Better You Than Me

by Jessica Brody

  After showering, I blow-dry my hair. There are no round brushes in the bathroom, so I have to make do with a regular one. But I still manage to get a nice wave going by wrapping the ends of Skylar’s hair around the brush and blasting it with heat. I also flip my head upside down and blow-dry the roots from underneath, which gives them some lift.

  Next, I go to work on Skylar’s face. I search the bathroom and kitchen for supplies, collecting an old toothbrush, a tub of Vaseline, a coffee filter, an overly ripe avocado, and a carton of raspberries.

  First, I mash up the avocado and apply it to Skylar’s cheeks, chin, and forehead like a face mask. Cami often does this to my skin when she wants it to have a little extra glow. While the mask sits, I dab a little bit of Vaseline onto my fingertip and rub it into Skylar’s blond lashes. Then I use the old toothbrush to comb it through. The effect is immediate. The Vaseline darkens Skylar’s lashes, while the toothbrush gives them length and fullness. Cami once did this for me on the episode where Miles and Ruby went camping in the woods and stumbled across a tribe of leprechauns. Because my character was supposed to have been camping for three days, my face couldn’t look made-up, so Cami used a bunch of beauty hacks.

  I scrape off the avocado mask with a wet washcloth, immediately noticing the new shimmer of Skylar’s skin. Then I use the coffee filter to blot the oiliness around her T-zone.

  Next, I squeeze a few of the raspberries between my fingers until my fingertips are stained pink. Then I rub them across my lips and dab at my cheeks. The pop of color is perfect. Not too bright. Just subtle enough to make a difference. Finally, I zip up the fabulous new dress I bought for Skylar and give a quick twirl in front of the mirror.

  When I study my finished product in the mirror, I’m feeling really proud of myself. It’s not a TV-show-worthy transformation, but it’s definitely an improvement. Skylar looks great. Her skin is glowing, her cheeks are rosy, her eyes are bright, and her hair falls in soft waves around her shoulders.

  When I emerge from the bathroom, I stand in front of Rebecca—who is seated in her usual reading chair—and strike a red carpet–worthy pose. Skylar’s mom looks up from her reading and flashes me a smile. “You look nice,” she says, and then dips her head back to her book.

  Nice? I think, feeling a little stung. All that work and the only response I get is “nice”?

  What about the new dress? What about the hair? What about Skylar’s glowing cheeks? Maybe she just can’t see my handiwork because the light is too low. I take a step toward her and duck my head down so it falls into the beam of her reading light. “What do you think?” I ask, batting my eyelashes.

  Skylar’s mom squints, like she’s a doctor examining a patient.

  “Do you notice anything different?” I prompt.

  “Hmmm,” she says, turning her head this way and that. “No. Did you do something different?”

  I can’t help feeling just a twinge of disappointment. How could she not notice? Skylar looks so much better than she did only an hour ago. My own mother would have noticed the changes right away. She would have been applauding me for my ingenuity and creativity.

  In fact, she would have been in that bathroom and kitchen with me, whipping out ingredients like a crazed chef on a cooking show, saying things like “Oh, I read on a beauty vlog that coconut oil works really well as a moisturizer!”

  And in that one instant, as I’m standing in front of Skylar’s mom, all decked out in my dress and homemade beauty products, and she’s staring back at me with a blank, confused expression, I kind of, sort of miss my mom.

  I know it sounds crazy. I mean, she’s basically been the bane of my existence for the past four years, but she’s still my mom. And I know she would be proud of me right now.

  You can always tell when my mom is proud. Like after I’ve nailed a particularly dramatic or poignant scene in the show. Or when I step out of the recording booth after belting out an incredibly high note in a song. She gets this really bright beaming smile on her face. It’s like it completely takes her over.

  “Never mind,” I mumble, and Skylar’s mom goes back to her book.

  I bend my head to get a glimpse at the title. “What are you reading?”

  She sticks her finger between the pages to mark her place and then flips it closed. “Jane Eyre.”

  “For work?” I ask.

  “No. I just like to pick it up from time to time. It’s one of my favorites.”

  Warmth travels through me and I can’t help but smile. Who cares if Rebecca doesn’t notice a little Vaseline on my eyelashes or a little curl in my hair? I mean, she’s reading Charlotte Brontë for fun. She’s still pretty awesome.

  The doorbell rings and I give a giddy little leap. I open the door to find all three Ellas standing there, looking fantastic in their sparkly dresses, with their made-up faces and white-toothed smiles.

  “You look so fab,” Daniella says. “Love the hair.”

  I beam at the compliment but then try to play it cool with a shrug. “Thanks.”

  “Bye…Mom,” I call back to Rebecca.

  “Bye, sweetie!” she calls from her reading chair. “Have fun!”

  As I shut the door behind me and follow the Ellas down the stairs to the parking lot, I momentarily flash back to the text Skylar sent earlier.

  You don’t know the Ellas like I do. You shouldn’t trust them

  But I think it’s her who doesn’t really know them. Not like I know them. We’re friends now. There’s absolutely nothing to be worried about.

  This is going to be a night to remember.

  I can’t believe it! I am on my way to the Tween Choice Awards in a limo. Yes, an actual limo. I’ve never been in a limo before. It has everything! A TV, a killer stereo system, a bar stocked with sodas and yummy snacks. It even has Wi-Fi!

  As we drive to the theater, I can’t stop touching things. I turn the TV on and off. Then the radio. Then I open the sunroof and close it.

  “Ruby!” Eva scolds from the seat next to me. “Will you quit it? I have a headache the size of Texas.”

  I shrink back in my seat and stifle a yawn. “Sorry.”

  “I don’t think this Bowl Diet is working. I’m feeling faint all the time,” Eva complains, pinching a layer of skin on her upper arm. “Ryder’s mom told me about this amazing new thing called the Taste Patch. You basically stick this patch on your tongue and it makes every piece of food you eat taste horrible.”

  I squint at her, trying to gauge whether she’s serious, but I honestly can’t tell. “Why would you want food to taste bad?” I ask.

  “So you don’t eat it!” she snaps. “Obviously.”

  “Oh. Right. Obviously,” I reply, even though this still makes no sense to me whatsoever. Thankfully, I’m saved from having to hear more about the Taste Patch when Ruby’s phone rings and I pull it out of my tiny clutch. It’s that Lesley person again. I’m about to ignore her when Eva glances at the screen and sits up straighter.

  “It’s Lesley! Pick it up! She could be calling about the contract negotiations. Wait, why is she calling you?” And before I can respond, she rips the phone from my grasp and answers the call.

  “Lesley, it’s Eva. Were you trying to get ahold of me?” She pauses and listens. “Uh-huh…Well, what’s taking so long?…Uh-huh…You’ve got to be kidding me. Those slimeballs! What do they think they’re— Oh? What for?…Well, yes, I know you’re Ruby’s agent, but I’m Ruby’s manager.”

  So that’s who Lesley is! She’s Ruby’s agent!

  “Okay, hold on.” Eva passes me the phone. “She wants to talk to you.”

  My eyes widen in alarm. “Me? Why?”

  Eva shrugs. “Something about a new frozen yogurt place she found on Melrose. Although I can’t imagine why. She knows you can’t have frozen yogurt.”

  I shakily take the phone an
d press it to my ear. “Hello?”

  “Ruby!” comes a screechy voice. “What do think you’re doing?”

  I glance around the interior of the huge car. “Riding in a limo to the Tween Choice Awards?”

  She sighs. “I mean by not picking up yesterday. I told you I couldn’t hold them off any longer.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Eva staring intensely at me.

  “Uh…,” I hesitate. “I’m sorry. Things have been a little crazy.”

  Lesley huffs into the phone. “Okay, look. This is important. I need an answer right this second.”

  An answer? About what? This doesn’t sound like it has anything to do with fro-yo. Oh gosh, I can’t be making important decisions about Ruby’s life! Maybe if I could just tell Lesley to hang on and call Ruby on the other line and—

  “Are you doing the fifth season or not?” Lesley asks bluntly.

  My thoughts come screeching to a halt.

  WHAT?

  “Of Ruby of the Lamp?” I clarify.

  Lesley sounds like she’s choking on something. “Yes, of course! What did you think I was talking about? American freaking Idol?”

  I don’t get it. Why on earth would Ruby not do the fifth season? I’ve read the script. It ends on a total cliffhanger! Plus, I helped Barry and the writers figure out a way to reunite Ruby with her mother. If Ruby doesn’t do another season, we’ll never get to see it!

  Obviously, there’s been some kind of mix-up. Obviously, I don’t have the full picture. Obviously, Ruby is planning to do the next season. She wouldn’t just leave her fans hanging like that.

  “Look, I know your mom is right there,” Lesley says quietly. “I told her I wanted to talk to you about frozen yogurt, so let’s just say this. If you want to do season five, say ‘rainbow sprinkles.’ But if you want to turn it down, say ‘coconut flakes.’ ”

  There’s silence on the other end, and even though it’s through a phone, it still feels heavy and thick. And then there’s Eva, still staring at me like the world is ending outside this car and the woman on the other end of the phone is giving us directions to the safety shelter.

  I’m doing the right thing, I tell myself.

  Ruby would want it this way.

  The fans would want it this way.

  I can’t let down the fans.

  “Ummm, I think you should go with the…,” I begin in a shaky voice. “…rainbow sprinkles.”

  There’s another long pause on the phone. This one feels more like surprise than anything else. “Are you sure?” Lesley finally asks.

  “Yes.” I say.

  “Are you really sure?”

  Gosh, why is she acting like I’m agreeing to lock Ruby in jail and throw away the key? It’s just another season of the show. A very popular and successful show, I might add. That brings joy to many kids—including me.

  I glance at Eva out of the corner of my eye. “Yes. Definitely sprinkles.”

  Lesley sighs. “Okay, I’ll let the Channel know. Put your mom back on.”

  I hand the phone back to Eva, and she gabs to Lesley the rest of the ride.

  When the limo pulls to a stop, Eva motions for me to get out and mouths, “I’ll meet you inside.” I nod and open the door. But as soon as I step outside, thoughts of the show and the phone call instantly vanish as I’m blinded by a thousand flashes of light.

  My stomach is doing backflips as we walk down the long, empty hall toward the gym. I can hear music playing in the distance, and I start to get giddy at the thought of my first school dance. What will it be like? Will there be fancy decorations and a live band and a table full of yummy appetizers? Will everyone be dancing and jumping around and having the time of their lives?

  We reach the doorway and I stop in my tracks, certain the Ellas must have led me to the wrong place. This doesn’t look anything like I’d imagined. This doesn’t even look like a dance.

  There are no decorations.

  There is no food table.

  There is no band.

  In fact, there’s not even a DJ. It’s just some older guy—who looks like someone’s dad—standing in the corner, scrolling through an iPod hooked up to the speaker system.

  And no one is dancing.

  Okay, that’s not true. A few people are dancing. But they’re all teachers. I spot the PE teacher attempting to do some kind of sad excuse for a pop-and-lock move.

  The “dance floor”—if you can even call it that—is just a wide rectangular section in the middle of the gym that’s only recognizable by the kids milling around the edges. They’re all clustered in small groups, talking in hushed voices and glancing furtively around at the other groups like a bunch of little spies. What is going on? Have these people never seen a movie about a school dance? Don’t they know you’re supposed to like…you know…dance? It’s in the title of the event!

  Otherwise, why not just call it a middle school stand-around?

  I glance to the Ellas to see if they’re just as shocked by this development as I am, but they seem like they expected as much. They beeline to a spot next to the bleachers, form a tight little circle, and immediately start talking about what everyone is wearing.

  I run over to join them. “Um, you guys, why is no one dancing?” I ask, interrupting Daniella’s breakdown of what some girl named Andrea is wearing, like Daniella is a fashion commentator on the red carpet.

  The three girls shoot me an odd look. “That’s just what you do,” Daniella says.

  “Yeah, it’s like a rule,” Isabella adds.

  I look to Gabriella, hoping for more of an explanation, but she just shrugs and repeats, “Yeah, it’s basically like a rule.”

  Does that girl ever have an original thought?

  Then they all go back to their discussion on clothing. But I can’t participate. Not only do I not care about dissecting the wardrobe of every single girl in this room, I came here to dance!

  Who cares what the rule is? Maybe no one is dancing because everyone’s too afraid to be first. Maybe they just need someone to show them it’s okay. Someone brave enough to get this party started.

  I glance around the gym until my gaze lands on Ethan. He’s huddled with a group of his own friends on the other side of the room, talking and laughing. He looks really cute in khaki pants, a button-down shirt, and still-wet hair. I don’t know what it is, but why are boys infinitely cuter when they dress up? It doesn’t take much. A nicer shirt, a shower, pants that don’t have holes in them. But it makes a world of difference. I feel a sizzle of electricity travel through me at the thought of what I’m about to do.

  This is my chance to fully redeem myself after what happened in the hallway yesterday. This is my chance to redeem Skylar. He clearly has a crush on her and I totally devastated him when I didn’t remember his name.

  I peer back at Daniella, thinking about what she said at the mall yesterday, about turning him down. She swore she didn’t like him. She even made a face at the mention of his name, which means he’s totally fair game for anyone else.

  While the Ellas are still fully engaged in the creation of their own version of the Best- and Worst-Dressed Lists, I turn and walk purposefully across the gym. I can feel people’s eyes on me. I know they’re wondering what I’m doing, breaking away from my little group, defying the rules of the middle school stand-around.

  Ethan’s back is to me, so he can’t see me. But all the guys around him immediately fall quiet when I approach. I tap him on the shoulder and he turns around, looking genuinely surprised to see me. He gives me a quick once-over and I see a small smile make its way onto his face.

  He likes the dress.

  “Hey, Ethan.” I emphasize his name, so he knows that I remembered it this time.

  “Hey, Skylar,” he replies, unable to look me in the eye.

&nb
sp; I gesture to the dance floor. “Do you want to dance?”

  For a moment, he looks panicked, like I’ve just asked him to rob a bank. “But no one else is dancing,” he says nervously.

  I shrug. “So?”

  That seems to stump him. “Oh.” Then he gives his damp hair a small flick and says, “Okay, I guess.”

  As we walk into the middle of the gym, once again I can feel every pair of eyes in the room on me. They’re watching us. Waiting to see what we’ll do. I’m not sure why this is such a big deal. We’re going to dance. Because this is a dance.

  Except just as we reach the center of the giant space, the current upbeat song comes to an end and a slow ballad starts playing.

  A chorus of giggles echoes throughout the room and I fight not to roll my eyes. Seriously, middle schoolers are kind of immature. It’s a slow song. Not a wedding march.

  Ethan looks to me with his eyebrows raised, as if to ask What now?

  To answer him, I place my hands on his shoulders and start gently rocking to the beat. He clears his throat and nervously places his hands on my hips. Then we’re swaying together. I have to say, it feels super awkward. Ethan is so stiff, and all these people goggling us is clearly not helping.

  Just ignore them, I tell myself, and focus on Ethan. I rack my brain for something to talk about—a conversation starter—but all I can come up with is “Thanks again for your help with my locker yesterday.”

  He grins sheepishly. “No problem.”

  And then we fall silent again.

  “Um…” I pause, thinking of something to say. “How was your day?”

  He nods. “Good. I just went to lacrosse practice.”

  “Oh, you play lacrosse? That’s so cool!”

  He squints. “I thought you knew I played lacrosse. We had a whole conversation about it last week at your locker.”

  I suddenly feel foolish. “Oh, right. Sorry, I just forgot for a minute.”

  He tilts his head and studies me, like he’s trying to piece together the final clues of a big mystery. “You’ve been acting kind of…strange lately.”