It’s my mom. She’s standing off to the side of the autographing area, tapping something into her phone. I feel tears of joy welling up at just the sight of her. I didn’t realize how much I missed her until right this second. But that fleeting glimpse of her wavy brown hair and red-painted lips and towering high heels—it does something to me. It lights up something inside me.
I don’t care how awful she can be—how controlling or demanding or clueless—she’s still the woman who raised me all on her own. Who took care of me after my deadbeat dad left her alone and pregnant and broke. She’s still my mom, and moms are forever.
“Mom!” I call out desperately, but of course she doesn’t turn. Why would she? Her daughter is not standing in the doorway to the mall being blocked by a giant. Her daughter is inside the mall, signing autographs for her legions of fans.
At least, that’s what she thinks.
But if I could just get her attention—just get her to look at me—I don’t know, I guess I’m convinced that maybe somehow she’ll recognize me. That she’ll know her own daughter. Not by the color of my hair or skin or the sound of my voice. But by me. The person inside. We have a connection, right? Sure, we don’t always get along, but for twelve years it’s just been her and me. That’s got to count for something.
“EVA!” I shout, and that seems to really anger the security guard. He starts to roughly spin me around and push me out the door.
“No!” I scream. I duck and turn and just manage to slip through his grasp. I run straight to my mom. I grab her by the shoulders and I force her to face me.
“Eva. Please look at me.”
At first, she’s startled by being manhandled by a random twelve-year-old girl, and her shocked expression makes me think she’s about to yell at me, shake me loose, call for help. But then our eyes catch. Our gazes lock. And for just a moment, she looks at me. Like really looks at me.
Confusion clouds her face. Her eyes squint like she’s trying to see me through a filter. I know she knows. I can feel it. She can feel it. She recognizes me. And yet, she can’t figure out how she recognizes me.
“Ru—” she begins to say, but stops herself. Because it’s crazy. Because I’m not Ruby. I look nothing like Ruby. She glances back toward the table where her daughter is sitting, staring at us, watching this whole thing go down with a mix of fascination and helplessness.
I want to scream “YES! Mom! It’s me! It’s Ruby! I’m trapped inside here!” but I don’t get the chance. Because just then, the spell is broken. The giant security guard grabs me and literally lifts me off my feet, dragging me toward the entrance to the mall. I twist my body until I can see my mom again. She’s staring dazedly at the ground where I was just standing, like she’s trying to figure out what happened.
The security guard sets me down on the sidewalk, straightening his shirt and giving me a cold, warning stare. “If you try to come in here again, I’ll call the police. Do you understand?”
I nod, tears of frustration filling my eyes. She saw me. She knew me.
It’s no use. I can’t get in there. I can’t get close to Skylar. I’ll never get my mother back. I’ll never get my life back.
Just then, the phone in my pocket dings. I pull it out, fully expecting to see a very angry text from Rebecca, demanding to know where I am. But it’s not from Rebecca. It’s from Skylar.
Meet me in the dressing room of the Gap in 2 minutes
I’ve discovered that being a celebrity is a lot like being a prisoner. You’re escorted everywhere you go. There are guards surrounding you at all times. And when you ask to use the bathroom, you’re regarded with suspicion. As though you’re really planning some elaborate escape.
Of course, I am planning an elaborate escape, but that’s beside the point.
I can’t believe Ruby lives like this. Never being able to do normal things like go to the mall, go to a restaurant, go to the bathroom, without the fear of being swarmed.
“We’ve cleared a restroom for you inside Bloomingdale’s,” Mean Nolan tells me. “Lawrence will escort you.” He nods to one of the burly security guards, who walks over to stand by my side like he’s afraid I’ll try to bolt.
Of course, I am planning on bolting, but that’s also beside the point.
“I’m fine going by myself,” I tell Nolan, trying to sound casual.
Nolan glances around the Carousel Court at the hordes of fans still hanging around, trying to snap a photo. “I don’t think that would be very wise.”
And so I guess I’m stuck with Lawrence. We walk silently, side by side through the crowd. He uses his big, burly arms to literally hold people back. All the while, they’re screaming, “RUBY! RUBY! RUBY!”
I close my eyes for a moment, trying to drown out the sound. I just want out. I just want some peace and quiet. I just want to walk through the mall without needing a stupid escort.
Lawrence and I enter the Bloomingdale’s and I quickly glance around, searching for an escape route. Thankfully, there are many places to hide inside a department store. But first I need a distraction.
I saw this in an episode of Ruby of the Lamp once. On one of her trips to look for her mother, Ruby was captured by evil Genie Hunters, who wanted to chain her to a lamp and use her as a wish-granting slave. Her only hope of an escape was when they were transporting her back to their lair and had to pass through a busy marketplace. It wasn’t exactly a department store, but it was close enough. Ruby kicked over a table full of spices, sending a plume of paprika, cumin, and turmeric into the air. Everyone was blinded by the spice cloud, and by the time they all stopped coughing, sneezing, and waving curry powder from their faces, Ruby was gone.
I don’t have any spices to use, but I might have something better.
Just as we’re passing the Chanel counter, I make my move. I pretend to trip and stumble, crashing into the counter. I reach out my arm and sweep ten bottles of sample perfumes onto the ground. The bottles smash and the noxious scent hits me immediately. Perfumes mixing together, invading my nostrils, stinging my eyes. A commotion instantly ensues. People are running over from all directions to help. Lawrence doubles over, coughing, and I don’t waste a second.
I turn and run, ducking behind a nearby shoe display. Lawrence, realizing I’m gone, spins desperately in a circle, his eyes scanning the various makeup counters. He makes a split decision, heading farther into the department store. I take the opportunity to run in the other direction. Out the way we came, back through the mall, and straight into the Gap.
I find an open dressing room and slam the door closed behind me. I turn around and let out a yelp when I see that someone is already inside this dressing room. Someone who looks exactly like me.
“It’s about time,” Ruby says with her hands on her hips. “Now, where is that lamp?”
Skylar and I stand side by side in front of the dressing room mirror. She’s me and I’m her. She is in my body and I’m in hers. But not for long. Soon, I will be her again.
Ruby Rivera.
I feel a catch in my throat. Is that what I want? To return to that life? Those long days on set, those cheesy lines, those horrible clothes that are so not me? Being told what to do and what to say every single day?
But it’s not like I can stay here. In Skylar’s body. I can’t continue to live a life that’s not mine.
I guess neither life really feels like mine.
“Okay,” Skylar says, taking the lamp from her bag. It seems to shimmer under the fluorescent lights of the dressing room. “Last time we were both holding it when we made the wish.”
She grasps it with both hands and positions it so it’s right between us. I can feel it there. Like it’s radiating some kind of mystical energy. Like it’s calling to me somehow. Inviting me to touch it.
Make the wish, Ruby.
Change yourself back.
/> I dare you.
“Ruby,” Skylar coaxes, giving the lamp a nudge.
“Right. Sorry.”
I swallow, staring down the golden object in Skylar’s hands. One week ago, this thing was just a prop in a prop room. Now it represents so much more. A choice. A crossroads. A divide between worlds.
I glance up and stare at my old face. The face that appears on the cover of a million albums and on a million shower curtains and pillowcases and hand towels and trash cans.
Then I stare at my current face. Skylar’s face. A face that can walk right out of here and be nobody. And also be anybody.
“Grab the lamp,” Skylar says, waking me from my reverie. “C’mon. We’re going to run out of time. The entire mall is probably out there looking for me…or you…or whatever.”
She’s right. We’re running out of time. I’m running out of time.
I need to make a decision. I need to stop pretending. I need to give Skylar her life back. I may not know what to do with my own, but I can’t keep hijacking hers.
Slowly, I reach out and grab the lamp. My skin hums at the touch of it.
“On the count of three,” Skylar says in a voice I’ve never heard from her before. She sounds like a girl who knows what she wants. I wish I could say the same about me.
“One, two, three,” she counts us off, and then in one, unified voice we say, “I wish we could change back.”
I close my eyes. I wait for the earth to shake, the walls to quiver, the universe to tremble. I wait for the lamp to pull me out of this body and place me back into my old one. I wait to feel like myself again.
And then, as I wait, I wonder if I ever will. Feel like myself, that is.
I wonder what myself is supposed to feel like.
When I walked into that prop room on Thursday, I had such a clear picture of who I was and what I wanted.
I wanted to be more like Ruby.
I wanted to be less like Skylar.
I wanted…
To escape.
To escape middle school. To escape my parents’ rocky relationship. To escape the Ellas. To escape myself.
But isn’t that exactly what I’m doing now? Trying to escape again? Trying to run away from an epic mistake that I made?
So really, what’s changed?
“Nothing’s happening.” A voice breaks into my thoughts, causing my eyes to flutter open. I stare into the dressing room mirror. I lift my hand and wave it in front of my face. In the mirror, the reflection of Ruby Rivera does the same. Which means I’m still trapped inside her.
It didn’t work.
“Why didn’t it work?” Ruby asks. There’s a strange quality to her voice. She doesn’t sound angry or panicked or even desperate. She sounds almost…relieved.
And I feel almost relieved.
But why? Why would I feel relieved? I can’t stay here. I can’t be her forever. I’m not good at it. I ruined everything for her. And yet, I’m not good at living my own life, either, so where exactly does that leave me?
Stuck.
“I don’t know,” I reply calmly, staring down at the lamp. We’re both holding it. We both said the words. It should work.
Then again, what the heck do I know about how genie lamps work? All I know about genie magic comes from a kids’ show.
“Is there something else we should be doing?” Ruby asks.
I shrug. “Should we try it again?”
She shrugs, too. “It can’t hurt.”
“Concentrate really hard,” I instruct her. I can’t believe I’m actually giving Ruby Rivera orders. I can’t believe she’s actually taking them.
“Okay,” she replies.
I clutch the lamp tighter in my hand. I feel Ruby’s grasp tighten as well. I watch her eyes close in the mirror. I squeeze mine shut. I concentrate hard on my wish. What I want more than anything. But my mind can’t seem to focus. It’s like it just empties out. Goes blank. A white screen.
“I wish we could change back,” we both say at the same time.
But again, nothing happens. When I open my eyes, I’m still Ruby Rivera. And she’s still Skylar Welshman. My hair is still dark and hers is still light. My eyes are still brown and hers are still blue. I still look like a TV star and she still looks like an average kid.
I still have this longing in my heart that I can’t make sense of. Like a question that’s calling out to me that I don’t have the answer to.
And then, from somewhere far away, like a voice at the end of a long tunnel, another question is called out to me.
“RUBY? ARE YOU IN HERE?”
It’s Eva.
Ruby and I both reply at once, “Yes.”
But it’s still me they’ve come for.
After my mom comes to take Skylar away, I sit in the dressing room for what feels like centuries. I can’t bring myself to leave. I can’t bring myself to go out there. Because what is out there waiting for me?
A middle school full of kids ready to laugh at me?
A mother ready to yell at me?
A life that’s not mine?
But I know I can’t hide in here forever. That’s what I’ve been doing my whole life. Hiding. Pretending. Acting. And I don’t just mean on the show.
When I step out of the dressing room, the Gap is quiet. The mall is closing soon, and the stores are emptying out. There are only a few shoppers still wandering around, riffling through shelves of tank tops, shirts, and jeans.
I walk out to the parking lot of the mall and sit down on a bench. I pull Skylar’s phone out of my pocket and prepare to call a car to take me home. Skylar’s mom is going to be livid. But I’ll just have to deal with it. I’ll have to take the heat.
“Skylar?” a familiar voice startles me.
I look up and do a double take when I see a tall, slender girl with long dark hair standing in front of me. She would look familiar if it weren’t for the way she was dressed. I’m used to seeing her in miniskirts, designer tops, and high heels. Today she’s wearing jeans, a T-shirt, and sneakers.
“Gabriella?” I ask, squinting up into the sun that’s setting behind her, casting a sort of angelic glow around her head.
“Hi,” she says, and she sounds nervous. “Are you here to see Ruby? I know you’re a fan.”
I nod. “I was, yeah.” It’s the truth. Just not the whole truth. But she doesn’t need to know the whole truth. Besides, I need to be careful what I say to her. Anything and everything could be delivered back to the Ellas and used as ammunition. I learned my lesson there. Don’t trust the Ellas. Not even the shyer, dark-haired one who never seemed to fit in.
“Me too,” she says quietly, and then for a moment, we just stare at each other. It’s awkward.
She takes a breath that seems to shudder through her. “Look,” she says, biting her lip. “I’m glad I ran into you. I wanted to apologize for what Daniella did last night. It was so mean.”
“For what Daniella did?” I repeat incredulously, almost angrily. “You’re saying you had nothing to do with it?”
“No!” she rushes to say. “I mean, yes. I don’t know.” She’s rambling now, making very little sense. “I knew Daniella was setting you up when she invited you to the mall, and then to the dance. I knew she was going to do something bad, but I didn’t know what it was.”
So I was right, I think miserably. It was a trap.
“I’m not sure she even knew what it was until she saw you dancing with Ethan, and I guess she sort of freaked out. That’s when she decided to Photoshop the picture. But I swear, it wasn’t my idea. I didn’t want to do it.”
“Did you tell her that? Did you try to talk her out of it?”
Her gaze drops to the ground, like she’s ashamed to even look at me. “No.”
I cross my arms over my chest.
“Well, thanks a lot.”
She’s silent for a long time, and just when I think she’s scurried away, I hear the smallest, quietest sob. When I glance up again, Gabriella is crying into her hands.
I feel a twinge of annoyance at her tears. I’m the one who should be crying. Not her. But I can’t help but feel curious, too. “Why are you crying?”
She wipes her nose. “I’m so sorry. I should have said something. I should have told her not to do it. I should have warned you before it all got out of hand. But I don’t know, whenever I’m around those two, I just become this other person. This cowardly person. I can’t say anything that’s on my mind. I’m too afraid.”
I shake my head, confounded. “Then why are you even friends with them?”
Gabriella starts bawling again and then plops down on the bench next to me. I instinctively scoot farther away from her. When she finally gets ahold of herself, she whimpers, “I didn’t want to be. I never wanted to be.”
“What?”
She swallows and sniffles. “I moved here two years ago. In the middle of fifth grade. I was new, too. I know how hard it can be. I was so desperate to make friends. And Daniella and Isabella were so popular. Everyone wanted to hang out with them. But they were like this little exclusive club and no one was allowed to even talk to them. They ruled the school. Even back then. Then, a few days after I’d started school, they came up to me on the playground. They asked me if my name was really Gabriella. I remember how they pronounced it. Gabriella. Like the last four letters were the most important letters in the world. I was so shocked they were even talking to me, I just nodded. They turned to each other and this look passed between them. I can’t explain it. It was like they were sharing a silent secret.
“Then they turned back to me and said I should hang out with them. I was so happy that someone was actually talking to me. But that was before I realized how awful they are. How horrible they treat people. It’s like their one goal in life is to make other people feel bad about themselves. I think it makes them feel good. They come off as so confident and mature. But they’re really not. They’re like the exact opposite. And they’re so mean. To me, to each other, to everyone. Once I figured it out, it was too late. I couldn’t leave. Or…” She stops, wiping her nose again. “I guess I was afraid to leave.” She lets out a huge sigh, like she’s setting down a massive boulder that she’s been carrying around for years. “I’m sure you don’t get it, but—”
Better You Than Me Page 27