The Complete Ruby Redfort Collection

by Lauren Child

  ‘How about we shout?’ said Clancy.

  ‘Good idea,’ said Ruby, and they began to yell at the tops of their voices, which made no impact whatsoever.

  Five minutes later, they heard a scratching sound on the underside of the hatch door and a faint yelping.

  Ten minutes later, Mrs Digby stuck her head through the hatch.

  ‘What are you, a couple of fools? Get yourselves down here and inside before I lock this hatch closed once and for good.’

  Ruby and Clancy bundled down as fast as they could but still a fair amount of rainwater came with them.

  ‘Thanks Mrs Digby,’ said Ruby, whose teeth were chattering so much she could barely be understood.

  ‘Don’t thank me, thank that hound of yours,’ said the housekeeper. ‘If that dog hadn’t been howling himself hoarse, you might have been up there all night.’

  Mrs Digby sent Clancy to the guest bathroom to dry off while Ruby struggled to peel off her drenched clothing.

  When she saw the handwriting on her arm she exclaimed: ‘Del Lasco, I am going to strangle you!’

  Chapter 10.

  Geek central

  ‘RUBY!’ Her mother’s voice came through the house intercom, small, tinny, yet authoritative.

  Ruby groped for her glasses and pushed them onto her nose; they sat there unhappily, bent out of shape. She peered at the alarm clock.

  ‘6.32,’ she muttered, ‘not even breakfast time.’ It was unlike her mother to shout through the intercom unless there was a matter of some urgency.

  ‘Is the house sinking, on fire, falling down?’ Ruby grumbled. Ruby fell from her bed, stumbled to her feet, staggered to the intercom and spoke into it. ‘Hello caller, please divulge the nature of your query?’

  ‘Have you forgotten about the mathlympics meet?’ said her mother.

  Yes, she had actually.

  ‘Oh geez!’ she moaned. Why did her mom enter her for these lame loser geek-central dork fests? What was the point of it all? Did she want to waste a precious day of her life sitting in a school gym or on a theatre stage with a whole bunch of other kids who were good at math?

  No, she did not.

  She knew exactly how good at math she was and she didn’t need to stand on a box, finger on the buzzer, answering quiz questions to prove it. But this time there didn’t seem to be any way out. She was going and that was that. Her mother could be a very determined woman.

  While she was brushing her teeth, she peered out of the window. Mrs Beesman was out in what looked to be a dressing gown and pushing her shopping cart down Cedarwood. There was one sneaker sitting in the middle of the road, possibly a man’s tennis shoe. She made a note of this in her yellow notebook and wondered how all these stray sneakers came to end up in the middle of roads; it was not by any means an unusual sight.

  When she climbed into the car – her mother had already been sitting waiting for her for ‘fifteen minutes, for goodness sake’ – Sabina Redfort turned to her and said, ‘Really? You had to wear that T-shirt?’

  Ruby’s T-shirt choice was one bearing the words: dorks beware.

  ‘And your glasses …?’ said Sabina. ‘What in the world of Twinford has happened to your glasses?’

  Ruby shrugged. ‘OK, let’s get this over with.’

  It was a long and testing day, not because the competition was especially tough, nor because the test questions were especially tricky, but because one of the candidates, one Dakota Lyme, was a royal pain in the butt.

  Dakota Lyme was a girl Ruby had met twice before on the mathlympics field. Once when Ruby was four and once when she was eight. Dakota was one year and nine months older than Ruby and behaved like a child of that exact age.

  She was a sore loser and, what was worse, she was an even sorer winner. On both previous occasions she had narrowly beaten Ruby in the final round and spent a lot of time afterwards crowing about it. Though what Dakota’s parents had not pointed out to their little prodigy was that Dakota had been coached in the advanced math that was at the competition’s heart and Ruby had just that day happened upon it.

  This time things went a little differently.

  They were equally matched right up until the final question, and the tension emanating from the parents could almost be touched.

  ‘OK, you two,’ said the compere, ‘draw the shape represented by this formula.’ Letters and numbers appeared on the screen:

  Ruby frowned for a moment, then smiled. She glanced over at Dakota, who was looking panicked; it was obvious that nothing was coming to mind.

  Ruby drew quickly. She had worked out in seconds that the formula represented a tesseract, or a 4-dimensional cube – a shape with 24 edges that was to the cube what the cube was to the square. She chose to render it as a kind of fake 3D image that she knew was called a Schlegel diagram:

  Then Ruby hit her buzzer.

  ‘Redfort, you have the diagram?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘Bring it to the podium for checking, please.’

  She took her piece of paper over to the desk where the math checkers sat. They in turn checked it over and handed it on to the compere.

  ‘Correct!’ declared the compere. ‘We have our winner.’

  Dakota Lyme glared at Ruby, one eye covered by her long dark hair. Her mouth was pinched like she had just eaten something sour, her arms folded tightly across her chest.

  The photographer stepped up to take some pictures and Dakota and Ruby were asked to stand uncomfortably close.

  ‘If I could ask you to hold up your trophy Ruby, and Dakota, your runner-up prize.’

  Ruby tried to force a smile, but it was hard because she hated this kind of dorky contest and even more than that she hated the dorky victory photographs. Dakota couldn’t force a smile because she was too sore about her defeat. So they stood there looking in some ways remarkably similar. They were the same height, same build, had the same long dark hair, they even sort of dressed alike, though Dakota’s T-shirt was pink and said Party Girl, and her sneakers had glitter detail and her jeans had a heart patch on the pocket. But their expressions weren’t so very different – even if Ruby managed to look coolly aloof and Dakota unattractively bitter.

  It was in the parking lot that Dakota became even less attractive. Ruby and Sabina were just driving slowly towards the exit when Dakota Lyme shouted, ‘You’re a phoney, Redfort. You cheat, I know you cheat, and your clothes are ugly, you dress like a boy.’ Dakota stamped her foot.

  Sabina Redfort reversed the car, wound down the window and said, ‘And you, pipsqueak, are a very unpleasant little madam who will never be attractive no matter what you wear!’ Then she put her foot down on the pedal and took off at more speed than was wise.

  Ruby winked at her mother and said, ‘Nice going, Mom.’

  And her mother said, ‘I simply can’t abide a sore loser.’

  Chapter 11.

  The talk of the town

  TUESDAY MORNING CAME AND RUBY STUMBLED OUT OF BED. She looked out of the window and there was Mrs Gruber walking her Siamese cat. Mrs Gruber always walked her cat on a Tuesday; it was something you could count on.

  Ruby got ready for school and went down to the kitchen. No one was there. She was about to grab a bagel and walk out of the back door when she caught sight of an envelope lying on the table. On the front, written in her dad’s neat hand, the words:

  For Ruby, congrats on the big math win, love Pop

  And on the back:

  P.S. I had to go through hell and high water to get this

  She slit it open and pulled out a leaf-shaped piece of green card that said:

  YOU ARE CORDIALLY INVITED TO THE ENVIRONMENTAL EXPLORER AWARDS.

  She smiled. Nice going, Dad. There was a further note under the envelope, this one from her mother:

  I’ve ordered you new glasses, the pair you liked, as opposed to the ones I liked. Love Mom. P.S. Am I a nice mom or what?

  Ruby smiled. ‘Nice going, Mom.’


  Ruby climbed aboard the school bus and made her way down to her usual seat and sank into it. Stuck to the window was that same sticker of the cross-eyed kid and someone had scribbled WAKE UP AND SMELL THE BANANA MILK underneath.

  Del, thought Ruby, pushing back her sleeve to see the still very loud and clear message written on her arm. That’s not gonna disappear any time soon. Someone else had put a line through Del’s words and written, WAKE UP AND SMELL THE COFFEE.

  Who drinks coffee on a school bus?

  She caught sight of Bailey Roach sitting across the aisle – probably him, she thought. For just a second they locked eyes, but neither of them said a word. To the casual observer, this was no different from two strangers glancing at each other in the street, but to a person with good observational skills, the boy’s awkward running of hands through hair and biting of lower lip told a story.

  They were not friends, Ruby Redfort and Bailey Roach: he had blown his chances of friendship when he had picked on Clancy Crew. It wasn’t just that Clancy was Ruby’s closest friend; it was also a lot to do with the fact that Ruby couldn’t stand watching someone get picked on, period. Roach might be a bully, and his previous actions could certainly be deemed cowardly, but he was not a fool. He had figured out that to cross Ruby Redfort was to take on one determined enemy and, to be frank, Bailey Roach always went for the easy target.

  That was why Bailey Roach had avoided coming face to face with Clancy ever since the Marty’s minimart incident. No one in Bailey Roach’s gang, least of all Bailey, had understood how a wimpy-looking boy like Clancy had beaten him in a fight. Word had gone round school that Clancy Crew was not someone to be messed with, that he had some special moves, probably taught to him by some kung fu master. Whatever the reason, Roach certainly didn’t want to repeat the experience.

  Ruby made it into school in good time. This would give Mrs Drisco no opportunity to comment on Ruby’s lack of regard for the school clock (something her form teacher did most days) but she would have ample opportunity to comment on the T-shirt Ruby was wearing, which read: Have you had a frontal lobotomy or have I?

  The first person she ran into was Del, who said, ‘So I saw a picture of you in the paper standing with your little identical twin friend.’

  ‘What?’ said Ruby. ‘What are you talking about?’

  Just then Mouse came running down the corridor. ‘Hey, Ruby,’ she called, ‘who’s that kid in the Twinford Mirror, you related or something?’

  ‘She looks nothing like me,’ protested Ruby.

  Five minutes later Elliot arrived, waving the newspaper excitedly. ‘You have a doppelganger!’

  The photograph was black and white and did not show the vivid pink T-shirt or the glittery sneakers, the heart patch on the jeans, or indeed much of Dakota Lyme’s mean, pinched face.

  Red walked over, and peered at the picture. ‘Hey Ruby, congratulations. I didn’t know you had won the mathlympics prize!’

  ‘Don’t you think that girl looks like Ruby?’ said Del.

  ‘Not even slightly,’ said Red. ‘Dakota Lyme is a total vacuum.’

  Ruby thanked Red for her support and went off to find Clancy, who was sitting on a bench reading his Garbage Girl comic.

  ‘You’re early?’ said Clancy.

  ‘Maybe I’m turning over a new leaf,’ said Ruby.

  ‘I give you one day, possibly two.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For your leaf to turn back over.’

  ‘I’m inspired by your confidence.’

  ‘I just know you – likelihood is you are going to revert to your old ways.’

  ‘Well, that’s kinda depressing.’

  ‘Talking of depressing, look who it is,’ said Clancy.

  Vapona Begwell walked by with her little gang. Gemma Melamare’s nose was encased in a triangle of splint and wadding. Ruby almost felt sorry for her; Gemma was very proud of her nose. It was certainly the cutest thing about her.

  When they passed, Vapona gave Ruby the evil eye and hissed, ‘Tell Lasco she’s a yellow-belly.’

  ‘Jeepers Vapona, tell her yourself,’ said Ruby. ‘I haven’t got time to run little messages between you guys.’

  ‘You’re in my sights, Redfort!’

  ‘I’m flattered,’ said Ruby as she walked into her form room.

  ‘So what’s the real reason for your punctuality?’ asked Clancy.

  ‘I got something to tell you,’ said Ruby.

  ‘Please don’t make me guess,’ said Clancy.

  ‘My dad gave me this.’ Ruby took out the invitation.

  ‘You must be in his good books,’ said Clancy. ‘My dad said you either got to know the right people or part with a whole lot of cash.’

  The first class of the morning was behavioural science and Mr Cornsworth was excited to announce a project which he hoped all the students would take part in.

  ‘I would like you to explore the idea of social interaction and think about the way human beings form groups and clubs and the various ways they communicate. Perhaps you could explore and investigate the importance and significance of these rituals.’

  There was a lot of exaggerated yawning from Vapona Begwell and Gemma Melamare. Bailey Roach, who was sitting at the back of the class, was throwing balled-up pieces of paper across the room. Mr Cornsworth was not a confident teacher and had little clue when it came to controlling a class of thirteen and fourteen-year-olds, but when he went on to mention there would be ‘extra credit’ suddenly there was a lot of interest.

  Vapona, Gemma and Bailey Roach really needed to make up their grades. So did Clancy, as a matter of fact, but he was interested in the project for other reasons. Already he could see the outlines of a way of making a strong challenge to Mrs Bexenheath’s proposal that the school lockers be relocated. Not only might he change Principal Levine’s mind, but he could also gain a big tick on his grade sheet.

  Clancy started planning immediately, chewing on his pen.

  Ruby felt she had enough on her plate, psychologically speaking, without having to think about other people’s behavioural patterns – and besides, she didn’t need the extra credit. She might not be the most punctual, but she was a straight-A student.

  The issue more immediately facing her was the psychological falling apart of her basketball teammates. She had been thinking about this for much of the morning, already dreading the moment when school would end and she and her team would have to make their way to the Basketball courts, where they would almost certainly lose.

  Mouse was sat on the bench just down from the lower Amster stop when Ruby got there, waiting for the bus that would take them to the tournament. Opposite was a large brick wall and newly pasted there was an advertisement for something which showed the massive cartoon head of a kid, eyes crossed, and twisting from the mouth in huge curly letters the words:

  Weird, thought Ruby. What’s that supposed to—

  ‘What do you think the likelihood is that we get totally slammed?’ said Mouse, interrupting her thoughts.

  ‘You know that’s not a great attitude, Mouse.’

  ‘I just hate losing, and with Del on the bench we probably will.’

  ‘I read in this tennis coaching magazine that you’re a whole lot more likely to win if you love winning.’

  ‘I do love winning, that’s what I said.’

  ‘No, you said you hate losing. You shouldn’t be focusing on the losing, just set your sights on winning.’

  ‘Yeah, I guess you’re right, but I don’t think we’re gonna.’

  Ruby sighed, knowing this was probably true: most of her teammates did not have the killer instinct.

  ‘What do you reckon Taste Twisters are?’ said Ruby, staring at the image of the boss-eyed cartoon kid.

  Mouse studied the picture.

  She shrugged. ‘Some kind of candy – aimed at kids.’

  Ruby continued to stare. ‘It’s odd that they don’t tell you what it is, don’t you think? I mean, ordinarily they
would want you to know.’

  ‘What are you guys looking at?’ called Elliot. He was walking towards them along the sidewalk, his gym bag over his shoulder. Del and Red were lagging a little behind.

  ‘We are trying to figure out what a Taste Twister is,’ called Mouse.

  Elliot joined them on the bench and he too turned his gaze on the poster.

  After a couple of minutes he said, ‘A drink – it’s a drink of some kind, most probably a kids’ drink.’

  ‘Why a drink?’ said Mouse.

  ‘Because of the straw,’ said Elliot.

  ‘Where’s the straw?’ asked Mouse. ‘I can’t see any straw.’

  ‘The twisting words, they represent a straw.’

  ‘I don’t see it myself,’ said Mouse. ‘But if it were a drink then what flavour would it be?’

  ‘Milk,’ said Elliot. ‘Milk. Has to be.’

  ‘Why?’ said Mouse.

  ‘Look at the kid’s teeth. If it was for soda or something then they wouldn’t emphasise how white the kid’s teeth were. They’re saying drink milk and have strong white teeth.’

  ‘When do they ever advertise a drink and show the kid with rotten teeth?’ said Ruby. ‘Doesn’t matter if the drink is choc full of sugar and treacle, they would still show the kid smiling a pretty smile. White teeth proves nothing.’

  ‘Who cares what it is,’ said Del. ‘I’d as soon drink a blue slushy, they’re super good.’

  ‘Think like that, my friend, and you’ll never taste anything better,’ said Red.

  ‘What’s better than a slushy?’ said Del.

  ‘You’ll never know,’ said Red.

  ‘I like slushies,’ said Del.

  ‘You should broaden your horizons,’ said Ruby.

  They sat looking for a little longer until Elliot shook his head and said, ‘I gotta make tracks.’

  The bus came into view and Mouse picked up her bag and waited for it to pull into the stop.

  Ruby sat a little longer. Cross-eyes, she thought. If it’s a drink then it’s a sharp-flavoured drink. It has bite.