Ruby Unscripted (6 page)

I overhear Aunt Jenna on the phone, panic in her tone. “How sick are you? I know you're sorry, but I just don't know what I'm going to do tonight.” She hangs up and is punching in more numbers.

“I thought you left,” she says as I come into the kitchen.

“No ride. Austin can get me in an hour, but I can stay and help.”

“Where's your mom?”

“She's interviewing the owner of that boutique for one of her magazines.”

“What boutique?” But Aunt Jenna is by now flipping pages on her board, looking for any help.

“Listen, it's no problem, Aunt Jenna. It's not like I have plans.”

She sighs. “I will make this up to you.”

“That sounds good,” I say with a smile. “Let me just make a phone call, and I'll be back out there.”

Aunt Jenna nods; then she closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and leaves with a renewed cheery look on her face. “Premiere Night officially begins.”

The only thing that made me hesitate about volunteering for tonight was my phone. My poor lonely phone, sitting on the windowsill in my room, ringing inconsolably with no one to comfort it. And what's been happening back home? My friends will think I've died. Nick might be annoyed that I'm not around for whatever he needs to ask me. Prom, prom?

Mac answers the phone at the house.

“Hey, it's Ruby. I need you to do me a favor.”

“Okay, but it's gonna cost you.”

“Cost me? Cost me what?”

“Dearly.”

“Huh?”

“I saw that on a movie. They said, ‘It's gonna cost you dearly.' What's a dearly?”

“Listen, I can't talk long.”

“So you don't know either?”

“I'll explain later.”

“So you do know? Just tell me.”

“Mac! Listen to me. I need you to go up to my phone in my room and send Kate a text message.”

“Oh yeah, your phone keeps vibrating. I put one of my army men on it, and he stayed on for three seconds.”

“Mac. Focus. Listen to me. Get my phone.”

“Okay, hang on. It was plugged in over here . . .”

“You're in my room?”

“Mom and Austin are putting up my bunk beds, so they said I could play in here. Where'd your phone go? I built a Lego fortress around it—oh, here it is!”

“Great. Now do you remember how to send a text?”

“It says you have twenty new messages.”

I hear a few beeps.

“And six missed calls.”

“Missed calls?” That could mean something. My friends only call when something's important.

“Do you want me to read your messages to you?”

“No! Just go to contacts—do you see the button you push beneath contacts? Then scroll down, you'll see the arrow keys—”

“I play games on Mom's phone, remember. I know how it works.”

“Okay, send a text to Kate. Just say Ruby is at work and forgot her phone at home. She'll call when she's back.”

“I better write that down.”

My aunt calls my name from the front counter.

“I have to go—just remember it. You're just telling her I don't have my phone, and I'll call when I'm home from work.”

“Home from work, will call . . .”

I hear people in the dining area of the coffeehouse.

“Promise you'll put my phone back after that.”

“It's gonna cost you.”

“Dearly, yes, I know.”

He laughs at that.

“I could take messages for you. ‘Ruby's phone, Mac speaking.' See how good I'd be.”

“No. Just send that to Kate and nothing else.”

“Oops.”

The last thing you want to hear your ten-year-old brother say when he's using your phone is “Oops.”

“What happened?”

“I might have erased your messages.”

“What?!”

“I didn't mean to.”

“Ruby,” Aunt Jenna calls again.

“Okay, forget it. Just leave my phone alone.”

“Sorry.”

“Mac”—I want to yell a slew of things at him right now—“now you owe me for this one.”

“Yeah. I owe you dearly.”

chapter six

Kate, it's so cool, I wish you were here.

This is what I
want
to type, if I had my phone with me.

I miss Kate terribly, wish I had her beside me, helping customers and whispering comments about the people who've come for Premiere Night.

The air simply buzzes with excitement like static electricity in your clothing.

“Ruby, take over the cash register—I need to make another batch of popcorn,” Aunt Jenna says. I see the tiredness in her eyes, but we have several hours yet to go.

Premiere Night brings out a different crowd from the daytime customers. Or maybe it's some of the same people, but the night and event have transformed them into cool creatures of the art and film world. Artists wear their baggy jeans and expensive but faded T-shirts, a few visible tattoos, piercings, gauges in their ears, while other artist-types express wealth in their clothes, watches, and jewelry. Several of the girls look like runway models, and a few others could've been extras at the sorority house in
Legally Blonde
. My dirty black apron, Gap jeans, brown shoes, and Underground polo shirt don't mix with any of the types here. And I can only guess what my hair and makeup look like, since I've been here since eleven in the morning.

I see Frankie. He waves and winks at me from a circle of people who talk and move like a flock of birds through the coffeehouse and down the stairs.

Kate would love this, and all the very hot guys. We're always complaining about the lack of good-looking males at home, though I think that's because we've known most of the guys at school since they were eating paste and pulling our ponytails. But if she were here, we could take up my aunt and mom's hobby of creating stories for the most interesting characters. We might say that the guy with the Mohawk works at a tattoo parlor but has a secret love for poodles. The twin girls near the corner who look shy and unpretentious are daughters of a senator and plot to take the most-famous-twins throne from the Olsen sisters.

I miss Kate. I miss her with a strange gut-ache feeling. Or maybe it's a mixture of loneliness and missing.

A dark-haired guy weaves through the groupings of people. His eyes—dark brown and serious—catch mine for a moment, then he walks toward the cinema stairs. Maybe it's his intensity or a way about his casual style that reminds me of a young Johnny Depp. There's also a young Brad Pitt and Tom Cruise and surely Chad Michael Murray's younger brother.

The upstairs crowd soon disappears into the cinemas downstairs. I carry a few more empty mugs to the kitchen, where Aunt Jenna comes out of the walk-in cooler carrying an armload of containers. “Oh, Ruby, you should go see some of the films.”

But there are dirty tables to wipe, and popcorn litters the floor, and Aunt Jenna looks increasingly tired, which makes me worry. She's had health issues for a number of years, which is also why she hasn't had a baby.

Uncle Jimmy arrived some time ago and is doing dishes, though ever so slowly compared to Rayna. He keeps having trouble with the industrial dishwasher. He's still in his jeans and T-shirt from being on a building site where he's the foreman of a construction company.

“Next time,” I say and return to the dining area.

From the stairwell I hear shouts and applause rising from the theater below. I overhear snippets of conversation as people come up and down for coffee, popcorn, and sweets. The monthly special of popcorn runs out, and Aunt Jenna gives up trying to make more.

“We're in survival mode now,” she says.

I take in the conversations . . . a wallflower no one really notices. It's an illuminating position. I get to overhear a lot.

“That was the best I've seen.”

“We've got this night bagged, there's no doubt. That film was perfect.”

“Let's go to the beach after this.”

“Sure. Tell everyone to meet at the cove by Shellee's.”

“Who is that with Shellee?”

“I don't know, but he was staring at Blair, or so she said.”

“Blair thinks everyone's staring at her. Okay, they probably are.”

“I don't think she's as great as everyone makes her out to be.”

“Are Crystal and Dylan still broken up? I saw her in his car this afternoon.”

They are the conversations of teenagers anywhere. These live in a different place, the names aren't the same, and they have different interests from the kids back home, but overall the themes and emotions are the same. Socialize, make plans, dream big, have fun. The chemistry and angst between guys and girls, friendships and loves.

The conversations make me miss home. Remind me of people who know me, who talk about me for the good and the bad, who want to hang out with me. They're all far away right now.

Will some of these people become my friends? I search their faces, looking for some telltale sign. Sometimes I've imagined going back in time to see myself walking by a future friend in the mall or at school. Maybe as a little kid, one of my future best friends played on the same playground as me. I wonder if I've walked past my future husband, if the love of my life might be in the cinema downstairs, or if he's driving some highway with the music loud and an ache of longing in his chest for the mysterious
her
who is me, and only me.

Another group lingers near the counter, and I catch bits of conversations.

“Hey, did you ask your parents if we'll meet them in Barcelona or Marseilles this summer?”

“They haven't figured out the plan yet. My dad's in Germany ordering a new Porsche. He couldn't wait to see it, so he flew over to check out the production.”

“Oh, did you hear that Jeff is interning on a Francis Ford Coppola film this summer?”

I smile at that. Okay, so not all teen conversations are the same everywhere. And these may not be my future friends after all.

Picking up a few empty cups, I turn toward the counter and see the dark-haired Johnny Depp guy coming from the kitchen. Customers aren't supposed to be there, but he acts as if he works here. For all I know, he might. We pass each other with a quick glance.

Aunt Jenna is washing dishes when I bring a tray back, and Uncle Jimmy is doing something with tools under the sink.

“The coffeehouse is officially closed,” she says. “They'll clear out within the hour, but no more serving anything. You could run down and see what's happening in the theater.”

I shake my head. “I'll finish cleaning up in the dining area.”

“Feeling awkward with the other kids your age?” Uncle Jimmy teases, poking his head out from beneath the sink.

“Who, me?” I say with a smile.

Aunt Jenna gives me a sympathetic sigh. “Oh, sweetie, it'll become home soon enough. You won't feel displaced for long.”

“Uh-huh,” I say, trying to sound as though I believe her, knowing she's probably right. “The people here really are mostly rich, much richer than at home. And they're making films and going to Barcelona for summer vacation instead of playing mini golf and laser tag and going to the lake.”

“I'm sure they do those things too. And you didn't really fit in with the mini golf and lake crowd anyway. Believe me, it took some adjusting for me too. You aren't the only one who grew up in little Cottonwood.”

I grab the broom from a hook and ask, “What made it hard for you?”

“Well, I'm the only woman in my Bible study who works because she really has to. One woman complains about her job as an interior designer. She says she wishes she could quit, but they just can't afford it. She drives a Beemer and has a rock on her hand the size of an Easter egg. The concept of money is very different.

“And then there are the vacations and the education. I know a homemaker with a PhD, and most of the others have a master's. I didn't finish college. But if you have a strong sense of who you are, what you believe, and God's purpose for you, you'll have no trouble with anyone you meet your entire life.” Aunt Jenna glances up at the wall clock. “Oh, wow, you've been here twelve hours.”

“Both of us have been here twelve hours.”

“I'll have to do something to pay you back. Oh, and I totally forgot—he was just here too!”

“What? Who was here?”

“I meant to introduce you to Kaden.”

“Kaden, the yard and moving boy again?” I ask.

Uncle Jimmy looks up again. “He tried helping with the dishwasher problem, but I sent him to focus on his film.”

Aunt Jenna interjects, like they're a team selling a car. “He did a short film last year that won some contest and gained critical acclaim. He's involved with media at a church I want your mom and Austin to try out. I guarantee you'll think he's hot the moment you see him. But I think he was leaving—we should try to catch him.”