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Roland
Roland slumped back on the couch in the family room, the remote dangling from one hand, the figures of a black and white Sherlock Holmes movie flitting in the corner of his vision. His gaze rested on the armor of a German knight that stood tall and proud—though often overlooked— in the corner of the room. Fluted metal plates, a mail skirt, and the full, gothic helmet would have protected the knight in battle. Points jutted out from the elbows, knees, and feet, giving it a fearsomeness appearance.
If Roland lived in medieval times, and he wanted to be a knight, he would’ve been a page for the past seven years. Now, at age fourteen, he would move up to squire. Squires were considered to be young men. They learned the Code of Chivalry, bravery, and the use of various weapons. In seven years, he would become a knight.
With all that training and preoccupation with obtaining his own shining armor, would he even be thinking about girls? Yeah. Probably.
Roland leaned his head back, no longer focusing on anything.
He sure wasn’t ready for a girlfriend, so why had it made him jealous to see Caitlyn with Keefe? They hadn’t even been holding hands. But Keefe’s eyes held a look. Caitlyn’s eyes, too.
Why did his temperature spike, his palms sweat, and his mouth go dry, every time she got near? Why couldn’t he just see her as a friend, the way he saw Peter? His temperature sure didn’t spike when Peter got near. His temper did, sometimes, but not his temperature.
Was Jarret really doing it with Zoe? Yeah, he was. Why else would she have been in his bedroom? Was Caitlyn right? Should he say something to Papa? It wasn’t his business. Was it? What did she mean Zoe was in trouble? She didn’t mean pregnant, did she? No. Zoe didn’t look pregnant.
“Hey, Roland.”
Roland sat bolt upright. The remote flew from his hand and cracked into the coffee table.
“You doing anything?” Keefe strolled around the couch. Socks made his steps silent.
Roland snatched the remote from the floor. “No. Not really.” He shut off the TV. He hadn’t been following the show anyway.
Keefe sat down beside him, rubbed his hands down his thighs, and bit his bottom lip. “I, uh, wanted to ask you something.”
“Okay.” Roland slumped back, waiting, wondering what made Keefe so nervous.
Keefe’s eyes rolled upward, and he continued biting his lip. “Um . . .”
Footfalls came from the direction of the garage or the veranda. Then Jarret, wearing riding boots, sauntered into the room. “So, what’d he say?” He stood with legs spread and hands on hips, grinning.
Keefe jumped up, shaking his head wildly at Jarret. He rushed him and whispered, stuttering, “I-I didn’t ask him yet.”
Roland sighed. Once the two of them had mended their relationship, it hadn’t taken long for Keefe to resume his position as Jarret’s bird dog. Would things ever change? Keefe had even cut his hair as a sign of his—
“Roland.” Keefe leaned over the back of the couch, his hand brushing Roland’s shoulder.
Jarret, snickering, strutted past and left the room.
“Yeah?” Roland twisted to face Keefe, wishing he’d just be out with it. He always seemed so tortured when carrying out Jarret’s plans.
“Do you . . . have a girlfriend?”
“Do I what?” Now Roland bit his lip. What kind of a question was that? “No. I don’t have a girlfriend. Why?” He glanced to see if Jarret stood listening from somewhere nearby but caught no sign of him.
“Well, because . . .” Keefe came around the couch again and sat on the coffee table. “I like someone, and I know she’s your friend.”
Roland huffed as it dawned on him. Caitlyn. This wasn’t about Jarret after all. “What, do you want my permission to go out with her? She doesn’t even date.”
Keefe glanced toward the great room, the room through which Jarret had disappeared. “Yeah, I know that. And I-I guess I do want your permission. She’s your friend, right? I get the impression you’re close. So I’m asking you first. I guess I’ll have to ask her father next. I don’t know a thing about courtship. I’ll have to learn.”
Keefe rubbed his stubbly hair. “I really like her. She’s different from other girls.” He leaned forward, his eyes intense. “Do you think she likes me?”
Roland’s mouth had fallen open while Keefe spoke. He couldn’t believe his ears. Keefe wanted to see Caitlyn? “I-I don’t know. You’re nice enough.”
Keefe slapped and rubbed Roland’s thigh. “It won’t bother you if I ask her?”
He shrugged. Would it bother him? Yeah, it would bother him. He really liked her. She wasn’t like other girls. In fact, he could see her being his girlfriend . . . someday. Not today. No, he really wasn’t ready for that . . . But Keefe was. She probably was. It wouldn’t be fair to Keefe or to her for him to stand in the way.
Fighting back feelings of jealousy, Roland took a breath and tried to sound indifferent. “I’m not ready for a girlfriend, all that drama and involvement. I’m only fourteen, you know.”
Keefe bit his lip, nodded, and then smiled and exhaled a ton of air.