Will is sitting at his desk. But I notice he already has a partner, one of the pretzel throwers, Bryden.
“Mrs. Sablinsky said you needed a partner,” I tell him. Now I am really confused. And I am wasting more time.
Will shakes his head. “Not me, Will B.”
The worst rhyme in rhyming history.
Will B? Will B! The Will who drools on his desk? Who picks his nose and then eats it? Who burps in the middle of music class? This is my partner?
I turn to look at the first desk at the front of the room. And there he sits, picking his nose. I watch in horror as he wipes his booger-covered finger underneath the desk. EWWWWWWWWWW! Silent reminder to self: never, ever under any circumstances ask to move to Desk One.
I look back at Siri, who is happily drawing with Charlotte. She has no idea who I have to work with now, thanks to her.
I go to the front of the room and sit at the desk next to Will B. I think this is Jessica’s desk so it is safe to sit here. It’s germfree and all.
I set the paper down on the desk. It flutters as I smooth it down, like it doesn’t want to be still. I don’t want to be still either. I want to yell and scream and run right out of this classroom.
The paper turns into a white dragon with emerald eyes and scales that flicker rainbow colors. The class screams in fear, all hiding underneath their desks. Even Mrs. Sablinsky hides. But not me. I am not afraid. I climb on the dragon’s back, and we fly away. We fly to an island of dragons. I become their queen. Queen Ruby, they call me.
“Ruby, what do you want to draw first?” I realize it’s Will B calling me and not dragons. I sigh and answer him.
“The face, I guess. Let’s draw the face.”
• • •
The rest of the day is spent working on the project with our partners. Truth is, Will B is kind of smart. And he’s a supergood artist. I think we might actually get a good grade on our project. But I’m still mad—not steam-coming-out-of-my-ears mad like on a cartoon, just sort of growling mad.
The Unicorns always walk out of school together. It’s our thing. But today, we walk out with Charlotte too. One more thing that’s different.
I am really happy when I see my grandmother waiting for me.
“Gram!” I call out. Then I run to her and hug her tight.
“Hi, sweetie pie. How was your day?” She takes my backpack from me and puts it over her shoulder. Mom does the same thing. But it looks really out of place on Grandma. Not that grandmas can’t sport leopard, but mine seems more like a flower backpack girl. She has short, light-blond hair and green eyes exactly like mine and Mom’s. Gram loves playing golf and jogging. I can’t imagine anything worse than jogging for fun. (Especially if you get that pain in your side. You know the one—it sort of pinches on one side of your stomach after you have to run at school. For sure, running is definitely not high on the fun meter.)
“Horrific,” I tell her in one word. One word that sums up the entire day.
“We have time for an ice cream before we pick up your brothers. Everything looks better over ice cream,” she suggests.
I glance over my shoulder to see Siri and Charlotte playing a clapping game—the same clapping game that I taught Siri last week. I force myself to look away.
Mom went back to work three years ago. Since then, Gram picks us up once or twice a week when Mom works late. So Gram exchanged her sensible senior car for a sporty SUV. She got a personalized license plate, GRAMBUS. She thinks it’s cute, but it’s slightly embarrassing for me and my brothers. She makes it even more embarrassing when she adds bunny ears sticking up from the hood of the car at Easter time and a fluffy tail to the trunk. At Christmas, she gives Grambus a Rudolph makeover with antlers and a red nose in the front.
Since it is mid-October, she has already dressed her car for Halloween. There are two black triangles and a giant black smile attached to the hood. Against the white of the car, the black face looks kind of like a ghostly Cheshire cat. “Grambus is ready for Halloween,” I comment.
“You like it?” Gram asks.
I nod. I really do like it, even if it is a tad noticeable. “Especially the smile. Your car is a giant, happy pumpkin.”
“That’s the idea,” Gram answers. I climb into the backseat and buckle up. Gram drives us to Ice-Cream Heaven. It’s my favorite.
I don’t talk much. I just let Gram tell me about her dog, George, and his latest adventures. Abe and George are our dog brothers. We got the puppies at the same time. Abe lives with us, and George lives with Gram and Grandpa. They both love to get messy. If there is a muddy puddle on the ground, they will roll in it. (Important fact: Abe and George are labradoodles, which are half Labrador retriever and half poodle.)
“This morning, George decided to help your grandfather put the groceries away. And he ripped apart three rolls of toilet paper before your grandfather noticed. When I came into the room, it looked like George was lying in a mound of snowflakes.” Gram laughs. I can’t help but laugh with her, even though I am still mopey.
“What did Grandpa say?” I ask her, even though I already know the answer.
“What he always says: ‘G-E-O-R-G-E!’” Gram makes her voice really deep and loud.
Gram parks in front of Ice-Cream Heaven, and we go inside. The whole place is painted blue like the sky with white puffy clouds. There are round seats and little gold tables to sit at and eat ice cream. My favorite part is that the ice cream comes in clear pink bowls with tiny pink spoons that change color from pink to purple when they get colder. So you dip a pink spoon into the ice cream, and a purple spoon comes out. Plus, they have my number one favorite flavor here. Chocolate-chip caramel.
“The usual?” Gram asks.
I nod. Words aren’t necessary when you know someone really well. And Gram knows me better than anyone.
“A scoop of chocolate-chip caramel with a waffle cone on the side and a cloud topping, please,” Gram orders for me. (The cloud is really just whipped cream, but they call it a cloud on account of the theme.)
The girl behind the counter hands me the pink bowl with my chocolaty ice cream and fluffy whipped cream. On the side is a waffle cone. I like to break off pieces and dip them in the ice cream. I lift out the pink spoon. It’s half-purple already.
Gram orders a vanilla soft serve in a cone. After she pays, we sit down at one of the tiny tables. Different sizes of wings are painted all over the top of the table. I set my bowl down in the center of a pair of silver wings. So it looks like the bowl can fly away at any moment.
“Hang on to that ice cream,” Gram teases.
I manage a half smile at her. Suddenly, I’m not so hungry. Turns out even ice cream can’t make you feel better when your heart is broken.
“Want to tell me about the horrific stuff now?” Gram asks.
I take a long, deep breath.
And I tell her the whole story.
Gram doesn’t say a single word the entire time. She doesn’t even lick her ice-cream cone. She just listens. She’s great at listening. She’s probably the best person I know when it comes to listening. She’s even better than Abe (even though he’s not exactly a person, since he’s a labradoodle).
“That does sound pretty horrific,” she says when I finish. Then she eats her ice-cream cone. I eat my ice cream too.
“I don’t even want to wear pink anymore,” I admit. “Maybe I’ll change my laces to a new color.” Only one choice comes to mind. Blue. Sad blue.
“I bet it hurt you a lot to see your friends walk away from your book club like that,” Gram tells me.
I nod. If I say another word, tears are going to dribble out of my eyes. I blink them in.
“It’s kind of like George and a new toy,” Gram continues. “Whenever I bring a new toy into the house, he completely forgets about all his other toys, even his favorite, a raggedy old bunny.
He leaves that bunny behind, and the new toy is the best thing in the world. For that day. Because by the next morning, the new toy is underneath the sofa with all the other toys, and he’s carrying his bunny around, just like before.”
“I’m a raggedy old bunny?” I am a bit offended by Gram’s comparison.
She laughs. “Not my point. Let me try again.”
I lean on my elbows and listen really hard.
“Ruby, you have known your friends since kindergarten. Yesterday, they met someone new, and they thought she was exciting and different. Maybe you did too.”
I shake my head.
“Even a little?” Gram grins sideways at me. I have to smile back. I can’t help myself.
“I don’t want to smile, but your smile is making me,” I tell her.
That makes her smile more. “I’m sure it was hard for her to start a new school in the middle of October. Maybe she can be your friend too,” Gram suggests.
I roll my eyes. “If I learn to sing and dance by lunch tomorrow.”
“Ruby, just be yourself. Always be you.” Gram kisses me on the top of my head.
Always be me.
Inspiring words. But then again, Gram doesn’t have to dance on the playground just to stay in the play.
I see myself on the playground. It is my turn to perform. Only suddenly, I have turned into a tin girl. I am completely made out of tin. I can’t bend my arms or legs or even turn my head. All I can do is swivel around on one foot. The Unicorns, along with the entire school, stare. And then they start to laugh at me. I begin to cry, and I rust myself.
• • •
By the time my brothers climb into the car, I have decided three things:
1. The new character isn’t always a hero.
2. Bad days really do get better with ice cream.
3. I need to learn to dance in one night.
Chapter 4
Is Worser Even a Word?
I have practiced piano and finished my homework by the time Mom gets home. Tuesday nights, we have math and science. Then we are supposed to read, but I read every night anyway. I read right before bed because that way, I dream about the stories, and they sort of become a part of me.
We are all in the kitchen. Me, Gram, Connor, and Sam. Sam and Connor are still working on their homework. I’m trying to set the table around them.
Gram has started dinner, two kinds of pasta with three different sauces. No one in my family eats the same. Mom is a vegan, Dad is gluten-free, Sam likes to have meat in every meal, Connor doesn’t do sugar, and me—I eat everything. So Gram has made a regular fusilli (the squiggly kind) and a gluten-free spaghetti. The three sauces are: plain tomato, tomato with meat sauce, and parmesan and olive oil with veggies. “That way, there’s something for everyone,” she tells me.
“I’d make my family eat the same thing,” I tell her. “I wouldn’t make three different meals three times a day. That’s nine meals every single day and sixty-three meals a week—not even counting snacks and desserts. If you add those, you might as well open a restaurant.”
Gram chuckles at that. “Your mom and your aunt never ate anything the same. So I always had to make at least two meals for every meal. Your grandfather was easy. Like you. No food issues.”
“I like it all,” I tell her proudly. And Gram lets me taste the sauces one by one. They are all good, but the plain tomato is my favorite. “Maybe I’ll put all three on my pasta,” I tell her.
“How do you spell arachnophobia?” Connor asks.
“A-r-a-c-h-n-o-p-h-o-b-i-a.” Gram is a spelling whiz.
“What does that mean?” I want to know.
“Fear of spiders,” Connor answers without looking up. “I have to write a paper about my family.”
“Who are you describing?” Sam asks as though he already knows the answer.
“You!” Connor, Gram, and I all shout at once.
Sam doesn’t look amused. “You’re not reading this to the class, right?”
“Worried much?” Connor answers. Sam just rolls his eyes and turns back to his history reading. Sam is my super-sporty brother. He plays soccer, baseball, tennis, volleyball, and basketball. I think he’s best at baseball, but he likes basketball the most. He’s really into eating healthy and being fit so he’s really strong and muscly. But if he sees a teeny, tiny spider crawling across the floor, he starts screaming like he’s seen a ghost. (Not that seeing a ghost is scary—not for me anyway. I’ve never seen one, but I’ve read about them in a lot of books. Sometimes they are really friendly.)
Connor, on the other hand, loves spiders and lizards—anything he can catch and observe. Connor is really into studying things. Mom says he will be a famous scientist some day and invent cures for diseases and stuff. I think he’d be a really amazing teacher because he loves learning, and he can explain things really well.
Abe lifts his head off the floor and makes a little crying sound. Then he goes to the back door and wags his tail.
“Mom’s home,” I announce. Abe is better than a telephone. He always lets us know what is happening. One time, he even told us the stove was on. He just kept barking and barking. And then Mom came into the kitchen and realized she had left it turned on by mistake. Abe is smart like that.
Mom opens the door seconds later. I run over and wrap my arms around her middle. And then I hug her supertight. I really needed to see her today. Just holding on to her makes me feel a lot better.
“Hi, sweetie. How was your day? Mmm, smells good in here. Thanks for starting dinner for me, Mom. That was really thoughtful of you.” Mom strings sentences together when she’s tired.
She kisses Gram on the cheek, then walks over to Connor and Sam and drops kisses on their heads too. I’m still hanging on to her waist. She just carries me along with her. Abe follows behind us, wagging his tail and trying to jump on Mom.
“Let me just change out of my work clothes, and I’ll take over,” she tells Gram. I let her go then, but only after she hugs me tight. “I want to hear all about book club as soon as I get back.”
Gram and I look at each other at the exact same moment. And it’s like we can read each other’s minds. I have always wanted to be able to read minds. Right now, I can tell that Gram is telling me it will be OK. I wish it would be OK, but somehow, deep in my heart, I know today was only the beginning of something that will only get worser and worser, if that’s even a word. (If it isn’t a word, it should be. The people who put words in the dictionary should include worser if it isn’t already in there, because there is nothing better to describe something that’s even worse than worse.)
• • •
Dad is home by the time we sit down together. Dinner is the one time we are all at the same place at the same time.
“Bonsoir, ma petite fille,” he says to me. And then to Mom, “Le dîner est merveilleux.”
Dad is studying French from these CDs he listens to in the car. He doesn’t need to learn it for work or anything. He just likes to learn new things for fun. Last year he taught himself how to sculpt ceramics, like bowls and vases. Our kitchen shelves are packed with his designs. This year, he decided to learn a new language. He practices on us at dinner. Since none of us speak French (except me with my one word, moi), we have no idea what he is saying. But he sounds good anyway.
“Did you finish the new story?” Mom asks him as she serves herself tomato sauce on fusilli, same as me.
“As a matter of fact, I did. And the producers loved it. They’re running it tomorrow.”
Dad is a news writer for our local morning news show. He writes the special interest pieces.
“The one about the parents who started their own school?” Connor asks.
“One and the same,” Dad answers, thankfully in English so we can understand him.
“Maybe you should start a school,” I suggest. �
��I can be your first student.”
The school looks like a castle made out of silver. I am the first student to be welcomed to the campus. I walk across a rainbow bridge where I am greeted by my parents. I am the only student in the school. Well, the only human student anyway. I am followed by dragons, unicorns, fairies, elves, and even a golden lion.
“Earth to Ruby,” my brother Sam is saying.
“Sorry,” I mutter. “I didn’t hear you.”
Mom is watching me. She looks worried. I can tell by the way her eyes are focused on me. It’s like she is trying to see inside, to see how I feel. “Not good today?” she asks.
“Worse than not good. Worser even,” I answer.
“I’m not sure that’s a word,” Sam tells me.
“Me either, but it should be,” Dad responds as he reaches over and pats my arm.
“I need to learn how to dance,” I admit.
“That’s a great idea,” Mom answers. “I know there’s a nice dance studio near the high school.”
“By tomorrow,” I finish.
“Tomorrow!”
“Good luck with that,” Connor says.
“Dancing does not exactly run in the Starr family,” Sam adds.
“Boys, please,” Mom says in her mom voice. That’s the voice that means business. The boys shrug and finish their dinners.
“We can work on something after dinner,” Mom offers.
“I might be able to help,” Dad says with a grin.
Not likely. But I know how I feel when my brothers tease me. So I don’t say anything jokey. I just smile.
• • •
After dinner, Connor and Sam do dishes with Dad. Mom and I head to the living room. I explain to Mom about the book club and the play and everything. Then I tell her that Gram told me to be myself. But myself is a non-dancing, non-singing girl.
“Everyone can dance, Ruby. We just have to help you feel the beat. That’s all.”
I don’t want to look like one of those oddball grandmas in cartoons who try to dance and look completely wacky. “Just don’t let me make a fool out of myself,” I beg her.
Ruby Starr Series, Book 1 Page 3