Chapter One

 

My longboard clicked rhythmically down the sidewalk as I moved, the warm wind of early summer tugging against my dark hoodie, pulling at the long strands of black hair that had fallen out of my hood. I didn’t like traveling in front of the houses in this part of the neighborhood. I normally took the back alley but today, some road crews were working on pot-holes and I had to make my trip in front of the giant mansions that littered the hills of the east side of the city.

The rich ladies with their upturned noses liked to look out their windows at me as if I were somehow infecting their perfect little world with a contagious disease. They looked at me like I was poor (which I was), a menace (which I wasn’t), and like there was something wrong with me (which I wasn’t even sure of). Normally I would laugh at their response to me, but I didn’t like them taking so much notice. Chances were, they would complain to my mother’s boss, and she would get in trouble, again. It wasn’t my fault the road crews decided to work on the alley, but it’s not like “His Grace” would care.

My mother had worked as Edmund LaRue’s cook for almost ten years now, having taken the job after my father took off. Mr. LaRue, or King Edmund, as I called him, was an arrogant, greedy, self-righteous man who kept to himself. He probably had more secrets than rooms in his house – if that was possible. But, as much as I despised him, he paid my mother well and so I didn’t complain.

I jumped off my longboard as I approached his house. If he heard the clicking of it against the sidewalk, he might throw another fit; that is, of course, if Mrs. Nose-Against-The-Window hadn’t already put in a call. I looked up the long driveway as I stepped in front of the gate. Only the gray Rolls-Royce was parked against the side of the house, causing my heart to fall – no bright yellow Lotus. Ryland wasn’t home yet. I hopped back on my longboard to roll down the side of the house; my some-what good mood dashed by the lack of my best friend. Who cares if King Edmund got mad at me for making a racket?

I crashed into the kitchen, the slam of the door disrupting the 70’s music that my mother and Mette, the LaRue’s baker, were listening to. Plopping myself onto one of the many bar stools surrounding the long work surfaces, I placed my head on my arms and covered my face as much as I could with my hood.

“Happy Birthday, Joclyn!” my mom said. I only grunted as I attempted to cover my head with my hoodie. “How was school?”

“Fine,” I said into the countertop.

“Fancy that,” Mette said in her rich, Irish accent. “She can almost disappear into the table. Must be a trick learned when one turns 16.”

I grumbled nonsense at them again and covered my head with my arms, trying to ignore the laughter of the two women.

“Not funny,” I growled.

“Hello, in there! Joclyn, can you hear me?” my mother lifted the side of my hood as she called into it, I tried not to smile. “Well, I think she’s done it! She has melded into the sweat shirt and become one with it.”

“That will make it easier to wash her, that will.”

“Not funny,” I tried not to sound amused, but I don’t think it worked. My mother snorted so loudly it reverberated off the pristine marble countertops.

“I’ll just throw her in the washing machine, then, a little bleach, lots of detergent, and the skateboard can go in the dumpster.”

“Hey! It’s a longboard, and it’s the only way I get around! Unless you bought me a car. Did you buy me a car?” I shot up like a light, my face breaking out into an eager grin.

“There she is,” Mom laughed, throwing a present at me. “Happy Birthday, honey! Sorry, no car this year.”

“She lives. She lives. Praise the Lord! I thought for a second we would have to call a priest to exorcise her from the sweater,” Mette laughed, her red bun bobbing on top of her large round head. “Happy Birthday, dearie.”

My mom nudged the present at me again, prompting me to open it. Her eyes were sparkling with that eager anticipation she always got about gift-giving. The package was a good size, but lumpy and squishy. Clothes. Clothing had been an issue with my mother and me since that darned mark showed up on my face and chased my dad away. I preferred to hide the mark and myself. She thought I should show the world how beautiful I was. I guess she might be right; I could be seen as the epitome of the fair-skinned, dark-haired beauty with some form of ethereal features. My mom fawned over my bone structure and perfectly-formed eyebrows that just grew that way. But, when I looked in the mirror, all I saw was a skinny girl who wasn’t quite good enough. My mom obviously saw something different, she liked to give me blue shirts to highlight my black hair, or green belts to set off the silver of my eyes, or so my mom said. All I saw were vivid colors or an obvious lack of fabric that would make me stand out.

For years my mom kept trying to convince herself that my choice of baggy dark-colored clothes was a stage that I would outgrow. I always found a way to hide myself; my dark hair was always long and falling in a sheet around my face; my clothes always dark and at least a size too big. It was all done in a way to help me blend in, so people wouldn’t notice me. I felt comfortable that way. It was a safety shield so that no one could see me or figure out what was wrong with me. It worked to my advantage when the Goth kids showed up at school. My mom, for once, thought I was trying to be cool, but I wasn’t overly emotional or narcissistic like they appeared to be. I just wanted to disappear.

“Go on,” Mom prodded. “Open it.” I sighed before ripping off the paper. It was a deep red shirt, embroidered with some beads and fabric flowers. There was no denying it was pretty. It even looked like one of the things I wish I could wear – if only I felt comfortable doing so.

“Just try it on, Joclyn.” My mom danced around in her white kitchen shoes; how in the world could I say no to that? I dragged my feet all the way to the bathroom, the red shirt sticking out of the arm of the hoodie my hands were hiding in. I put on the shirt, cursing the fact that my mother could tell what size I was even through my purposely too big clothes. It was snug, but not too tight. I stared at myself in the mirror for a second, looking through the tunnel of dark hair. I looked so different in the shirt, almost pretty. Without thinking, I pulled my hair up into a pony tail, just to see what it would look like; but the mark stood out so vividly. Its ugly shape stuck out right behind and below my right ear; I twisted my hair and pulled it around the side, twisting it down the side of my neck. The low twist covered it easily, but I still didn’t trust it. Part of me wished I could dress like this, but I could never tell my mother that.

I sighed just a little bit before leaving the bathroom, knowing that Mette and my Mom would fawn over me. I looked in the mirror a second too long, trying to figure out a way to get out of this. Even if I said it was too small, my mom would insist I show her anyway. Best to get it over with; I closed my eyes so that I wouldn’t have to see my mom dance around with excitement again. The door clicked open, and I stood there, eyes closed, waiting for it to come.

“Oh, Joclyn,” my mom said, “it’s beautiful.” I didn’t need to have closed my eyes, I could hear the soles of her non-slip shoes squeak against the floor as she danced in joy.

“Mom, don’t…” I pleaded, but I knew it was useless.

“That color… with your hair… Oh please wear it to dinner tonight – without that darn sweatshirt,” she added. I could feel her tug on the sweatshirt but I hung on for dear life.

“Mom. No.” My eyes snapped open in my attempt to retort, and I froze. Ryland was standing right in front of me, a huge grin on his face. My jaw dropped as my heart went into overdrive.

Ryland LaRue was the son of my mother’s boss, Edmund. He was two years older than me and stood a good head taller. We had been friends since my mother started this job, playing together in the kitchen and hiding on the grounds of the estate since I was five. Ryland would always be my very best friend, but lately it was hard to see past his dark wavy hair, crystalline blue eyes and “private school rugby muscles” without feeling like my heart was getting restarted. This heart-slamming was for a different reason though; he hadn’t seen me wear anything other than a hoodie since I hit puberty. I felt uncomfortable, and Ryland’s appreciative grin wasn’t helping matters much.

Mette and my mother broke out into huge bouts of laughter at their little joke. The look of surprise on my face must have been hysterical. Rather than join along, as part of me wished to, I squeaked and moved to put my hoodie back on. I slid into it as quickly as I could without revealing my scar. I had kept it hidden from Ryland for this long, thanks to Band-Aids and carefully-placed hoods or hair. I didn’t need him seeing it now. It would only give him a reason to run away.

“Ah, come on, Jos… It’s pretty,” Ryland pleaded.

“No.” I spoke as sternly as I could, turning to repeat the word to my mother who was in stitches with Mette against the confection mixer. My mother’s laughter stopped.

“Joclyn, you have to wear it tonight,” she pleaded, “your grandmother bought you a matching skirt.”

“Skirt?” I gasped. There was no way they were getting me into a skirt. But I could tell by the look on my mom’s face that I was trapped. My birthday dinner was the only time in the year I saw my father’s parents; it would break their heart if I said no.

“Ugh. Fine. Fine!” I snapped, ignoring my mother’s look of triumph before rounding on Ryland, one finger pointed into his face. “One word of this to anyone, even mentioning it to me, Ry, and I will kill you.”

“Uh huh,” he laughed, his blue eyes rolling. “What are you going to do, Jos? Hide from me? It does look very pretty on you, you know.”

“Ryland LaRue, so help me…”

“Yeah, yeah, I got ya,” he smiled, grabbing my hand that was still pointed in his face. “Come on. I’ll have her back in an hour, Mrs. Despain.”

“Better make it two, Ryland. I don’t need her moping around while I try to get the chicken broiled.” My mother smiled so brightly that I could have almost guessed what was on her mind. More gifts.

“No problem, Mrs. D.”

“Oh, and Joclyn,” my mom’s voice called after us. I turned back to her, halting Ryland’s departure. “Please try to avoid Edmund and Timothy. I think my job has been threatened enough for one week.” She smiled, but it was half-hearted. She was always the first to get in trouble over my friendship with Ryland. I nodded in understanding before Ry pulled me out of the kitchen and into the servants’ quarters. We gained the usual snickers and side glances as we scampered past the many rooms occupied by the in-house staff, heading to the back corridors that the servants used to move around the massive house.

At first our friendship had been tolerated by Edmund, but a few years ago that all had started to change. For a year or so, it had been labeled unacceptable, and than last year, we were told we were not supposed to be friends at all. Ryland had been warned and threatened by his father to stay away from me, while my mother had been under constant “warning” of losing her job. I wasn’t surprised. To King Edmund, I was nothing more than a dirty peasant. We probably should have taken it seriously, but Ryland insisted everything was okay, so my mother and I followed his lead.

We entered an upper hall where Ryland’s bedroom sat, the door just ahead of us on the left. I kept my eyes looking straight ahead, smiling until an un-usually short man in a three-piece suit with a thick, neatly-trimmed beard turned the corner to face us. I jumped behind Ryland, not needing his arm that moved me there. I knew that man, and I hated him.

Timothy Vincent was the Vice-President of Ryland’s family’s company, Imdalind Forging. He was responsible for the metal-forging method that had made them their trillions. Timothy was also the man who reprimanded my mother on a weekly basis about my continued relationship with Ryland. He caught sight of us and moved forward quickly, an even angrier scowl than usual carved into his face. Timothy always made me uncomfortable – even on his best days.

“Ryland, we have been looking for you.” My heart sank. We. That could only mean one thing. A deeper gait entered the hall and I moved further behind Ry. I didn’t have to see Edmund LaRue to know what he looked like. In many ways Ryland could be described as his father’s clone, but instead of the mop of loose curls Ryland had, Edmund kept his hair short and slicked back in a gentle wave. Where Ryland’s eyes were the warm and welcoming color of the depth of the ocean, Edmund’s were as cold and distant as ice. They always cut into me with a poisonous edge that made my insides repulse.

I sank into Ryland’s back, my face pressing against his polo shirt in an attempt to hide. His muscles were tensed and strained. Ryland’s hand reached back and found the tips of my fingers that stuck out from the cuff of my hoodie. He squeezed my fingers between his in an attempt to reassure me. As always, his touch warmed my body, the tingling warmth shooting right to my stomach.

“Ryland! I am so glad we found you. I would like to move our lesson to an hour after dinner.” Edmund’s voice was laced with a false endearment that shook my bones. His statement was not a question, but a command. Ryland had been taking some sort of lessons with his father since he was twelve, Ry had always insisted it was some sort of fencing thing, but the way they talked about it always made it seem so sinister – like they were going to take over the world. Who knows? Maybe they were. Corporate drama is a little out of my league.

“Yes, Father, that’s fine. I will meet you in the court.” Ryland’s voice was distant and diplomatic. When he talked like this, he reminded me of the heir to the multi-million dollar company he was, not my energetic, fun-loving best friend.

“Ryland,” Timothy spoke slowly, dragging out his syllables, and I knew he was going to address our friendship. I shifted my weight, cursing the dark hoodie that stuck out from behind my hiding place. “I am so glad to see you have taken our advice, about your choice of friends.”

Timothy’s voice seemed hopeful, which was odd, seeing as how I stood right here. I cursed my oversized hoodie and attempted to draw the fabric closer to my body. Being so close to both of them made me almost, dare I say it, scared.

“I have expressed my opinion on this multiple times, Timothy. Please do not make me repeat it.” Ryland stood a little straighter as he attempted to end the conversation.

“Now, now, Ryland. We don’t need any of that.” Edmund’s voice lacked any warmth. “After all I would hate for your attitude to be the cause of a downfall.”

I cringed; was he talking about me or about my mother? Edmund had never before said anything so bold when I was within ear-shot; it was almost like he couldn’t see me. That, in itself, was a ridiculous thought; Ryland wasn’t enough to hide behind, even with all his muscle.

“You know my terms in regards to that, Father.” I could see Edmund’s expensive penny loafers slide against the white carpet; I shifted my weight, scared he was moving to get a better look at me.

“So it would seem. Well, at least now, I won’t have to dismiss her mother, or worse. We just can’t have anything spoiling my perfect son, now, can we?” I saw his body shift as if he were moving closer, Ryland’s fingers pressed harder against my own.

“No, Father.” There was a pause and than Edmund’s shiny leather shoes stepped away from us down the hall. Timothy’s shoes followed Edmund’s hesitantly, like they were waiting for something else to happen before he turned the corner.

We moved the last few steps quickly, darting into Ryland’s spacious room before either of them had a chance to return. Ryland’s bedroom was roughly the size of my entire apartment. The giant rectangular space was separated down the middle on the left side by a long wall that housed a kitchenette on one side and Ryland’s massive entertainment system on the other. The right side of the room contained his oversized bed that still sported the colored blankets we had used to make forts with as kids; the entrance to his bathroom lay off to the left. Behind it all was a closet the size of a small motor home, containing far too many clothes for someone who went to a school that required uniforms.

I went to the high cabinet next to the entertainment center where he kept the chocolate before plopping down on his bed to enjoy a Mounds Bar. Ryland locked the door behind him, just in case his father or the servants decided to get nosey, and turned on some brain-less TV show as he went.

“I hate them, you know. Hate.” I spat sourly, ripping the wrapper off the candy.

“That’s a strong word, Jos.”

“I know, but don’t you think they deserve it? Saying all that about how I am going to ruin you, talking about me like I was not even there. It’s like they couldn’t even see me.”

“Maybe they couldn’t.” Ryland said almost inaudibly.

“Ha, ha, ha, very funny, Ry.” I paused at the curious glance Ryland was giving me. “They wouldn’t hurt anyone because of me, would they?”

“I wouldn’t put it past them,” Ry grumbled as he leaned against the wall his Tv was mounted to. My head jerked up.

“They would?” Not cool.

“Don’t worry so much, Jos. I wouldn’t let them, even if they tried. If I could get them to be nice to you, I would, but I can’t. Either way, I won’t let them hurt you,” He said. “Besides, you don’t need to worry about it. You only have to deal with them for the rest of the year. I get him for my entire life.”

I could only roll my eyes, the candy bar falling untouched to my lap. I didn’t like the daily reminders that Ryland was leaving overseas for college in just a few month’s time. Oxford, a huge giant ocean away. I tried to push the information to the back of my mind.  I would be lucky if I ever saw him again.

“So, did you get the role?” Ryland asked eagerly, plopping down beside me. His obvious change in subject managed as smoothly as possible.

“No, of course not. The role went to Cynthia McFadden, not that anyone was really surprised.”

“What? You read the role perfectly!”

“Well, I did when I was here in your bedroom; in the school gymnasium I’m not sure the drama teacher could hear my monologue over the catcalls about my lack of hygiene…” I hoped that didn’t sound too bitter. Cynthia had brought half the football team with her and they had quite a fun time jeering anyone who auditioned for the same role as the cheerleader. I thought I had done a good job, even with the jocks yelling at me to bathe or brush my hair, but Ms. Flowers didn’t think so.

“What role did you get, than?” His silky voice was calm, and eager.

“None.”

“None? You would have been cast as Ophelia without question if you had auditioned at my school.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Of course I would, you go to an all boys school!”

“I guess you’re right. But Michael Aliente has been eyeing that role for years now; you might have had your work cut out for you.”

“Well, I don’t think I could beat Michael; he’s way too good at those monologues.” We laughed, the thought of tiny Michael in a long Shakespearean gown bringing tears to my eyes.

“Do you want me to do something? I could make a phone call…”

“No!” I snapped. He had said it with only good intentions, but his face moved from concern to shock. My fast-beating heart plummeted; I didn’t mean to offend him. “I mean, no, thank you. Cynthia will be great in the role though she may come off as more of a floozy than a crazy girl but, whatever.”

“That’s not what I meant, Jos. I meant about the guys teasing you. I could always pick you up from school in the Lotus; that would stop them in their tracks.”

“They would only say I paid you,” I smiled at him; I loved Ryland when he got like this; he was an incredibly caring guy. But he didn’t return the smile. Instead he looked at me as if I had just sold his precious car, to buy a longboard made of solid gold.

“Joclyn, I don’t like them making fun of you, especially when they say things that are not true. I mean, really! You, not bathe. I can smell your shampoo from a mile away.”

“How do you know that’s not just the perfume I use to cover up the almighty stench?”

“Joclyn.”

“Ryland.” My glare was no match for him, his blue eyes cut into me. “It’s alright, really. It’s not like there’s anything you can do.”

“I have a full Rugby team who would gladly fight for your honor.”

“What, do we live in 1740 now?” I laughed. He didn’t. Strangely enough, he was serious. “You would fight the Eagles’ Landing football team for my ‘honor?’” He nodded. I was beginning to feel uncomfortable.

“Why? I mean, no one cares about me. I disappear in that school. They only said those things because they couldn’t even remember who I was.”

“I care about you, Jos, and I don’t want people talking about you like that.” My heart sputtered for a moment, before I turned to him, making sure the mark behind my ear was covered.

“That’s why you’re my best friend, Ry, because you care. You are the only one who knows me.” I smiled at him in a desperate attempt to convey that I was okay, that the name-calling didn’t hurt, even if it did. I could tell he wasn’t buying it. He could always see through my looks. “I’m fine, Ryland. Honest.” I waited but he didn’t say anything. I could just see him barging into my school with a dozen other guys in dark blue blazers. Ugh.

“Ry, I am asking you as nicely as I can manage, to not do anything. I can handle it; you don’t always have to protect me.” I tried to put as much energy into my voice as I could. I am not sure it worked.

“Alright, I won’t do anything. It’s just a crappy way to spend your birthday.”

“That’s okay, I got a great shirt, soon to be skirt-combo out of it, which I will never wear. So, no harm done.”

“You know, you really should wear…”

“Don’t start, Ryland,” I said, falling back on his bed.

“You just need the right accessories, is all.” He spoke quite calmly as he placed a small wrapped box on my chest. I sat up letting the box fall into my lap.

“What? Are you asking me to marry you?” I scoffed the words, but I still couldn’t take my eyes off the box.

“Hell, no! I have been engaged to Cynthia McFadden for years. Didn’t you know?” He pushed into my shoulder, almost knocking me over. “Just open it.”

I moved back to a sitting position like a weeble. I couldn’t say anything; the richest guy in the state had just given me a jewelry box. Part of me didn’t want it, but the girl inside of me forced my fingers to rip the paper off.

The box was back velvet, soft to the touch. I caressed it like the box itself was the gift before opening it to reveal an inside of soft black silk, and nestled into the shiny silk was a teardrop-shaped ruby the size of my thumbnail. The ruby clung to a brilliantly-cut round diamond, both suspended from a fine silver chain. A beautiful silver wire wrapped around the two stones in swirls and spirals that joined them together. All I could do was stare at it. I knew without asking that both the ruby and the diamond were real. The necklace was worth more than my mother made in a year.

“Do you like it?” Ryland’s voice was soft, entertained by my reaction as he chuckled at my solitary head-bob of a response. He grabbed the necklace out of the box, and moved to place it around my neck.

“Sorry it’s not a car,” he laughed, “but your mom wanted to give you a full new outfit for your birthday and forced… eh, recruited me to help. I think she will do anything to get you out of those hoodies and jeans.”

I looked down at the necklace that now hung around my neck, my voice coming back. I moved my hair out from under the chain careful not to show that dreaded mark.

“Besides,” Ryland continued, “You can always wear your new outfit under a hoodie and then your mom can still feel like she won.” I couldn’t help but laugh. But, I also felt like crying. I had never received anything so beautiful, something that I instantly loved. Darn my girl emotions! One tear had leaked out.

“Thank you, Ryland. It’s beautiful. I love it.” My voice was not able to get above a whisper.

“You know, Jos, you’re more of a girl than you let on. I’m just glad I am the one who gets to see it.” And then Ryland kissed my forehead; I thought my heart might explode.

I hadn’t had a birthday this good, ever.

 

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