Page 19 of The Prince's Castaway Baby

“Very good,” she says. I look back at her over my shoulder, and she nods. The approval sends a warm flush all the way through my chest, making my heart thump a little faster. I could get used to this feeling. “You know, I didn’t realize you were going to be such a quick learner.”

She starts walking, and I hesitate, absorbing her words. I jog a little to catch her up, and, with an air of hurt that’s only slightly pretend, I ask, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I’m surprised to see a flash of confusion cross her face. She bites her lip like she’s trying to come up with something nice to say, then stammers, “Well, no offense, but guys like you usually don’t care about learning stuff, and don’t want to listen to the explanation when it’s given.”

“What kind of guy do you think I am?” I ask softly.

We come to a halt, and she turns to face me, pursing her lips like she’s trying to summon the right words to get across her meaning. “I think you’re pretending to be something you’re not,” she says eventually, and it’s surprisingly close to the truth.

She hesitates like she’s waiting for me to say something, but when I don’t, she keeps going. “I think you’re smarter than you let on, and I think you really care about other people. You just seem like you’ve never really had a chance to show it.”

My heart leaps into my mouth as she says this. I feel like I’m under a magnifying glass. No, something that zooms in more. A microscope. Every atom of me is being dissected and analyzed; every sinew of my body is being torn apart with a scalpel and recorded in a little naturalist’s notebook.

She’s seen right through to the very core of me, and somehow she’s still hanging out with me despite it.

I can only gawp in response, and she must think she’s upset me because she turns away, her cheeks flushing pink. “Anyway, let’s keep going?”

She keeps walking without waiting for me, and I chase after her again. I want to say something, but I can’t think of the words. Nobody has ever said something like that to me before.

Usually, it’s allJensen, stop being so annoying, Jensen; you’re an idiot; for God’s sake, why are you making a fool of yourself?I’m so used to being a disappointment that anyone thinking I’m anything else is leaving me dumbfounded.

I wonder what she would think if she knew who I really was.

We head slightly deeper into the forest, and she holds up her hand to stop me. “Okay, here’s a tricky one. What bird is that?” She points up to the sky, indicating that she wants me to listen. I tip my head up like that might help me hear better.

It doesn’t. I’m met with a cacophony of sound: the trees rustling in the wind like whispers, birds singing atonal melodies, frogs and insects screaming into the void. It’s all so loud, like they’re all desperate to be heard over one another.

They say they know which noises birds make for certain things, likewatch out — a predator!orI’m hungry!but I’ve always wondered how they know that. I mean, it’s not like you can go up to a bird and ask it how it’s feeling. Unless it’s a parrot, I guess. But even then, aren’t they just repeating what they hear?

How much do any of us really know about anything?

Before I can get totally existential, Billie adds, “And before you start, yes, you should know this one.”

“You’ve been teaching me plants, not birds,” I pout.

“Just listen, okay? If you’ve been paying attention, you should be able to get it.”

I look up to the sky again and strain my ears to take in everything around us. There is one bird calling slightly louder than the others, and it does sound kind of familiar. She’s right — she hasbeen telling me all about the birds, and if I think hard, maybe I can remember…

“A kite?” I ask, not fully certain, and the way her face splits into a smile makes all the confusion of earlier melt away.

“See, you do pay attention.”

“I guess I must.”

We settle down next to a bush so Billie can try and get some shots of the birds, and my mind starts to wander as I wait.

The thing is, Iampaying attention and Idocare. I’ve never felt like this before, about anything. I’ve never believed that anything was worth my time and effort, but the more I listen to Billie, the more I realize that actually, yes, this does matter.

All this time, I’ve been searching for something to fill in this hole in my heart, the one crying out to be worth more than I am. The one that’s begging me to make a difference somewhere beyond getting into trouble in order to be noticed. Sure, all this sitting around is boring, but it matters.

Everything Billie does matters.

And as I sit here next to her, watching her forehead wrinkle as she concentrates, one eye scrunched up as she peers through the viewfinder, I can hear my heart asking for more. I could listen to her talk about this stuff forever. Her opinion matters to me.

The way she treats me like a person is beyond intoxicating.

The way this makes me feel almost makes me never want to leave.

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