Ruby Starr Series, Book 1

by Deborah Lytton

  “I guess.” This must be my new standard phrase. I guess. (It’s kind of like shrugging without the shrug.)

  What I want to say is that Siri shouldn’t have invited Charlotte into the Unicorns without asking me first. And that only people who love books should be part of the Unicorns. Book club isn’t a theater club. It’s for reading.

  “I’m sure next Tuesday will be just like always.” Siri gives me her pink-braces grin. And I can’t help but smile back.

  “Let’s race,” I say. We run our fastest around the yard, side by side. I stretch my legs out and ignore the cramp in my side. I just run.

  • • •

  Mom makes tortilla soup and quesadillas for dinner. There are options without meat, with meat, and gluten-free. Every choice looks delicious to me. My stomach makes a little rumbling sound to remind me I didn’t eat much at lunch today.

  “Sunday, we’re going over to Grandma and Grandpa’s,” Mom tells us. She passes around a platter of chips and salsa.

  I dip a triangle of quesadilla into sour cream. Secret factoid about me: I love, absolutely love, sour cream. It’s the best part about quesadilla night. “For Grandpa’s birthday,” I pipe in with my mouth full.

  “And decorating,” Connor adds. It’s a family tradition. Every year, we help our grandparents decorate their front yard for Halloween. They live on a cul-de-sac so their house is super popular on Halloween. The street is blocked off, and all the homes are decorated like it’s a street party.

  “Your grandfather has asked for only handmade gifts,” Dad adds as he bites into a chip. It makes a crunchy sound. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Dad chews really loud.

  “Not like this is a news flash. He says the same thing every year,” Sam comments.

  “So true.” Mom speaks up. “But it’s more meaningful to receive gifts from the heart.”

  I am digging into my tortilla soup when I proudly announce, “I already know what I am giving Grandpa.”

  Everyone waits for me to answer. They know I like to make announcements in two parts. The first part is the introduction. I wait a beat for the suspense to kick in. And then I hit them with the second part—the content. In this case, what I am actually giving Grandpa.

  “A poem. About George and Abe.”

  “Très magnifique,” Dad responds.

  “I thought I’d bake a cake, if anyone wants to help,” Mom offers.

  “I’ll help!” “Me too!” Sam and I speak at the same time. Sam loves sports and all, but his secret favorite hobby is cooking. We watch cooking shows together all the time. He wants to be a chef when he grows up.

  Connor, on the other hand, doesn’t want to be anywhere near the kitchen, unless he’s performing a scientific experiment.

  I see myself in the kitchen mixing cake ingredients in a giant bowl. I add vanilla, butter, flour, and eggs. Next to me, Connor has his own mixing bowl. He is adding grass, leaves, dead ants, and dirt. I lean over my bowl and sniff the sweet smell. Connor leans over his bowl and breathes in. I roll my eyes. Connor switches bowls when I am not looking. I bake dead ants and dirt into a cake for Gramps.

  After that, we all share stories about our days. I don’t tell them about Charlotte and the Great Apology. Some things are just too personal to share at the dinner table. Instead, I wait until bedtime. Mom sits on my bed, and we read a little together from The Secret Garden. We take turns reading pages until we finish a chapter.

  “I like Mary,” Mom says. “She has spunk. Kind of like you. She isn’t afraid to follow her heart.”

  “Sometimes she says things she shouldn’t though,” I say. “I do that too.”

  “Like with your friends?” Mom asks, putting the book down and looking at me. She brushes a curl back from my cheek. It is still damp from my shower.

  I shrug. “Sometimes I say things I wish I hadn’t said. Only it’s too late to call them back. And then sometimes I say another something that makes it even worse.”

  “We all do that, Ruby. It takes wisdom to know when to speak and when to stay silent. Time will help. And experience.” Mom touches her finger to the tip of my nose. She has done that since I was really little. She told me once it used to make me laugh. Now it just makes me feel like a grilled cheese—all gooey and melty.

  I put my arms around Mom and hold her tight. As if holding her this tight can make me shrink back to being four or five even. I’d like to go back to some earlier age when things were easier. Then I hear her voice above me. Her chin is resting on the crown of my head, right where my princess tiara would be (if I had one).

  “Why don’t you invite Siri over this weekend? Or Jessica or Daisy.”

  I shake my head. I don’t say the words though. I don’t think they can come out without tears. But the truth is, I can’t take the rejection. If I ask one of them to come over and they say no, it will crush me.

  I don’t tell Mom. I think she probably understands this anyway. Because she says, “How about spending some time with me, instead?”

  I nod my head this time. I’m sure things will get better at school. I just need the space of a weekend to figure things out. After that, I’m sure everything will be back to normal.

  Chapter 8

  The Freakiest Friday Ever

  Friday mornings, our whole school meets in the auditorium. We have an assembly with announcements about events, and sometimes we do something fun, like get prizes or win tickets for Popsicles at lunch. Today, when I get to school, Siri already has a seat for me at the end of the row.

  She waves to me and points to the seat next to her. “For you.”

  “Thank you. And a good morning to you,” I answer using my fake British accent. (Secret factoid about me: I like to speak with a British accent whenever possible. It makes me sound smarter, and also like I belong at Hogwarts.)

  As I slip into the seat, I notice Charlotte sitting on the other side of Siri.

  “I’ve been telling Charlotte about what happens at Friday assemblies,” Siri says, flipping her braids back and forth as she looks from me to Charlotte and back again. I have two thoughts:

  1. I wonder if Siri is going to pull a muscle in her neck?

  2. Can this only be Charlotte’s first Friday? (It seems like she has been here for months already.)

  “The best part is when they hand out the weekly class prize,” I tell Charlotte still in my British voice. After all, I am trying to be her friend now.

  “Yeah, every week the class with the most spirit points gets to keep the trophy for a whole week!” Siri pipes in.

  “Don’t forget the extra recess and Popsicle party,” I add.

  “A Popsicle party sounds fun.” Charlotte turns her shiny grin to me. “I hope our class wins!”

  Then she looks at Siri. “How do you get spirit points?”

  “Wearing school colors on Friday—that’s red and white. Recycling our lunches. And participating in school events, like the spelling bee.”

  “I didn’t know about the school colors,” Charlotte says softly. She is wearing a yellow T-shirt with jeans.

  I have on a red-and-white-striped T-shirt and a red sweatshirt. I pull off my sweatshirt and hand it over to Charlotte. “Here, you can borrow mine.”

  “Are you sure?” she asks.

  I shrug. “You can give it back to me at the end of the day. I have a red-and-white shirt on too.”

  Siri squeezes my hand. “That’s really nice of you, Ruby.”

  “We want points, don’t we?” I say lightly. I act like sharing my favorite sweatshirt is no big deal. But it is a big deal. And I know that I am really trying to be Charlotte’s friend. I am trying to think about how I would feel in her position. I would like someone to do the same for me.

  “We might not win anyway,” Siri says. “Mr. Penley’s class has won for the last three weeks in a row.”

  “That�
��s not fair,” Charlotte says. “They should only let a class win once until everyone has had a chance.”

  I laugh. “You wouldn’t be saying that if our class had won three times in a row and we were having Popsicles again today.”

  Charlotte laughs. “So true.”

  Then the bell rings, and our principal, Mr. Snyder, leads us in the flag salute. The assembly is short today. A few students make announcements about after-school activities and the upcoming book fair.

  I am sitting in an auditorium full of book writers. All of us are holding the books we have written. Mine has a unicorn on the cover. I clutch it in my hands. My name is called out, and I stand, bowing to the applause, and make my way to the podium. There, I am presented with a trophy for writing the best book of the century. “Thank you,” I say in a confident but humble voice. “I am honored to receive this award. My writing career began in the fifth grade.” I am about to say more, but someone calls my name.

  “Ruby! It’s time!” I blink, remembering where I am.

  “Finally!” I say to Siri. I scoot to the edge of my seat. Siri and I cross our fingers, and I close my eyes really tight.

  “Mrs. Sablinsky’s class in Room 15!”

  “We won! We actually won!” I open my eyes and jump to my feet at the same time as Mrs. Sablinsky walks to the front of the auditorium. I have to say I do notice a little spring in her step. Even her frown looks a bit happier than usual.

  I turn around to see Will P standing in the row behind me. “It’s all that trash you picked up!”

  Will P pats himself on the shoulder. “I am responsible,” he agrees. “I am supremely eco-friendly.”

  Today, Will is wearing school spirit socks with red-and-white checks. I point to them. “Good choice,” I tell him before turning back around to watch my teacher carry the trophy down the aisle.

  The assembly ends after that, and we follow Mrs. Sablinsky back to class. She displays the trophy on her desk where we can all see it.

  Journal writing zooms by, as always. I write all about Gramps and the Halloween decorating party we will have this weekend. Before I know it, Mrs. Sablinsky is giving us the spelling test. We have to print each word and then, next to it, write it in cursive as well. My cursive is pretty good, except for my r’s. They always come out looking like upside-down swings. I studied last night, and I am confident about the words. So I only really have to worry about those swingy r’s.

  I write the words down as soon as Mrs. Sablinsky says them. I don’t wait for her to use them in sentences. I want to have as much time as possible to make my cursive look fancy. The only word that kind of messes me up is believe. I can’t remember if it is spelled like this:

  believe

  or

  beleive

  I decide to go for the i before the e. It looks better that way so I think it must be right. (Probably I have seen it that way on my study sheet.)

  We roll right into the math test. Mrs. Sablinsky doesn’t think we need breaks between exams. She’s all about getting the hard stuff out of the way first thing.

  The math test is easy-peasy, lemon-squeezy.

  I finish really fast, but then I go back and check all my answers. After I turn in my test, I even have time to work on a word search. Mrs. S gives them out if we have extra time. I choose one in an upside-down magician’s hat. It has all kinds of words having to do with magic. Like disappear and illusion. I even find believe. And guess what? It’s spelled with the i before the e! So I got that one right!

  The bell rings, and I hurry to my backpack for my lunch. All this testing has made me super-duper hungry. It must be my lucky day because Mom didn’t give me my usual. Instead, I have a blueberry muffin and strawberries. I can’t wait to eat them!

  I spot Siri already walking through the door, so I hurry to catch up. But I get squished between two boys, and I lose track of her. I reach her at the lunch tables. She’s already sitting with Charlotte. It kind of hurts that she didn’t wait for me. Sort of like I just put my hand on a red ant and it stung me, but only for a second—almost not even long enough to realize. (Almost.)

  I find a spot next to Jessica and open my lunch. I’m just about to bite into the blueberry muffin when this happens:

  “Can’t wait for tonight!” Charlotte says to Siri.

  “Me either,” Siri answers with a quick glance at me.

  I’m afraid to ask. I know I shouldn’t ask. But I just can’t help myself, and the words come out anyway. “What’s tonight?”

  Glances go back and forth between Siri and Charlotte. Siri shrugs as though she is saying, I might as well tell her.

  And then I know for real absolute sure that I shouldn’t have asked.

  “Charlotte is sleeping over tonight.”

  Oh.

  Well.

  A sleepover.

  I don’t even taste the blueberry muffin. It might as well be Abe’s dog food. I consider skipping the strawberries altogether because I really have no appetite anymore. But Mom made this nice food for me, and the least I can do is eat it. So I eat the strawberries. They taste like sunshine and happiness. I think Mom sent them on purpose. Because somehow, she just made this day a little better. And it’s almost like she is here with me right now, telling me to look on the bright side.

  Siri and I have other friends—of course we do. And we have other playdates even. (Now that we’re in fifth grade, it seems kind of babyish to call them playdates though.) It’s just that we don’t have

  Sleepovers.

  Sleepovers are a best-friend kind of thing. Everyone knows that—everyone between the ages of eight and eighteen anyway. You don’t stay up all night sharing secrets with someone you barely know. That’s best-friend territory.

  But obviously Siri doesn’t know that.

  I look over at her across the table. She didn’t even sit next to me. She’s sitting across the table next to Charlotte. Sharing a fruit leather with her.

  Or maybe, the voice in my head says softly, maybe she does know that. And Charlotte is her new BFF. I hate that voice. It’s like my own personal frenemy, always saying the things I’m afraid of saying.

  I eat another strawberry for strength and ignore the voice. If we’re all going to be friends, then let’s get on with it. I plaster a giant smile on my face.

  “Ready to play?”

  Jessica wrinkles her eyebrows. “I thought you didn’t like the princess game?”

  I shrug. “It’s growing on me, I guess.”

  “Great!” Charlotte answers, jumping to her hot-pink-laced feet.

  • • •

  Twenty minutes later, I am princessed out. So much that I am happy to return to class. As we line up, I notice that my sneaker has come untied. I lean down and quickly tie the hot-pink laces. But not before I notice Charlotte and Siri’s feet side by side. I can see two pairs of matching laces. And for some reason, seeing the four hot-pink bows lined up like that unties my insides and makes my eyes a little watery. I duck my head and wipe the back of my hand across my eyes. Then I brush some loose curls off my face, drying my hand on my hair.

  I’m not sure why the laces are my undoing—but they are. It takes all my strength and determination not to look again.

  But I don’t.

  I won’t.

  I am in a dark cave, backed against a wall. An evil sorceress is holding me there with her dark power. She wants me to give her the one thing that will make her live forever. My imagination. I’m afraid if I give it to her, I will no longer see the impossible. Just then, a giant white tail sweeps the sorceress aside. It is my white dragon. “Queen Ruby,” it calls out. I climb up onto the dragon’s neck and hold on tight. The dragon flies high over the rainbow. I am free, and I am still me. Anything is possible.

  Chapter 9

  The Freakiest Friday Ever, Part 2!

  Libra
ry is my absolute and total favorite classroom activity. The librarian is this really super-nice lady named Mrs. Xia. She always talks to me about the classics. Book people kind of have this secret code language, like we’re connected as part of a club or something. We recognize the same love of books in the other person’s reaction to a simple question like, “What are you reading right now?”

  When a book person answers that question, their eyes start to glow a little. You can see it in my mom, Mrs. Xia, Connor, and Jessica.

  So today, when I see Mrs. Xia, she asks me right away. “What are you reading this week, Ruby?”

  “The Secret Garden,” I say with pride.

  Mrs. Xia claps her hands together, and a wide smile spreads across her face like sunshine. “One of my favorites!”

  And there it is, the book-people secret code.

  Behind me, students are moving around the room, looking at the books. Mrs. Xia has set out Halloween titles for people to browse. But I already know exactly what I want.

  “I’d like to find a cookbook today,” I tell her. “I’m baking a cake for my grandfather’s birthday this weekend. I could use some tips.”

  “Ah, we have some wonderful cookbooks. Over here.” Mrs. Xia leads me to the nonfiction section of the library. On the shelf are cookbooks for every type of food—Italian, Mexican, Chinese, all-American favorites, French, Spanish. My mouth waters just looking at the titles. The next section is for baking. There are some fun books called Princess Baking and Cupcake World that I definitely want to check out another time. There is even a book on making candy. I think this could be a good choice too. But I am on a mission. So I select a book called 100 Cakes. With a hundred cakes, I have to find at least one Grandpa would like!

  I take my book to the front. My friends are standing in line already with their choices. Some people make library social time and choose books with their friends. Sometimes I do that too. Sometimes Siri and I even look for books that had doubles so we could get the exact same book. But not today. Today, I needed some air.