H2O (31 page)

Sagal handed me another bottle of water. I glugged it down.

“What are they going on about?” I asked

“Stuff,” said Sagal. “Why this happened, that kind of thing.”

“It doesn't matter why it happened,” I said.

I
wanna
go
home
, I thought.
I
wanna
go
home
.

That's what I thought.

Like, really, this place was nothing like the army place. No one was hassling anyone with tricky questions; anyone who arrived was given food and water. (Peter, who “arrived” twice, scored double rations.) But to me, even though I felt like it shouldn't, the whole thing sucked. No—not that. It was all really lovely and everything (although I did wonder why they couldn't have picked somewhere more cozy)…but really:

1. It reminded me in some weird way of the school carnival.Like any minute now, I'd get told I had to make cupcakes or sign up for a turn running the raffle. (Not good!)

2. What I had felt when I first saw the army men? About “was this how the world was going to be?”…I kind of felt that again. (Not good!)

“Oh
! He's so embarrassing!” whispered Sagal, rolling her eyes about her dad.

“At least he's here,” I said, getting to my feet. I swayed for a second.

“Oh! Sorry! I didn't mean…” said Sagal. She smiled sadly at me and pushed another bottle of water and the kind of whole-wheat snack bar Darius would adore into my hands.

I chomped; I drank. I looked at the bottle, half the water left. I listened to the singing. Hymns—they always sound bad, don't they? They always sound…so drony. My dad says that. He works in the music industry—which sounds really cool, but he hates his job. He always says how he's just a “glorified accountant” and stuff, but he knows about music. I'm useless at it, but even I can tell when something sounds bad. My dad? He wouldn't have stayed in that cathedral for a second. Not with that racket.

“I'm going home,” I said.

“Abo! Abo!” I heard Sagal shouting as I walked out down the aisle.

They caught me at the doors. Literally: Sagal grabbed ahold of my dress.

“Ruby! Please! Don't go!” she said.

Please
don't leave
me.

Her father, he looked at me.

“Where will you go?” he said in English.

“Home,” I said. “
You
speak
English?!
”

“Of course,” he said.

“He just doesn't like to because he thinks he's not very good at it,” Sagal said. “That's how people are; if you don't speak perfectly, they think you're stupid.”

“Like me,” I said.

Sagal's father gabbled something else, then he took hold of his daughter's hand and made her let go of my dress.

“He says no. He says anyone can see you're not stupid,” said Sagal. She giggled, a little shyly. She looked unsure. “He says…you just look like trouble.”

That dad, he smiled at me. It was a nice smile. A dad's smile.

I walked out, straight out, into the crazy-skied night.

“He says,” Sagal shouted from the door of the cathedral, “that your father would be very proud of you.”

• • •

I had no map. I guessed. I zigzagged; I went wrong.

I had to ditch the car and get another one.

I got out at Stonehenge. Time before the rain, you couldn't even touch those stones. I was in a big starry patch of sky, so I went for it. I smashed into the gift shop and I swigged my drink and snacked on chips sitting right on top of one of the stones.

Imaginary snap No. 2. Selfie with stones.

I went wrong again; I went right again. I ditched my car again. I found another one. It was not like the MG journey from hell. I was not frantic to get where I was going. I was just going there. I was just going home.

Even when dawn came and the rain started, I didn't panic. When I finally got to our house, it was pouring. Nimbostratus.

Welcome
home, Ruby. Welcome
home.

That's what the rain said.

Why, thank you
, I said, and I lay down on the backseat of the car, and I went to sleep.

Short and oh so sweet.

Later that day, when the rain stopped, I didn't have to break into my own house because someone who knew where the Ruby Emergency Key was had left the front door open. Not
open
open, but open.

The house stank.

There, scrawled on the kitchen wall in permanent marker that would never, ever come off was a message from my dad.

Ruby—Where are you?! We are going to get Grandma. stay here! Back soon!

Love Dad and Dan

Dan had drawn a little smiley face after his name, and they both had left a trail of kisses.

That was nearly three weeks ago.

My dad didn't come that day, and he didn't come the next day, or the day after that. My dad hasn't come yet, but he will.

To start with, I didn't want to leave the house again, not ever, because I was convinced my dad would turn up at any second. Even the first time, later that day, when I had to go to the Fitches to look for something to drink, I left a note. I also left the window open because of the smell, and when I got back, the note had blown off the table, so now, every time I leave the house, I write where I am going, what time I am going, when I will be back and WHAT DATE IT IS on the wall.

My dad, he never did that, did he? There was no date on the wall.

Meantime, because I've got no one to talk to, I started writing this. I didn't think I'd get this far, but there you go.

• • •

I was going to call this
The
Disaster
Diary
of
Ruby
Morris
, but that sounds too cute. It's just not that kind of story, is it? I think I'll just call it
H2O
. I always did hate the rain, even before it turned into a killer. And
H2O
sounds so much more Hollywood, doncha think?

Can't you just see the trailer? Can't you just hear that guy's growly voice…as my face (deadpan but pouty) stares out of the window at:

H2O

It's drippy. It's
deadly.

Then, to dramatic music, we have a fast montage of everything that's happened (cutting out the Darius parts). We end with me giving my dad—who's weeping with joy at the sight of me—a hug and a gentle reprimand about time-keeping issues. I ruffle my grinning brother's mop of hair—and he has to let me because he's so happy to see me. Then I turn and passionately kiss Caspar. Who did (somehow) survive.

I've got the perfect dress; I've got the perfect Diana shoes. There is no longer even the tiniest hint of orange on my face. My hair has gotten a little weird and brittle, but it is an excellent jet black…and I've swapped that runny mascara for one that definitely stays put no matter how much you sob. (I've tested it.) I'm premiere good to go!

Meantime, there's reality.

I found this book next-door-but-one's kids had, all about clouds. This, I am studying. It seems simple when you look at the pictures; when you step outside, it's tough to spot what's what. I am getting better at it. I have to get better at it.

And that's about it, really.

I know! Just to check whether you've been paying attention, like I would listen to your story, if I ever met you, I'll give you an essay question…like:
In
what
ways
should
Ruby
have
behaved
differently? Discuss
… or
In
what
ways
will
everything
now
turn
out
OK? Discuss
…

OK, scrap that. I'm just kidding! (I don't want to think about ANY of that.)

Let's have a multiple choice instead. I love multiple choice! You don't even have to know the answer to stand a chance of getting it right.

QUESTION: When
should
you give up hope?

A) Now. Immediately. We're all doomed.

B) Give it another couple of weeks.

C) Never.

I suppose there might be an option D), but if there is, I can't think of it.

Mom, I am still breathing.

• • •

I am Ruby Morris. This is my story. Any day now, my dad will come.

Also, although I'd rather die than…although I basically never want to see him again as long as I live, Darius Spratt has got a ton of my stuff. Including
my
cell
phone
.

I would like to thank:

My family.

Steve Geck, Kate Prosswimmer, Jillian Bergsma, and the team at Sourcebooks.

In the UK, Rachel Petty and the team at Macmillan Children's Books.

Also thanks to:

Jackie Pridham, for being truly wonderful.

Hilary Hunt, for being Hilary Hunt.

Louise Lamont, for being my agent.

Donovan Hawley, for trying to be sensible. Sometimes.

Gary Sugden, for reading and thinking and being honest.

Erik Tarloff, for putting up with me. A. D. Cooper, likewise.

And Helen Summers, for knowing and for waiting.

Thank you to Dr. Matthew Avison (University of Bristol) and Dr. Helen Smalley for kindly giving excellent scientific advice, which I tried to heed as much as I could. Sorry about the made-up bits.

Also to Brendan Boyce, for explaining the finer points of mass civil unrest.

The Guide Law reproduced by kind permission of Girlguiding, the UK organization for Girl Scouts.

Finally, thanks to my consultants: Ruby T, Stan, Aidan, and Luke.

Virginia Bergin has had about a hundred jobs, including working as a writer on TV, online learning, and corporate projects.

She lives in Bristol, England, and has visited the U.S. once, traveling by train from Schenectady, NY, to Clearwater,
FL, in search of long-lost relatives.

H2O
is her first novel.