Never Been Texted

by Linda Joy Singleton

  I steal Toffee away from her new giant buddy and grab the purple hoop. “I need to get back to the red room.”

  Derrick groans. “Timing sucks.”

  “I just hope my performance doesn’t.” My voice shakes.

  “It’ll be amazing, like you,” he adds softly. “Good luck.”

  “Thanks.” For so many things. I long to stay with him and the dogs, and forget all about the competition.

  Instead, I summon up courage and race out of the room with Toffee, slowing only on the stairs, careful not to trip in my high-heeled shoes.

  She was dressed in all the colors of the heavens; all the comets, the stars, and moon on her dress, and the sun on her brow. She enters the ballroom. Who could look at her! For the sun alone they lower their eyes, and are all blinded. His majesty began to dance, but he could not look at her, because she dazzled him. (Crane)

  “You’re late.” Butler-bot’s tone shows no expression, but I sense I’ve pissed him off. I eye him curiously, smiling when I notice him slide on the tile in his black polished shoes like he’s making a skateboarding move. He doesn’t talk to me, though, as he leads me down a hall that’s jam-packed with other contestants, including my nemesis and her loyal sidekick.

  Contestants have been randomly assigned numbers for order of performance from one to twenty-five. I’m given a badge with a large black number two, which is better than going on first, but not much.

  Carrying a hoop and a dog triggers snickers as I move down the line in my concealing sweatpants and hoodie toward the front. A pink-haired girl in a Hawaiian grass skirt (freshman, I’m sure) grins at Toffee. “Cute doggie!” I notice other kids smiling at Toffee, too, and I get this thrilling rush like I can really do this and maybe even win – until I spot Beatrice (contestant number fourteen) and Hannah (contestant number fifteen) both wearing sexy, short dresses that shimmer like expensive jewels beneath the chandelier. Beatrice always looks stylish, but Hannah, who is usually only a mousy clone of Beatrice, has lifted her long hair into an elegant twist of curls that enhance her large brown eyes and high cheekbones, and she’s holding a violin. I steel myself for their usual onslaught of negativity, but Beatrice gapes at me, her mouth hanging open.

  Beatrice smacks Hannah’s shoulder then covers her mouth like that’s enough to muffle her voice, but I can still clearly hear her say, “You swore she wouldn’t be here.”

  Hannah shakes her head, staring with confusion and horror, like I’m a zombie raised from the dead. “I did what you told me. I was so sure she’d quit.”

  “Obviously not sure enough. If you think – “

  “I don’t understand…” Hannah’s voice trails off like an apology.

  I don’t understand either, but someone shouts my name so I don’t hear the rest of what Beatrice says. I glance down the line and see number twelve, Maria from homeroom, waving to get my attention. She’s wearing a fifties-styled blond poufy wig with clunky saddle shoes. “Adorable puppy!” she says. “Can I pet him?”

  “Toffee is a girl,” I correct. “And she loves attention.”

  Maria pops out of the line to pet Toffee and I stand there self-consciously, uneasily aware that Beatrice has stopped whispering to Hannah. She swivels her head in my direction, fury twisting her pretty face into a hot mess of mad. Her black eyes are bullets aimed and fired into my flesh.

  Beatrice silently mouths one word: Toffee.

  And I understand. She’s figured out I’m the “Jane” Derrick asked her to find, and she is not pleased.

  “Your puppy is so sweet. Thanks for letting me pet her,” Maria says then slips back into line.

  “Sure,” I say absently as I wrench my gaze away from Beatrice.

  What’s the worst Beatrice can do? I ask myself. Spread more stupid rumors? I’ve proven she doesn’t scare me by entering the contest despite her attempts to make me quit. Did she really think I’d give up that easily? Never again will I let her words have power over me.

  Riding a sweet wave of confidence, I lift my head and stride past like she doesn’t exist.

  I take my place in line behind a “cowboy” with number one on his badge. He’s blowing into a harmonica and seems relaxed like it’s no big deal to go on first. I whisper “good luck” to him as our line begins to move down a staircase and through double-doors into the ballroom.

  A band strikes up marching music, and my heart thump-thumps in time with the drums. Blinding lights make me squint as I search the audience for Rory. I’m sure she’s here, but it’s so crowded it seems like all of Castle Top has come to watch. I spot some of my neighbors in the audience: the Kabkees, Carters, Smiths, Mr. Shakespeare and even the Dunwillys made it in time.

  Applause, shouts, and whistles are deafening as we file up to a raised stage where Mayor King looms tall and powerful beside a pudgy red-haired man and a petite woman at the podium. Seated behind them in a line of folding chairs are a blur of mostly official, suited people – except for an elegantly dressed woman I recognize as the mayor’s wife and the sandy-haired boy beside her, who’s giving me a thumbs up.

  I grin back at Derrick, twirling my hoop on one finger like I have the world at my fingertips.

  Butler-bot leads us to a row of chairs below the stage off to the left rear side. The audience can’t see us, but we have a good view of the stage. We sit according to our numbers in two long rows and an official tells us that when he calls our number we’re to climb a short flight of stairs to the stage.

  Toffee wiggles impatiently. “Soon,” I promise her.

  Mayor King stands at the podium, front and center, introducing his staff. I’m tuning him out, mentally rehearsing my routine, until I catch the words “executive assistant” and look up to see a chubby silver-haired man taking a bow.

  That can’t be right. The executive assistant is an elderly woman named Maud, who at this very moment is choosing a Q-Bee for the mayor. I stare at the man speaking on stage, and when I hear the mayor refer to him as “Hallstead,” I get a very, very sick feeling.

  Unless the mayor has two executive assistants, one of them is a fake, and it’s clearly not this chubby man standing beside the mayor.

  So who exactly is Maud?

  Fragments of conversations spin through my head like slippery puzzle pieces. Derrick said his father’s executive assistant Hallstead would be here tonight, not out buying a dog that Derrick had no idea his father even wanted. Beatrice’s shock at seeing me here, and the accusing look she gave Hannah. The final pieces lock into place.

  I aim a furious gaze down the line of entrants to numbers fourteen and fifteen, and wonder which one of them faked the voice of Maud.

  Harmonica playing cowboy walks up the stairs to the stage, which means I’m next, but how can I stay here when my stepdad is at home, waiting and waiting for a customer who will never come? All his hopes ruined by a cruel prank meant to keep me out of the contest.

  If there wasn’t an audience of witnesses, I’d go over to those mean girls and smack them both down. But my stepdad…waiting…not knowing. I should be at home with him, but what will that accomplish? Blake would want me to stay. Beatrice schemed to get rid of me, and damn if I’ll give her that satisfaction. Toffee and I have worked too hard to give up now, and I’m going to do my best to win. Not for the trophy or parade or even the scholarship, but for everyone who helped me reach this stage: my one-girl cheer squad Rory, my amazing dog-grooming neighbors, goat-cart Granny, master of illusion Shakespeare, and Blake. I slip my cell from my pocket and send a text to my stepdad.

  Maud fake. No sale.

  As I start to put my phone away it dings with an incoming text.

  I brace myself, knowing it’ll be my stepdad. He’ll be so upset, and there’s nothing I can say to make it better. I’m tempted to ignore the message, no time to deal with this now, but when my phone dings again, I glance down at the message. A cherubic face grins at me!

  Farley, again. He waves an official looking paper, pointing to a signature
scrawled on the bottom. My signature. I recognize the contract I signed when I bought my phone. One line of the contract flashes large:

  At the end of a period of one month,

  this contract will expire at midnight.

  I just thought this was unimportant legalese when I signed the contract, that, of course, I’d be able to renew. How much can a service plan for a two-dollar phone cost? I assumed my marvelous mauve phone was an ordinary phone with ordinary rules. Guess not.

  The screen swirls to midnight black. The extraordinary phone tick, tick, ticks like a countdown to doom. Digital numbers of a clock flash onscreen, whirling backward until they stop at the current time: 7:14. I’m just a few hours away from the end of my contract. I remember Farley saying, “A lot can happen in a month.” Was he ever right! What will happen in a few hours? I have no idea, but I have a feeling I won’t like it.

  Harmonica music from the stage cues that it’s almost time for me to perform. So many things have gone wrong, but now is my chance to do something right. I know in my soul that if I can win Talent-Mania, everything will work out.

  High notes rise then stop abruptly, and the audience thunders with applause for the first performer. I haven’t been watching him and have no idea how he’s done. But the audience seems to love him. Will they love me, too?

  “Contestant number two,” Mayor King announces.

  This is it. I rise to my feet.

  I kiss Toffee’s soft head for luck – or perhaps courage – then walk slowly up stairs, four of them, to stand on the stage. The intense lights are blinding, but as I look around the stage, a strange calm settles over me. The hours of practice slip like a second soul beneath my skin, made of confidence. I do a quick checklist of each of my props: the hoop, the remote control, and, of course, Toffee.

  As I step up to the stage, coming from a back staircase out of sight from the audience, I’m relieved to see a table I’d requested to set up the hoop’s remote control. I check to make sure it has a clear view of where I’ll be performing on stage. The table isn’t visible to the audience (only the other contestants) and it’s close enough to project the holographic images to the hoop. Perfect. I set-up the remote like Shakespeare instructed, and when I click the power button on, the hoop vibrates with energy that shocks through my hand.

  Now is the moment of revealing. I have to time it precisely or the audience will see me wearing only the wired bodysuit. Holding my breath for a fearful second, I click the button to set the spinning hoop in motion then slip out of my sweats and let my hoodie fall to the stage floor. I feel completely naked and have to remind myself the illusion is as solid as actual clothes. Still, it’s hard not to cover myself with my hands while I stand in a shimmery see-through bodysuit. From the excited oohs from the audience I know they’re seeing a virtual image of me. I’m liquid like the sea under a sparkling sun in a gown of illusion, and Toffee shimmers beside me, too.

  Music bursts from the remote control, and as I fling the hoop into the air, it swirls like a cloud shooting into the universe. At my hand signal, Toffee soars through the hoop, a spectral furry rocket. There’s a whoosh of gasps then roaring of applause, but I’m lost in my purpose, giving signals and twirling along with Toffee as I grab the hoop and fling it so it sails over her head. The hoop flashes virtual laser lights of changing colors, and Toffee jumps so she’s dancing on her back legs.

  I glance over and catch Derrick watching with shining eyes and a huge smile, and I’m so hyped that when I toss the hoop up again I feel like I’m the one flying. Toffee is dancing and jumping precisely on my hand-signal cues.

  We’re nearly to the finale, where the hoop storms like a meteor shower, and when Toffee jumps through it her fur shimmers silvery gold, the projection from the remote giving an illusion that she’s changing shape and glowing like a living star. When she soars through the hoop for one last time, she’ll seem to vanish then reappear in my arms.

  I’m reaching for the hoop, ready to toss it higher than ever for the final trick when the holographic sky of images goes dark as if swallowed by a black hole. The hoop slips through my fingers. It clatters to the ground, like a bird shot dead in flight. No sizzling energy. No shimmer. Nothing.

  I blink, not understanding why the audience has gone silent — until I look over to the prop table and see Beatrice standing there, clapping like she’s my biggest fan — but I’m close enough to see what the audience can’t. Beatrice is holding my remote control like a prize.

  And I’m standing in the center of the stage in front of hundreds of people, most from my school, wearing nothing but an almost see-through bodysuit.

  Someone laughs and others join in. Fingers point. Everyone stares at me.

  When I look over at Derrick, he’s staring, too.

  So are his father, his mother, and all the King’s men (and women).

  I scoop up Toffee and run off the stage, leaving behind laughter and the lifeless hoop.

  Someone calls for me to come back. Derrick? But I’m not stopping for anything. I escape down a side aisle, tears stinging my face. I have to get out of here, go home, and never show my face in public again. Mocking laughter slams into me, piercing my skin like shards of shame.

  I push through double doors and look around an empty hallway, panicked. Which way to go? How will I get home? I can’t run all the way in Mom’s high heels (the only part of my costume that didn’t fade to humiliation). I need a ride, and the goat cart isn’t an option, even if I could could find Granny in the crowd. Rory? No, she’s somewhere back in the audience with her boyfriend.

  While dashing around corners and decorative statues, it hits me who I can call. I dig into my pocket for my mauve phone and send a short text.

  No time to wait for a reply.

  Run, run, run. My lungs burn and my muscles scream for mercy. But I’m merciless and run faster on gleaming tile. Got to keep going. Don’t think of Derrick and his shocked expression while the world laughed at me. I don’t think he laughed. I’m sure he wouldn’t. Still, I can’t face him or anyone. Ever.

  I wind through halls until I recognize the diamond-dazzle of the chandelier in the foyer.

  I sob relief when I see the massive double entry doors ahead. I shift my grip on Toffee and reach for the knob, hesitating at the sound of Derrick’s voice shouting my name. Not my name, though, he still thinks I’m Jane. I blew my chance to tell him who I really am, and now he’ll never know.

  Cradling Toffee under my arm, I grip the phone in one hand and yank open the door with the other. Cold air slams into me like icicles, freezing my blood and breath. I force myself to keep going and step outside, looking across the bridge arching over dark water. I’ve just started across the wooden planks when I hear a shout of “Jane!”

  Derrick. Oh, my breaking heart. I shouldn’t, yet I can’t resist swiveling my head to look at him, his face flushed from running yet his expression focused with determination. He’ll try to fix everything and insist I come back. He’ll compliment my performance and say no one cares about my fashion malfunction. I’ll love him even more for his lies. But what can I say to him? If he asks what happened and I tell him Beatrice sabotaged me, he’ll be stuck in the middle of his old girlfriend and his almost new one. I can’t do that to him. I blew it tonight, even if it wasn’t my fault. Beatrice told me she never loses, and she proved it. A room full of people laughed while I stood practically naked on stage. I can’t forget that and want to hide from the world for the next fifty or a hundred years.

  Derrick calls out again.

  The front door bangs shut behind him, and he’s so close I can see the confusion on his face. I turn away and run onto the bridge.

  I’m nearly across when I stumble in my mother’s beautiful jeweled shoes. Teetering on one heel, I start to fall, but I catch myself.

  My arms flail, and my mauve phone is flung into the air, flying, tumbling, spinning in a high arc like glittery mauve fireworks.

  It falls, diving down like a dropp
ed bomb, spiraling down, down until it disappears with a splash into the dark waters beneath the bridge.

  She thought that it was no later than eleven when she counted the clock striking twelve. She jumped up and fled, as nimble as a deer. The prince followed, but could not overtake her. (Perrault)

  Toffee’s tiny body against my chest offers the only warmth on this bitterly cold night as I teeter down the road in high heels. The bright lights of King Mansion fade in the distance, and darkness surrounds me like a blindfold. Chills shiver up my near-naked skin. I would kill for the hoodie I left behind.

  Freezing is almost a relief since it numbs my mind, making it harder to relive that horrible moment on stage or think of Derrick. The shock on his face…his voice calling after me.

  “It’ll be okay,” I whisper to Toffee, cradling her close to me. She purrs and licks my hand.

  I’m not sure how far I’ve walked – a hundred miles or maybe a block – when there’s a familiar car honk and a blur of blinding headlights.

  Blake.

  I struggle not to cry at the comforting sight of his secondhand Honda Civic with the dent in the trunk and a cracked back window. The brakes squeak. He rolls to a stop. Wordlessly, I climb into his heated car where there’s a blanket folded on my seat, waiting for me.

  Concern is gentle on Blake’s face, and although I can sense the questions that have been building up since my text, he only lifts his brow.

  I shake my head. Don’t ask.

  He nods and cranks up the heat.

  After a few minutes, he calls my name and I blink out of my dark thoughts. “What?” I ask, my throat aching from swallowed emotion.

  “I came here right away after your friend called,” Blake says.

  I stare at him. “Friend?”

  “Farley. He told me you needed a ride. I figured things didn’t go well for you tonight, and I’m sorry.” He gestures to a small wrapped box between our seats. “Maybe this will cheer you up.”

  Nothing can cheer me up.

  “I bought it a few days ago and was waiting for the right moment to give it to you.” Blake sighs. “But I guess the wrong moment will have to do.”