Identity of the Heart (A Hidden Hearts Novel Book 1)

by Mary Crawford

  “Umm, No—” I reply, laughing, “but I have heard that the It’s a Small World ride is a little creepy.”

  “JESSICA, COME HERE. YOU REMEMBER that guy, Daniel, who I was talking to on BrainsRSexy.com? Look at this message he just sent me!” I yell across the room in disgust.

  “Great bait and switch babe. Thought you said you were an accountant, not some tattoo bimbo.”

  Jessica gasps as she reads the text message over my shoulder. “Oh my gosh, what a toolbox,” she exclaims. “I thought you said you had to reschedule your date with this guy because of your exam.”

  “I did, so I don’t know what his deal is. He sounds psycho. I’m going to block him. It’s weird though, because I had several conversations with him and I thought he seemed pretty normal. Maybe this online dating thing was a really bad idea,” I muse.

  “Oh, come on. You can’t write everyone off just because one guy is weird. Didn’t you tell me you’ve had several conversations with cool guys?” Jessica replies. “Scoot over.” With that, my roommate literally pushes me out of my desk chair and onto my bed.

  After a couple minutes, Jessica squeals with excitement, “Oh Ivy! Did you look at this guy, Mitch? He's a business major, but he volunteers for search and rescue and he has his own search dog which he rescued from the shelter. He trained it from a puppy. He sounds perfect for you. He’s totally cute too; his muscles go on for days.”

  With a reluctant sigh, I unfold my long limbs, hop off the bed and peer over her shoulder at my online profile. She’s right; the guy has a pretty strong resemblance to Matthew McConaughey in his more rugged days. But, as I examine his profile more closely, I see a couple of problems. “Jessica, this says he likes petite women and redheads. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m almost five-foot-nine, with nearly jet black hair, I’m neither.”

  “Pshaw. Those are just cosmetic things. I’m talking about the match of your souls—you know, the things that make you guys truly tick,” Jessica retorts with a grin.

  “Pshaw? Did you seriously just say that? What are you—eighty?” I tease. “Anyway, have you ever tried to date anyone shorter than you? It’s a drag. Guys get all insecure about it and then I feel like I have to slouch all the time to minimize the difference. It literally becomes a pain in my neck.”

  Jessica laughs as she replies, “Yes, I’m well aware of the fact that I talk funny. It’s a side effect of being raised by my grandparents. You know good and well that the odds of me dating someone shorter than me are pretty minuscule since I’m five-foot-one.”

  “Do you know how lucky you are? You get to be the cute, cuddly girlfriend that he can tuck under his arm and protect from all the dangers of the world. He gets to be your hero and reach all the things that you can’t. You’re just a pocket-sized ball of cuteness. I, on the other hand, look like an oversized giraffe. Guys never know what to do with me. I’m too tall for them to tuck under their arm. Many times, I’m actually taller than the men I’m dating — especially if they lie about their height to their matchmaking friends— and I look really awkward dancing.”

  Jessica’s eyes widen in surprise as she hears my self-assessment. “Seriously Ivy? Have you even looked in the mirror? You could be a runway model or something. The guys around campus nearly faint when you walk into the room. Do you really not notice this stuff?” she asks with an incredulous tone in her voice.

  I shrug as I fend off her questions. “I don’t know. I’ve always hated my hair. My parents have wonderful thick black, wavy curls. I have such boring ‘straight, but manageable hair’ as my mom likes to call it. I grew up hating it because it just underscored how different I am from my parents. It’s funny though, because my mom always says that she’s jealous of my straight locks.”

  “I hate to break it to you, but I think everyone is a little jealous of your beautiful long hair. If I had your hair, I wouldn’t be wearing mine in a ‘stylish little pageboy’ as my hairdresser calls my mess of a do,” Jessica mutters running her hands through her hair. “I still think you should reply to this guy; I think he sounds nice.”

  I lift my shoulder in a casual shrug as I reply, “Whatever, go ahead. Why don’t you chat with him for a while and see what you think? If he gets your seal of approval, I’ll think about going out with him. I’ve got to study for my Economics exam. Summer classes are such a pain because they try to cram a whole term into just a few weeks. I always feel like I'm behind.”

  “Isn’t that the class that bores you to tears?” Jessica asks sympathetically.

  I nod with a wistful expression on my face as I respond, “Sadly, yes. Unfortunately, every single class in my major is that way. The only classes that I’m enjoying are the electives that I have to take to fulfill the arts requirement of my liberal arts education.”

  Jessica shakes her head in disbelief. “Ivy Love Montclair!” she chastises. “You do realize that this is college and not high school, right? You don’t have to take courses you don’t like. You can choose to major in something you enjoy. Why are you torturing yourself with classes that you hate?”

  “I know, I know.” I acknowledge, regretfully. “It’s just that my dad has always dreamed of opening an accounting firm with me— ‘Montclair & Montclair’. I think he’s probably already got the business cards printed. My parents have made so many sacrifices for me and I don’t want to let him down.”

  Jessica scrunches her nose up at me and rolls her eyes as she argues, “Ivy, do you really believe your parents would want you to choose a career that you absolutely hate just to make them happy? Your mom is a teacher. I know she would want you to choose something that you’re passionate about. I know without a shadow of a doubt that you are not passionate about accounting.”

  “But I want to be, shouldn’t that count for something?” I whisper.

  “Yeah, it shows you love your dad an awful lot. But, that shouldn’t be the only criteria for you to choose your career. I think you ought to go to the advising office and talk to somebody.”

  Just then, the computer beeps. Jessica and I read the message from Mitch with a mixture of confusion and horror.

  Hi Ivy,

  Is this some kind of weird joke? I was just talking to you two days ago, but I thought you said your name was Rogue. It’s too bad because I thought you were kind of cool.

  --Mitch

  I quickly motion for Jessica to get up and I slide into my desk chair almost tipping it over in my haste.

  At this moment, I’m grateful for all the summers I spent working in my dad’s office, as I am able to respond to Mitch’s text in record time.

  Mitch,

  There must be some mistake. I just saw your profile for the first time today. You couldn’t have been talking to me because I didn’t contact you until about 30 seconds ago.

  ~ Ivy

  I hit send. Jessica and I wait impatiently for his response. I can’t imagine what it’s going to be. I walk over to the bed and pick up my Economics textbook. After a couple of paragraphs, it’s obvious to me it’s an exercise in futility to pretend like I’m going to even try to study when my brain is clearly completely occupied with the drama in front of me. Finally, a message pops up on my screen.

  Ivy,

  Are you for real? Seriously, no kidding? That’s freaking spooky! This other chick, Rogue, looks just like you. Are you an Art major? Do you work at a tattoo place?

  --Mitch

  Jessica and I look at each other in disbelief. That’s twice in one day tattoos have been mentioned. Something bizarre is going on.

  Mitch,

  No, that’s definitely not me. I’m an accounting major and I’ve never even set foot in a tattoo parlor. I don’t know what the heck is going on. Can you look at my Facebook page and see if she’s using any of my profile pictures?

  Thank you so much. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to bother you with this weird drama.

  ~ Ivy

  I hit send and wait for Mitch’s response. In the meantime, my mind is racing a mill
ion miles an hour. Of course I’ve heard of cat-fishing. You’d have to live under a rock to not be familiar with the concept. What I don’t understand is why someone would be interested in pretending to be me. If you looked up the word boring in the dictionary, it would literally have my picture. I lead the most non-exciting life ever.

  The only creature who’s ever been interested in my life was my cat, and that’s only because I fed her. I had to leave her with my parents when I left home to go to college. I was so tired of the snow in Vermont that I chose the warmest place I could think of to go to school. Well, actually Florida was my second choice. I didn’t get into the school I wanted to in Hawaii. I’m so invisible here, that I can’t imagine anyone would want to assume my identity.

  One of the reasons I signed up for BrainsRSexy was to become less isolated. I’ve fallen into this weird rut of going to class and the library and my job at the local ice cream parlor and not much else. Jessica threatened to line up all the guys from her classes and start randomly choosing numbers to set me up on blind dates.

  My computer pings again and I glance at the screen with a mixture of trepidation and anticipation. Jessica has no such qualms as she’s practically shouting in my ear, “Hurry up and open the message!”

  Ivy,

  That’s uber-weird. I didn’t get the vibe from Rogue that she was running a scam. In fact, we were on a Skype call and I was teasing her about her unusual first name and she even showed me her driver’s license to prove that it was her real name. She has a Florida driver’s license with the first name Rogue. I’ve never seen someone who works at a tattoo place that doesn’t have tattoos. I thought that was odd. But, other than that, she seemed cool. I looked at your Facebook page, and her picture isn’t any of the ones you have on Facebook.

  --Mitch-- curious in the land of Disney

  Mitch,

  I have no idea where she would get a picture of me if she didn’t get it from Facebook. I’m not on Instagram because my dad is weird about me posting pictures and the last time I had a MySpace page, I think I was in junior high so you would’ve been able to tell the difference. This is starting to creep me out.

  ~ Ivy

  Almost instantly, my computer beeps in response.

  Ivy,

  I don’t know, maybe it’s just coincidence. You know how they say everyone has a double somewhere. Try not to worry.

  -- Mitch

  Mitch,

  That’s true. But, I wonder why people think we have the same profile?

  ~ Ivy

  Again, my computer beeps right away.

  Ivy,

  Another excellent question. Unfortunately, I don’t have a great answer.

  -- Mitch

  Mitch,

  Sadly, I have to study for my economics exam. So, I need to go.

  ~ Ivy

  My computer beeps almost as quickly as I hit the send button.

  :-)

  Economics was one of my favorite classes. Good luck with the exam.

  -- Mitch

  I guess it should be quite telling that the fact that he likes economics actually makes him less attractive to me. I wonder what I should read into that. I’m sure there are thousands of volumes of psychological studies and abstracts on that very topic.

  Just then, an idea strikes me and I sprint down the hall to my neighbor’s room and bang on the door. A very startled guy in ratty sweatpants comes to the door. “Hey Craig, what’s the name of that guy who graduated like three years ago? You know, the one who was going to start his own security firm specializing in identity theft?”

  Craig stretches and yawns as he eyes my pajama shorts and my baby doll T-shirt. “Yeah? What’s in it for me?” he asks with a leer.

  I squint my eyes at him and shake my head as I reply, “If you ever want class notes for Poetry 250 which meets at 8 AM Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, I’m counting on you to cough up a name and phone number.”

  Craig belches and then replies as he holds up his hands in surrender, “Okay, no need to be mean about it. The dude’s name is Tristan Macklin. He’s got a business a couple blocks off campus. I’ve heard he’s spooky good. Are you going into hiding or something? Somebody told me he’s better than the witness protection program.”

  I laugh out loud at Craig’s vivid imagination. “I’m sorry to disappoint you. But it’s nothing quite as dramatic as that. I’ll be sure to tell Tristan you said, ‘Hi’,” I say as I reach forward to shake Craig’s hand.

  I watch as the color leaches out of Craig’s face. “Oh, that’s okay you don’t have to mention it. I’ll just do you a solid because we’re practically neighbors,” he says as he nervously wipes his hands on his pants and shakes my hand.

  As I turn to leave the room, I look back and say, “For the record, I really liked the poem you shared the other day in class. You should speak up more often.” I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone blush in quite the shade of red as Craig’s face in that moment, but he seems pleased by the compliment.

  I’m still grinning when I reenter my dorm room. As soon as I hit the threshold, Jessica starts yelling at me, “Where in the hell did you go? I left for one second to fix my contact lens and you were gone. With all this weirdness going on, I had no idea what happened to you. You left without saying a word. I was so scared!” At this point, she’s practically beating me with her throw pillow.

  “Oh my God Jessica, I didn’t even think about it. I just ran down to Craig and Derek’s room to ask Craig a question,” I answer, feeling chagrined.

  “Oh man, if that was designed to make me feel better, that was an epic fail. Craig is seriously creepy,” Jessica responds as she gives a full body shudder.

  “Really? You think he’s that bad? He’s a little strange. I mean—you don’t see very many full-grown men with a full contingent of Star Wars action figures in their dorm rooms, but other than that he seems nice enough to me. He always walks me to my car with an umbrella when it rains,” I comment.

  Jessica just shakes her head at me. “I still find it hard to believe that you’re a couple years older than me. You seem to be missing some basic survival instincts. Did you not learn any street smarts along the way?” she asks me as she raises a questioning eyebrow in my direction.

  I giggle at her line of questioning as I respond, “Hello? I’m the daughter of a kindergarten teacher and an accountant from Coventry, Vermont. My idea of street smart is making sure that I get a really good coupon for Macy’s and the Gap and trying to make sure nobody takes our table at Applebee’s.”

  Jessica collapses on her bed in peals of laughter at my description of the perils of the rough side of suburban life. When she can gather herself she says, “Geez, no wonder you don’t have a lick of common sense when it comes to judging other people. You grew up in Mayberry, USA. The sheriff came to your football games, didn’t he?”

  “Well, yes,” I concede. “It only makes sense considering his nephew was the star quarterback.”

  Jessica narrows her eyes as she examines me closely, “Wait... let me guess,” she says drawing out the words and walking around me in a big circle, “Miss Big Hair and perfect body, was a high school cheerleader.”

  I can’t help but flush a deep shade of red. Instead of being proud of my accomplishment, it feels more like a scarlet letter of shame. Although I liked the athletic challenge of being a cheerleader, I never liked the petty social politics and the narcissistic class standing that was endowed because of it. “It wasn’t really a big deal. Almost everybody that tried out made it on the squad,” I stammer.

  “Were you on the squad all four years?” Jessica probes.

  I nod.

  “I bet you were a flyer,” Jessica comments.

  I nod again.

  “Captain?” Jessica asks with a triumphant grin.

  “Co-Captain my junior year; Captain my senior year,” I grudgingly admit.

  “See, not only were you a cheerleader, you were a stellar cheerleader. Just like you’re stella
r at everything else. I know you’ve been trying to fly under the radar here, but you don’t do that very well. You’re the type of person who just kind of naturally shines regardless of your surroundings,” Jessica observes.

  “That’s sweet of you to say, but I’d just as soon be a background player. I’m not all that comfortable being front and center. It’s the not fun part of being an only child. I had no choice but to be the kid on the awards stand whether I wanted to or not,” I confess.

  “Hey, at least your parents actually know you exist. Mine couldn't care less. Trust me, there are worse things in life than parents who care too much. So, what can we do about this weird computer thing?” Jessica asks. “If your parents found out about it, they would have an apoplexy and pull you out of school.”

  "Well, they certainly would try, but I think I’ve reached an age where they no longer have the right to make decisions for me. Now, I’m not saying that they wouldn't be able to guilt me into it, but the school isn't going to give them any right to make decisions for me,” I declare with a degree of certainty.

  “You know this how?” Jessica demands.

  “Technically, the law is on my side,” I argue.

  Jessica rolls her eyes at me and just gives me a look of pity as she retorts, “Well, you can have technicalities until the cows come home, but it isn’t going to matter a hill’s worth of beans if your daddy thinks you’re in danger. He’ll march right down here from Vermont and haul your pretty little butt all the way home and lock you in your suburban paradise back in Coventry until he thinks it’s safe.”