“You know that how?” I look at Racine, who shrugs sheepishly.
“Who are you bringing to Marta’s party?” Racine asks.
Ashley snorts. “As long as it’s not Ezra. I can’t stand him.”
“Ezra’s her project,” Marta quips. “And Leo hasn’t really asked her out out. I’m betting on Angel.”
“Jeez, Racine. Is there anything I told you yesterday that you kept to yourself?” I get up, gather my trash, and head for the wastebasket.
“Ruby, wait.” Racine stands up and runs after me. “I’m really sorry. I told Ashley about Leo and the camping-with-Ezra thing. I should have known she’d have a big mouth about it. But everyone knows you hung out with Ezra again on Sunday, just like they know Angel and Torrance were at your house. I promise to keep it zipped from now on, but you sort of have to deal with it. Otherwise, just don’t do whatever it is you don’t want people to talk about. At least not in public.”
Racine follows me through the main building to the bathroom. “Seriously, tell me you haven’t heard all about how I made out with Giovanni Friday night. I know you have. By tomorrow, it’ll be all about how I ripped his clothes off and threw him down in the middle of the party we were at.”
“You did?” I croak.
“No! That’s my point. That’s just how it is around here.”
“I hate the way Marta acts around me, Ray,” I tell her through the stall door.
As soon as I come out, she pulls a hairbrush from her purse and starts tugging at my hair. “She can be a total bitch. But she can also be really kind. She’s not that bad when you get to know her. Cut her a little slack. I mean, Ruby, you know she’s just jealous.”
“She’s not.”
“Like hell, she’s not. You’ve been here a month, and you’ve already got your own fan club. And the fact that you barely seem to care aggravates it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just that sometimes, you act like being gorgeous is a curse. Or you’re just plain oblivious. To someone like Marta, it comes off as stuck-up. Most people do care about what they look like, and they make an effort. Marta thinks you’re trying to show us all up.”
I suck in my breath and pull away from her brush. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”
“Don’t get in a tizzy about it. I know you’re not. And I don’t think you’re stuck up. Look, I’ll talk to Marta, but maybe keep in mind how she feels as well. Okay?”
Racine’s sapphire eyes are as open as her face. She has my back and told me the truth without padding it, and I admire her for trying to sit on the fence between us. Not to mention I know she’s at least partially right. “Fine, I’ll do my best.”
We kill the last few minutes before fifth period in the bathroom avoiding Las Gallinas. After school, Racine and Giovanni wait with me for Angel on the quad near the parking lot. Ashley and Marta join us while they wait for the bus, but they keep their distance.
“I’m sorry I was so crabby at lunch,” I tell them, hoping to smooth things over. “I’m nervous about seeing Angel. I have, like zero experience when it comes to boys. I’m lame like that.”
“Amen,” Marta snickers.
“Shut it, Marta.” Racine elbows her in the side.
“If you don’t want to go out with him,” Marta says, shooting Racine a look, “then don’t. But don’t act like you don’t when you really do. That’s what’s lame about it.”
“Marta,” Racine starts.
“No,” I interrupt. “She’s right. It’s like I want to see him, even though I don’t. Like there are two Rubys inside me, and they both want different things. It makes it harder to decide.”
Marta tilts her head sideways and glowers. “You make everything so complicated.”
As if it’s not bad enough Marta already thinks I’m an attention hog, Angel pulls into the roundabout, flips on his lights and siren, and waves at us.
“I’m so going to murder him,” I mumble under my breath.
He calls me over and Racine giggles. “Show off.”
Angel gets out and opens my door, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. Mortified, I walk over and climb into the passenger’s seat, trying to ignore Marta and her evil eye while I wave goodbye.
“Sorry I’m late,” he says as I blow Racine an exaggerated kiss. “I had to wade out into the middle of the river to rescue another stranded dog.”
“Seriously?”
“Sadly, yes. Tough work, right?”
We drive to his mother’s restaurant in Santa Fe first. In Rojo’s kitchen, roasted meat and chile smells tickle my nose. Viviane and two other cooks hurry around pots of sauce, and colorful slabs of vegetables, and meats that litter every inch of counter space. When she sees us, she waves us over to a huge oven.
“Help me chop?” she asks, holding out an apron.
Viviane stands me in front of a heavy chopping board and wraps my hand around the sturdy handle of a blocky knife. While I attempt to chop unfamiliar root vegetables, she talks up a storm about the best kinds of oils to sauté food in. After I finish and arrange each root by color in a circle on the board, she finds us a table near the back of the restaurant.
Always a gentleman, Angel pulls out a chair for me. “You were right at home in there.”
“What about you? Ever help your mom out?”
“Sometimes. When she needs me. But I’d rather eat than cook.” He takes the menu out of my hand and places it on the table. “Let me order?”
The restaurant smells so good I’m not sure what to choose, so I nod my head.
Viviane comes back and sets a basket of frybread on the table. As she walks away grinning, Angel shoves a piece in his mouth. “How’s school?” he asks, chewing slowly.
“Good, though I hate Mr. Haggis.” Listening to my calculus teacher drone on ranks about as high as having botulism.
“Who doesn’t?” He toys with a piece of ice, clinking it around his water glass. “Are you going to Marta’s party?”
I pick at a piece of frybread, twisting a frayed sliver of dough into a scaly thread. “I know she’s your cousin, Angel, so no offense, but I don’t like her. And I’m pretty sure it’s mutual.”
Angel laughs. “Second cousin. And you’re not in the minority. No offense taken.”
“I don’t know if I’m going. Though if Racine has her way, I suppose I’ll be there.”
“If you want company …”
“I’ll let you know,” I finish.
We eat and talk politics, which leads to an argument about war. Where I’m a humanity-knows-no-boundaries pacifist, Angel has more of what Liddy would call a shock-and-awe mentality: hit the enemy hard when they least expect it, and then beat them into submission.
After dinner, we see a movie that’s almost as awesome as Viviane’s food, and by the end of the night I’m glad I agreed to go out again with Angel. But I’m even less certain about our status.
“Want to sit on the front porch?” he asks after he parks in my driveway.
“You’re not worried about the lion?”
He leans back and pats the rifle mounted in the back of his Bronco. “I’ll bring Tess.”
“Tess?” I laugh. “You named it?”
Angel shrugs. “Doesn’t everyone?”
The moon is high over the horizon, and when I step outside, I look up toward the mountains behind our house. Hazy light washes the forest, casting shadows in the spaces between the trees climbing the foothills. For a moment, it’s silent in a way life never is.
“You okay?” Angel asks.
I shake my head. “I’m okay. Let’s just sit down.”
I plunk onto a porch step beside him, staring at the pines across the driveway. Tall trees rise like sentries from the scrubby ground, leaving pockets of dark space between each trunk. After Daisy and Leo’s stories, it’s easy to imagine things that go bump in the night. Way too easy.
Angel wraps an arm around my shoulder and pulls me close. But when he tries to ki
ss me, I maneuver his kiss toward my forehead.
“Sorry.” I smile.
“It was worth a try.” He shrugs.
“I had fun tonight, Angel.”
“But?”
“I like you, obviously. But I’m still confused about what I want.”
My arms prickle, and I suddenly feel something watching me. The bushes off the driveway rustle and I jump up, standing paralyzed on the porch step. Being a skeptic by day is a cinch. But in the dark, ghosts and El Maldito don’t seem quite as fantastical.
Angel grabs Tess and pulls me closer, shushing me with a finger. As my ears adjust, homing in on the forest’s night music, I hear the ruin’s hum—almost like a whisper.
“Do you hear that?” I swallow.
He looks down at me. “What?”
“That noise?”
Angel squints at me, then looks out at the driveway. After a minute he shrugs. “Nothing.”
I’m about to tell him maybe we should go inside, but something moves off to my side. “Angel!” I gasp, pivoting on the step. Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpse what looks like a smudge of a horse riding across my driveway. “Did you see it?”
He shakes his head. “You’re seeing shadows, Ruby.”
“It looked like a man on a horse. Like a see-through man on a horse made of smoke.” Whatever crossed the driveway, I’m 100 percent certain it wasn’t just a shadow.
“I think Daisy’s stories are getting to you.”
“Maybe.” I make a face at him.
“You should probably go inside,” he says, concern tainting his voice.
“I saw something, Angel. I’m not crazy.”
“I don’t think you’re crazy,” he laughs. “I think you’re tired. Plus, I already blew it once tonight. I’m thinking if I get you inside now, I might still be able to recoup my losses.”
I rub my eyes again, straining to see down the driveway in the dark. “It’s not that I’m not interested.”
“It’s just that you’re not interested,” he half smiles.
Why does Angel have to make it so hard? Why can’t he be just the tiniest bit jerky, or stuck-up, or have bad hygiene or something—some trait that makes it easier to pull away when he turns on the charm. Because I do like him. For some reason, I just can’t bring myself to commit to more. “You know what, you’re right. I’m just tired.”
“Don’t stress, Ruby.” Angel holds a hand in the air as if swearing on the Bible. “I want it to work. But I don’t want to push either.”
“I must be crazy.” I sigh.
“You must be.” He gives me a tight hug and turns me around, giving me a gentle push toward the door. Like a true gentleman, he waits on the steps until I get inside.
For the most part, Angel is perfect. And I like being with him. So, what is it, I wonder, when it comes to love, that makes two people get on like a house on fire?
When I ask Racine the next day, she claims to have less than a clue. She’s never seriously even been in lust with anyone before Giovanni. Ashley doesn’t have much to offer either. Marta, on the other hand, is full of wisdom.
“It’s not Angel,” she says. “It’s you. You wouldn’t click with an amoeba. You’re too busy rationalizing your feelings.” She holds her hands up, adding air quotes to the word “feelings.”
“Marta!” Racine makes a show of kicking her under the lunch table.
“It’s fine,” I say. “Whatever.”
Marta will probably rot in Hell anyway; there isn’t any point in fueling her fire. But her lame remark does make me wonder. Rationalize, rationalize, rationalize—that’s how I survive. What if she’s right? What if I just listened to my heart once in a while?
After the last bell of the day, I escape to Margarita’s with my homework. But instead of working on calculus, I sit in my booth and stare out the window, wondering what makes some people love you and others not. Wondering, I suppose, whether Marta knows more than I give her credit for. I’ve never been in love. Maybe my heart made the preemptive choice to break on its own. Maybe after my mother, it’s incapable of falling for anyone.
As people shuffle around Margarita’s, my mind wanders, but when Ezra walks in and passes my booth on his way to an empty table without saying hello, I cut myself off. Dwelling is getting me nowhere. Besides, it probably isn’t wise to dig very deeply. Mom always warned that if I dig too far, I’ll just hit bottom and fall out.
Across the diner, Ezra flips through a menu while he pretends to ignore me, which makes me wonder if I’m not somehow projecting. Daisy takes his order. When she’s done, I walk over to his booth.
“Now I have leprosy?” I ask.
“You’re better off over there.” He nods at my table.
I sit down across from him anyway.
Ezra scowls. “Go away, Ruby.”
“Pick up your crap and come sit with me.”
He finally looks up, growling something unintelligible under his breath. But he grabs his hat and keys and follows me back to my table.
When Daisy comes over to refill my coffee, she looks only slightly puzzled. “Should I bring your food over here?” she asks Ezra.
“Does it look like you should?”
Daisy shoots me a look. “Why do you put up with him?”
“You said it before. His bark is way worse than his bite.” I lower my voice and whisper, cupping my hand around my mouth conspiratorially. “Ezra doesn’t like this getting out, but he’s secretly nice.”
Daisy’s eyebrows jump to her hairline. For a moment, she looks worse than perplexed. “I went to school with him, Ruby. I don’t recall no nice guy living in that bigheaded, stuck-up, sorry excuse of a person.”
Ezra clears his throat. “I am sitting here, Day.”
“Yeah, I know, Ez. I just keep trying to forget it.”
“You guys are like fourth graders,” I reprimand them. When Daisy is out of earshot, I lean across the table and whisper, “What’d you do to her, Ezra?”
“Probably something terrible.”
“Maybe you could try being nicer?”
Ezra leans toward me unremorsefully. “Why? Not a single person within a twenty-mile radius has been even remotely decent since I moved back.”
“You don’t have to stoop to the same level.”
“I’m not stooping. I’m just not going to jump through hoops like a miserable dog for a bunch of no-good assholes.”
“Is that how you see me?” For some reason, my eyes well with tears, but instead of wiping them away, I leave them clinging to my lashes, afraid to draw attention to the fact that I’m being emotional.
Ezra relaxes his full mouth, letting his angular jaw go slack. “No. You’re not most people.”
“But you can’t make an effort for anyone else?”
“I am who I am, Ruby. If you don’t like it, you’re free to stop stalking me.”
Giving him my harshest look, I sigh to mask a sniffle. “Why’d you ignore me when you walked in?”
He crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m not in the mood to be stared at.”
“Maybe if you were nicer, people wouldn’t stare. You’re not a bad person, Ezra. You want everyone to think you are, but you’re not. I bet that’s because it’s safer. Because then you don’t have to explain yourself.”
Ezra sits up straighter, glowering at me. “Or maybe if you left me alone, that would solve my problem. No Ruby, no nosy people wondering about her pet.”
“God you’re a pain in the ass to argue with!”
Ezra flares his nostrils. “Don’t tell me who I am or ask me to be someone I’m not, and you won’t have to.”
Quarreling with him takes effort. I deflate like a punctured balloon, slumping slowly into the seat. “Can you just try? Because I’d really appreciate it.”
Defeat settles in his posture when I ask, surprising me. He relaxes his back and drops his elbows on the table. “Around you. How’s that?”
“Ezra,” I grimace.
&nbs
p; “I’m not going to meet you all the way.”
There isn’t a doubt in my mind he means it. And as much as it feels like I lost a battle, I know I’ve won ground that’s never belonged to anyone else. I nod okay, but a deep sigh feels like the most appropriate answer.
A ghost of a smile touches Ezra’s mouth. “You’re something.”
“Is that like a left-handed compliment?”
“There’s nothing left-handed about it.”
As he stares, his words carry this unfamiliar message to my heart. Ezra confuses me. The way I feel when I’m with him confuses me. Unlike Angel, Ezra comes off rough and uninviting. But with Angel, I feel lost. When I’m with Ezra, I feel right.
“You barely know me,” I swallow.
“I know that it’s hard for you to take a compliment. And that, though you’re thoughtful most of the time, you’re still hard on yourself. And I definitely know you shouldn’t argue with me. Because no matter what you think you know, I’m always right.”
“Umm …” I choke.
He looks almost satisfied.
“Are … are we still on for Saturday?” I stutter, flushing a little.
Ezra’s spotlight eyes settle on my face, searching for something more than my outward response. “Why wouldn’t we be?”
“I don’t know. Because you changed your mind?”
“No. I still think I can handle your company.”
His tone is almost smug. But after his off-the-cuff compliment, I’m not in the mood to fight. “So, what are you up to for the rest of the week?” I mumble.
“I have to restore a chair. Otherwise,” he shrugs, “I’ll probably run down to Albuquerque to pick up an armoire from a client.”
“A client? Is that what you do? I mean, your job?”
“That’s it. I restore furniture. Sometimes I build from scratch. But I limit custom orders. They’re a real pain in my ass when I’m not in the mood to take on a project.”
“Really? Furniture?”
“Carpentry. Family business. I picked it up when I moved back. It’s not exactly lucrative, but I don’t have much overhead. And I work for myself. I enjoy it. Some of the pieces are really beautiful.”
That Ezra has a creative streak surprises me. “I paint,” I volunteer.
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