Letter? I don’t get letter’s. “Oh!” Could it be? Amber eyes me, always so attuned to the subtle changes in my demeanor. My eyes lock on a colorful envelope peeking out beneath a bill.
“Who would be writing to you?” She picks up her fashion magazine from the pile.
Ruby, that’s who. I didn’t know if she’d write back or not. I didn’t expect it. If Amber noticed Ruby’s name or information, she doesn’t let on. I pick up the letter and head for my room. “I don’t want to cook, let’s order pizza.”
“Pizza it is,” she agrees easily. She plops down in the spot I vacated and props up her feet, clicking on the television. “You okay?”
Yep, I’m good. I’m hiding the fact that I stole a letter from your room and replied for you, but otherwise—
“Fine. I’m tired.”
I’m smiling. My bedroom door isn’t even closed yet, and I’m already smiling. How crazy is this? I rip the envelope open.
Brett,
First of all, you’re not a jerk. Nosey, maybe. But not a jerk. I imagine if I had an older brother, he’d snoop through my diary and get into my stuff simply to find dirt to use against me. But alas, I have no brother. Or a sister. Nor do I have any pets. Now I feel my life sounds extremely boring. I do, however, have a grandma who curses at people in Polish and makes inappropriate jokes at ill-chosen times, which tends to make life a little more interesting. So, there’s that.
Secondly, while I don’t know you, I don’t think you’re a bad guy. If you were willing to write me back, you can’t be all that bad.
Aside from my knowledge of weird facts, I dance. Jazz, ballet, lyrical, you name it. Though I’d say jazz is my favorite. Dance keeps me pretty busy. It’s both a good and bad thing, I guess. I miss my mom, but before I know it, it’s time for dance or a competition or workout. Not to mention homework and housework. There’s not a lot of time to mope.
Am I the only one with this problem? Do you struggle with missing them throughout your day? I’m sure it’s nice to have Amber. I always thought it would be cool to have a twin. We wouldn’t be like those twins who match all the time, but we’d finish each other’s sentences and read each other’s thoughts. Not that you two match. I mean, maybe you do. And that’s cool, too. No judgment. Okay, I think I’ve said enough.
Non-Judgmental,
Ruby
Man, she makes me laugh. It wasn’t a fluke. I reach over the edge of my bed and dig a notebook and pen from my backpack. Flipping to a blank page, I write.
Non-Judgmental Ruby,
I’m writing to you while half asleep on my bed, wearing blue pants and a white shirt that match Amber’s blue and white dress perfectly. Tomorrow we’re wearing green. You should see the bowtie I have. It matches her headband.
I’m glad you don’t think I’m a jerk or a bad guy. I suppose I can deal with the idea of you thinking I’m nosey. I did snoop after all. I can’t take that back now, can I? So, if I’m nosey, I’m a super tired, nosey person who—to answer your question—also has plenty of things on his plate to keep him from thinking too much about the crash.
It doesn’t work. Or I wish it worked better.
Sorry, I’m fading fast here. I’ll write again when I’ve recharged the batteries running my brain.
—Brett
P.S. you made me smile again :)
FRIDAY, JANUARY 21
I pick up my pen and write to Ruby during history. Two letters in two days. Before this month I’d never written anyone. What the heck?
THEN I MET YOU
Ruby
SATURDAY, JANUARY 23
“Ruby Kaminski.”
Oh gosh, they called me forward.
Stand tall, show them you’re a calm, confident dancer—I take the stage—even if on the inside your heart pumps vigorously and unsteadily. They can’t see inside, Ruby. Remain calm.
The lights pour overhead, blinding me. I’ve danced on hundreds of stages over the years, but none have made me as nervous as this one. This one is so endlessly large, I’m an insignificant speck. The judges stare, scrutinizing everything about me—my appearance, my turnout, the way I carry myself. This audition could change my life. I’ve never been so scared to dance.
I visualize Mom standing at the edge of the stage in front of the judges. Her brown eyes twinkle under the lights when she smiles, encouraging me. “You can do this,” her voice whispers to me.
I veer my eyes away from the judges as the music fills the room and my body takes over, flowing through every move without thought. The dance and I are one.
MONDAY, JANUARY 25
As I search through my locker before school for my calculus book, Mitchell’s laughter carries across the crowded hallway. I could pick it out in a recording of a hundred people. It isn’t loud or deep, but has a certain gasping timbre, as though he’s heard a joke so funny he can’t catch his breath.
Restrain from looking. Stay focused on the color-coded order of your binders, textbooks, notebooks, and folders stacked neatly on top of one another. Evidently, my calculus book isn’t here. Mitchell laughs, dang it! I don’t want to leave while he’s still behind me. I don’t want to look at him. I don’t want him to look at me. If he’s with Lisabeth, I definitely don’t want to watch her fawn over him, or worse—him fawn over her.
First bell vibrates through the hall. Mitchell doesn’t move. I don’t want to be late for calculus. I cave, my gaze drifting over my shoulder as I close my locker. He’s horsing around with Trevor and Kelby. Sans Lisabeth. His long brown curls bob as he laughs, nodding like he’s agreeing with whatever funny thing was said.
Once upon a time, Trevor and Kelby would joke about the possibility of Mitchell and me breaking up. They said they’d never pick sides. Liars. Three years of friendship, and all I get are awkward waves and uncomfortable smiles. Granted, they were his friends first, but we had a bond. Didn’t we? They were the brothers I never had.
When we were sophomores, and Kurt Braden called me Rain Man—thanks to my embarrassing tendency to prattle off facts without thought—they were the first to step in and say Rain Man was cool. The memory of Trevor draping his arm over my shoulder and walking me away from Kurt has never faded. It was a stupid thing to make fun of, but it stung nonetheless.
When we were juniors, and Mitchell got mono and had to stay home for three weeks, Trevor took Kamry and me to lunch every day since he had a car. He even paid.
Nearly every high school memory I have includes them, but lose a mother and a boyfriend, and forget all alliances. They never existed in the first place.
I don’t make my exit from the hallway fast enough. Mitchell catches me discreetly watching them as I pass by. His big eyes dart away like he’s ashamed, like he pities me. I’ve become the unavoidable heartbroken ex-girlfriend. Embarrassment seeps in. Why couldn’t I ignore them?
Gradually, Mitchell brings his gaze back to me. His brown eyes always reminded me of a porcelain doll, so round and innocent. They don’t feel so innocent anymore. With my head high, I shove away my embarrassment and offer him a smile as I continue walking to class. I’ve lost enough already, I won’t lose my pride, too.
WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 27
I wasn’t sure if Brett would write me back—that this might become a thing—but after I read his letter on Tuesday night, I haven’t stopped smiling. My cheeks are starting to hurt. Somehow he knew exactly what to say to make me laugh, and he doesn’t even know me. Ironic, and depressing, how the closest thing I have to a friendship is a boy I hardly know who lives on the other side of the country.
“What’s gotten into you?” asks Kamry as she sits next to me in physics.
“Huh?”
“Did you get asked to the dance?” Her squeal is too high-pitched for this early in the morning.
“What? No.”
Her face falls, replacing her thrill with bewilderment. “Why are you smiling then?”
I have to have a reason to smile? Why can’t this be my face? Have I stopped
smiling so often that it’s noticeable when I do now? “Am I not allowed to smile?”
“Of course . . . I mean . . . yeah. Of course, you can.”
I don’t want to tell her about Brett Pratt. I kind of like the idea of keeping him to myself. There isn’t much I can call mine anymore, but this, whatever it is, is something I want to protect. It’s the only thing that has truly made me happy in the last six months. No one is going to take it away from me.
I hate that I didn’t get a chance to write him back last night. It should have been a gift that Dad didn’t have dinner ready when I got home from dance. I was so exhausted anything would’ve tasted good, even the shrimp oil or tomato mush, but there was nothing. I made dinner and did my homework, failing to notice his letter on the console by the stairs until I was heading to bed.
“So,” Kamry looks at me in confusion, sweeping her long hair over her shoulder. “You’re smiling . . . just because?”
I don’t owe her an answer. She only cares to talk to me when it suits her. She’s not privy to every detail of my life anymore. “It’s a good day.”
Her hand rests on top of mine. “That’s really great, Ruby. You deserve to have a good day. Good for you.”
Her tone is cheerfully high-pitched and supportive, but her eyes turn down at the corners—as though laced with pity—coming across as condescending.
“Thanks.”
Ring. Saved by the bell, no pun intended.
***
Nana swings us by the house to pick up my dance duffle before she drops me off. If it weren’t for the brick exterior of our house, I doubt Dad would be able to handle the upkeep. As it is, he’s hired a gardener to take care of the yard because he doesn’t have the energy or time.
Nana parks by the mailbox in front of the walkway. I grab the mail and wave at Miguel as he’s pulling weeds from the flower boxes outside the windows before jogging up to the front door.
Handwriting I’m becoming familiar with stares back at me as I sort through the envelopes. I toss the mail on the counter and carelessly tear open the envelope at the risk of giving myself a paper cut. Who cares? Brett wrote to me again! Before I could even write him back!
Ruby,
I have a confession to make. I’m supposed to be doing research for a history project about the American Dream right now. I’m writing you instead. Shhh, I won’t tell if you won’t.
Let me give you a little history, if you will. I got your letter yesterday and promptly wrote you back. I mailed that letter this morning—well, I put it in the mailbox this morning. Unfortunately, I was dog-tired and I rambled on about nothing. This letter will fix that!
Point #1: I don’t think you live a boring life. I mean, how could life be boring with a Polish, cursing grandma? Could you teach me something?
Point #2: Again, you’re wise for recognizing me as a good guy wearing a bad guy disguise. The bad guy thing is all an act. The ladies like it.
Point #3: You dance. I ski. I ski for fun, but I also work at Blue Mountain Ski Resort a few days a week teaching kids beginner classes. My passion is snowboarding, though. It’s a pretty new sport. Have you seen or tried it? You’re in California, have you even seen snow? I think of California and I picture Beverly Hills 90210. My sister is obsessed with that show. Cali = surfing. Snowboarding is like surfing, but with snow, and more clothes. In the spring I skate (board, not roller!)
And finally, Point #4: No, Amber and I do not wear matching outfits. Not since we were six. We do share a bond though, and we can carry on conversations without words.
School, work, skiing, and my sister. That’s my life these days. I stay busy. Senior year isn’t what I thought it would be before the accident. I’m ready to graduate and get away from here. Think it will make things easier? Getting away from the memories?
Your name is Ruby. Do you have ruby slippers? Can you click your heels and, instead of chanting ‘there’s no place like home,’ can you transport me to Denver or Wyoming? I want a mountain of fresh snow, a log cabin with a fire, and the strongest hot chocolate you can find. Can you do that? You could come, too. If you want.
—Brett
P.S. If we’re going to do this thing, where we write back and forth, we should play a game. Twenty questions? Okay? We’ll ease into it: favorite subject in school? I’ve always liked art.
As I’m running up the stairs to write him back, Nana walks in the front door. “What’s taking you so long, Ruby Alina? We’ve got to go or you’re going to be late.”
Dance. Right. Crap. Dangit. “Sorry. I’m getting my duffle now. Just let me go change.”
“Hurry, hurry, żabko.”
WORDS I MIGHT HAVE ATE
Brett
WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 27
“Why didn’t you pack me chocolate pudding?” I heckle Amber as I sneak up to her lunch table, wedge a leg between her and Lisa’s hips, and climb over the bench seat. Lisa shifts to the right, making room for me. I’ve always liked her.
“Hey! Go back to your own table.” Amber’s sharp elbow connects with a rib as I swipe her pudding and fall onto my seat.
“No can do,” I grunt, shifting my shoulder and arm across my side, protecting myself from another attack. “I want pudding.” I peel the lid from the container. “Spoon?”
Amber slaps her hand over her spoon, glaring at me. “I swear, if you eat my pudding.”
“Spoon,” Hope’s arm pops out from the other side of Amber, a white plastic spoon in her grip.
I lean around. “You are a goddess.”
Hope winks. Amber frowns. I smile, and eat pudding.
“What’s up, ladies,” Mike calls out as he approaches, an apple flying from his palm into the air, and back, with each step. Amber, Lisa, and Ann groan. They’re so territorial about their ‘girls only’ table these days.
He stops, hovering behind Ann, and her eyes narrow as she pivots in her seat. “Mike, if you drop that apple on my head, you’re a dead man.”
“With these magic hands?” He smirks, juggling the apple from side to side.
The apple goes up. Too high and too far forward, and Ann yelps as Mike leans over her, his arm stretching toward the wayward fruit. “Those hands are useless,” I suggest, snagging the apple mid-air.
“Ouch, bro. You’re turning on your own sex?”
Amber rips into her bag of chips. “Why are you over here, Mike?”
Mike’s head swings toward our usual table in the far corner of the cafeteria. “Our table’s boring today and Brett’s here.” He climbs his way between the bench and table and sits next to Ann.
“No.” Amber’s palm slaps flat against the table. “Brett, go away and take Mike with you.” She swivels my way on the seat, her eyes shining with raw emotions. Barging into her space and sitting at her table no longer amuses me. Lisa shakes her head, Ann focuses on the newly bruised apple resting in the center of the table, and Mike opens his mouth. Oh crap. Shut it, Mike. Don’t speak. Don’t speak.
“Is it that time of the month, Amb—”
“Dude!” I stand, clapping my hands together. I ignore the heads turning at the commotion. “C’mon, Mike.” I slip out of my seat. Mike hesitates, his eyes flicking toward Ann before he follows.
I ruffle Amber’s hair and lean in close. “Sorry, sis. Thanks for the pudding.” She mumbles a reply for my ears only, and I chuckle. She loves cursing my name.
“Finally, how do these boys expect us to talk about them if they’re always around.” Low giggles reach my ears. I keep walking.
“Hey, Pratt. Why the sudden appearance at our table today?” The traffic flowing from the cafeteria resembles trout swimming upriver. Pushing through shoulders and backpacks, I swim to the safety of the riverbank and Hope. I verify Amber’s not around.
“Hey, Young. Because I wanted to talk to you.” Her face scrunches. “I know, I didn’t technically talk to you, but it was my intention. Or, it was my intention to ask if I can talk with you.”
“About what?” Sh
e slows at a bank of gray lockers. “This is me.”
I recon the crowd once more, seeing no sign of Amber. “Can I call you? I work tonight, but tomorrow?”
Hope works her combination lock, jiggling the handle until the door pops open as she talks over her shoulder. “You know you can call me later after work. It’s not like I go to bed early.”
“If I get in some runs I’ll probably be too exhausted to call, but I’ll try.”
“So you’re working then boarding?” Her question is muffled as she peers into her locker. There must be something extremely interesting in there. I lean my shoulder against the locker next to hers, patiently waiting for her head to appear again. Sighing through her nose, she shifts, tucking her hair behind her ear as she faces me. “Is this about Amber?”
“Amber, and other things.” Am I flirting here? This is Hope. Her New Kids on the Block pajamas come to mind.
She gives me a sideways glance. Her mouth twitches. “Why are you grinning at me?” Her teeth graze her bottom lip as her brows lift with curiosity.
Man, when did she get so pretty? Dude, your sister’s best friend. Hope Young. Nope, the warnings don’t work. I’m still considering things I shouldn’t be considering.
I straighten. “Did you get to talk about us boys after we left?”
She snickers. “You heard me?” Swinging her locker shut, she turns. She fists her hair, pulling it to the side the way I’ve seen Amber do many times. “I guess you’ll have to ask me again, when you call to talk about those other things.” She teases, her honeyed tone dripping with suggestion.
Paper Planes and Other Things We Lost Page 4