Ruby in the Sky

by Jeanne Zulick Ferruolo

  “Thank you, Dakota. Today, we begin our research at the library media center. Mrs. Canavan has a large selection of biographies, so please don’t limit your research to the Internet. By the end of class, I’d like everyone to have chosen their Wax Museum subject. You are going to live with this person for the next six weeks, so be careful in your choices.” Mr. Andrews clasped his hands. “Let’s gather our notebooks and head over to the library.”

  Kids buzzed about how they already knew who they were going to be. I slipped into the back of the line behind Ahmad. He turned to face me with a grin as goofy as Bob’s.

  “Let me know if you need any more help, Ruby,” he said. “I was new two years ago. I know what it’s like.”

  As the line moved, I peeked through my bangs at Ahmad’s back. His shoes made their click, click sound.

  * * *

  At the entrance, a tall blond woman stood beaming. “Quiet, please. You are entering a library,” she said.

  Everyone gathered around her.

  “Welcome, researchers!” Her voice was clear as a bell. “You should all be familiar with the media center but let’s review. To get started, we have many biographies. You can find them in the nonfiction area”—she pointed into the stacks—“arranged in alphabetical order by the subject’s last name.” She pivoted in the other direction. “And I know you’re all familiar with our higher-speed computers, which only six of you can use at a time. We have a variety of periodicals that can be useful…”

  She kept talking as I scanned the room. There were lots of good places to hide.

  “I am here for questions! Proceed to your research!” she finally said.

  As kids fought for the computers, I slipped into the fiction section. I could see Ahmad in the next row staring at me. I didn’t like how he kept acting as if he was my friend just because he brought me to homeroom.

  I found one of my favorite books, A Wrinkle in Time. I grabbed it and made my way toward a beanbag chair in the corner. My plan was to lay low until class ended. I sank into the chair wishing it could swallow me. There was no way I’d speak in public. Hopefully, Mom and I’d be long gone before this Wax Museum happened.

  “That is a fine book—however, it is a work of fiction.” Mr. Andrews hovered over me. His eyes smiled even though his mouth stayed straight. “You need to find a biography.”

  I nodded my hair forward.

  “Ruby?” His eyes crinkled at the corners.

  Right then, I liked Mr. Andrews. I did. But there were times when the prickly-pit feeling made my throat so scratchy and tight that even though I wanted to talk, no words would come out. Times like this, I wished I could do sign language or something to let Mr. Andrews know I was not going to be part of his Wax Museum.

  I had figured out some tricks that helped. Sometimes if I didn’t look at the person but focused on an object, my throat would open just enough. Right then, I stared at the image on my book’s cover—Meg Murry flying toward the planet Camazotz. I wished I could join her.

  “I won’t be here for the Wax Museum,” I whispered.

  “Really?” Mr. Andrews seemed surprised, as if he couldn’t imagine a student missing such an amazing opportunity. “Well, you’re here now, so let’s see what we can find.”

  I blew air out of my mouth. Great, he was one of those teachers. The kind who thought that, with a little extra attention, I’d suddenly discover what a wondrous thing standing on a stage humiliating myself really was. Disappearing might take a little longer with this guy.

  I lifted my body out of the beanbag and followed Mr. Andrews into the stacks. In the biography section, a handful of books were scattered on the ground.

  “Please be more respectful,” he called after two kids who scrambled away.

  I knelt down to help Mr. Andrews pick up the books. Ahmad approached us, smiling. I stood and began leafing through the book in my hand like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

  “Ahmad, who did you choose?” Mr. Andrews asked.

  Ahmad pushed up his glasses with his fist. “Steve Jobs, inventor of Apple computer. He was Syrian, too.”

  “That’s a fine choice, but you’re going to need more than one source. Let’s see…” Mr. Andrews pulled out a book. “Here’s a good one. Don’t forget to take notes.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Mr. Andrews smiled as Ahmad headed for the beanbag I’d been sitting in.

  “Okay, Ruby, do you have any idea who you’d like to transform into?”

  I glanced at him. I had spent so much time worrying about having to speak in front of people, I hadn’t thought about getting to be someone different. That part was slightly appealing.

  “What are you interested in?” he asked.

  I shrugged. I was interested in riding my bike to Eastern Market with Dad on Sunday mornings. I was interested in flying kites at the Washington Monument and going to the Air and Space Museum. I was interested in staying up late to surprise Dad with a finished section of whatever puzzle we’d been working on.

  “You’re wearing an Air and Space Museum sweatshirt, so you must like science,” he said. “We have books on Marie Curie. Elizabeth Blackwell’s here. She was the first woman physician. You could be an astronaut. Neil Armstrong, Sally Ride … It doesn’t have to be a scientist. Let’s see, there’s Sonia Sotomayor, Hillary Clinton. We’ve got Malala Yousafzai, Michelle Obama.”

  A loud noise erupted by the computers. Mr. Andrews’s head jerked up. “I need to leave you for a moment. Start looking through the books.” He made his way toward the commotion.

  I stared at the book in my hands. There was an astronaut on its cover. He was enclosed in a space suit except for a visor that allowed him to peer at the moon. I recognized him as Michael Collins. I had learned about him at a Saturn V exhibition.

  “You’re going to be a boy?” Dakota appeared next to me, snapping her gum loudly.

  I looked behind me to see who she was talking to, then realized it was me.

  “I’m going to be Princess Diana.” She blinked her long eyelashes. “She was glamorous and tragic, like me.”

  I thought Dakota already looked like a princess with her wavy blond hair and sparkly makeup.

  “You moved into the old Specter farmhouse last week,” she said.

  I nodded, thinking Dakota had wrinkled her nose when she said Specter.

  “You’re from Florida, right?” Snap. “But your mom’s from Fortin. My mom says she remembers her from when they were in kindergarten, but then your mom moved away, but she’s been back to visit because Cecy Reed is her cousin. Miss Reed’s lived in Fortin, like, forever.”

  A girl popped up by Dakota’s side. She had long brown hair that fell in the same wavy curls. She wore a sleek black athletic jersey like Dakota’s. FORTIN DOWNHILL RACING TEAM was stitched in crimson letters.

  “Ellen.” Dakota nudged the girl. “Ruby lives on Specter Hill.” She nodded at Ellen like it meant way more than I could understand. I felt the girls’ eyes on me. I tugged on the sleeve of my sweatshirt.

  Ahmad walked past and gave me a quick wave. I looked at my shoes.

  “You know, you shouldn’t hang out with that boy, Ahmad.” Dakota’s eyes were large and serious. “He disappears every day during lunch. No one knows where he goes. And”—she leaned in—“he’s from the Middle East, like where those terrorists came from who flew into the World Trade Center.”

  “Yeah,” Ellen said. “He’s been here for two years and still can’t speak English right. I don’t think he’s that smart.”

  They both paused, staring hard at me.

  Dakota tilted her head. “Do you speak English?” she said.

  Ellen giggled.

  “Girls.” I was grateful for Mr. Andrews’s interruption. “We are finishing up here. What did you choose?”

  My eyes fell on the book in my hand.

  “Astronaut Michael Collins,” Mr. Andrews said. “Great, so you’re going to pilot the Columbia, Ruby?”
r />   I shrugged. I’d write a report, but there was no way I was speaking. Dakota and Ellen had moved into the stacks and were whispering and laughing. I thought I saw Dakota point at me.

  After we checked out, I got in line with the others, keeping my eyes focused on my book’s cover. Michael Collins’s confident gaze stared back. A giant moon glowed behind him. I thought about him being an astronaut and heading into space and I wondered if he had been really scared to travel to such a faraway place that was so cold and empty. A place where he’d sometimes be all alone, and wouldn’t know what was going to happen next.

  As the line started moving, I stared into the back of Dakota’s shiny black jacket and tried to pretend I could be as brave as Michael Collins.

  CHAPTER

  4

  Later that afternoon, Dakota and Ellen giggled their way past my seat on the bus. I knew they were laughing at me—my stringy black hair or my too-small used coat. I hugged my backpack, letting its weight press against my chest. It felt as heavy to me as the idea of having to speak at the Wax Museum.

  The bus traveled around a park. A large wooden sign marked its entrance: FORTIN TOWN GREEN. It was dotted with benches and swing sets buried under snow.

  After letting kids off at a bunch of small neighborhoods, the bus made its way up Specter Hill. I scanned the woods for a sign of the lady’s camp, but there wasn’t even a thread of smoke.

  At my stop, I looked for Mom’s Fiesta, but the driveway was empty. I bit my lip. Did she expect me to stay here all by myself and freeze?

  As I hiked up the driveway, I saw a bigger problem. The front door was banging open and closed in the wind. In Florida, our apartment door locked automatically. In my sleep-deprived coma that morning, I must not have shut it right.

  I stepped onto the front porch and poked my head inside. “Mom?” I called. No answer. I took a step. “Bob?” Nothing.

  Don’t let me down, Ruby. I’m trusting you to take good care of Bob.

  I dropped everything and slammed the door. I ran down the driveway calling, “BOB! BOB VAN DOODLE!” I listened for the clink of dog tags but the only sound was the wind.

  My sneakers skidded down Specter Hill. “Bob! Bob!” I stumbled to the pine tree and frozen gate. I stared at the NO TRESPASSING sign. That’s when I heard the sound of a muffled bark.

  “Bob!”

  And then a dog’s whine, like a cry for help. It was coming from the lady’s camp. I dashed down her driveway.

  Stay out! Stay out! Stay out! the trees seemed to shout. But I had to find Bob.

  When I got to the burning campfire, I didn’t see Bob, but I could hear him. He was barking and whining from inside that crooked gray shed.

  I spun, searching for the lady, but there was only the boarded-up house staring at me with its bandaged eyes. Stay out! Stay out! Stay out!

  My heart pounded in my ears. Every ounce of me wanted to get away from that creepy place. Bob whined and a clatter like falling tin cans came from inside the shed. I could hear Bob’s nails clawing the door.

  I scanned the woods for the lady. Nothing.

  Another sharp bark. I worried he was hurt. I inched closer to the shed and flicked the latch open. Bob bounded out, knocking me down.

  “Bob! Are you okay?” Relief flooded over me until I realized I had forgotten his leash. I grabbed him by the collar. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” I started down the driveway dragging him, but he twisted and pulled out of my grasp. I fell backward. Snow soaked through my jeans.

  “Bob! Come!” I yelled.

  Bob danced around me like we were playing a game. I got up and grabbed for his collar again, but he stayed out of my reach. Tears welled in my eyes. Do not cry, I told myself. Do not cry.

  “How about a thank-you?” a scratchy voice called.

  I spun around to see the lady. She was still wrapped in scarves, but they were looser, revealing a wrinkled brown face. A few strands of wiry gray hair had escaped and were whipping around in the wind.

  When she spoke, I saw she was missing her two front teeth. “He could have been hurt, you know. Hunters leave traps by the pond.”

  Bob had found a stick too large to carry, but that didn’t stop him from dragging it toward her.

  “I spring them every time I find a new one,” she said. “So they can’t catch my pets. But sometimes I miss one.”

  A large blue-and-white bird swooped above our heads and landed on a dangling tin can, making it spin and tip. Two chickadees flew off. More blue birds came, squawking and fighting and knocking the cans together. In their commotion, seeds spilled.

  The lady ran beneath the feeders waving her arms. “Accck! Go! Go away!” she screeched. Bob joined in, running and barking. The birds flew into the forest. “Blue jays!” She cackled. “They’re bullies, they are.”

  I swallowed hard.

  “At least you have a real coat today. Now you need some good boots and a warm hat.” The lady stared at me as if she was trying to look inside my brain.

  I felt my insides freeze. I nodded my hair forward, but I was curious, too. Did she live in that shed?

  “You must be about twelve.”

  I gave a quick nod.

  “Twelve, twelve,” she whispered as her gaze fell to her feet.

  I thought about the look Dakota gave Ellen when she mentioned Specter Hill. I wondered if they thought I was as weird as this lady because I lived near her.

  “Now you can return the favor.” She spun on her heel and walked toward the boarded-up house. “I need you to feed my pets. The seeds are right here.”

  Bob leaped up and trotted after her. I thought about making a break for it, but I knew he’d never follow.

  She stood in front of a giant steel garbage can that rested against the house. “My name is Abigail, by the way. Abigail Jacobs.”

  Bob licked Abigail’s leathery hand. I rolled my eyes. Traitor.

  Abigail absently reached down and stroked his head. Her crooked fingers reminded me of the branches on the skeleton trees. “The dog and I have come to an understanding,” she said. “He’s not going to bother my pets and I’m not going to shoot him.” She coughed out a crazy laugh and glanced sideways at me. “You don’t talk much, do you? That’s good. Most people talk too much.”

  She lifted the top from the steel can, reached inside, and removed a wooden scoop spilling with seeds. “Black-oil sunflower seeds. Only the best for my pets,” she said. “Follow me.” She moved beneath the wire. “My arthritis won’t let me reach like I used to.”

  I stared at the dangling tin cans and empty boot.

  “You’re going to fill these feeders, but first I need to call them over.” Abigail poured the seeds into her bare hands, letting the scoop fall to the ground.

  Holding her seed-filled hands in front of her, she sang out, “Chick-a-dee-dee-dee, chick-a-dee-dee-dee-dee.”

  Tiny black-and-white birds gathered in the snow-trimmed bushes. One flew toward her in its roller-coaster way. I almost fell over when it landed on her fingertips and snagged a seed. I gasped and the bird flew off. I covered my mouth with both hands.

  More chickadees came, then, one at a time. Each clung to her fingertips before flying away with a seed. After a few moments, Abigail dropped the remaining seeds into the snow. “Something for the squirrels,” she said.

  “How’d you do that?” I whispered.

  As she turned toward me, I was surprised to see that her eyes had become as blue as a summer sky.

  “Magic,” she said. She dug the scoop out of the snow and headed back toward the seed can. She filled the scoop and handed it to me.

  My feet were so cold now, I couldn’t feel my toes. I reached for a Chock full o’Nuts can. Half the seeds spilled.

  “Pull on the line,” she said. “It’ll hold.”

  I emptied the scoop and handed it to her. She reminded me of the homeless people I used to see in Washington, DC. There was a man who used to sit at the top of the Dupont Circle escalator. Even i
n the middle of summer, he dressed in a long-sleeved army uniform. This lady reminded me of him, scary, but fragile, too. Whenever we saw him, Dad saluted and said, “Thank you for your service.”

  Abigail handed me another scoop. I flinched at her closeness. She still smelled like black licorice, but other things, too. Pine needles and wood smoke and winter. When our hands touched, it was like her sadness wrapped around me, as thick as the scarves she hid beneath.

  As I filled the last can, Abigail moved toward the edge of the woods. From the corner of my eye I saw her drag a wooden sled filled with logs. I emptied the last of the seeds. As she came near, I grabbed the rope to help pull.

  “Right here,” she said, when we were in front of the shed. I handed her the scoop. As she shuffled back to the can to put it away, I couldn’t help but stare at the boarded-up house.

  She closed the lid and turned toward me. I quickly looked away, but it was too late, she had caught me staring.

  “Stay away from there,” she snapped. “There are only ghosts in that house.” With that, she pivoted on one foot and shuffled into her crooked shed. The door slammed shut behind her. I heard the inside latch click into place. The only other sound was the rustling of chickadee wings.

  Bob lifted his head as if to say, Hey, where’d she go? I turned toward the house as if it could tell me why she had disappeared, but it only stared back with its bandaged window-eyes.

  Stay out! it warned.

  “Bob,” I said, hearing my voice crack. “Let’s get out of here.” This time Bob followed. We ran up Specter Hill as fast as our frozen feet would take us.

  * * *

  Mom’s Fiesta was in the driveway when I got back. Smoke poured from the chimney, so I knew Cecy must have stopped by. I was glad I had missed her.

  “Mom,” I called into the house. Bob pushed past me. I took off my coat and headed toward the sink. I drank straight from the faucet. The water was cool and clear. I filled Bob’s bowl. He lapped the water as if we’d just crossed the Sahara.