One of Those Hideous Books Where the Mother Dies (11 page)

And he looks way cute in it …
When Wyatt asks me why
I'm
not in costume,
I tell him I
am
—

that I'm dressed as:
The Only Person at Lakewood
Who
Isn't
Wearing a Costume.

He laughs at this,
and then he does that thing
with his left eyebrow again.

And asks me if I'd like to go
to the Halloween dance with him
tomorrow night!

I'm Speechless

So at first
I just shake my head no.

Then I explain
that Whip's throwing his annual Halloween Ball
and I'm really sorry but there's no way
I can get out of going to it.

And it's only after Wyatt blinds me with his smile,
only after he rests one of his beautiful hands
on each of my shoulders,
gazes into my eyes and says, “Some other time …,”

only after he turns and saunters away,
that I suddenly realize I should have told him
that even if Whip
wasn't
throwing a party
I couldn't have gone to the dance with him.

Because I have a boyfriend back east.
That's what I
should
have done.
But I didn't.
What is the
matter
with me?

After School

Max and I
are lazing on two rubber rafts
in the middle of the pool,
floating in a galaxy of sun stars,
talking about life and love.

“Okay, Aunt Max,” I say.
“I'm in love with Ray, right?”
“Right,” he says.
“Then how come
I keep flirting with Wyatt?”

Max considers this.
“Well, maybe it's because
sometimes your body does things
that your heart disapproves of. At least
mine
does.”

“You skank!” I cry.
Max splashes me.
“Look who's talking!” he says.
I'm
not a skank!” I say, splashing him back.
“That's exactly my point,” he says.

“Are you in love with anyone, Max?”
My question seems to take him aback.
But he recovers quickly and says, “Yes. I am.”
“Then why haven't you introduced me to him?”
“Your dad thought you might not approve.”

I'm stunned.
“You mean, he
knows
you're gay?”
“Of course,” Max says. “Doesn't everybody?”
“Oh. Sure,” I say,
trying to act like I
knew
that.

“What's your boyfriend's name?” I ask.
“Ripley,” he says.
“That's not a very hunky name,” I say.
“He doesn't
look
like a Ripley,” Max says.
What does a Ripley look like …?

Then I take a deep breath
and ask Max another question,
since we're on the subject of love:
“Is there something going on
between Whip and Cameron?”

Max raises an eyebrow.
“Sorry, Ruby,” he says. “I'm sworn to secrecy.
If you want to know the answer
to that particular question,
you'll have to ask your father.”

Yeah, right. Like I'd ever ask
him
.

Happy Halloween?

Whip and Max
and a cast of thousands
have spent the whole day
turning his palm forest
into a haunted cemetery.

They've rigged up leaping skeletons,
and all these mist machines
and spooky lights,
tested out recordings of evil cackling,
carved scary grins onto dozens of pumpkins,
and planted hundreds of grave stones.

I've watched it all from my bedroom window,
trying to push away the memory of Mom's casket
being slowly lowered into the ground,
push away the memory of the echoing thud
that the wilted bouquet of roses made
when I tossed them down to her.

I am so not in the mood to party …
But, all of a sudden,
Whip's hair guy and makeup lady
and wardrobe woman show up at my door
and start morphing me into Cinderella,
like a trio of fairy-tale mice.

Maybe I could party just a little …

Dear Lizterene,

Well? How was the dance? What was your costume? Who did you dance with? Was Ray there? Was Amber? What was she dressed as? Let me guess: a hooker? I bet she asked Ray to slow dance with her … Oh, I can't bear thinking about it. But I can't stop thinking about it. Lizzie, you have got to tell me everything! What happened at that dance?!

Whip's bash boggled the mind. Try to imagine a party without any wannabes, just bes. There were so many movie stars wandering around here that I felt like I'd fallen right into the pages of People magazine. Everyone you can think of was here: Julia Roberts, Nicole Kidman, Jack Black, Reese Witherspoon. Even Ashton Kutcher and Ben Affleck, and that guy Damon Wayans with a couple of his brothers. When I was introduced to Steve Martin, he pinched my cheek and told me I'd grown into a fine young woman! And Leonardo DiCaprio kissed my hand, I swear to God! I kept wishing that you were here with me. But, on the other hand, I'm glad you were at the dance—so you can report on if anything happened between Amber and Ray DID IT? Come on, Lizzie, you have got to tell all.

xxx,

Ruby

P.S. Cameron was at the party, too, but she and Whip acted like they were “just good friends.” I wonder what the truth

Dear Ray,

Well? I hope you guys finished the Tic Tac box in time for Lizzie to go to the dance. Did you go, too? Was it fun?

I met loads of famous people at Whip's Halloween party, including Leonardo DiCaprio, Ben Affleck, and Ashton Kutcher. They're even sexier in person than they are in the movies. But not nearly as sexy as you. I can't believe I'm going to see you in person - in just 25 days. I'm so excited!

xxx

Dooby

Even Whip's Getting Into the Spirit of It Now

This afternoon he asked me to tell him what Ray was
into
.
And when I told him Ray wants to be an architect,
these two light bulbs switched on in his eyes.

He popped me into his 1953 Skylark roadster
and took me right over to this cool store
that specializes in books on architecture.

We spent a couple of hours there,
looking through the books together,
picking out a pile of them for the guest room.

Then we bought a deluxe set of wooden blocks.
“Just in case Ray gets inspired
while he's out here,” Whip said.

I have to admit
that was sort of a cool idea,
even though blocks are for kids.

Maybe Ray and I will even play with them
when he comes out here …
build a model of
Ruby's Slipper
together …

Some days
it's a little harder to dislike my father
than others.

In the Guest Room

I put a few of the books
on the coffee table
in front of the love seat.

I set a couple of them
in the magazine rack in his bathroom.
And the rest I arrange on the shelves.

I pile the blocks into
a big wicker basket by the French doors
that open out to Ray's balcony.

Then I climb into his bed,
settle myself among the satin pillows,
close my eyes,

and try to picture
what will be happening in this very room
on November 25th.

Dear Lizzie,

I'm starting to panic. I haven't heard from Ray or you since the day before the dance. That was six days ago! I hate this. What happened at that dance? Did Ray finally fall for Amber? Is that why you haven't written to me? You can't bear to break it to me? Come on, girlfriend, give it to me straight.

Anxiously yours,

Ruby

Time

Sometimes it just sort of flits by
like a bright-feathered bird
on its way south for the winter.

Other times
it's like in those movies
when people fall in love,
and in that first moment,
when their eyes lock,
the hands on all the clocks freeze.

The last ten days,
it's been more like
in one of those nightmares
where I'm running and running and running
to escape from the monster
but, somehow, I'm not moving forward …

Each school day lasts for eons.
Then I rush home to check my phone machine
and my e-mail box and my snail-mail box.
But every day they're empty.
And every day feels twice as long
as the one before it.

At this rate, I'll be a hundred years old
before I hear from Lizzie.
Or from Ray.

I Didn't Think I'd Actually Do It

But the auditions for
Pygmalion
were after school today.
And even though my mind said
okay, it's time to go home now
,
my body refused to head outside.

Instead, it dragged me up the stairs
right into Barnum Hall
with Wyatt and Colette
and all the other kids.

And even though my mind said
well, all right, we'll watch for a while
but we're not going to audition
,
my body lunged forward
and dragged me straight up the aisle
and grabbed the pencil
and signed my name on the list
and took the number the drama coach handed me.

I didn't think I'd actually do it,
but when my number was called,
my body climbed the steps to the stage
and my mouth opened up
and read all the lines aloud.

I didn't think I'd actually do it.
But now I've done it.
And my body is entirely to blame.

When I Get Home from School

There's a message on my phone machine.
I play it back.
It's from Ray!
Relief washes over me like warm rain.

He says, “I really wish you were there, babe.”
Then he says, “I need to talk to you.
About the Thanksgiving plan.
Call me back tonight, Dooby. Okay?”

Wow!
Suddenly his visit seems
so real.
And so
close
!

I'll be with him
only a week from today.
I'm grinning wider than wide,
just thinking about it.

I punch in his number, breathless.
But his line's busy.
So, I start playing back his message,
over and over again.

“I really wish
you were there, babe …
I really wish
you were there, babe …”

Suddenly, My Phone Rings

I grab it and answer, “Ray?!”
There's a short silence
on the other end of the line.
Then I hear Lizzie's uncertain voice, “Ruby … ?”

“Wow, Lizzie, it's you!” I say.
“Shouldn't I call you right back, though?
Didn't The Evil Stepmom say
you weren't allowed to call long distance?”

“No,” she says. “It's okay.”
That's when I notice
that her nose sounds stuffed.
“Is everything all right, Liz?”

Silence.
“Lizzie? Have you been crying?”
Still no answer.
“Lizabeth … ?”

“Well, yeah,” she finally sniffs. “I have.”
Then she says in this real wavery voice,
“Ray was supposed to be
the one to tell you, but—”

Ray?!
My heart hurls itself against my ribs.
“Oh, no …” I say.
“It's Amber, isn't it?”

Another silence.
Then, “No, it's not
Amber
,”
she says with a heavy sigh.
“It's … it's …”

But she can't seem to get herself
to say whatever it is out loud.
“Come on, Lizzie,” I plead.
“Just tell me.”

“Oh, Ruby,” she finally moans.
“I didn't mean for it to happen …”
And suddenly,
all the blood in my body freezes.

I know what she's trying to tell me.
“It's
you
, isn't it?” I whisper.
“Yeah. Me,” she says, bursting into sobs.
“I'm so sorry, Ruby. So, so sorry …”

I listen to her crying for a few seconds,
then I hang up the phone,
and shatter—
like a windshield in a head-on collision.

My Phone Rings Again

I just lie here on my bed
and let the phone machine answer.
This time it's Ray:

“Ruby, babe … ? Aw, Dooby, please pick up. I
know you're there … This mega-sucks. I just got
off the phone with Lizzie. I hope you don't
hate me … Oh, I don't know. Maybe it would be
better if you
did
hate me … Geez. I feel like
such a complete scumbag.”

He waits for a few seconds,
as though he's hoping I'll pick up.
Then he mumbles good-bye and hangs up.

And for the first time
since I've been in L.A.,
a cloud rolls in front of the sun,

turning everything
that's warm and gold—
cold.

And Suddenly—It's Raining

Finally raining!
And the drops seem in a hurry
to fall from the sky,
rushing down in angry sheets,
shoving each other out of the way
to be sucked up first by the parched ground.

It's raining.
Finally raining!
And if this had happened yesterday,
nothing could have kept me from running
outside and doing a wild barefoot dance
in the wet grass.

It's raining.
Finally raining.
But I don't feel
one bit like dancing.
Not now.
Not ever again.

I Used to Love the Rain

The way it filled the air
with the musky smell
of earth,

the way it painted
the streets
with glistening neon light,

the way it turned
the inside of your Mustang
into a snug cocoon.

Now
I hate
the rain.

I hate it
for reminding me
of that night last summer

when the rain
licked at my lashes
while your lips covered mine.

I used to love the rain.
You used to love
me.

I've Got This Insane Urge

To call up Lizzie right now
and tell her what happened.
Because this is exactly the kind of disaster
she's so brilliant at helping me through.

She knows just what to say.
And not to say.
Just what to do.
And not to do.

Lizzie's always been there
to help me survive my disasters.
But this time,
Lizzie is my disaster.

Who'll help me through
this
one?

Whip Calls Me Down to Dinner