyone’s “just friend.”

  When I mention this to Derrick, he scowls. “I only called Beatrice and made up that story about wanting a dog to try to find you.”

  “You don’t want a Q-Bee?”

  “I’m more interested in the Q-Bee owner.” He scratches Toffee’s head, and I admire how his blond lashes shine golden like a Q-Bee’s tail.

  I should say something clever about being interested in him, too. That seems flirty, so not me. Still I’m liking that he tried to find me. But he’s shifting his feet and looking everywhere except my face and there’s this awkward energy between us, so I say the first thing that jumps into my head.

  “It’s ironic that you don’t want a Q-Bee.” When his face scrunches like he doesn’t understand, I add, “I mean, ironic because you don’t want one, yet your father does.”

  “Huh?” He shakes his head. “Where’d you hear that?”

  “His executive assistant made an appointment to see the dogs tonight.”

  “Tonight? Hallstead usually stays with Dad at official events like Talent-Mania. Besides, Dad says they’re too yappy.”

  “Queen Bee’s don’t yap. They purr.” I tickle Toffee’s chin and enjoy the sweet rumble of her purring.

  “Nothing like the ear-splitting bark of my dog.” He bends down to hear Toffee. “Sweet girl.”

  “You really don’t know anything about your dad wanting a Q-Bee?”

  “Not a word,” he says, and I’m disappointed because I’d suspected it was Derrick’s idea to help me out. Not that he had any way of knowing about Bow-Wow Boutique’s financial problems. Still, it just seemed like such a coincidence; I meet the mayor’s son and suddenly the mayor wants to buy a Q-Bee. Mayor King buying a Queen Bee would be great publicity for Bow-Wow Boutique.

  “I never have a clue what my father is doing,” Derrick adds, leaning against a bookshelf and idly rolling his fingers across leather spines of old books as he glances a bit shyly up at me. “No more talk of Dad, okay? I want to know about you.”

  I’d rip open my soul and spill my blood just to keep his dimpling lopsided smile flashed at me. “What do you want to know?”

  “Well to start with, Beatrice says there’s no Jane at her school. You obviously know her, so why doesn’t she know you?”

  “Oh, she knows me all right,” I say wryly. “Although she never calls me by my real name – her idea of a joke.”

  Biting my lip, I look away from Derrick. I used to be so proud of my name, a combination of Mom’s name (Leena) and my father’s (Ashton). But now all I can hear are Beatrice’s taunts.

  “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” He reaches for my hand, his thumb tracing along my palm. “I like the new tattoo.”

  “Not a real tattoo, it’s henna.” His tender touch warms my skin deliciously.

  “It looks like your dog.” He nods toward Toffee.

  “Yeah, my friend Rory did it.” It’s hard to think with his hand on mine. “She designed it herself.”

  “Cool. I’d like to meet her sometime.”

  “She’d love to meet you.” I grin. “But be warned. She’ll talk you into getting a henna tattoo.”

  “Could she do a design of my dog?” He points to a picture of Pete.

  “Sure. She likes to say drawing is no big deal, but she’s studied hard and has amazing skills. When she gave caricature drawings at Swap Market, kids lined up for hours.”

  “You sound like her publicist. It’s cool you’re so supportive.”

  “Why wouldn’t I b
e? She’s my best friend.”

  “Beatrice is always trash talking her best friend.” Derrick furrows his brow. “I guess girls have a different way of showing friendship.”

  “Not that different. Rory and I tease each other, but we’re never mean.” I pause. “Sorry. I know Beatrice is still your friend, and I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

  “What I feel is stupid for shrugging off her bad behavior. When you grow up with someone, they’re like family and you just accept them. Maybe I accepted too much because it’s easier to keep doing the same things, which is like doing nothing.”

  His words strike to my core, although for a different reason. I’ve spent a year of “nothing.” After Mom’s accident, I stopped doing things I enjoyed because it felt like a betrayal to Mom to be happy without her. Oh, I did homework and chores and hung out with the dogs. But I quit Brain Bowl, shut out friends (except Rory who obstinately stuck by me), and didn’t give my stepdad a chance to be my dad. Lately, it’s like a power switch flipped on inside me and I’ve been busting out of my comfort zone: meeting Derrick, entering Talent-Mania, training with Toffee. I even stood up to Beatrice, although hating her is a waste of energy; I’d rather focus on good feelings, like what I’m feeling for Derrick.

  I take a step closer, tilting up my chin so we’re almost eye level. We stare at each other (is this flirting?) and I’m fascinated by how much can be said without words— a lift of a brow, a curve of full lips, and the soundless connections of souls. I’m so ready to connect with him.

  But he cups his ear with his hand. “It’s about to get crowded. Footsteps headed this way.”

  I swear under my breath.

  “I feel the same way, so, let’s get out of here.” Derrick gestures to a side door half-hidden in a bookcase. “I know somewhere we can talk privately.”

  “Leave? Is that allowed? I mean, your butler told me to wait here.”

  “We have time. The competition won’t begin until after my father gives his opening speech – a very, very long and boring speech. Come on, I want you to meet someone special, and on the way I’ll show you around my house.”

  I don’t need any more convincing.

  The little girl who stared in awe at this mansion imagining it to be an enchanted castle is finally going to get a tour.

  And the prince is my tour guide.

  I follow Derrick up flights of stairs, through spacious halls with oriental carpeting and gold-framed portraits, and glimpse into rooms of over-stuffed couches and four-poster beds. He uses a faux-British accent, and I suspect he’s making up facts.

  When I glance out a window on the third floor and admire the panorama of greenery and flowers, Derrick pushes open double-doors to a balcony overlooking the rose garden. I lean against the rail, but my gaze slides over to Derrick, memorizing each curve of his face and the tiny laugh lines around his eyes. His mouth is perfection, as exquisite as any priceless painting, soft and bow-shaped and dimpling into a smile.

  But the tour isn’t over yet, and he guides me back down flights of stairs, zigzagging through halls until we enter an enormous kitchen with two refrigerators, shining gold-rippled tile flooring, and a marble island beneath copper pans that hang like wind chimes. Derrick waves to a sturdy woman with a long white braid perched on a wooden stool while she peels potatoes, and I guess she’s the chef he mentioned who owns a Queen Bee.

  When she calls out to him, “What mischief are you up to now?” he laughs and replies, “You don’t want to know,” then tugs me forward and out through a back door.

  I blink at the glaring shine of the setting sun as we step onto a cement patio. Derrick points to a high chain link fence where dark eyes gleam beneath a tree, and I glimpse a large dark creature. “Here, boy!” Derrick calls, and the creature lunges toward us with a deep bark that makes Toffee jump out of my arms and cower behind my legs.

  “Meet Pete,” Derrick tells me as he leads me through a gate into a dog run that’s so large, with shady trees and climbing toys, that I can’t see where it ends. “Don’t worry, Toffee, Pete looks fierce, but he’s as gentle as a baby bunny. He won’t bite, but you could drown in his drool.”

  “Wow” is all I can say as I admire Pete’s powerful tawny gold body. I set my hoop on the ground and reach out to stroke Pete’s massive head. “You told me he was a mastiff, but not a Dogue de Bordeaux!”

  “You know your dog breeds,” he says, impressed. “I usually just say he’s a French Mastiff. All 145 pounds of him.”

  Toffee cautiously takes a step toward Pete’s backside, sniffing. After a moment, her gold tail wags like a friendly hello. Derrick and I sit on a nearby cement bench, watching the dogs sniff each other.

  “So, what do you think of my home?” He smiles in that teasing yet shy way I find adorable.

  The little girl in me wants to gush about how amazing everything is and how it’s even better than I imagined. But I don’t want him to think of me as a “little girl,” so, I act casual and say, “If this is a house, then I live in a closet.”

  He chuckles. “Sometimes I’d prefer a closet. At least it would feel like a home. This is a cool house, but my parents don’t own this McMansion. It owns them. They’re always talking about how much everything costs. I’m surprised they don’t make me wear a price tag.”

  I’m not sure whether he’s serious or joking, but it doesn’t matter. When he laughs again the sound is so wonderful I could sit in this dog run forever.

  He points to Toffee. “Why did you bring your dog to a talent show?”

  “She’s the one with talent. Not me.”

  “And I was looking forward to watching you jump through that hoop.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you.” I smile.

  “Is Toffee going to dance like she did at Swap Market?”

  “We’ve been working on a new act,” I say mysteriously.

  “Can I have a preview?”

  “I have to conserve the batteries.” When his brows knit together, I lift out the remote control from my hoodie pocket. “The remote activates the hoop so it’ll spin in the air and create holographic illusions. I don’t really understand how it works. Anyway, I’d rather hang out here a little longer with our dogs. Can we just talk?”

  So, we do. We talk about random things like this game I made up of finding dog breeds in the shapes of clouds and home schooling versus public school. Turns out while I’ve always thought home school would be so much better than dealing with other kids every day, Derrick felt trapped in his house and longed to attend public school.

  “But next year I’m going, no matter how much my parents object,” he says with the same passion he used when he spoke about wanting a job that helped people.

  “You’ll convince them. It can’t be that much harder than telling them you aren’t interested in politics,” I say. “How did they take that?”

  “I didn’t tell them, and it’s your fault.”

  “My fault?”

  “You showed me a different side of Castle Top,” he says with mock accusation. “Swap Market, frog races, and a backyard theater. People were so giving, even if they had little to give. When you explained how some of them had their land legally stolen from them, it made me angry, especially since I’m sure my father was responsible.”

  “You’re not to blame for what your father does.”

  “No, but I can fight injustice.”

  “Going to wear a cape and go all super-hero?”

  “I might.” He winds his fingers through the chain link fence, his gaze sweeping beyond treetops as if he’s seeing all of Castle Top. “I’ve been reading about the risks of underground gas and fracking — because of all the chemicals they pump into the ground. When I asked my father about it, he said to leave it to the professionals. So, I’ll become one of the professionals by majoring in law and learning legal ways to help. Shouldn’t laws be upheld by someone who cares about all people, not only the rich and influential?” He pauses, cheeks reddening as
if embarrassed. “There I go, sounding like a politician again.”

  “You do it so well.”

  “Scary, huh?”

  “Only for your father. He better watch out. I believe you can do anything you want.”

  “Anything?” he whispers and leans closer so he’s only a breath away.

  “Well…” I feel my cheeks burning. “Depends on what you have in mind.”

  “What if I want to kiss the girl I’ve been thinking of since her dog knocked me in a pond?”

  “That could be arranged,” I say softly, and I lean forward to meet him halfway. He pulls me so close our noses bump, and we both smile. I close my eyes and lift my lips…just as Toffee yips like she’s in pain.

  I jerk back then look over at my dog. She’s jumping to dodge Pete’s swinging rope-like tail. She snarls at Pete, giving him some attitude, and he cowers to the ground and rolls over, his tail still wagging. Toffee’s not in any danger, but I’m not so sure about me. When I turn back to Derrick, he brushes his finger across my cheek. His touch is softer than a whisper yet sends a powerful surge of heat through me like I’ve swallowed the sun. When his arms slip around my shoulders, a natural gravity pulls me against his chest where I fit perfectly.

  A cool wind picks up. Swirling leaves crackle in a dance at our feet, but I’m impervious to cold, warm in Derrick’s arms. I’m where I belong; I know this deep in my soul. But it’s not enough. I need to be closer, to taste his lips and –

  His stupid phone dings.

  “A text,” he tells me.

  “No more interruptions. Can you ignore it?”

  “I’d like to, but it’s from Mom.” He frowns down at his phone. “She wants me on stage ASAP, and if I don’t show up soon, she’ll send a search party.”

  I sigh. “I guess you have to go.”

  “Yeah. Dad’s starting his speech.”

  “He is? OMG!” I jump away. “I have to go!”

  “No need to rush. I told you Dad’s speeches go on and on and on.”

  But I’m not listening, jolted with high-voltage stage fright. What was I thinking? Why did I sign up for this? Go out on a stage in front of hundreds of people, most of them from my school? Insanity!