Better You Than Me

by Jessica Brody

  “I get it,” I interrupt. “I so get it.”

  Everything she said is ringing in my ears, like the loudest alarm clock ever.

  How long did it take me to figure out that I hated Hollywood? Hated being famous? Hated my life? Hated that stupid TV show? A few days? A few hours? And yet how long have I kept quiet about it?

  Four. Years.

  Gabriella and I are exactly the same.

  Too afraid to speak up. Too afraid to walk away from something we know is all wrong for us. Too afraid of what will happen if we tell the truth.

  Gabriella looks over at me, her face tearstained, her nose running. She looks nothing like the girl I met in that bathroom on Friday morning.

  I guess everyone is hiding something. Even possibly a whole other person.

  “You do?” she asks, sounding hopeful. “You get it?”

  “I do,” I tell her. “I know exactly how you feel.”

  A small smile makes its way onto her face.

  “And,” I go on, hearing the hope form in my own voice as well, “I know exactly how you can fix it.”

  Her smile instantly fades, replaced with dread. “How?”

  I take a deep breath, letting the words flow from deep within me. From that place where truth lives. From that place where truth hides. “You need to tell them how you feel. You need to stand up for yourself. You need to speak your mind. If you don’t do it now, you could be trapped forever.”

  And as the words tumble out of my mouth, I know they don’t only apply to her.

  They apply to all of us.

  But mostly, they apply to me.

  What happens now? I have no idea. Ruby and I were so sure the wish would work, we didn’t even come up with a plan B. And then Eva came and whisked me away and we had no chance to talk about it or make plans or even try to figure out why it didn’t work.

  Eva and Nolan guide me out of the mall and into the parking lot. I’m just getting into Eva’s SUV when I see my mother. She’s getting out of her car. She looks angry and worried at the same time. The sight of her steals my breath away. I can literally feel it being sucked out of my lungs. And I suddenly find myself wondering if I’ll ever be able to breathe normally without her again.

  Why does it feel like I haven’t seen her in months, when it’s really only been a few days? Maybe because the hope of ever seeing her again is so slim now.

  She doesn’t look like herself. Her hair isn’t tied back into its usual ponytail; it’s falling loose around her shoulders. And she’s wearing pink. I didn’t even know she owned anything pink.

  She looks beautiful.

  I always knew she was, but I’m not sure I ever really saw it until right this second. Despite the sour expression on her face, she’s the most beautiful person in the world to me. She’s the only person in the world to me.

  Except she hasn’t come here for me. She’s come here looking for Ruby.

  From the outside of the SUV, Nolan closes the door with a firm shove, giving me a scowl. He’s not happy about my disappearing act. No one is. I’m pretty much in huge trouble now.

  After he walks away, I scan the parking lot until I see her again. She’s walking briskly toward the entrance to the mall, pointing the key fob over her shoulder to lock the car as she goes.

  “Mom,” I whisper longingly into the glass.

  “What?” Eva snaps, jabbing the start button in the car.

  I blink and turn to flash her a hurried smile. “Nothing,” I mutter.

  She sighs. “Look, Ruby. I’m sorry. I’m just…I don’t know what’s gotten into you. You’ve been acting so strange lately. At first I thought it was great. You seemed to finally be getting back into your job and the show. But now, with all these little stunts you’ve been pulling, it’s like you’re an entirely different person. I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

  “I’m sorry,” I tell her, because there’s nothing else to say. And because it’s true. I am sorry. Sorry this happened to me and to Ruby and to Eva and to my mother. Sorry the lamp didn’t work and now I’m trapped inside this body. Sorry I even made the wish to begin with.

  Eva puts the car in gear and turns the stereo up loud. As we pull out of the parking lot, I’m able to steal one last glance at my mother—my real mother—just before she disappears through the entrance of the mall. I want to roll down the window and shout out to her that I miss her and that I love her. I want to tell her that she can date whoever she wants. I don’t care. I want to tell her about all the screenplays I read—the good ones and the bad ones. I want to dissect their stories with her the way she dissects stories with her students. I want her to bring me library books I probably won’t read and babble endlessly about feminism and corporate agendas and Jane Austen. I want to eat pizza with her in the living room while I watch TV and she reads in her special chair. I want all this and I fear I will never, ever have it again.

  “I don’t know who I am anymore, either,” I tell Eva, but honestly, I’m not sure she heard me over the music.

  All I know is that I miss my mom. Miss her so badly, it hurts deep in my chest. I want to talk to her. No, I need to talk to her. I need her to tell me it’s going to be okay. She’s the only person in the world who can make me feel better right now. Because she’s the only person in the world who will ever be my mom.

  And that’s what moms do.

  Rebecca lectures me the entire way back to the apartment. I stay quiet. Because there’s nothing more to say. I can’t argue with her. I did sneak out after she grounded me. I did betray her trust.

  And it turns out, I did it all for nothing.

  I’m still here.

  And Skylar is still there.

  We’re like passengers on the wrong ships, heading in the wrong directions, with no way to turn around and go back.

  But my mom recognized me. I know she did. Even if she doesn’t realize she did. And somehow, that gives me hope.

  When we get back to the apartment, Rebecca sits down at her laptop, mumbling something about catching up on emails. I skulk down the hallway to Skylar’s room, passing Rebecca’s bedroom on the way. The door is half ajar, and I stop and peer inside. I haven’t been in Rebecca’s room since I arrived here. There was never a reason to go in. Plus, it seems kind of strange, wandering into the bedroom of someone else’s mother. It’s like sleeping in someone else’s pajamas. Sure, they’re comfy and soft and worn in, but they’re not yours, and you’ll never be able to get a good night’s sleep in them.

  And yet now, something seems to be calling to me from inside the room. A warmth, an energy, a sense of security. And I suddenly find myself thinking about the Dallas house. About how I used to hide in my mom’s closet when I was scared or had a bad dream, or a bad day at school. I would run into her tiny closet and burrow myself under her hanging clothes. Her clothes were simpler. The fabrics cheaper. The labels less flashy. But they smelled like her. And that smell always seemed to envelop me like a warm blanket. It always seemed to chase all the bad feelings away.

  Checking to make sure Rebecca is still busy with her emails, I push open her bedroom door and make my way to the closet. It’s small, like my mother’s used to be. And almost all the clothes are the same three colors—black, white, and gray. I crawl under a rack of shirts and sit with my back against the wall. I take deep breaths, inhaling the scent. But it’s all wrong. It doesn’t envelop me like a warm blanket; it only reminds me of how far away I am, which just makes me feel colder.

  I never thought I’d ever miss my mom’s ridiculously high heels, or overly flashy dresses, or hundreds of skirts that still have the price tags on them because she buys more stuff than anyone could ever wear in a lifetime.

  I never thought I’d long to see any of that again.

  I never thought I’d miss her the way I miss her right now. Seeing her in that
mall, knowing that she saw me—the real me—it makes my heart ache with longing.

  It makes tears well in my eyes.

  It makes me want to give anything—do anything—to have her back. To talk to her. To just hear her voice again.

  It takes me a long time to find the episode I’m looking for. The shelves full of Ruby of the Lamp scripts in Eva’s office seem endless. Four seasons of wonderful stories. Four years of me on the edge of my seat, waiting to find out what happens next. That’s how long I’ve been in love with Ruby Rivera. Four years.

  Because she gave me something to aspire to.

  She gave me someone to root for when I couldn’t root for myself.

  She gave me somewhere to escape to.

  When my parents were fighting, when my mom packed up boxes, when the Ellas were mean, when it seemed like I’d never survive another day of middle school, the Jinn Academy was always there waiting for me. Ruby and Miles and Headmistress Mancha and Rogue Raymond and everyone on the show were like my second family. They kept me safe. They drowned out the noise.

  When I finally locate the script I’m looking for, I pull it off the shelf and run my fingertips over the title page.

  Ruby of the Lamp

  Episode 01-22 — “Dream a Little Dream”

  I carry the script upstairs and head in the direction of Ruby’s room. Except I don’t go in. I don’t even stop walking when I reach the door. Instead, I go to the end of the hall, to Eva’s massive bedroom. I know she’s not in there. She’s downstairs, pacing the living room on her phone, still trying to sort out the last details of the scandal.

  I push the door open and tiptoe through the bedroom. When I reach the closet—which is even bigger than Ruby’s—I climb under a rack of designer dresses and pull my knees up to my chest.

  There’s something so inviting about a mom’s closet, even if it’s not your own mother’s. It’s safe and quiet and warm. Hidden away from the rest of the world. But as soon as I settle down, I feel the wrongness about it. The shoes are too tall. The clothes are too sparkly. The smells are too foreign.

  All at once, it comes back to me. Seeing my mom through the window of the SUV. Wanting so badly to call out to her. Knowing that she wouldn’t even recognize me if I did.

  And suddenly, I know what I want. I want my old life back. My old room. My old clothes. My eyes. My skin. My hair.

  I want it all because it comes with her.

  I can handle the Ellas. I can handle the divorce. If I can handle being a celebrity for three days, then I can handle anything.

  My throat starts to sting from the tears I know are coming. I try to keep them at bay by flipping open the script I brought with me. I’ve seen this episode a million times. I know every line by heart, but there’s something soothing about seeing those words on the page, reading them, letting them sink into my mind and wash over me like a warm, gentle wave. Maybe this is what my mom loves so much about books.

  My mom always told me the joy of reading is being able to put yourself into the story, being able to change the story with your own experiences. I never understood that until now. Maybe I just never found the right thing to read.

  I flip to the final scene of the episode. My favorite scene of the entire show.

  INT. RUBY’S DORM ROOM—NIGHT

  Ruby wakes up gasping for air, the dream still vivid in her mind.

  RUBY

  Mom? Was that really you?

  There is no answer. But Ruby knows. She saw her. She was there.

  Ruby starts to cry.

  RUBY

  Mom! I know it was you. I saw you. I thought you were dead. But now I know you’re still out there. Still alive. I will find you. I promise. Even if I have to spend the rest of my life looking, I will find you. I will get back to you.

  Ruby lies down, closing her eyes. Just before she falls asleep, she hears a voice. Is it another dream? Or something else?

  RUBY’S MOM

  I’ll be waiting.

  I pull out Skylar’s phone.

  I’m just going to call and hang up.

  I dial my mother’s number.

  I just want to hear her voice.

  I press the phone to my ear.

  I just want to tell her I love her.

  I pull out Ruby’s phone.

  I’m just going to call and hang up.

  I dial my mother’s number.

  I just want to hear her voice.

  I press the phone to my ear.

  I just want to tell her I love her.

  The room starts to shake.

  The earth starts to tremble.

  The world is breaking apart.

  And coming back together.

  A voice answers the phone. “Hello?”

  “Mom?”

  “What are you doing?”

  The voice on the other end of the call is all wrong. No, it’s not wrong. It’s right. It’s very, very right.

  But I don’t understand.

  “Why are you calling from the other room?” it asks.

  “The other room?” I repeat. Bewildered, I glance around the tiny closet. At the T-shirts and jeans and comfortable shoes.

  “Why don’t you just come out here and talk to me?” the voice on the phone says.

  “Come out where?”

  She laughs. A beautiful carefree laugh. “To the living room, silly lark. What’s going on with you?”

  Lark?

  To a Skylark.

  I drop the phone and run. The world is a blur. The room is a blur. The hallway is a blur. The living room is a blur. And then…

  Everything slams into focus.

  And all I see is her face.

  Her face.

  “Mom!” I scream, and wrap my arms around her.

  The phone slips from my grasp. I can hear a voice coming from the tiny speaker. It sounds so small and far away.

  “Ruby? Ruby? Are you there? What’s going on?”

  I scramble to grab the phone, and that’s when I see it.

  My hand.

  My hand. My skin. My fingernails. My…everything.

  I glance around the closet. It’s so big, I could do cartwheels across it. I almost do.

  It happened. I don’t know how it happened, but it happened. I’m back. I’m here.

  “Ruby?”

  I pick up the phone. I bring it to my ear. My heart is pounding. “Mom?”

  “Yes?” She sounds worried. She sounds winded. “Are you all right?”

  “Eva Rivera?” I ask, because I can’t bring myself to believe it. It’s her voice. It’s her closet. And yet I have to be sure.

  She laughs a nervous little laugh. “What other mom would it be? Where are you?”

  “In your closet,” I tell her.

  “What are you doing in”—she opens the door, she walks in, she stands in front of me, hands on hips, lips pursed in confusion—“my closet?”

  I climb out from under her dresses and run to her. I practically bowl her over as I leap into her arms. “Mom! It’s you! It’s really you!” I know she doesn’t like to hug. She doesn’t want to wrinkle whatever expensive outfit she has on. But I don’t care. I squeeze her tighter than I’ve ever squeezed her before.

  Her hands remain limp at her sides, like she doesn’t know what to do with them. But I keep hugging her. I don’t let go. I show her how it works.

  This is what mothers and daughters do, Mom.

  Somehow she must understand, because eventually her arms lift and she circles them around me. “Sweetie,” she says gently, tenderly. “What’s wrong? Is everything okay?”

  I pull back and look at her. Tears are streaming down my face, but I don’t wipe them away. She has to see them. I have to show them. I can’t hide them any lo
nger. “No, Mom. It’s not. It’s not okay.”

  Her brows pinch together, like she’s going to scold me. But she doesn’t scold me. She sits down on the small sateen bench in the center of the closet and pats the space next to her. “Come here. Talk to me. You know you can always tell me anything.”

  She’s said that to me a thousand times, but I’ve never believed her.

  Now I know I have no choice. I have to believe her.

  Because I have to tell her everything.

  I tell her everything.

  Everything I haven’t been able to tell her before. That I have no friends here. That middle school is hard. That the divorce is breaking my heart. That I miss Dad and Leah and the Amherst house.

  But most of all, I tell her that I want her to be happy. And if going out with Clint is what will make her happy, then so be it. I’ll deal with it. If she likes him, then I’ll figure out a way to like him, too.

  Mom listens with tears sparkling in her eyes. When I finish, she reaches out and pulls me onto her lap. Onto her special reading chair. I’m too big to be on her lap. And the chair isn’t meant for two people. But it doesn’t matter. It feels just right.

  I cry into her shoulder and she strokes my hair.

  She tells me it’ll all be okay.

  And I believe her.