Toya is on her seventh home and she’s only 16 years old. Next stop, a residential treatment facility. Toya has no clue what a residential treatment facility is, but she knows she wants know parts of one. So she has to clean up her act. No more cussing, no more drinking, no more fighting and no more internet videos—the kind that got her kicked out of her last two foster homes. She’s just been moved to a new foster home—possibly her last foster home—and all is well. A new home in a new town, but her old ways seem to follow her wherever she goes. Not only that, but one of her fiercest demons has just stalked out of the darkness of her past and threatens to drag her down once again. In order to survive, Toya must do something she hasn’t dared to do in a very long time…trust. Boy Toy is the story of one girl’s journey from the lost to the loved.
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Want to start your own Boy Toy book club?
Click here for Discussion Questions |
Many thanks to Lisa W. Tetting - author of The Mistreatment of Zora Langston, who interviewed me about Boy Toy in her blog at lisawtetting.com. Want to read it? Click here.
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sample chapterAt this point in the story, Toya has been working hard to take advantage of her clean slate. She's in new school where no one knows about her past. Until her arch nemesis, Jenelle, humiliates her by exposing to the whole class, the internet video that seemed to haunt Toya everywhere she went. Score one for Jenelle. Now it's payback time. Back in the day, when the Old Toya sought revenge, she took no prisoners. But this isn't the Old Toya anymore...
Chapter 9 You take my rep and I’ll take your man. That was my new motto. I had made my choice. The “clean slate” experiment was officially over. The whole thing was just too hard. It was much easier being the old Toya. I was good at being low down, devious and scandalous. And I was an expert at paybacks. Which is why as soon as my suspension was over, I was busy launching my attack on Jenelle. The cost of destroying my clean slate? One boyfriend. Luckily, Jenelle’s suspension was twice as long as mine, so I had three more days to lay the groundwork on Devon. Not that I needed the extra time. A few minutes of flirting, telling Devon how his T-shirt really showed off the muscles in his back, and I had his phone number. We spoke on the phone that night and every night after. Apparently Devon’s mom didn’t have a problem with girls calling her son after eleven o’clock at night. Then one night, when we had been on the phone for three hours, Jenelle was on the other line. Devon did not click over. I knew I had him hooked. He was all mine. And tonight, he was all mine in my bedroom. Miss Angie and Chelsea were off at Chelsea’s dance recital. I was invited to go, but I told Miss Angie I had some homework to catch up on due to my suspension. It wasn’t a complete lie. I did have work to catch up on, but I wouldn’t dare ask Devon for help. The boy must have taken too many hits to the head while playing football, because he was clueless. The only things he knew anything about was football, girls and TV. So, we sat on the floor in my room watching TV. The Simpsons. Devon loved cartoons–but apparently he loved kissing on me more. He barely even glanced at the TV, too busy kissing and nibbling my neck, his wider receiver-sized hands pawing at me like I was a football. And I was into it. At least, I tried to be into it. But something was missing. Devon was kissable. His lips were full, soft like pillows. Just like the last boy–and the one before that, and the one before that. The same old same old. There was nothing special here. And strangely, I was feeling a strong desire for something special. I kissed Devon harder, trying to lose myself in the moment. This wasn’t about special. It wasn’t about love. It was about revenge. Who cared if my heart wasn’t in it? I did, apparently. As hard as I tried to push out Miss Angie’s words, they kept creeping back into my head. All that mumbo jumbo about planting seeds and watering flowers had really gotten to me. I didn’t think it had. I tried to blow it off. But every time I looked at my window sill and saw my little African violet in a cup, struggling to live, it moved me. I found myself rooting for the poor thing–almost as if I was rooting for myself. I did want that pretty garden. I did want the good seeds to take root and flourish in my life, but I wasn’t sure I could really have it. Was I destined to be every man’s amusement park ride? The girl every boy wanted to screw and no one wanted to take out to dinner and a movie? Would I never be a “decent girl?” “I want you so bad, girl. Man! I can’t wait to…” Huge drops of sweat were dripping off of Devon’s forehead. He had slipped off his T-shirt and was now working on the buttons of my shirt. I barely noticed all of his exertions. The wheels of my mind were churning faster than Devon’s fingers could unbutton. I never really had a boyfriend before, just sex buddies. Devon would be another buddy. A clean slate? Who was I fooling? My slate was so dirty, even when I tried to clean it, it got splashed with something else. I did enjoy that time, though –those few days when my slate was clean. I had felt good about myself—nervous at first, but I was starting to get my confidence back. Another thing I noticed was the quality of people I had started to draw to me. Positive people. Kids who were about something: Terry and Emily, of course. But then there was Shay and Sharita from the church –who read to kids at the homeless shelter once a week, because they wanted to, not because some judge ordered them to. Dominic, from my gym class who was involved in every club, group, organization and society the school had to offer. He was always inviting me to meetings, but I never got that vibe that he was doing so because he was trying to get in my pants. He said I had excellent leadership skills. Me? Excellent? Leader? Skills? Of course, it wasn’t all positive. Jenelle was definitely the rotten apple in the bunch–a dirty, stinking, rotten apple, with fuzzy mold growing all over her. I couldn’t wait to see the look on her face when I popped up at the school with Devon’s arms around me. Sweet satisfaction. Sweet revenge! But would it really be sweet? Sure sleeping with Devon would hurt Jenelle, but so what? This was strange. These thoughts running through my mind. For the first time I was really starting to think about the “C” word. Consequences. Jenelle may be hurt, but she wouldn’t be surprised. If I was being honest with myself, it would be the kind of thing everyone expected a girl like me to do—use my body to get revenge. What would Terry think of me if he found out–when he found out? I would never, ever, ever, ever have a shot at being his girlfriend. If I had a shot at all, that would destroy it all together. And then what about Chelsea? The girl was annoying, but she had been growing on me. What would I tell her? Girl, you gotta use what you got to get what you want. No way. I didn’t want to corrupt that sweet, innocent child. Miss Angie would be disappointed, of course. It saddened me to think about the look on Miss Angie’s face when she picked me up at the school that day. I didn’t want to disappoint her again–especially after all the personal stuff she had just shared with me. I noticed Devon had taken a break from groping me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him dig in the pocket of his jeans and pull out a condom. He snickered, “Always come prepared. That’s what they told me in the boy scouts.” The look of excitement in his eyes. Like a kid waiting in line to get on the roller coaster. I had invited him over to watch TV, but in Devon’s mind I had invited him over for a freak-fest. That’s what he expected from me and I was about to give him no less. What would he say if I said no? If I told him the roller coaster ride would be closed until further notice. He’d be pissed, but who cared? I still might have a shot with Terry. Miss Angie wouldn’t be disappointed. And there would be one less stain on my slate. Then what about Jenelle? No big payback? No sweet revenge. I remembered my grandmother once saying, “Sometimes the best revenge is living well.” Pay Jenelle back by not stooping to her level but by rising above it? It sounded like something I might have heard in Sunday school, but maybe there was some truth to it. Jenelle had pulled that stunt to drag me down, to make me look bad in front of my classmates. What if I came back to school better than ever? Smiled more, laughed louder, showed off some of those “excellent leadership skills” by joining a couple of Dominic’s clubs? Show Jenelle, and everybody else, that no matter what they threw my way, I was coming back bigger, bolder, better than ever! Ah…Sweet Revenge! “What the…” Devon must have been having trouble with my bra, because he stared at the lacey, blue contraption with a puzzled look on his face. The same look he got when the Mr. Chamberlain asked him to work out a geometry problem on the board. Finally, he said: “Can you help me out here?...Toya?” I finally looked at him, really looked at him, as if meeting him for the first time. That smooth, dark chocolate skin. His muscle bound chest, rising and falling with anticipation. I felt his enormous hand on my bra and I saw the look in his eyes–that Yay! I’m-about-to-get-me-some look. I saw his jaw drop when I finally said the words, “I can’t do this.” “I know, man, this bra is crazy.” “No.” I knocked his hand away and started re-buttoning my shirt. “I’m not talking about the bra, I’m talking about this. Having sex with you.” He looked stunned. “What? Why? Is it my breath?” “No, it’s not your--” “I’ve got gum.” “I didn’t say it was--” “It’s okay. Jenelle makes me keep gum with me all the time.” Devon started rummaging through his pockets for the gum, until I grabbed his arm. “Devon, stop. Your breath is fine. It’s me.” “You? Your breath smells good.” “Will you stop talking about bad breath!” I snapped. “I’m trying to tell you something.” “What?” Devon slipped into smooth operator mode and slid his arm around me. “What is it, baby?” “It’s me. I can’t do it with you Devon. It’s wrong.” “Wrong?” “Yeah. I mean, you and I both know the only reason I’d be doing it is to get back at Jenelle.” Devon tipped his head back and let out a loud cackle. “Is that what this is about? It’s okay, baby. You can use me. I don’t mind.” He leaned in to kiss my ear. I pulled away. “No, it’s not fair to you. Or to me. I don’t need any more drama in my life.” “There don’t have to be no drama, girl. Jenelle don’t have to know what we do.” I buried my head in my hands. I could tell this was going nowhere. Saying no to Devon was like giving him a shot of Viagra. Now he was massaging my shoulders. And he smelled so good. Calvin Klein's Eternity for Men. I could feel myself weakening. If I was ever going to take a stand, I had to do it now. It was time for drastic measures. I held Devon’s hands in mine and looked deeply into his eyes. |
“I love you, Devon,” I said, and could immediately feel Devon’s hands turn ice cold. It was working already. In addition to the tips, another thing I picked up while working in Miss Angie’s salon was relationship advice. The best way to cool off a man who wants to have sex is to talk about love or religion. If that didn’t work, cry. I hadn’t been listening enough in church to talk about religion, so I thought I’d give love a try. “I didn’t plan for this to happen, Devon,” I said. “But I really do love you. I want us to spend every moment together.” “Toya I-I…I mean, J-Jenelle and--” Devon stumbled over his words, barely remembering how to speak. “I know. I know. You’re with her. It’s my loss.” I tried to say with a straight face. “But can’t you see? How can I make love to you then watch you walking down the hallway with her, holding hands and stuff, on Monday morning? It would break my heart.” Devon let out a deep sigh, speechless. Then he jumped up so quickly, I thought he was going to bolt for the door. He paced the floor, scratching his head—as if it would bring the right words to surface in his mind. “Listen, I--” “You don’t have to say it. I know you don’t feel the same way.” I rested my head in my knees so he couldn’t see me laughing.” “Aw, don’t cry.” “No, I’m okay. I’ll be okay.” My voice was muffled by my knees. I lifted my head and whimpered, “You’d better go now.” Devon’s head hung low as he turned and slowly walked to the door. He put his hand on the door knob and my heart leapt. It had worked. It had actually worked. Then he stopped. Devon rested his head against the door then sighed. “I can’t.” “You can’t what?” “I can’t leave you like this.” Uh oh. I quickly straightened up. “No, no. You go on. I’m fine. See, I’m better already.” I flashed him a big cheesy grin. “You don’t have to pretend with me, Toya. I can see right through you.” “No, really…I’m not pretending.” Devon walked back to my side, with a look of determination. “Truth is…I love you too, Toya.” “You what?” “I love you, girl.” Now it was my turn to forget how to speak. I sputtered. “Huh?…B-but, what…what about J-Jenelle.” “She’s gonna kill me. She’s gonna kill us both. But I don’t care. You’re so much nicer than she is. And when we talk on the phone, we talk about real stuff–football and X-box. Jenelle only wants to talk about shopping.” Devon rushed over and took my hand in his. “And you never yell at me or call me names like Jenelle. Last week when I forgot it was our eleven month anniversary, she called me a big, dumb Jock-a-saurus” “That’s a pet name! She only does that to show you that she loves you.” I couldn’t believe I was actually defending my arch enemy. “Nah. That’s not love. What we have…it’s true love.” This was not going well. I almost wanted to have sex with him just to get him to shut up. I didn’t want to mess with the boy’s head. Maybe the truth would come in handy here. “Listen, Devon…I’m not really--” A thud interrupted me. “What was that?” Me and Devon whispered in unison. Next came the unmistakable jangle of Miss Angie’s keys. “My foster mom. She’s home,” I hissed. “I thought you said she wouldn’t be home--” “I know what I said. I guess she changed her mind.” The thump, thump, thump, of Chelsea’s lead feet on the stairs followed. “You gotta get out of here.” “I can hide in the closet.” “Uh-uh…with my luck, she’ll come up here and head right for the closet looking for her tennis racket or something.” I gripped Devon’s arm and dragged him to the window. “Trust me you do not want to mess with Miss Angie. You think Jenelle is scary?” “Okay, okay…” Devon’s body was dangling half out the window, half in. “Hey. Aren’t you going to kiss me goodnight?” Suddenly Chelsea burst through the door, saying, “Don’t laugh, I got stage fright. Threw up before I--” Panicked, I shoved Devon out the window with one hard push. A yell, tree branches crackled, then a clunk. I peeked out the window just in time to see Devon climbing back to his feet. “Oooh!” Chelsea howled like a siren. “You had a--” “Shhhh!” I slapped my hand over Chelsea’s mouth, just as Miss Angie barged in the room. “What in the world is going on up here?” “Nothing,” we replied, innocently. Miss Angie stood there with her hands on her hips and I realized how it must look: Me standing there holding Chelsea in a headlock, my hand clamped over her mouth. I slowly released the girl. “Um…Chelsea was about to throw up and I was helping her hold it in.” Chelsea nodded her head vigorously. “Uh huh. But, I think I’m okay now.” She breathed out an exaggerated sigh of relief. “Whew! Thanks Toya. That was a close one.” Miss Angie folded her arms and said, “I thought I heard someone yell.” “It was a cat,” we answered, a little too quickly. It freaked me out, a little, that me and Chelsea were so different, but in the heat of the moment came up with the same lie. Chelsea added, “Uh…there was a cat outside, howling. I think it was in heat.” Miss Angie stared at the two of us as if reading our minds. We looked guilty. Though, of what, she couldn’t even imagine. Chelsea had only been in the house for thirty seconds. Not nearly enough time to get into trouble. Finally, Miss Angie gave up on the mind reading. “Well, whatever… Chelsea, I put a glass of ginger ale on your night stand. Drink it and then go take your shower.” “Yes Mommy,” Chelsea said then disappeared. Miss Angie turned her eyes to me. “You get your homework done?” “Most of it. How was the recital?” “Fine. What we could see of it. Chelsea got sick just before she was about to walk on stage.” “That’s a shame.” “Well, last year she threw up in the car on the way to the recital. So, at least we’re making progress.” Miss Angie walked over to the window and peeked outside. Nothing but trees and houses. “I’m going to check on Chelsea. Goodnight, Toya.” “Goodnight.” As soon as Miss Angie left, I flopped on the bed and exhaled. That was a close one. It was a good thing Devon played football. Any other boy falling out of that window would have still been laying there with a broken leg, just waiting for Miss Angie to come down and break his neck too. My cell phone chirped and I nearly leaped off of her bed, startled. Clutching my chest with one hand, I picked up the phone with the other. A text message. Devon: “I luv u, gurl!” 
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Book Club Questions
Want to start a Boy Toy Book Club? Here are some questions to get you started.
1. When we first meet Toya, she has just arrived at her seventh foster home in five years. What kinds of adjustments has she had to make in her life in having to move from house to house to house over those five years? How has it affected her?
2. We know that Toya was attracted to Terry from the moment she first laid eyes on him. Yet when she had to chance to hang out with him for the first time and braid his hair, she ended “stabbing him in the head with a comb?” What did Terry do to upset Toya that day? In spite of that rough beginning, why do you think Toya and Terry became friends so quickly?
3. When Toya called Terry for the first time, she encountered his mother—who was not pleased that Toya had called her son so late at night. Before hanging up on Toya, she told Toya “…you are not a decent girl.” Those words seemed to haunt Toya throughout the book. Why do you think those words stuck with Toya for so long, even though others had said far worse things to her?
4. What was it about the Toya’s fight with Jenelle and the video that had upset Miss Angie so much? In what way did Miss Angie see a part of herself in Toya? What significance did the African violet plant have for Miss Angie?
5. Toya had the perfect opportunity to get revenge against Jenelle by stealing her boyfriend. At the last moment, however, she couldn’t go through with it. Why not? What affect would it have had if Toya had actually gone through with her plan to get revenge on Jenelle?
6. Why do you think Toya agreed to see her mother, Tamika, after she had been out of her life for so long? How did running help Toya get through the stress she was feeling in the days leading up to her visit with her mother?
7. Through the photo albums that Tamika gives to Toya, we get a glimpse of Toya’s family and what her life had been like before foster care. How would you describe Toya’s natural family?
8. What motivated Mr. Rick to approach Toya that day as she walked home from school? Why do you think Toya decided not to tell anyone about her encounter with Mr. Rick?
9. Toya never seemed to be a shy person at any point in this story, so why do you think chose to go through the pretense of the “mystery date” with Terry instead of just telling him she wanted to go out with him? Why did Emily’s suggestion that Terry might not be excited about the thought of Toya as his mystery date cause her to freak out?
10. Toya finally revealed the truth to Miss Angie about being stalked by Mr. Rick. In what way was the response different this time than years earlier when Toya first told the truth about Mr. Rick? How was the response the same?
11. Toya had just experienced a great victory in the courtroom, celebrated with a fabulous dinner and experienced the excitement of seeing Miss Angie and Mr. Kevin finally becoming a couple, but that night all she could do was think about her mother. Why was she so worried about her mother? What did the decision to start calling Miss Angie now Mom-Angie say about her feelings about her mother?
12. Everything was perfect for Toya’s first official date with Terry, so why was she so unhappy? Why did Terry’s gift make her feel worse instead of better? What was it about her conversation with her Mom-Angie that calmed her down?
13. After reading the letter from Granny Jean, do you think it’s possible for Toya to have a relationship with her new little brother? With her mother?
1. When we first meet Toya, she has just arrived at her seventh foster home in five years. What kinds of adjustments has she had to make in her life in having to move from house to house to house over those five years? How has it affected her?
2. We know that Toya was attracted to Terry from the moment she first laid eyes on him. Yet when she had to chance to hang out with him for the first time and braid his hair, she ended “stabbing him in the head with a comb?” What did Terry do to upset Toya that day? In spite of that rough beginning, why do you think Toya and Terry became friends so quickly?
3. When Toya called Terry for the first time, she encountered his mother—who was not pleased that Toya had called her son so late at night. Before hanging up on Toya, she told Toya “…you are not a decent girl.” Those words seemed to haunt Toya throughout the book. Why do you think those words stuck with Toya for so long, even though others had said far worse things to her?
4. What was it about the Toya’s fight with Jenelle and the video that had upset Miss Angie so much? In what way did Miss Angie see a part of herself in Toya? What significance did the African violet plant have for Miss Angie?
5. Toya had the perfect opportunity to get revenge against Jenelle by stealing her boyfriend. At the last moment, however, she couldn’t go through with it. Why not? What affect would it have had if Toya had actually gone through with her plan to get revenge on Jenelle?
6. Why do you think Toya agreed to see her mother, Tamika, after she had been out of her life for so long? How did running help Toya get through the stress she was feeling in the days leading up to her visit with her mother?
7. Through the photo albums that Tamika gives to Toya, we get a glimpse of Toya’s family and what her life had been like before foster care. How would you describe Toya’s natural family?
8. What motivated Mr. Rick to approach Toya that day as she walked home from school? Why do you think Toya decided not to tell anyone about her encounter with Mr. Rick?
9. Toya never seemed to be a shy person at any point in this story, so why do you think chose to go through the pretense of the “mystery date” with Terry instead of just telling him she wanted to go out with him? Why did Emily’s suggestion that Terry might not be excited about the thought of Toya as his mystery date cause her to freak out?
10. Toya finally revealed the truth to Miss Angie about being stalked by Mr. Rick. In what way was the response different this time than years earlier when Toya first told the truth about Mr. Rick? How was the response the same?
11. Toya had just experienced a great victory in the courtroom, celebrated with a fabulous dinner and experienced the excitement of seeing Miss Angie and Mr. Kevin finally becoming a couple, but that night all she could do was think about her mother. Why was she so worried about her mother? What did the decision to start calling Miss Angie now Mom-Angie say about her feelings about her mother?
12. Everything was perfect for Toya’s first official date with Terry, so why was she so unhappy? Why did Terry’s gift make her feel worse instead of better? What was it about her conversation with her Mom-Angie that calmed her down?
13. After reading the letter from Granny Jean, do you think it’s possible for Toya to have a relationship with her new little brother? With her mother?
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Book Excerpt:
Chapter 3
The Duchess
The Duchess
“Finally, they bring me a pretty one,” Oaks said, grinning down at Natalie. He was tall and thick like an oak tree, but instead of bark, his massive trunk was wrapped in a rubber apron. “I was getting tired of those homely boys. This one, I can have some fun with.” He stroked Natalie’s cheek with his gloved hand. She jerked her head away.
“This is the last one in the dungeons,” said the guard who had dragged her in—not kicking and screaming, but quiet and calm, ready to accept her part in the suffering her friends had endured. “If you don’t get it from her, I guess you’ll have to start all over with the first one again.”
“Oh, I’ll get it from her.” Oaks was practically drooling when he said that. “I can tell by lookin’ at her, she wants to talk to me. Ain’t that right, Beauty?” His hand reached for her cheek again.
“Don’t…touch her!”
Oaks hand froze in midair. “Duchess.” He peered back toward the doorway, into a face that looked anything but royal.
“And don’t look so surprised. You know, it’s against protocol for you to interrogate a female.”
“With all due respect, Duchess, protocol don’t mean much down here.”
“Obviously, it does, because the princess summoned me down here on my day off to do the interrogation.”
She took a step toward the girl and Oaks threw himself in front of Natalie, almost shielding her from the Duchess’ view. “No. Not necessary! I’ve done all the other interrogations. I-I know the questions to ask. It’s only fitting that I get to do this one too. I want to.”
“You’ve done all the interrogations and got nothing to show for it. Step aside, Oaks.”
“No! Th-that’s not true. They’re ready, now. They’re almost ready to break. I won’t let you come in and steal the credit for—”
“Mr. Oaks!” The Duchess bellowed and the giant man couldn’t help but flinch. “We are here to perform a service for the princess. Not to satisfy our own personal desires. Now, step aside immediately and let me perform my duties. Or you’ll answer to her Highness.”
Oaks stepped away and peeled off his rubber apron. As he slinked out the door, the Duchess added, “The princess wants you to report to the arena and assist with preparations for the executions.”
At the word “execution,” Oaks looked back and grinned.
“I figured you’d be happy,” the Duchess said then turned her attention to Natalie.
The funk of her breath assaulted Natalie’s nostrils before the woman even opened her mouth. She smiled, revealing her rotted teeth. “Hello dear. My name’s Duchess.”
Natalie looked past the blackened teeth to the pock marks on her face and stringy, prematurely, gray hair. “No offense. But you don’t look like a duchess.”
“It’s just a nickname. I’m the Duchess of the dungeons. It’s my home you and your friends been staying at these past few days.”
“Thank you for having us.”
“Don’t thank me just yet. They didn’t drag me in here on my day off to serve you milk and cookies. I came to get results.”
“Well, I’m sorry that you wasted your time. I don’t have anything to offer you.”
“If you didn’t, you’d be dead already.”
Natalie wasn’t moved. The guards had been threatening death since they arrived. And the only thing all those threats did was convince Natalie that they were not actually going to die.
The Duchess could tell by the smug look of the pretty girl’s face, she was not afraid. She had performed dozens of interrogations and, every once in a while, she came across one who thought she had nothing to fear. Until the Duchess gave her a reason to be afraid.
She turned a dial on the wall and a low hum filled the room. From a tiny tray, the Duchess picked up a black rubber disk and held it up to Natalie’s mouth. Instinctively, Natalie sealed her lips and turned her head away. “Trust me, hon. You’re gonna want this. Otherwise, you’ll bite your tongue clean off when I sting ya.”
Sting me? Natalie remembered when Teal limped back to his cell. There was a burnt smell that followed him. He described the sensation of burning hot acid shooting through his body, as if all of his organs were being boiled. That’s what it felt like when he got stung. Electrocuted. Somehow, he had survived it. She would too.
Natalie opened her mouth and nearly gagged on the hard rubber mouth guard that had been crammed into her mouth. The Duchess hummed a little tune and she slipped on her rubber gloves. “Now, I’m not gonna lie, it’s gonna hurt. And it’s gonna leave scars on this pretty skin of yours. So, don’t feel like you gotta prove anything, here. It’s just us girls. Or you can tell me what I wanna know and save yourself a whole lot of sufferin.”
Natalie glared back at her, defiantly.
“No?” The Duchess held up the red cable clamp close to Natalie’s face and the hairs on her body stood at attention. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
For a moment, Natalie blacked out. She thought she had blacked out, but the searing pain from the jolt of electricity had caused her to slam her head against the back of the chair. Fire. Her body felt like it was on fire and her heart nearly exploded in her chest. When the surge of pain stopped, Natalie’s throat went dry and ached, from the strain of her muted scream. How was she going to get through this? How could she take another acid-like sting and not tell all of her secrets? All of the training, the mental techniques from the Academy, all of it had been blasted out of her brain with the first jolt.
Just give into it, Nat, she told herself. Let it take you, let it kill you. Then the Duchess loses. Just let go.
*****
Astrid woke with a start. The effect of Edgar’s tranquilizer had been the deepest sleep for Astrid, accompanied by wave after wave of bizarre dreams and nightmares. Since there were no windows in her tiny room, she had no sense of day or night. The only reason she knew it might be nighttime was because, Silver, who was supposed to be keeping watch over her, was sound asleep. So much for her bold escape plan. All it earned Astrid was a sleeping guard, now camped inside of her room, and a very sore arm from the injection—oh, and it earned her yet another reason to despise Chance. To hate herself for being gullible enough to ever believe he loved her.
But she wouldn’t give up. Astrid had resolved to keep plotting her escape, until she was free, or die trying—whichever came first. And yet every time she pieced together a half-way plausible plan of escape, Astrid found her sucked back into deep sleep by the tranquilizer. This time, she was not greeted by another dream, nor nightmare, it was a memory.
Five years old and wailing uncontrollably. It was back in the days when Astrid had no voice. Back before she drank from the healing spring, so the only thing that came out of her mouth when she cried was a muted moan that seemed to carry on forever. Her mommy would never let her cry that long, neither would Nanny Uma. This was the rare day when both women were away from the palace. Nanny Uma on a scheduled holiday. Queen Madelyne, off somewhere planning some sort of a birthday surprise for her girls.
When it was clear that no one else was going to silence the girl, King Cal had no other choice but to handle it himself.
“Astrid, stop…Stop...” Cal stepped into the princesses’ bedroom and surveyed the scene. Vega was sitting on her bed, flipping through a picture book, completed unaffected by her sister’s groaning. Astrid—the source of the commotion—sitting on the floor, holding her blue teddy bear. “Stop it, Astrid.” He never knew what to do with her when she was worked up like this, afraid to even touch her because she seemed so fragile to him.
Cal turned Vega. “What’s the matter with her.”
Vega shrugged. “What isn’t the matter with her?”
“That’s no help, Vega.” He sighed and turned his attention back to Astrid. “Enough of this, young lady! Only babies cry. And you are not a baby. I need you to be a big girl and tell me what’s wrong.”
Like a loyal subject, Astrid obeyed her father the king. She willed herself to stop crying. Took a deep breath to regain control. Next, she formed both hands into little fists, tucked her thumbs up between her index and middle fingers, and the twisted her hands back and forth. TOY.
The king looked confused.
More earnestly, she took her two fists and put them side by side then yanked her fists apart like she was breaking something. BROKEN.
When the king looked even more lost, Astrid sighed in frustration. The only one more frustrated was the king. “You know don’t I don’t know sign language...Vega, what’s she saying?”
“How should I know?”
“You’re taking lessons, aren’t you?”
“Sometimes. But they’re so boring, Daddy?”
“Still, you need to learn to communicate with your sister. It’s important to—”
In the time it took for the king and Vega to debate the importance of Vega learning sign language, Astrid had grabbed a crayon from her desk, wrote a note, and handed it to her father:
TOY BROKEN!
She wrote in surprisingly neat handwriting for a five-year-old. Then plopped Blue Bear to his lap.
“Toy broken,” the king read out loud. He examined Blue Bear and saw now that his button eyes were missing. “Who broke your toy?”
This may have been news to the king, but for weeks Astrid had been aware of a serial toy killer—her toys—roaming the palace. A Toy Troll, Queen Madelyne had named it. They didn’t know who was responsible—though Astrid had her suspicions. Her suspicions were confirmed today, after lunch, when she walked into her room and caught the culprit, plucking the button eyes right out off of Blue Bear’s plush fur. Astrid pointed an angry finger and the king’s eyes followed it in the direction of Vega.
Not an ounce of guilt in her expression. “It’s not my fault.”
“Then whose fault is it?”
“The people who keep buying us the same toys. Just because we’re twins, doesn’t mean our toys need to be identical. How am I supposed to tell Astrid’s toys from mine?”
“Okay…but why break the toy?”
Vega shrugged and said, “Because!” as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, “Astrid is deficient. Her toys should be deficient too. That way we’ll know which toys are hers and which toys are mine.”
“Oh, I see.”
To Astrid’s horror, her father seemed to be accepting this ridiculous explanation. No way. She couldn’t allow it. She grabbed the king’s hand and dragged him to a corner of the room, to a cardboard box full of broken toys. Dolls with missing limbs, stuffed dogs with the stuffing pulled out. A tiny wooden horse on three legs.
“You broke all of her toys?”
“No…Not all of them,” Vega said sweetly, “Just the ones that were like mine.”
That wasn’t the outrageous part. The true outrage, the king still hadn’t noticed. Astrid pointed, emphatically, to the side of the box. Written in big clunky letters, Vega’s handwriting: F-A-S-I-L-I-T-E-E.
The king tried to sound it out. “Fas-il-i—”
“Facility, daddy. The box is a facility. That’s where broken things go, right?”
“Yes, Vega…Yes, they do. But you shouldn’t have broken your sister’s toys.”
“I was only trying to—”
“I know, I know…” He patted her on the head. “And Astrid, your sister made a mistake, so you—”
Astrid didn’t want to hear it. She went back to her desk and wrote: ON PURPOSE!
King Cal was tickled by this. He paid no attention to the message, but for the first time, in a long time, he paid attention to the messenger. “This is amazing. I had no idea you could write so well, Astrid. Vega can you write like this too?”
“Why should I, Daddy? I can speak.”
He nodded, barely paying attention to what Vega said. He was too busy marveling at Astrid. “Write something else for me, Astrid.”
Astrid grinned and carefully wrote out the words: I LOVE YOU, DADDY
And she put a little heart at the end of it.
She heard the king gasp. Caught off guard by these words so clearly expressed by Astrid. It’s not like she never signed them to him before. Plenty of times. But it was if those words never resonated with him. Not like seeing them written by her, right before his eyes. In response, the king did something that caught Astrid off guard.
He hugged her. King Cal put his burly arms around her and said softly, “I love you too.”
Astrid sank into his arms, getting lost in the strength of them and the sandalwood notes of his cologne. The only thing that could pull them out of this moment, the sound of Vega sobbing.
Never to be outdone, Vega turned her own display of waterworks.
“Vega. What is it, my love? Why are you crying?”
“I-I’m sorry, daddy. I didn’t mean to make Astrid sad. I thought I was helping.”
“Of course, you were, princess. And Astrid understands. Don’t you, Astrid?”
What else could she do, but nod in agreement.
“See? Astrid forgives you.”
By then, Vega had worked herself up to near hyperventilation and said between gasps for air, “…but…do…you…forgive…me…Daddy?”
“Forgive you?” He held open his arm and Vega raced right in. “My future queen never needs my forgiveness.”
He started out holding both girls, but Vega managed to slowly squeeze Astrid out of his arms. Astrid could have hung in there longer, but thought it would be silly to get into a shoving match with her sister just to stay in her father’s arms. She scooted out of the way and went back to her crayons, drawing pictures of her and Daddy dancing together. Meanwhile, Vega looked up at the king and said, “Dance with me, Daddy.”
At once, the king scooped her up and led Vega in the fanciest of all waltzes. While being spun around by her father, Vega took a quick peek at her sister, trying so hard to look like drawing a picture could be anywhere near as fun as the real thing. And just to make sure Astrid knew where the real fun was, Vega sang a beautiful melody, in perfect harmony with her father’s waltz.
It didn’t matter to Astrid. She remembered falling to sleep that night with a smile on her face. She beamed at being so close to her father and hearing him tell her that he loved her. She knew that he loved her. Her mother was always telling her how much her father really, really loved her, even though he wasn’t the best at showing it. But it was something special to actually hear him say it.
Even better, when Astrid woke the next morning, she found Blue Bear tucked in the bed beside her. His button eyes had been restored.
Astrid sat up to find her mother picking broken toys out of the cardboard facility box.
“Good morning, Astrid,” Queen Madelyne said, cheerfully. Her voice had stirred up Vega too. “Good morning, Vega.”
“Morning, Mommy.” Vega said as she yawned.
Astrid could hardly contain her excitement. She signed, “Blue Bear is all better!”
“Yes, love. Blue Bear is all better. I had Nanny Uma give him magical eyes, this time.”
“Magical!” That made Vega sit up. “What makes them magical?”
Madelyne walked over and sat on the edge of Vega’s bed. “Oh well…If he spots that Toy Troll bothering Astrid’s toys again, he has the ability to put that troll in time out.”
And magically, Astrid’s toys were bothered no more.
Why am I thinking about this? Astrid wondered to herself, as she laid on that mattress. Even now, after her memory had been restored, she hadn’t thought about the Toy Troll, or Blue Bear. Blue Bear, whom she had left with Uncle Russ before leaving for the Never Mind.
Why am I thinking about this? In the darkness of this tiny room, in the bowels of the palace, that memory was a light. A warm moment, that Astrid clung to as hope. Confirmation that if she could just get to her father, if she could somehow get word to him, that little spark of love he had displayed that day, so many years ago, would take over. And she would be saved.
All she had to do was figure out a way to let her father know. To get word past this guard, past Edgar, past Chance, and then past Vega.
"Maybe I could find a way to climb…” The tranquilizer pulled her back into another round of sleep before Astrid could finish that thought.
*****
Alone in the forest, it was easy to forget the mission. To let one’s mind wander into happier times, climbing trees or playing hide-and-go-seek. These trees were made for happier times. But there was no time for happy thoughts. Quiet, secluded, with only the rustle of leaves to keep him company, Chance never lost sight of his objective. Now that he was able to separate himself from the other soldiers and get lost deep in the woods, he was able to focus.
When he first returned to Oceali, it took a moment for Chance to get over the devastation. He left under cover of darkness the last time, so he didn’t really get a chance to take in how much the island had changed. A few strategically placed bombs and a paradise had been transformed into a war zone.
This was Vega’s work, he thought to himself, as soon as he stepped off of the helicopter. Vega’s work. Heavy-handed and over the top. If he had been in charge—which he clearly hadn’t been—but if he had been, he would have taken a stealthier approach. Keep the island under surveillance. Identify the weak points then ease in through the openings. Keeps casualties to a minimum and leaves more to salvage once the invasion is complete. There wasn’t much to salvage here.
Half of the Academy’s campus was still intact, just deserted. The rest of it was a charred ruin. After leaving the helicopter, Chance found himself up in the room where they had held him, chained to a bed. The place where he got to know a different version of a girl he had known so well. He took a seat on the same bed where he once charmed Astrid, wooing her until she couldn’t help but fall in love with him. Chance was really good at that. His instructor back in cadet school told him that he was “gifted at making people believe whatever he wanted them to believe,” and it had certainly come in handy this time.
Sitting on the bed, Chance looked out the window and took in the scene. He had spent countless days staring out of this window, watching the kids come and go in and out of colorful buildings. Laughing and carefree. Oblivious to the enemy watching from the window; and the danger that would soon drop out of the sky and blow their happy little world to pieces. Now, there were no kids and hardly any buildings.
“No wonder they couldn’t find any healing waters,” Chance chuckled to himself. “They’ve blown the whole island apart.” He had almost forgotten that the chapel was right across from his window. The only thing left of it was a crumble of stucco, wood, and terracotta tiles.
A thought passed through Chance’s mind. “That’s where I always go for answers.” He remembered Astrid saying those words to him about the chapel.
He wondered.
“It couldn’t be that easy,” he muttered to himself.
The place where Astrid went for answers. The place intended for spiritual healing. Could it also be the source of the Never Mind’s physical healing too? Did they actually build the chapel on top of the healing spring?
He laughed out loud. “No wonder they can’t find it.” It was buried under a ton of rubble. And it was no surprise that Vega couldn’t find it. He suspected that she hadn’t set foot inside of a chapel since her mother died.
This had to be it. It was so out there, so public, so hidden in plain sight, that this had to be where the healing waters were stored. Chance was sure of it. The next question was: How to retrieve them? The answer was simple. He couldn’t. Not in time for the king’s deadline. Which was why Chance found himself presently roaming deep in the forest. He saw only one option and there was very short window to make it happen.
As he walked, he called. The Daughtry Boy’s call. Two hands cupped to his mouth, Chance made the sound of a loon. A sound that bounced off the trees and echoed back to his ears. He had been at it for hours. Taking a few steps, doing the call then waiting for a response. Nothing. The sun was starting to set. They would be looking for him to return soon. He kept calling.
It was starting to sink in that he was wasting precious time. It was the longest of longshots, anyway, that he would get a response. And even if he did get a response, would it be the response he had been looking for?
He kept calling.
Out there all alone, with no one knowing where he was, Chance was well aware that someone from the Underground could shoot him dead and it would be months before anyone ever found him—what was left of him.
He called again. Then pulled out his flashed light. It was getting too dark to see with his natural eye. He’d have to turn around soon. His tracking ability was strong, but even Chance would have a hard time finding his way back through an unfamiliar forest, overly thick with vegetation, in the dark.
He called again.
And then came the response.
The same loon call, fainter and higher pitched, like it came from a boy.
Alfred.
Chance turned and shined his flashlight around until it landed on a pair of big, round eyes, staring back at him from behind a bush.
“Hey there, little Byrd,” Chance whispered. He took a step toward Alfred, who took a step back. “How are you? You hungry? I brought you some cookies.” Chance dipped into his pocket and pulled out a little bag of cookies. He offered them to Alfred, but the boy was frozen. “It’s okay, Al. It’s just me. You’re safe.” Chance could tell by the look on Alfred’s face, he wasn’t so sure that he was safe. Not with Chance. “I see. You don’t trust me anymore.”
Alfred shook his head.
Chance approached, slowly. “Your friends must have told you that I hurt Astrid. That I brought all of this misery to the island.”
That set Alfred off, launching himself into an angry tirade through sign language. Chance had no idea what he was saying.
“Hold on, Al. I don’t understand. Wait…Stop!” Standing right in front of him, Chance knelt down to look him in the eyes. “I get that you’re angry, but there’s no time for that now. Astrid’s in danger.”
That got Alfred’s attention.
He signed something else that Chance couldn’t understand, but he tried respond anyway. “Yes. Astrid. She’s alive, for now. But not for long unless you help me.”
Alfred nodded emphatically: Yes of course. Anything for Astrid.
“I need you to bring me some healing water.”
Alfred’s eyes darkened and he stepped back again. He shook his head.
“It’s not for me, little Byrd. It’s for Astrid.”
Alfred shook his head even more emphatically.
Chance’s radio sprang to life and Alfred jumped. “Kane. Check in.”
At the sound of the enemy’s voice over the radio, Alfred tried to run but Chance grabbed him and covered his mouth, out of reflex, as he momentarily forgot that the boy couldn’t speak.
“Check in, Kane.”
“It’s Kane. I’m on the southwest side, about to head in now.” He turned his attention back to Alfred. “Listen, little Byrd, I’ve gotta go. I can’t force you. All I can do is say it again, Astrid needs your help. I know you don’t trust this uniform, but I need you to trust me. Trust this...” He pointed to the Daughtry Boy symbol tattooed on his arm. Identical to the one seared into Alfred’s arm. “Daughtry Boys stick together.”
*****
She was still there. Somehow, Natalie hadn’t figured out how to let go. She didn’t need to let go, just hold on. As bad as it was when the pain seared through her, Natalie realized that, as soon as the sting ended, the pain did too. She just had to endure the eternity of the eight seconds or so of electricity coursing through her body. Then the pain would cease. And for all of her tough talk, it was clear to Natalie that the Duchess didn’t have that stinger on a kill setting. She had endured the last three zaps by pretending, with each one, that’s what it would feel like to kiss Owen. Each time the clamp came into contact with her skin, she imagined her lips coming into contact with Owen’s lips, sending a surge of energy through her and leaving her breathless.
It was a childish, schoolgirl solution, but she was technically still a schoolgirl and it was working for her.
The Duchess was surprised. She hadn’t expected Natalie to last through one sting—and certainly not three. They could only give five stings before the worn out old electric box started smoking. She took a break while she thought of her next approach. “Ya know, we’re not cruel down here,” she announced, between sips of water. “That’s why the princess sent me instead of leaving you in the hands of the big dumb Oak. We females have to look out for each other, right?”
Natalie grunted something, so the Duchess pulled the mouth guard out of her mouth so she could speak.
Natalie’s words were faint, barely audible.
“Speak up, girlie, I can’t hear ya.”
Natalie strained to raise her voice and the Duchess caught the tail end of, “…up comes the sun and dries up all the rain and the itsy-bitsy spider…”
The Duchess laughed, a dry, hacking, coughing laugh. “Now that’s funny. I’ve heard a lot of things, but I can honestly say, I ain’t never heard that one before. I gotta be honest with you, girlie. I didn’t think you were that tough. A pretty girl like you. I thought you’d fold after the first sting…But you impressed me.”
She held a cup of water to Natalie’s mouth and she lapped it up like a thirsty dog. “Yeah, it’s gonna be a shame to kill you.”
Natalie kept drinking, still unmoved by all the talk of killing. The water wasn’t cool and sweet like home, but it was wet, and her throat had become excruciatingly dry.
“Did they tell you? Two days. They’re getting everything ready now. Quick and painless. One shot to the head and it’s over. Well, I guess the painful part would be watching your friends die.”
Natalie stopped drinking.
“Didn’t know about that part either, huh? They make you sit there and watch as, one by one, your friends stand in front of the firing squad. That won’t be pretty.”
Natalie finally spoke up. “…At least they’ll be free,” though her voice was painfully horse.
“No, they’ll be dead. Now, is that little secret worth all that misery?”
“…Yes.”
It was, wasn’t it? Whatever this water was that the princess was so hot to get her hands on, it must have been priceless. For Highness to carry on this big secret right under her father’s nose. Risking the death penalty for all of them if they got caught, it must have been far more valuable than all the suffering in the world.
That’s when the Duchess realized, she was using the wrong currency against Natalie. This girl wasn’t moved by her own pain or suffering. The Duchess was learning that about these kids from the Never Mind. So, what did move her? She took a seat and studied Natalie more closely. What was it that would get her attention? The thing that the Duchess couldn’t get away from was her beauty. Perfect mouth, perfect nose. Perfectly tousled hair. Even matted with sweat from torture, not a single strand was out of place. A wave of hatred rose up in the Duchess.
She had known girls like this one, as a child. These girls always looked down on her like she was a deficient, when her only deficiency was that she hadn’t been born with the genes for perfect teeth and perfect hair. That’s who this girl was, strapped to the chair before her. Pretty and popular. The kind of girl who never had to lift a heavy object or kill a bug by herself. Who would never cry alone because there would always be some fool tripping over himself to offer his shoulder to cry on. That’s probably why she wasn’t fazed right now. She was expecting someone to come riding in to rescue her, once again. The pretty girl, riding off into the sunset, with her gorgeous mane of hair waving in the wind.
A sudden gleam hit the Duchess’ eye, as she smiled down at Natalie. “How about a makeover, girlie?”
