The backstage area fills with people. Stagehands congratulate one another. Excited audience members congratulate us. Some excited audience members congratulate each other, and I assume these people are Constellation parents who’d like to take credit for creating such talent. I don’t know anyone outside our little group, but I feel good—no, better than that. I feel great. I just sang and danced in front of eighty-four people, which is something I never would’ve done before. And now that I have, I can’t wait to do it again.
“Excuse me?”
I turn when someone taps me on the shoulder. A young man holds a tape recorder toward me.
“I’m with the Sweet Citrus Junior High Daily Squeeze,” he says. “How does it feel to be part of one of the hottest tween groups in Coconut Grove history?”
“Um—”
“Ruby, over here!” Megan yells.
“It feels amazing!” I call over my shoulder as I run toward her and the rest of Constellation. They’re huddled together near the backstage steps.
“You were fabulous,” Mrs. Grand is saying as I join them. “Absolutely fabulous. The best you’ve ever been. And I can’t wait for Luis Lobo to see you—and sign you—next week.”
I laugh with the other girls. It seems impossible, but not so long ago, so did doing what we just did.
“On behalf of Ava’s father and me, I’d like to present each of you with a very special gift.” She reaches into a shopping bag behind her and pulls out a shoebox. “So that you’ll feel like stars wherever you are.”
“They’re beautiful!” Megan gasps.
She’s right. I never thought another pair of shoes could compare to my favorite red Converse . . . but these just might be the prettiest shoes I’ve ever seen. They’re shiny gold sandals with long straps that, according to Ava’s impromptu modeling session, wind up and tie around your calves. In the center of each, where the straps meet by the big toe, are glittery gold stars.
“I know you’ll continue to make us proud,” Mrs. Grand says before turning to talk to a reporter from the Coconut Grove Gazette.
The girls kick off their jazz shoes and dive into the shopping bag. I take my pair when Ava hands it to me, and then I dash down the backstage steps. I run down the center aisle of now-empty white chairs and hold the sandals in one hand as I use the other to climb up the ladder to the lighting tent.
“Thank you so much,” I say breathlessly. “If I hadn’t seen you when I did, I never would’ve—”
I stop when I reach the top of the ladder. The tent’s empty. Sam’s gone, and so is the equipment. It’s like he was never there.
“Ruby.”
I look down. Miss Anita is at the base of the ladder. Her assistant stands on tiptoe to keep the parasol above her head. After a second, she uses one finger to slowly slide her sunglasses down her nose.
I hook my arm over the top rung to keep from falling off.
Because Miss Anita’s eyes are purple. Just like the ballerina in the painting.
I hold my breath and wait for her to say something. But she doesn’t speak. She simply looks at me, slowly slides her sunglasses back into place, and glides away.
17.
When Megan’s mom drops me off at Nana Dottie’s an hour later, I run inside as fast as my new gold sandals will carry me. I can’t wait to tell Momma everything that just happened. I check the den, our bedroom, and the outside patio. Not finding her in any of her usual spots, I head for the kitchen. I smell something cooking, and I’m pretty sure that something’s broccoli, which means Nana Dottie’s at the stove. I hope Nana Dottie knows where Momma is—and will tell me without making me eat a field of vegetables first.
Because Momma and I always share big news over ice cream. I want to save my appetite for the triple-scoop hot fudge sundaes we’ll have tonight.
I stop in the kitchen doorway. Three things seem off immediately.
1. Momma’s in the kitchen. Cooking—not ordering takeout.
2. Nana Dottie’s also in the kitchen. She’s watching Momma cook.
3. They’re both dressed like tennis players.
“Um . . . hi?” I say.
“Sweetie!” Momma looks up from a steaming pot and beams. “So glad you’re home. I hope you’re hungry.”
I am . . . but for hot fudge sundaes. And the counter’s currently covered in carrots and celery, not peanuts and sprinkles.
“Your mother is making a feast,” Nana Dottie says. “I supplied the recipes, but she’s done everything else herself.”
“Wow.” I step carefully into the kitchen, as if I might turn into a tennis-playing, health-food-eating clone the second my sandal hits tile. “That’s great.”
“Why don’t you have a seat?” Momma turns back to the pot. “Dinner’s almost ready. There’s a pitcher of ice water and a bowl of fresh orange wedges on the drink cart. Help yourself!”
Ice water? Orange wedges? Where’s the root beer? The fruit punch? The lemonade made from powder—not real lemons?
I’m still curious but less skeptical as I sit down and watch them. Something’s up, but whatever it is, it’s enabled them to be in the same room together without me there to chaperone. The progress is a little odd, but it’s still progress.
“I’ll get the music,” Nana Dottie says a few minutes later. As she disappears into the living room, Momma carries a tray to the table.
“Fish?” My nose wrinkles before I can stop it.
“Salmon,” Momma specifies, like that makes a difference. “Chock-full of healthy omega-3 fatty acids.”
She says this like it’s a good thing, but neither “fatty” nor “acid” sounds particularly good to me. I don’t dwell on this for long, though, because something even stranger happens next.
Nana Dottie turns on classical music. And rather than cringing or covering her ears with her hands . . . Momma hums along.
“Are you okay?” I ask as she places a mountain of broccoli spears on the table.
“I am.” She kisses the top of my head. “Today was a very good day, Ruby Lee.”
I smile. She sounds happy, which is worth enduring fish and vegetables. Besides, I’ll get the whole scoop over three scoops of chocolate ice cream later.
“Have you ever had anything more delicious than long-grain brown rice?” Nana Dottie asks when we’re all seated. She closes her eyes and chews a forkful of brown mush. “It’s like heaven on earth.”
“How was your day, sweetie?” Momma asks before I can worry about how to answer that question. “Did rehearsal go well?”
“It did.” Given the present situation, it feels like I sang and danced on Ava’s stage days ago. “We ran through our routine for some of Mr. and Mrs. Grand’s friends and colleagues.”
“You didn’t tell me you were doing that today,” Momma says, sliding a piece of salmon onto my plate.
“That’s because I didn’t know about it until five minutes before it happened. But we actually did really well. We even got a standing ovation.”
“Congratulations!” The spatula with a piece of pink fish freezes in midair as Momma stops serving to smile at me. “That’s wonderful, Ruby.”
“I knew it.”
We both look at Nana Dottie, who’s savoring another forkful of brown rice.
“It took a little while,” she says, “but you’re both fitting in. Everything’s working out. I knew it would.”
That makes one of us.
“How was your day?” I ask Momma eagerly. “What made it so good?”
“Well.” She puts down the tray and shoots Nana Dottie a quick smile. “First your grandmother and I got into a huge, noisy, record-breaking fight. It was so bad I made her pull the car over so I could get out and walk, but then it was so hot I got back in a minute later and we fought some more.”
“Okay . . .” I glance at Nana Dottie. She looks happy too, so their record-breaking fight must not have caused permanent damage.
“Then,” Momma continues, “I went on three interviews at t
hree different salons. Now, at first I wanted to do something different from what I’ve always done, but I applied to twenty non-salon jobs in the past few weeks and was turned down for each and every one. After all that rejection, I thought it might be good to be back in a familiar environment. I also thought salon owners would welcome me with open arms and checkbooks, considering my extensive experience.”
“Great idea,” I say.
“I thought so.” She takes three big gulps of ice water. “But the salon owners didn’t agree.”
“What? Did you tell them you were Employee of the Month twenty-three times at the Curly Creek Nail Boutique? And that everyone loved talking to you even more than they loved getting manicures? And that Mrs. Jenkins cried when you told her we were moving?”
“I told them everything they needed to know.” Momma pats my hand. “They said I just wasn’t what they were looking for.”
I sit back. “I really hope the day turned around after that.”
“It sure did. Nana Dottie and I had organic salads for lunch—”
I make a face. I can’t help it.
“—and then we went car shopping.”
“You got a new car?” Now, this is good news. “What kind? Does it have air-conditioning? Automatic windows? A CD player? Is it outside? How did I miss it?”
I start to stand, but she squeezes my hand to stop me. “I didn’t buy a new car. Even the used ones were too expensive. The salesman laughed when I told him my budget.”
“Oh.” I plop down. “No offense, Momma . . . but this sounds like the worst day ever.”
“After that,” she says, her smile growing, “Nana Dottie was late for her tennis game at the club. She didn’t have time to drop me off at home and wouldn’t let me drive the Jaguar, so I sat in the lobby and caught up on my knitting.”
I relax slightly. Momma’s been so busy looking for a job lately she hasn’t had much time to knit. It was probably good for her to have a few hours to spend on that and nothing else. It didn’t make up for the day before that point, but it was something.
“It was a great game, by the way,” Nana Dottie chimes in. “And the conditions were perfect. Blue sky, low humidity.”
“The humidity was low, wasn’t it?” Momma agrees.
“Extremely,” Nana Dottie says.
“Okay.” I tap a fork against my water glass to get their attention. “Can we focus? Please?”
“Sorry.” Momma turns to me. “You know how I do some of my best thinking while knitting?”
“Of course.”
“Well, as I was working on a new tote bag, I remembered what your grandmother said about the club receptionist—the one who was going on maternity leave?”
“I remember.” I also remember how mad Momma got when Nana Dottie suggested she be the temporary replacement.
“And sure enough, I looked up and there she was. Poor girl was as big as a house, but she was still working because they hadn’t filled her position.”
“They interviewed dozens of candidates,” Nana Dottie says. “They just hadn’t found anyone worth hiring.”
I watch them exchange knowing looks. “And?”
“And I knitted two pairs of booties,” Momma says, her voice triumphant. “One pink, one blue. Caroline just about passed out in her chair when I gave them to her.”
That’s it? One good deed and Momma’s day went from miserable to magnificent?
“Your mother and Caroline got to talking,” Nana Dottie explains. “They talked until I came to the lobby after my match. Your mom made such an impression, Caroline immediately recommended her for the job.”
“And I got it!” Momma squeals before I can process what Nana Dottie’s saying. “I got the job—which means that in just a few weeks, I can go back to the dealer and bring home a new car!”
I’m thankful she’s too excited to notice that my smile’s forced. “That’s amazing, Momma. Congratulations.”
She misses my smile, but unfortunately, she catches my tone. “This is good news for both of us, Ruby. And like Nana Dottie said, the hours are perfect. I’ll be home when you are.”
“Perfect.” I poke at my fish with my fork.
“Hey.”
I look up. My stomach tightens when I see Momma’s excitement replaced by concern.
“I get it,” she says gently. “It’s change, and change is hard. Especially when you have so much of it at once.”
“I just didn’t think you wanted that job. I’m a little surprised, that’s all.”
“It might not have been my first choice,” Momma admits, “but that doesn’t mean it won’t still be great. And when your grandmother mentioned it before, she was basically offering to use her connections to get me the position. That I definitely didn’t want. Whatever job I got, I wanted to get it myself. On my own, fair and square. And I did.”
I have to admit, this part makes sense. Momma didn’t get the job because she filled out an application or gave them a fancy résumé—or because Nana Dottie asked the club to give it to her. She got the job because she knitted two pairs of booties for an overworked mother-to-be. She got it because she was herself.
“Wasn’t there something else you wanted to tell Ruby?” Nana Dottie asks.
“There was.” Momma jumps up, leaves the room, and comes back with a shopping bag. “Now, you know your grandmother and I don’t always get along. We disagree about . . . well, pretty much everything. But she was right about me needing a job, and she was right about this job. It might’ve taken a while for me to realize it, but I did.”
“Is that why we’re having salmon, broccoli, and long-grain brown rice for dinner? Because Nana Dottie might be right about junk food, too?” I turn to Nana Dottie. “No offense. It’s delicious—it’s just another surprise.”
“Nana Dottie might’ve influenced the menu tonight,” Momma says, “but I’ve wanted to start eating better for a long time. Old habits are hard to break, and I guess I was just waiting for the right time. And that’s what this feels like.”
I take the shopping bag when she hands it to me. I can’t imagine what’s inside and am almost nervous to open it. “An iPod?” I stare at the box, hardly believing it’s real. “Momma, aren’t these really expensive?”
“Whatever it cost was a small price to pay to see that smile.” She sits down and refills our water glasses. “The only catch is that you put ABBA’s greatest hits on there.”
“Of course.” I jump up and throw my arms around her. It’s not just that she gave me a gift—it’s that she seems to have accepted that sometimes going with the flow is easier than pushing against it. Which, I realize as I hug her, is exactly what she did by taking the job at the club. “Thank you.”
“If you’re lucky, next week I’ll get you your very own Grove Club polo shirt.” She straightens the collar of her new uniform and winks. “All the cool kids are going to want one.”
We spend the next hour sitting around the table, eating, talking, and laughing. The salmon’s better than I thought it would be, and I even have seconds. Between the Citrus Star performance preview, Momma’s new job, and having dinner with Momma and Nana Dottie just like a regular family, this is easily the best day we’ve had since leaving Curly Creek.
And it only gets better.
“That’s Oscar,” Nana Dottie says when the doorbell rings. She gets up to answer it. “He’s here for Scrabble night. You girls should join us.”
Momma raises her eyebrows at me. I shrug.
“How hard can it be?” she asks.
Very, it turns out. Fortunately, neither Momma nor I care very much about our scores, and we spend more time laughing at the fake words we create than trying to come up with real ones. In fact, throughout the entire game, Momma plays only one word that can actually be found in the dictionary.
“I usually feel illiterate competing against your mother, but you make me feel like a genius,” Oscar teases Momma after she puts down ZASPO for sixteen points. “Maybe I can thank
you over dinner sometime?”
At which point Momma stares at the tiles on her tray, and Nana Dottie and I try to hide our smiles.
Momma’s real word comes on her next turn. It’s only three letters long but coincidentally earns her fifty points—the highest single score of the game.
YES.
18.
“Sorry!” I burst through the auditorium doors and fly down the aisle. “I’m so sorry I’m late. First Momma needed to stop for coffee, then we got stuck in traffic, then Mr. Fox and I couldn’t figure out why I kept setting off the metal detectors . . .”
My voice trails off as I near the stage. I expected Ava, Stephanie, Hilary, and Megan to be in the middle of the routine by now, but they’re sitting in a circle, not speaking. No one looks up as I approach, which must mean they’re even more upset with me for being late than I thought they’d be.
“Did your gold sandals make the doors beep too?” I try to keep my voice casual, friendly.
“We didn’t wear our gold sandals,” Stephanie says.
“Thanks to you, we won’t wear our gold sandals ever again,” Hilary adds.
“What do you mean?” I stop in front of the stage and glance down at the sundress Momma and I bought at the mall yesterday. It’s bright green instead of any of the light colors Ava and her friends usually wear, but it’s still a sundress—and it looks great with the shiny shoes. If I made some kind of bad fashion statement that made them not want to be seen in their sandals, I have no idea what it is.
“Easy, girls,” Ava says coolly. “It’s not Ruby’s fault that everything’s ruined—oh, wait. Yes, it is.”
I’m confused. We were all hugging and laughing the last time we were together. What could I have done to ruin everything since then? “I’m only fifteen minutes late. You’re not even practicing yet.”
Ava stands up slowly and walks to the front of the circle. When she stops, her feet are inches away and level with my eyes. I don’t want to look but can’t help but see that she’s not wearing gold sandals. She’s not wearing black jazz shoes, either.
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