Ruby Reinvented (10 page)

T
HE CASHIER LOOKS at me through squinty eyes and hands me my receipt. “Can you carry all of those?”

“I don't need to,” I say. “Can you just take them all, and throw them away?”

“You want me to throw them away?”

“Yes.” I nod so hard my head hurts. Connor and Summer are getting closer.

He shrugs. “Okay, you bought 'em.”

“Thank you.” I turn to go, and I bump into Connor so hard that I almost knock him down.

“Did you find your money?” he asks.

“Yep.” I tap my purse. “All fine now.”

I smile at Summer and Connor and hope there's not sweat dripping off my nose.

We catch up with Summer's parents, and they walk us back to the dorms. By the time we get there, my heart rate is almost back to normal. Summer's folks give us all hugs, and her mom reminds Holly and Summer to text or call every night.

“We always do,” Holly says.

“So do you talk to your parents every night?” I ask Summer when we're back in our room.

“Yeah, either that or text. It was the only way Mom would let us board here. We live so close that Holly was a day student for a while. I wasn't old enough to come here yet, so I went to our town's public school. Holly was always saying she missed out on the fun, so when it was time for me to start middle school, we begged my parents to let us board. Dad was cool with it but Mom wouldn't budge. Finally, when we promised we'd text or call every single day and have dinner once a week and even come home once in a while on weekends, she agreed.”

I wonder if my parents would go for texting instead of FaceTime. It would make my life a lot easier. Speaking of my parents, I look at my phone. I have an hour until eight o'clock. I can't wait until my boxes from home arrive. At least then I'll have headphones.

“Well, I'm going to shower.” Summer kicks off her shoes and throws them in her closet.

“Already?” I jump in front of her. I need her to wait an hour.

She gives me a funny look. “Why not?”

“I thought, uhhhh, well, I thought we'd go through some of the T-shirts your mom brought. You know, to pick out the ones you want for your ultra-crazy dress.”

Summer breaks out into a huge smile. “Great idea.”

We sit on the floor, and she flings T-shirts into two piles. Only the really colorful ones make it into the pile for the dress.

“You should totally apply for the Parents' Weekend Spotlight Project. You could submit your designs.” Summer flings a neon-green-striped shirt into the dress pile.

“What's a Spotlight Project?” I ask.

“Every Parents' Weekend, we display projects we've been working on. It doesn't have to be stuff we do in school. It could be things we do on our own time. Each year, one person gets picked for the Spotlight Project, which parents and teachers make a really big deal of. Plus, you get a hundred-dollar prize. Holly got chosen for the Spotlight Project last year. She built a biodome. It was filled with snails and frogs and pond scum.”

“Pond scum?” I wrinkle my nose.

“Holly loves pond scum.”

I furrow my eyebrows.

“She wants to be a marine biologist. That's why she freaks out about whales.”

“Ahhhh,” I say.

“Anyway, you should totally apply for this year's Spotlight Project!”

“Oh, I don't know. My dresses really aren't that great.”

“The one you're wearing is amazing.” Summer jumps up. “Do you have other ones you've made?”

“I have a bunch, but this is the only one I packed in my suitcase. The rest of my stuff should be here tomorrow, I hope.”

“Cool.” Summer focuses on the T-shirt pile again. “I can't wait till your stuff gets here.”

I wonder if she'll like my other dresses as much as she likes the one I'm wearing. What if she hates them? Then she'll realize I'm a one-hit wonder, and this one was just a fluke. I bite the inside of my cheek.

“Hopefully your nana can come to Parents' Weekend, especially if you're the Spotlight Project,” Summer says.

“Oh yeah. I'll tell her about it.”

“You won't even have to. The school starts sending e-mails and invitations home way in advance. Mom mentioned that she got one today.”

“They send stuff to our parents?” My stomach flip-flops and I add, “Or guardian?”

“Yep. I'm telling you, it's a really big deal. I'll bet your nana comes. Even Connor's uncle comes.”

“His uncle?” The sound of Connor's name takes my attention away from the fact that my pretend-dead parents
may or may not have already received an invitation to Parents' Weekend.

“Yeah, he's the one who took Connor after his parents died. He lives in Boston. Connor hated it there. His uncle works all the time so he never saw him. It was really hard on him, being so little and alone.” Summer tilts her head. “Well, you know.”

She looks like she's waiting for me to say something. I don't know what to say because I really
don't
know, so I just nod and look sad. I'm not even faking it, either. Thinking of poor little Connor all alone really does make me sad.

“So he's not close with his uncle?”

“No.” Summer shakes her head. “They hardly see each other. Connor's uncle sends him to camp during summer break, and hardly ever visits him at school.”

I want to ask Summer more about Connor, but she changes the subject before I get the chance.

“Enough shirts to make the dress?” Summer admires the T-shirt pile.

“Yep, that's plenty.”

“Where do you want them?” Summer piles the T-shirts in her arms. I hold open a paper bag, and she dumps them all in.

“You can put them next to my desk, and I'll start on the dress this week.”

“Really? You sure you don't mind?” Summer's bouncing on her toes.

“Not at all. It'll be fun!”

“Thanks! You're a great friend, Bea.”

Hearing her call me a great friend makes me smile so hard my mouth hurts. But there's a tiny pull in my stomach, reminding me that a great friend wouldn't lie about her parents being dead.

“I'm going to hop in the shower.” Summer grabs her shower gear. My heart races, until I look at the clock on my desk: 7:58. Perfect timing.

“Okay.” I sit down and uncover my iPad. “I'm just going to check my e-mail.”

Summer closes the bedroom door, and my parents ring in about five seconds later. My shoulders relax. Maybe this won't be so hard after all.

Mom and Dad appear in their little boxes on my screen, and I instantly launch into my day. Based on last night's shower, I have about fifteen minutes, and I want to be sure I tell them everything so they won't get suspicious. I fill them in on Greek democracy, the anatomy of a plant, and the fact that I will never, ever understand how to read music. I tell them about Clara's Café and lobster rolls and Summer's family. We talk about the weather and Mom's taping and Dad's practice. The only thing I don't bring up is Parents' Weekend.

“I'm so glad things are going well, hon,” Mom says.

Just as I'm about to tell them that I have to get ready for
bed, the door to our room swings open. Before I can think to cover the iPad, I turn around to find Cassandra standing in our doorway—staring right at me. A million scenarios shoot through my mind in three seconds flat. I could turn the iPad off, but my parents would freak out. I could turn the screen around, but that would look suspicious. Instead I press the mute button and place the iPad on my lap, silently praying that she can't see the screen from where she's standing. My parents will probably wonder why they're staring at the ceiling, and why I'm not answering them, but right now this is my best possible option.

Cassandra's eyes move past me. She's trying to look at the screen, which I'm covering with my arms.

“Whatcha doing?” Cassandra asks. She's still standing in the doorway.

“Homework.”

“Where's Summer?” Cassandra looks around the room.

“She's in the shower.”

Cassandra squints. “Do you remember what the Spanish homework was?”

“We didn't have any.”

“You sure?” Her eyes shoot to my lap, so I lean over the screen even more.

“Positive.”

“Do you know if Summer talked to Connor about me?”

The back of my neck feels sticky with sweat. I need to
get back to my parents. They've got to be wondering what the heck is going on. Besides, Summer will be out of the shower any minute now, and I have to say good night to my parents before that.

“I don't know. Want to swing by the bathroom and ask her?”

“I'll just talk to her tomorrow.” Cassandra tries to look at my iPad screen again and smirks. “Have fun with your homework.” She turns on her heels and shuts the door behind her.

I exhale and unmute my parents. “Sorry.” I give them a totally fake smile.

“What was that about?” Mom asks.

“Oh, just some girl wanting to know about homework. She's kind of annoying, so . . .”

“We were wondering what was going on over there. It didn't seem like you could hear us,” Dad says.

“I couldn't,” I say. “That girl—she's really loud.”

“As long as everything's okay,” Mom says, looking worried.

“Oh yeah, it's great. There is one thing, though.” I bite the inside of my cheek.

“Sure, Bea,” Dad says.

“It's not always easy to get on FaceTime,” I say. “I'd hate to disturb my roommate, and sometimes the Internet's slow here at night. . . .”

I know my parents are thousands of miles away, but I swear it feels like they can
smell
my lies.

“Any chance we can text at night—instead of FaceTime?”

Now Mom and Dad are having a psychic conversation. It always amazes me that they can do this through the computer just as well as they can do it in person.

“I think it's hard enough that we're not going to see you in person every month, Bea,” Dad finally says. “We'd hate to give up seeing you through FaceTime.”

“And that was part of our deal,” Mom reminds me. “You could go to boarding school as long as you keep up with your grades—-and we talk every night.”

“I know,” I say. “And it's not that I don't want to. It's just that—my roommate texts her parents every night. And so do most kids here.”

The psychic conversation resumes. I just sit back and wait for it to end. It's twelve minutes after eight so I hope it ends quickly.

“Let's stick with FaceTime for now, hon,” Mom says.

“Yeah, Bea, we'd miss your face too much if we didn't.” Dad smiles. It's hard to be mad at Dad when he smiles. I can see why all those crazy women always throw flowers onto the field whenever he's up at bat.

I hear Summer's voice in the hallway again, and I'm grateful that she stops to chat with everyone hanging out in the hall. I have about one minute to sign off, but I
try not to make it too obvious that I want this call to end.

“Okay.” I nod. “FaceTime it is. I'd better wrap it up here. It's lights out at nine and I'm nowhere near ready for bed. I love you guys.”

“We love you too,” Mom says. Dad makes kissy noises. I can still hear Summer in the hallway.

I turn the iPad off and put my head in my hands. That thing with Cassandra was too close. I'm pretty sure she didn't see anything, but what if she did? Or what if she does next time? Everyone's heard by now that my parents are supposedly dead.

All of a sudden I'm exhausted. I've got to find a way to convince my parents to let me text instead of FaceTime. Thank goodness they didn't say anything about Parents' Weekend. Maybe they didn't get the e-mail because I just registered. Maybe I'm not even on the e-mail distribution list yet.

When Summer comes back, I tell her that Cassandra stopped by.

“What did she want?”

“She asked if there was Spanish homework. And then she asked if you spoke to Connor about her.”

Summer rolls her eyes but doesn't say anything. I wonder if she did ask Connor about Cassandra, but if I ask her, she'll wonder why I'm wondering.

“So yeah, she said she'd talk to you tomorrow.”

“Can't wait,” Summer mumbles.

I purse my lips together to stop myself from asking Summer a zillion questions about Connor and Cassandra. I just got to Midcoast—I shouldn't be
this
curious about anybody yet. But then, Connor isn't just anybody. He's probably the nicest boy I've ever met.

Yank
.

There's that tug on my stomach again, reminding me that the nicest boy I've ever met doesn't deserve to be lied to.

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