“That’s mighty nice of you, Ruby.” Racine speaks in an affected voice, doing a spot-on John Wayne impersonation.
I laugh a little overenthusiastically. Clearly, I’m not all in my right mind.
“What?” she chirps. “My dad loves westerns.”
“No problem, lil‘ lady,” I answer, attempting my own less-than-stellar impression.
“Great. Now we have to put up with two idiots,” Marta mutters.
Racine hugs me after Marta gets on the bus, waving as she walks off to her car. When the bus pulls away, I stand with Ashley near the empty quad, inhaling piñon-scented air, holding it in until my lungs feel like bursting. I stand and stare up at the mountain range, focusing on the craggy green peaks and rutted mesas looming over the valley.
“It’s so pretty,” I murmur absently.
“It really is,” Ashley nods. “It’ll be hard to leave next summer. New York and me, I kind of can’t imagine it. I’ve never been out of New Mexico.”
“Really? You’re moving to New York?”
“Acting,” she shrugs. “Theater. It seems like the best place for it. But it also kinda scares me.”
“I know what you mean.”
Secretly, I already sort of hate the thought of moving to Northern California to attend Stanford—Liddy’s pick for me. Then again, I never really imagined that I’d like living in a place like La Luna either and it’s definitely charming.
After Ashley leaves, I stand in the same spot on the quad. Behind me, engines rumble in the school parking lot, filling my head with noise. The sound tickles my ears, whispering nonsense that makes odd sense in my addled mind. For a moment I drift away, daydreaming about Leo and the ruin. Then I realize I’m standing stiffly, staring up at nothing with my mouth slightly open, and pray people aren’t thinking the worst about me as they walk by.
Looped up on headache meds, I start my trek back to La Luna. Overhead, black cumulus clouds follow me as I walk under the highway overpass toward Frontage Road. I try to keep my eyes on the street. But my mind wanders.
Except for my headache, the day has gone about as well as a person could ask for. Racine is like the Tiffany Diamond, and Ashley is a gem, though the verdict is still out on Marta. Still, I’m lucky they’ve taken me in. Marta could be Medusa for all I care, as long as I don’t have to wade through a sea of new faces on my own.
Closer to the interstate a strong wind tears through the pass, intensifying the sharp, earthy scent of mountain rain. It whips my hair into a nest and feels cool, and crisp, and electric against my skin. Somewhere close by it thunders. I pull hair out of my eyes and glance north, turning in circles on the side of the road.
Over the mountains, it looks like night punched a hole through the sky. Long black clouds swallow white threads, coming together in a grey blur over the horizon. I watch, mesmerized, while leaves and dirt and an errant flyer blow past my bare legs.
In a blink, the storm moves overhead. The sky opens and a blanket of rain rockets toward the street, falling in sheets that pelt my head and arms. It stings, but I feel alive. With my face to the sky, surrounded by a drum line of falling rain and thunder, I barely notice the black pickup that pulls over beside me, idling on the shoulder.
“What the hell are you doing?” the driver yells out his partially open window.
“Standing!” I yell back, still looking up at the clouds.
“Jesus, Ruby, get in the truck.”
My name snaps me back to reality. I jerk my head toward the road, peer through the truck’s rain-obscured window, and vehemently shake my head no, when I realize it’s Ezra.
Ezra leans across the cab and opens the passenger door from the inside, motioning for me to climb in. “I don’t live that far from you. Come on.”
His damaged face grimaces at me, but he looks earnest, if not a little bit anxious that I’ll decline. “Fine,” I harrumph. I climb into the cab and drop my soaking wet backpack on the floor, dripping all over his seat. “Umm, I’m wet.”
“I see that.” He frowns.
“Sorry.”
“What were you doing?” he asks irritably.
“Walking home.”
Ezra shakes his head. “Figures.”
“How do you know my name?”
He raises his brow, pulling the waxy area over his eyes up toward his hairline. “Daisy called you Ruby when she bitched me out.”
Ezra shifts his truck out of neutral and pulls away from the side of the road. He looks forward and keeps his mouth shut, peering through the triangular patch of transparent space trailing the windshield wipers.
I survey his uneven face while he drives, following the knotty skin over his features. Near his left eye an unblemished patch of skin crosses the bridge of his nose. He still has a pronounced nose, but the cheek facing me twists in scarred scallops; it’s rough and dark in places and looks almost beautiful in the muted light.
Ezra still has prominent lips, but the right side of his Cupid’s bow merges with the space beneath his nose, losing its border to scarring. His eyebrows are dark and full like his hair, but the skin above them is smooth and thin, almost like tanned wax paper. And though his right eye has the slightest droop at the outer corner, his violet-brown irises are still striking. Whatever happened, his thick, shoulder-length hair looks like something out of a shampoo commercial; he wears it pulled back, though a few loose locks fall over his face like a curtain.
“Stop staring,” Ezra says matter-of-factly to the road.
My fingers twitch, inadvertently moving for the sketchpad in my backpack. I want to draw him. “Why?”
He shakes his head tersely and frowns. “Because it makes me uncomfortable.”
“My mother’s whole world was her face. She was beautiful. Then she died. Lot of good it did her.”
Ezra pauses before speaking. “I’m sorry to hear it.”
“She was a model,” I tell the windshield feebly. “Anyway, I don’t care what people look like. It doesn’t matter.”
He glances sideways, then snorts. “You don’t think so?”
“I know so,” I insist.
Ezra nods curtly, obviously finishing the conversation inside his head. After a moment, he asks, “Why were you walking in the rain?”
“Why are you driving in the rain?”
“Because I want to go home.”
“Well?”
“You’re very difficult.” He sighs.
“I’m not really.”
Ezra briefly meets my eyes. He looks both amused, and annoyed, and entirely unconvinced by my proclamation. “Why didn’t you take the school bus?”
“I didn’t feel like taking the bus. Besides, how do you know I’m coming from school?”
He chuckles but keeps his mouth shut.
“Because everyone here knows everything, right?”
“Something like that.”
“I have to repeat senior year!” I blurt out.
He grins and covers his mouth with a hand, speaking through his fingers. “You’re that stupid?”
“Like minds,” I mumble. When he ignores me, I add, “You’re a jerk.”
“I never claimed I wasn’t.”
“So, what happened to your face?”
“How do you know I wasn’t born like this?”
“And you call me difficult.” I sigh.
I keep my eyes on the street and my mouth shut the rest of the way home. Raindrops bounce off the road, leaving behind seismic rings that spread out centrifugally across the tarmac. Each ripple is its own distraction. Given Ezra’s complete stonewall, I’m grateful for it.
When we pull into my driveway, I realize I haven’t told Ezra where to go. “How’d you know where I live?” I ask him.
“I’m right up over the hill there.” He points through the forest. “I know who all my neighbors are.”
“Oh. Right. Angel said you live close by.”
“Angel.” He swallows like the name tastes bad. “I’m sure that’s not all
he told you.”
“He also said I’d get used to your attitude.”
“Of course he did.”
I sit in Ezra’s truck, dripping on his seat, doing my best to give him the evil eye and feeling a little sorry for him even as I do.
“You can get out of my truck now,” he announces.
“Well thanks for the ride, I guess.”
Ezra’s eyes fall on my face, narrowing while they focus. When I make no move to get out, he reaches across my waist and unlatches the door, swinging it open. “Goodbye.”
His harsh send-off makes my cheeks sting. He may as well have slapped me, then pushed me out. I jump down and slam the truck door as hard as I can, eager to suck some of the wind out of his overinflated sails.
Angel is right. Ezra wears the term “jerk” like some people wear their letterman jackets. It fits him well. But then, I also kind of respect his bluntness—despite how badly I want to clock him.
Five
Guardian Angel
My head hums as I stand up, brushing pine needles and dirt from my jeans. Scratching at my ears, I toss my stumpy charcoals into my backpack, wishing Mother Nature had it in her to grant me just one more hour to sketch the ruin. Pre-twilight transforms the plateau into a fairyland. I want to draw the ruin in shadows, but I’m afraid of looking more like mountain lion meat than Ruby Brooks once twilight sets in.
Sunset turns the mountainside golden, igniting the dried flora covering the forest floor. As I lean over to collect an escapee drawing, a patch of crimson pine needles catches my attention. The needles spread out in a piecemeal path that leads me toward a maroon mess near the center of the ruin, to the rock Leo claimed was once an altar. Against the drab ground, the patch looks like dried blood. I pick up a pine needle, scratching at it, watching curiously as a crusty substance flakes off its root, like rust crumbling between my fingers.
A faint metallic scent fills the air, popping my imagination into overdrive. Turning in circles on the empty plateau, I suddenly feel exposed, and maybe a little afraid of being something’s dinner.
As I stare at the rock, the humming grows louder, vibrating between the ruin’s crumbling walls. I paw at my ears, then rub my eyes, waiting for my head to explode as my vision turns the forest into blurry chunks of light and outlines. Off to the side, between the trees, something moves. Startled, I whip around, squinting to see better.
In the shadows between two tall pines, I see my mother.
Already unnerved, I close my eyes, trying to forget Daisy’s haunted forest stories. My mother died ten months ago. It’s got to be the altitude. There’s no way she’s standing there like an ephemeral stump near the ruins. Still, my mind takes off running, moving from ghosts, to demons, to being sure I’m about to face down another mountain lion.
Shaky and suddenly mindful of Leo’s story about Ottomundo, not to mention just about every news report about mysterious animal attacks I’ve ever seen, I rush to my backpack. Quickly gathering all my art materials, I turn toward the sloping hillside, refusing to look back before running at breakneck speed down the mountain to the creek.
Inside my kitchen, at the table, I collapse over my backpack. Did I really just sprint down the mountain? Seriously, Ruby. Jeez.
Ghosts. What a joke. Embrace the unknown. Have some fun. Don’t be such a freaking baby. If Mom was alive, that’s exactly what she’d tell me.
Rationalizing the plateau’s oddities over a bag of Cheetos and a hot shower, I try sketching the ruin from memory afterward to unwind. A couple of sketches and a couple of Oreos dipped in milk for good measure, do the trick. My fears are easy enough to explain. Whether blood or sap, altitude does funny things to a person; ears ring and heads spin. Animals hunt and the things they hunt bleed.
By nightfall, as I park on Luna Street, I manage to move on to stressing about more important things, like my outfit and being the new girl in town. Racine and Ashley planned a girls’ night out, and walking toward La Cuesta to meet them, my nerves go a little wonky. The ruin and its strange hum fall off my map. Starting over is just as frightening.
I notice Racine immediately. Under La Cuesta’s neon sign, she lounges against the wall in a thin red sweater dress and high-heeled tan sandals that match her handbag. Ashley stands next to her in a gauzy blue mini. Compared to Racine, she looks almost mousy.
“Hey!” I wave at them.
“Ruby!” Racine rushes over and grabs my bare shoulders. “Look at you!”
Guessing in advance that they’d wear dresses, I dug up a billowy yellow skirt and violet halter top earlier. Liddy says they don’t match. But I’ve never taken her or Mom’s fashion advice very seriously.
Twirling in a little circle, I hold my arms out at my sides. “Okay?”
Racine purrs, “Divine.”
“Hose me down.” Ashley waves an open palm at her face. “I can’t even.”
Racine swats Ashley’s butt and hooks an arm through my arm, sandwiching herself between us. From the sidewalk, I hear the cover band playing inside La Cuesta clearly. Inside, the noise is deafening. People crowd every square inch between La Cuesta’s four walls; they dance on the dance floor, hover over pool tables, and pile into booths, yelling over each other enthusiastically.
“Ruby!” Racine shouts in my ear once we make it past the entrance. “Come up to the bar with me and order for us. Ash will look for a table.”
“Why me?” I yell back.
“Word is Jack doesn’t card. But just in case, you’re new in town, and you look older, and you’re gorgeous.”
I look Racine over. “You’re not exactly chopped liver.”
“Please, Ruby. You’re such a cool cucumber. I giggle when I’m nervous.”
That’s a new one to me. I don’t feel anywhere near as composed as Racine looks. “I might pee my pants,” I complain with a straight face.
She raises her eyebrows. “I have Handi Wipes in my purse.”
“All right, come on.” I grab Racine’s hand and drag her to the bar, nudging us between two men standing at the railing. “Excuse me.” I smile coyly.
One of them smiles back. “No excuse needed.” He clears a space and lets his eyes wander over my face and body.
“See,” Racine whispers in my ear.
Ignoring my neighbor’s prying eyes, I lean over the bar. “Hey!” I call out to the bartender.
“Hey yourself.” The bartender nods appraisingly. “What’ll it be?”
Racine elbows me in the ribs. She wants a Bloody Mary. But me? I have no idea. I’ve never been much of a drinker. “Make me something special?” I ask, smiling just enough to seem flirty.
“Sure.” He winks.
We leave the bar with Racine’s Bloody Mary, Ashley’s Cape Cod, and my Chattanooga-something. As we maneuver through a slew of already drunk people, Racine leans in and yells, “You’re amazing!”
“Thanks.” I grimace. Being my mother’s daughter means I know how to work a room. By the time I was six, I’d learned “charming.” By twelve, well, Mom had already taught me to use everything in my arsenal. Though I never felt good about it—manipulating people always makes me feel dirty.
We comb the tavern until we find Ashley at a booth near the back of the tiny dance floor, already surrounded by boys. They make room for us around the table.
“Hey, Ruby,” one of them says when we sit down. Henry, I think. “How do you like Pecos?”
“Everyone’s really great.”
“It’s a total shithole,” one of the other boys says.
“It’s not,” I insist.
Racine shakes her head. “You just wait.”
“Pecos and La Luna suck ass. I’m out of here as soon as I graduate,” Henry sniffs.
“Me too,” Racine nods. “Hello, Arizona State.”
Ashley rolls her eyes. “Ray, you change your freaking mind every week. I thought you were set on UNLV.”
“Las Vegas is old news.” She waves her hand in the air, blowing Ashley off. “Whe
re are you going, Ruby?”
“Stanford, probably,” I answer quickly, trying to downplay it. “I got in last year, then deferred. They’re holding my place; it’s mine as long as I finish up with decent grades at Pecos.”
Racine and Ashley both looked surprised. Ashley holds a small hand up beside her head, tilting it inquisitively.
I take a deep breath. “I’m repeating senior year.”
“Seriously?” Racine gawks. She takes a sip of her drink and glances up at the ceiling as if unsure whether to pry. “Why?”
I shrug. “It’s a long, boring story.”
She shoots me a look. “So, are you going?”
I shrug again. “We’ll see.”
Mom and I used to argue about how much Stanford costs. She wanted to know why I couldn’t apply somewhere local. Then, after she died, Liddy insisted on tapping into a part of her inheritance, by default my inheritance, to pay for it. Once upon a time, I had something to prove. I wanted Mom to understand I had more to offer than fading looks and charm. But after she died, I realized I’d picked a stupid fight.
Henry holds his hand out across the table. “Forget college. Right now, I want to dance. Do you dance, Ruby?”
“I don’t,” I answer nicely, doing my best to avoid public humiliation.
Racine pokes my waist under the table. “Go,” she insists.
Henry jumps up and snatches my hand, pulling me into a standing position. I grab my drink, downing it in one gulp while I glare at Racine.
The limited space on the small, packed dance floor makes it hard to move, and that’s a blessing. I stand very close to Henry, swaying instead, which given the setup is about the best anyone can do. Henry talks over the music, but I barely hear him. So I just nod here and there and look around the room.
After what seems like a decade, Henry smiles and steps away, bowing majestically. I’m about to curtsy back when someone taps my shoulder.
“Ruby, you look incredible!” that someone shouts.
Out of uniform, I barely recognize Angel. His dark, worn jeans and untucked black button up dress him down. But he wears casual the way Mom walked the runway—with aplomb.
Between Wild and Ruin Page 5