A Heart on Trial
From Welcome to Keystone Novel 10: Take Me To Court!: Chapter 1, Scene 4
Unbeknownst to Johnny, Delia Drake was actually much closer to relenting and agreeing to reignite their relationship than she appeared to be whenever they encountered each other during school hours. So close in fact that, just like Johnny, she was now standing in front of her white wood bureau, which had fancy black handles, peering down at a fancy black metal picture frame that housed the same picture of herself and Johnny that he had just been mourning over in his own bedroom down in the valley.
“Johnny,” moaned Delia, shaking her head in a mixture of sadness and disappointment as she despondently eyed how attractive he looked in his baggy jeans, black boots, and white short-sleeve polo shirt, which had wide and thin dark blue stripes printed on it. “Why did you have to fall into Cahuenga’s trap? Why did you have to get drunk and act like a total idiot so that I can’t be seen with you anymore? Because if you hadn’t, we’d still be together right now.”
For a moment, Delia stared hard at her boyfriend’s handsome face, almost hoping that his brown eyes, which were clearly twinkling with happiness as he stood with his arm wrapped around her in the photograph, could offer her some sort of explanation that would suddenly make everything okay again. But then she angrily shook her head and slammed the picture back down on top of the bureau.
“No,” said Delia, sternly shaking her head at herself as she crossed her arms over the silky light pink spaghetti-strap nightgown, which had a short lettuce-edged hem and white lace trim with a white bow at the neckline, that she was wearing underneath an open light pink silky knee-length robe that had white lace trim and scalloped cuffs at the end of the long sleeves. “I can’t do this. I can’t let myself start missing him.”
Deciding that she needed to get her mind on something else as quickly as possible, Delia turned, paced over to her black wood-framed queen-size bed in her bare feet, and began to fluff up her white pillows, which had black trim at the seams. But despite her best efforts, it was only a matter of seconds before she found her eyes drifting back to Johnny’s picture.
Dropping her pillow back into place, Delia let out a defeated sigh, straightened up, and crossed her arms again. “But I do miss him,” she admitted to herself. “And I want to get back together with him.” She shook her head. “But I can’t. Because if I do, my reputation will be ruined too.”
As Delia drew in a deep shaky breath and reached up to wipe at the tears that were starting to prick at the backs of her brown eyes, her bedroom door suddenly opened, and her thirteen-year-old brother, Prescott, stood there dressed in sneakers, jeans that had rolled-up cuffs and a black belt threaded through the belt loops, a white short-sleeve button-down shirt that had jungle-green pinstripes printed on it, and an open white button-down long-sleeve cardigan that had black buttons, jungle-green trim at the collar, cuffs, and patch pockets, jungle-green and white stripes printed at the elbows and across the middle, and a jungle-green “P” that was stitched over the heart.
Her despondent expression immediately turning to one of annoyance upon spotting her brother, Delia quickly looked down at her bed so that her loose long curly brown hair would fall forward and shield her tearful eyes from view. “Ever heard of knocking?” she demanded as she pretended to busy herself with turning down the white comforter, which was adorned with large loopy black flower petal outlines that were embroidered around salmon-pink flower centers, that covered her mattress.
“Sorry,” Prescott quickly apologized as he clasped his hands behind his back. “But Dad told me to barge right in since you’ve been refusing to let anyone come in here ever since you came home from school.”
“So you’re his messenger,” Delia realized as she plopped down on her bed. “Is that it?”
As Delia looked up at him with a questioning expression on her face, Prescott just shrugged. “Yeah,” he replied. “Kind of, I guess. He told me to come up here and ask why you didn’t want to have dinner with us tonight.”
Letting out an annoyed sigh, Delia once again let her eyes drift down to her comforter. “I already told him that I wasn’t feeling well,” she grumbled. “So what else does he want me to say?”
“Uh,” began Prescott as his sister started to trace one of her comforter’s flower petal outlines with her finger, “I guess that maybe he’s looking for the truth?” When Delia slowly looked up and gave him a disbelieving look, he shook his head and announced, “He doesn’t believe that you’re sick, Delia.”
“Why not?” demanded Delia. “I’m sitting here in my pajamas at six-thirty at night, aren’t I?”
Prescott nodded. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Yeah, you are. And that’s the same thing I did right after I finally got rescued from the Riches bomb shelter after being held hostage in there for almost an entire month.”
Looking up at her brother again, Delia gave him a disgusted look. “Get real, Prescott,” she ordered as she shook her head. “Dad doesn’t honestly think that I got held hostage for a while just because I feel like going to bed super early, does he?”
Prescott shook his head. “No,” he replied. “I don’t think so. But I think he does think that something’s really bothering you. Because for the last week or so, you’ve been really mopey and sad.”
“Yeah, well, if he thinks that I’m actually going to spill my guts and tell you what my problem is, then he’s crazy,” grumbled Delia as she went back to tracing her flower petal outline. “So could you just get out of here? I want to be alone.”
But instead of leaving as his sister had requested, Prescott took a few steps into the room and took a deep breath. “It’s Johnny, isn’t it?” he guessed as he stopped a couple of feet from the bed. “He’s the reason you’re so miserable.”
Looking up at her brother again, Delia gave him a hard look. “How’d you come up with that?” she demanded.
Prescott just shrugged. “I don’t know,” he replied. “Just the fact that I haven’t seen him around here in a while, I guess. And the fact that when he was still calling here and trying to make plans to hang out, you kept telling me to tell him that you weren’t here.”
“That’s because he’s an idiot,” muttered Delia as she started to pick at the white polish that coated her fingernails. “An idiot who did something really stupid that makes anyone who hangs around with him look bad now.”
“And an idiot who you still love,” observed Prescott. As his sister slowly looked back up at him with a completely disgusted expression on her face, he shook his head and continued with, “Delia, do you remember what you said to me a few weeks ago? You know, when I was afraid to go to court and testify against Sylvester Riches after he kidnapped me.”
“No,” Delia slowly replied as she suspiciously narrowed her eyes at her brother. “Why?”
“Because I think it’s advice that you need to follow now,” replied Prescott. “And that advice is to take control of your life again by pushing back against those people who are making fun of Johnny and anyone who hangs out with him.” He shook his head. “Because I really don’t think you’re going to be happy until you do.”
“Thank you so much for throwing that back in my face right now,” Delia sarcastically said as she swung her legs over the side of her bed, stood up, and started to walk toward Prescott.
“What?” Prescott warily asked as Delia reached him, took his arm, and began to drag him toward her door. “I thought it was good advice when you said it!”
“Yeah,” agreed Delia, firmly nodding as she continued to pull Prescott across her off-white carpet. “I’m sure it was. But there’s one thing you don’t know here.”
“What’s that?” Prescott curiously asked as he stumbled backward out into the hallway.
Releasing Prescott’s arm, Delia took hold of her door and looked him squarely in the eye. “I’ve already done all I can do to take control of this situation,” she informed him. And with that, she slammed the door in her brother’s face, buried her face in her hands, and promptly burst into tears.
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