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—”
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 nigh
t 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
I make a feeble attempt to get up,
but my heart’s so heavy
it’s got me pinned to the bed.
When I don’t come down,
he comes up,
and taps lightly on my door.
When I don’t answer,
crack and sticks his head in.
I guess I must be deeply splotchy,
or maybe I look like I’ve been hit by a truck,
because when Whip sees me
his hand flies up to his mouth,
and he takes a step toward me,
like he’s thinking about hugging me.
But when he sees the look I shoot him,
he stops in his tracks.
Just stops and stands there staring at me.
Like I’m the scene of a hideous accident.
I am so not in the mood
to deal with him right now.
“Leave me alone,” I say. “Just go away.”
But he comes over anyway,
and sits down next to me on my bed.
“I heard the phone ring.
Must have been some pretty bad news …”
He puts his hand on my arm, but I pull away.
“Want to tell me about it, Ruby?” he asks,
with his annoying concerned-parent look
plastered across his face.
“Do I appear to want to tell you about it?”
“Well, no,” he says, searching my eyes.
“I guess you don’t.”
Then he says, “I remember when I was fifteen—”
But I cut him off in mid-sentence, hissing,
“It’s always about you, isn’t it?”
He sighs, and stands up, saying,
“The important thing to remember is
that you won’t always feel this awful.”
How the hell does he know how awful I’ll feel?
Why does every word he says make me feel
more and more like strangling him?
He heads toward the door, then turns and says,
“If you change your mind about talking,
I’ll be right downstairs.”
“Get out!” I scream.
“Get out! GETOUT!”
So he does.
And the totally psychotic thing is that as soon as he’s gone
I almost feel like calling him back.
Calling him back,
crawling into his lap,
and pouring it all out.
Just like I used to do with Mom.
I’ve Been Lying on My Bed for Hours
Staring up
at the folds of lace
draped across the canopy overhead.
There were a few minutes there,
when I thought
I was actually going to start crying.
My eyes felt like
these two raging rivers
about to flood their banks.
But the feeling passed.
Now, I’m way splotchy,
but at least I’m numb—
as if my heart’s been Novocained.
I’m Just Lying Here
Still staring up at the lace,
when suddenly it starts
quivering and shimmering,
morphing into a safety net.
And I’m swinging high above it,
inside a circus tent,
holding on to two silver chains,
somersaulting through the air,
a blur of upturned faces watching from below.
Then the blur comes into sharp focus
and I spot Lizzie and Ray grinning up at me
with their fingers woven together.
And suddenly,
my own fingers lose their grip on the chains.
Or maybe I just let go …
And I’m tumbling and tumbling
through air thick as water,
crashing toward the safety net below.
And that’s when I notice a furry tail,
curlicueing in the air behind me.
And I suddenly realize that it belongs to me!
That I’m one of those tiny acrobat monkeys,
from my recurring dream.
And I’m howling just as loud.
But even so, I can hear the man’s voice,
the man with the nice, warm, dry hand,
saying, “I’ll keep you safe.”
I can hear him,
but I can’t see him.
I can only see the safety net,
see it falling into pieces
as the ground races toward me
and—
that’s when I wake up.
7:00 pm
I’m still zombieing,
sitting here on my bed in the dark,
just listening to the rain,
when Max brings up my dinner on a tray.
He switches on the light,
takes one look at me,
and says,
“The first time hurts the most.”
Then
he reaches out to hug me,
and I flop against him
like a rag doll.
Morning After the Rain
It’s the first blue sky,
I mean truly blue sky,
that I’ve seen since I’ve been here.
It’s as though someone’s taken
a giant toothbrush to it
and brushed away all the plaque.
The view’s been magically transformed.
There’s an entire mountain range out there
that I’ve never even seen before!
I fling open the window and breathe in deeply,
filling my lungs
with great huge gusts of clean.
You’d think this would cheer me up.
But it doesn’t.
It just makes me miss my sky back home.
Which gets me thinking
about Lizzie and Ray again.
And about what they did to me.
And when that happens,
my heart slows,
then stops beating altogether,
and sits in my chest like a clenched fist.
He Loves Me
He loves me not.
He said he did.
But he was lying.
I love him not.
I just thought I did, because he
must have put me under a spell or something.
And I bet I know exactly when he did it.
It was on the night we first met.
He was telling me this long involved story
about this time he got stuck in an elevator.
And then,
right in the middle of his sentence,
he forgot what he was saying.
He just stood there staring into my eyes,
with this dreamy smile on his face,
as if he’d suddenly been struck dumb
by my incredible beauty,
as if he couldn’t concentrate
on what he was saying because I was
such a vision of distracting loveliness …
As if h
e loved me.
But he loves me not.
And he never did.
Dear Mom,
How are things six feet under? JK. They’ve got to be better than they are here. My life is a train wreck. Ray dumped me for Lizzie. A week ago today. You never trusted that scuzball. Why didn’t I listen to you? And don’t even get me started on Lizzie, that mega-skank …
Well, I hope both of them choke on their giant Tic Tacs and that while they’re choking and grabbing their throats, while they’re turning three shades of purple and trying to give each other the Heimlich maneuver, while their eyes are rolling up into their heads and they’re gasping in vain for their last breaths of air, that they’ll be thinking of me and how they betrayed me.
You don’t think that’s too harsh, do you, Mom?
Love u 4 ever,
Ruby
There’s Been a Blizzard in Boston
And the Weather Channel’s
been rubbing it in.
24/7.
They keep on showing
all these real irritating clips
of twinkling snowdrifts
and frosted forests.
They keep on showing them.
And I keep on watching them.
I just can’t seem to get myself
to switch off the TV.
I’ve been sitting here glued to the screen,
on the couch by the window,
with the sun streaming in on my head
practically giving me heatstroke.
I’ve been sizzling here,
savoring the memory
of the soft sweet sting
of snowflakes melting on my cheeks.
And the way
the whole world
just seems to white
to a halt.
I’ve been simmering here, with the sun streaming in on my head,
remembering
the delicious suspense
of sitting with Mom listening to the radio
in the early morning after a snowfall
and the miracle of hearing my school’s nam
on the no-school list!
If I have to see one more
deliriously happy kid building a snowman,
I swear I’m going to put my foot
right through the TV screen.
No Wonder I’ve Lost My Appetite
When I’m barely touching my breakfast,
Lizzie and Ray are eating lunch,
sitting alone together in the cafeteria
at that little table over by the window,
where Ray and I always used to eat.
And when I’m staring at my lunch,
Lizzie and Ray are walking home from school,
his hand stuck deep
into the back pocket of her jeans,
the way he used to walk with me.
And when I’m picking at my dinner,
Lizzie and Ray
are writhing around