Ruby Unscripted (20 page)

Brett falls over a small hedge before I reach him. His head is beneath a bush, which makes him appear headless for a moment.

I sit him up but can't get him up any farther.

“I'll never drink again,” he says.

“That's good, Brett.”

“You're so smart not to drink. Or are you a goody-goody?”

“Why don't we get you back to the house, or at least onto a chair?”

But he doesn't move, and I have to keep him from falling back over. And then he starts to vomit. The stench makes my stomach convulse, and I want to leave him, but he begs me not to.

“Ruby, you're so pretty. Like a ruby.” Then he laughs, and I nearly throw up from his breath.

I could call Mom, but oh, I can envision that scenario. She's always said I should call if I'm in such a situation, to never ride with someone who's been drinking, to never ever drink and drive . . .
You can call me, Ruby; you won't get into trouble.

Yeah, right,
I think. She'd never let me out of the house again. A weariness sweeps over me at the idea of seeing her. Austin would surely come as well. They'd have those disappointed expressions.

My brother is in Cottonwood—no help there.

And I know Aunt Jenna's working early at the Underground again, and she lives too far away.

I try remembering how long it took us to get here from my house, but visions of being kidnapped, getting lost, and wandering for miles in the cold keep me from that plan.

A guy appears on the gazebo roof yelling, “King of the Mountain!” A group runs over and coaxes him down.

Brett starts vomiting again, and it's reconfirmed that I'd make a terrible nurse. I prop him up and walk a few steps away to give him privacy . . . at least that's what I tell myself.

“Ruby!” he calls again. He's getting sicker, and it's kind of freaking me out. London and Anthony are nowhere to be seen.

At least a half hour passes before Brett is finally able to get up. I halfway carry him to a lounge chair. Blair walks up in her bikini with a drink in her hand.

“Need some help?”

“No, I think he'll be okay. Have you seen London?”

“I think she's busy right now,” Blair says with a slight smile.

“Okay,” I say, wondering what I do until she's not busy.

“This is for you,” Blair says, holding the drink out to me.

“No thanks.”

“I didn't ask.”

“I'm the designated driver,” I lie, adding to the others I've been telling lately.

“Drink it.”

“Why?”

“You're at a party, so have a drink.”

The male model from the hot tub comes over. “Who's this?”

“This is Ruby,” Blair says dramatically. “Ruby, this is Jason.”

“I didn't know Blair had any girlfriends.”

Blair gives him a smirk. “Ruby and I were about to have a drink together. Why don't you get yourself one, and one for me? This is hers.”

“Sure.”

“I'm not drinking with you,” I say as the guy leaves. “What's the big deal if I drink or don't?”

“That's what I was wondering,” Blair says.

The guy comes right back with two glasses, and he and Blair sit down. She motions for me to sit as well.

I remain standing, but the drink is set on the table in front of me.

“You should tell Jason about yourself, Ruby.”

I glance around. No help in sight. Brett is passed out on the chair. London is still missing in action.

“Let's have a toast to Ruby,” Blair says and raises her glass.

“To Ruby,” Jason says, reaching to clink my glass with his. “Come on, girl.” His voice is silky smooth.

And so I pick up the glass and drink it. It stings down my throat and feels hot in my stomach.

Blair has a strange expression on her face—something of evil triumph, but with something else behind it. “Let's get another round.”

And I feel the defeat all through me. If I'd chosen to have a drink myself, that would be one thing. But to be forced into it, to cave in to Blair and see the look of satisfaction on her face is more than I can take.

“I'm leaving. Thanks for the drink,” I say as casually as possible.

But inside the house, I can't find my purse and jacket. Someone tells me that they were all moved into a bedroom, and so I go searching down the hall.

“Can I get you another drink?” someone says, coming up behind me.

It's Jason, still in his wet shorts with no shirt. I can't even look at him, he makes me so nervous.

“No, I'm fine.” I look around him to see if Blair is following. “I'm just looking for my purse and then I'm leaving.”

“I'll help you. Probably in one of the bedrooms.” He walks by me, giving me a coy look as he passes close. He opens the first door just a crack and motions me over. “Look at this.”

“What?” I ask and look inside. It's dark, so I can't see anything at first. Jason comes up behind me, his body only inches from mine, and then I see the couple on the bed. I push back quickly and away from him, which makes him laugh.

“That was quite a sight,” he says with a wide grin. “Maybe we'd better knock next time. Or maybe not.”

He comes closer, walking with even and steady steps, staring into my eyes. “You intrigue me, Ruby.”

“Why?” I say, taking a few steps back.

“I don't know. There's something about you. Your wide-eyed innocence, or is it naiveté? I'm not sure, but it's so attractive. You aren't jaded or fake.”

He's close now, and I feel like one of those mice caught by the mesmerizing gaze of a cobra. My feet won't move, my voice won't work. Finally I say, “Where's Blair?”

“She sent me to check on you. She hates you, you know.”

“That's pretty clear.”

“She hates everyone. Even me.” Jason laughs at that.

My heels touch the wall. I didn't realize I'd been slowly backing up.

“I can give you a ride home.”

“It's okay. I'd better find my purse.” I turn to move past him, but he takes hold of my arms.

“You're such an adorable girl,” he says, and then kisses me.

I pull away with the taste of his soft lips and a hint of sweet alcohol on my lips.
God, help me.

And then I'm out the front door with Jason calling behind me. I run down the driveway, and when I reach the street, I start walking and walking. My feet ache not long after I get beyond the line of cars. The road slants downward, and my heels are slippery on the damp road, but still I walk. It's not for a long time that I realize my purse, cell phone, and jacket are still at the house. There's no going back now.

The residential neighborhood drops down into a commercial area of shops and restaurants, but they're all closed. Then, like going around a corner, the night turns colder. The sky shows nothing but darkness. The fog must be blotting out the stars.

A few cars pass, one slowing and making my heart beat so fast that I can hardly hear anything. I want to take off my shoes and run, but the car accelerates and drives away. If only I would hear London's voice calling from the car, and I wouldn't be alone. I can't believe she left me there on my own.

Finally I see a phone booth by the dull glow of a far-off streetlight. It makes me walk faster despite the pain in my feet. But when I get there, there's only a dangling wire. Fear and loneliness sweep over me. Should I try finding my way back? Should I hide somewhere till morning?

Shivers course through me as I walk again. I can't get the shivering to stop. Then I see an all-night gas station, lights blazing ahead of me like the beacon of a lighthouse for a lost ship.

This pay phone works, but it takes a few minutes to figure out how to call collect. Then I pray Mom answers the phone.

She has her fake awake voice. “Ruby?”

I know she hates late-night calls.

“Ruby, where are you? Why are you calling collect?”

“I'm at a pay phone.”

“A pay phone where?” The faux calm has left her voice.

“I don't know for sure. There's a gas station here. I'm outside of it.”

I hear Austin's mumbled questions in the background.

“You're supposed to be staying the night at London's. Are you near her house? Where is she?”

“She's not here.” I don't even want to explain this.

A creepy guy walks into the gas station, staring at me all the way in.

“Mom, just come get me.”

“We need to figure out where you are. Is there a phone number there?”

“Why?”

“Austin says we can call from the cell phone and keep you on the line while we drive to find you.”

“There's no number. I can ask inside the gas station.”

“No, just wait. Do you see a street sign?”

“Yeah. First and Corte Madera. And the gas station is called the Pit Stop.”

“Okay, just stay right there. Maybe you should go inside. Austin will use his GPS to find you and we'll be right there.”

“Okay.”

It's probably only fifteen minutes, but it feels like an hour before I see their headlights approach. I get in the backseat almost before they stop the car.

“Can we talk about this tomorrow?” I say before Mom can dive into her interrogation.

“Are you okay?” she asks in a worried tone.

“Yeah.” I slide off my shoes and feel immediate pain and relief.

“Have you been drinking?”

I want to explain but instead just say, “Yeah, sort of.”

Silence. Which can actually be worse than an immediate response. An eruption may be brewing.

“Mom, can you ground me or yell at me in the morning? I just want to go home.”

She starts to respond, but Austin puts a hand on her arm. She's silent a moment, then says, “Okay.”

Closing my eyes, I want to sleep right here as the heater slowly touches the cold that has settled deep in my bones.

We get home and I go straight to my room after thanking Mom and Austin for picking me up. A few minutes later I hear the bathwater running, and Mom peeks into my room.

“That's for you if you want it.”

I realize that I'm still shivering. “Yeah, thanks, Mom.”

“We'll need to talk about this.”

“I know.”

“But for tonight, I'm just glad you're safe and at home.”

I nod. I don't even know what to say.

chapter eighteen

I stay in bed till late morning. Mom brings her three-page letter into my room along with breakfast and my jacket and purse, which London dropped by. I was hiding under the covers when she arrived, not ready to face the day, not ready to tell one of my new friends how angry I am at her.

Mom must have spent hours typing up her letter that lists and explains my punishment. I act like it's harsh with my dejected look, but it's way less than I expected.

The letter says that because I called and left the party, because I was honest about drinking, and because it was a terrible experience for me, my punishment isn't very severe.

But because I lied, or sort of lied by implication—which is still a lie, Mom says—I must have some consequences.

For one week:

—No cell phone

—No Internet except for school use

—No friends over

—Limited telephone

—Can go to film group

—Can go to church youth group outings

—Must go to school and attend family events

“Wait a minute.” As I awaken more, it suddenly sinks in. “A whole week without my cell phone or going online? How will I call you from school and work?”

“I know when to pick you up after school. And the coffeehouse has a phone.”

At that moment my phone beeps.

“Go ahead and check your messages, then tell your friends you won't be available.”

“But . . .” And I think of my friends in Cottonwood, and oh, oh, what if Kaden finally e-mails?

She must see the panic on my face. “You can check your messages once a day to see if there's some kind of an emergency. But that's it.”

“But . . .” And I fall back onto my pillow with my plate still balanced in my hands. “Okay.”

Mom leaves, and the quiet of the room surrounds me.

I skim through the messages on my phone. Kate telling about her date, friends in Cottonwood saying hi. I don't really read them. Then London asking where I am, if I'm okay, followed by a long list of apologies and the promise to make up for her desertion by treating me to a full day at the spa (and I know I'll end up forgiving her in a few days). There's even a text from Brett: Help me!

I don't read further, just toss the phone onto the blanket beside me. It's not a bad quiet in my room; it's sort of peaceful. After I eat the breakfast Mom brought up, I take another long bath and decide to work on my room. I hang up all the clothes I pulled out when looking for something to wear last night. In the afternoon it warms up outside. I open the balcony doors, then retrieve my easel from the garage and set it up on the balcony. This week would be a good time to paint, since I can't do much else anyway.

The picture of Beatrice—maybe Aunt Betty—in the corner of my mirror catches my attention often throughout the day. And I wonder about the stories of my aunt's life that are long before my years.

I hear Mom coming up the stairs. “No, she isn't moving in with you because of this. I just thought you should know so you can talk to her. She's making friends and doing well.”

There's a knock on my door, and Mom hands me the phone. “It's your dad,” she says. “I need to talk to him again when you're done.”

“Hi, Dad.”

“So I hear you had a scary experience.”

“Yeah.”

“Your mom said you went to a little party last night. And you tried walking home?”

“Yes.”

“You need to come up and stay with me for a while,” he says, and I can't help but smile.