Better You Than Me

by Jessica Brody

  I’ve died and gone to heaven.

  The place is small and cluttered, but it’s cluttered with books. Seriously. Books everywhere. Stacked on the dining room table, covering the coffee table and end tables, lined up in giant towering shelves that make up an entire wall in the living room. I’m not sure my mom even owns a book. No, wait. That’s not true. She has a bookshelf full of diet books in her office. And let’s not forget the extra copies of my memoir—which I didn’t write and refuse to even read—that she keeps lying around just in case she needs to hand one out and completely embarrass me. What twelve-year-old has a memoir? Memoirs are supposed to be poignant and introspective and full of wrong turns and life lessons. The only wrong turn mentioned in my memoir is that hideous feathered dress I wore to an awards show once that was so poorly made, I actually shed feathers down the red carpet.

  Skylar’s mother is standing next to me, watching me carefully. “What’s wrong?” she asks. “Are you still feeling ill?”

  “So. Many. Books,” I utter in amazement before I can even stop myself.

  She scoffs and walks into the kitchen, yanking open a drawer and riffling through a pile of papers. “Yes, yes. Very funny. I know, I’ll clean up tomorrow. I was planning on tidying up today, but someone decided to ditch school and run off to Burbank.”

  Oh, right. She’s still mad at me.

  Also, I need to be careful about what I say. I can’t exactly let on that I’m not really her daughter.

  “So what are you feeling like?” Skylar’s mom asks, continuing to rummage through the drawer. She grabs two of the papers—which I now see are menus—and holds them up. “Chinese or pizza?”

  My knees practically give out.

  Did she seriously just say pizza?

  I haven’t eaten pizza since I was eight years old. Unless you count that time Esperanza, our housekeeper and cook, tried to make me this low-carb, low-fat pizza with a cauliflower crust and a sprinkling of nonfat ricotta cheese…which I don’t. It was a sweet gesture, but it tasted like feet.

  “Uh…,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady so I don’t give myself away. I’m sure Skylar eats pizza all the time. I’m sure her voice doesn’t get all shaky and her legs don’t get all wobbly at just the mention of the word.

  “Or would you rather cook?” Skylar’s mom asks.

  Cook? Skylar knows how to cook? I can barely boil water. “No, no. Pizza sounds good,” I reply quickly.

  Skylar’s mom returns one of the menus to the drawer, pulls her phone out of her pocket, and punches in a number. I watch her with the same fascination as a scientist watching a species of rare monkeys in the jungle.

  “Yes, hello. I’d like to order a large pizza. Half with tomato and cheese, the other half with—” Skylar’s mom pulls the phone away from her ear. “What do you want on your half?”

  My half.

  I get an entire half to myself?

  My mind starts to spin with possibilities.

  “Um…everything.”

  She gives me a strange look. “Everything?”

  “Yeah,” I reply, because it’s true. I want everything. Any possible thing you could put on a pizza, I want.

  “Even anchovies?” she asks, scrunching up her nose.

  “What are those?”

  “Tiny salty fish.”

  My stomach swoops. “Okay, everything except anchovies.”

  She nods and relays this back to the person on the other end of the phone. Then she recites her credit card number and hangs up. That’s it. Done. A quick phone call and there’s an entire pizza on its way to us right now.

  This is the best life ever!

  “Relax,” Skylar’s mom says, clearly misinterpreting my excited body language as nervousness. “I’m not mad at you anymore.”

  I sit down in a nearby chair and try to look comfortable. But it’s honestly hard to focus on anything apart from the incoming pizza. So instead, I stand up again and browse the titles of the books on the shelf.

  Skylar’s mom has excellent taste! She’s got all my favorites. Pride and Prejudice, The Book Thief, Jane Eyre, To Kill a Mockingbird, The Outsiders. Even a few titles I’ve never heard of. In the center of the next shelf, there’s a glass plaque with an inscription on it that reads “Dr. Rebecca Welshman—English Literature Professor of the Year—Amherst College.”

  I can’t believe I’m actually under the same roof with someone who teaches books. Someone who reads and analyzes stories for a living. Someone who…

  I freeze.

  Someone who hasn’t made a sound in a very long time. I can feel Skylar’s mom—Dr. Rebecca Welshman—staring at the back of my head. Did I mess up already? Did I say the wrong thing? But I didn’t say anything!

  I slowly spin around to see her watching me with the most baffled look on her face. “What are you doing?” she asks.

  “Uh, nothing,” I say.

  I’m not sure what I did, but I know it was wrong. I should have asked Skylar on the phone what she normally does in the evenings. How she normally acts around her mother. What do they talk about? I’m suddenly realizing just how small this place really is. There’s kind of nowhere to hide. At least back at home in the mansion, I can pretty much disappear the moment I walk through the door.

  Rebecca sighs like she’s giving in to some silent argument and plucks a book from a giant bag she brought in from the car.

  I venture down the one hallway of the apartment in search of Skylar’s bedroom. Apart from the bathroom, there are only two other doors. The first one is open and I can tell from the large bed and the books stacked up everywhere that it must be Rebecca’s room. So I head for the other door and open it.

  “GAHHHH!” I let out a shriek of horror as soon as I see what’s inside. Skylar’s mom comes running down the hallway, probably thinking I’m being kidnapped.

  “What?” she asks. “What’s wrong?”

  But I can’t speak. I can’t form words. Every inch of this bedroom is covered in my face. Skylar has the entire Ruby Rivera collection. The bedspread, the pillowcases, the curtains, the rug. There’s even a trash can with my smiling mug on it.

  I didn’t even know they’d made a trash can!

  I remember when my mom told me they were going to start merchandising and putting my face on all sorts of stuff, but I’ve never actually seen it all in one place before. It’s horrifying.

  “What’s wrong?” Skylar’s mom repeats, peering into the room. I turn to watch her reaction, but she just looks confused.

  Of course. This kind of obsession with a celebrity is totally normal for her.

  “Uh, nothing. I…thought I saw a mouse. But it was just a weird shadow.”

  She touches her hand to her chest. “Geez, Skylar. Don’t scare me like that.”

  “Sorry,” I say, and slowly back away from the room, shutting the door behind me. I’m definitely not going in there until it’s absolutely necessary.

  We both return to the living room. I take an uneasy seat on the couch, wondering what I’m supposed to do until the pizza arrives. Rebecca grabs a remote between two stacks of books on the coffee table and turns on the TV. “Keep it low, please. I have some reading to finish for class tomorrow.”

  I turn to the TV to see what she’s put on and stifle a groan. It’s a rerun of Ruby of the Lamp.

  Ugh.

  I really don’t want to watch this. Especially not this episode. It’s the one where I accidentally made my notes disappear with an incantation gone wrong and then I couldn’t study for the big History of the Jinn exam. Miles saved the day by letting me borrow his notes, and we studied together.

  I want to shut it off, but I force myself to watch. I don’t want Skylar’s mom to get suspicious. If this is what Skylar does in the evenings, then I suppose this is what I should do, too. But after hearing m
yself recite cheesy lines for more than ten minutes, I can’t take it anymore. Thankfully, I’m saved by the doorbell and I jump out of my seat. “I’ll get it!”

  I open the door to find an angel standing on the welcome mat. He’s dressed in a red uniform with a red cap that reads “Pizza Heaven.”

  The smell of the food immediately wafts into the apartment, filling my nostrils and sending my stomach into high-speed spin mode.

  “One large pizza, half cheese and tomato, half everything minus anchovies.” He pulls the pizza out of a red vinyl bag, holds it out to me, and I can’t help but think, Yes, you really are sent from heaven.

  I take the box and carry it over to the table. Rebecca tips the driver, heads into the kitchen, and returns with paper plates, napkins, and cans of real soda with real sugar in it.

  I stare at the box for a long time, just studying the grooves of the cardboard and the red lettering, and enjoying the smell. Oh my gosh, that smell. I’ll remember it until the day I die.

  “What are you waiting for?” Skylar’s mom says. “I’m starving!”

  Slowly and ceremoniously, I open the lid. A tiny gasp escapes my lips as I gaze upon the steaming hot, cheesy deliciousness that lies in front of me.

  Maybe this vacation from my life will only last a few days, but I don’t care. It’s already officially the best vacation ever.

  “We’re almost home,” Eva Rivera says to me as she reaches across the giant SUV and pats my knee. This car is massive. Like it was meant to hold an entire classroom full of kids, not just Ruby and her mother. And her mom honestly looks pretty silly driving the thing. She’s so tiny and the car is huge. It’s like an elf getting behind the wheel of a tank.

  A bolt of electricity travels through me as Eva turns onto a narrow road and starts driving up a windy hill. I can’t believe I’m going to see Ruby Rivera’s house! I’m going to sleep in her bed! Oh my gosh! That is like a million times better than sleeping in the Ruby of the Lamp sheet set.

  Five minutes later, Eva pulls into the driveway of the largest, most amazing house I’ve ever seen. There are some big houses in Amherst, but this puts all of them to shame. I don’t think you can even call it a house. Mansion would be more accurate. Or palace.

  Eva pulls into a five-car garage, and I don’t even wait for her to kill the engine before I’m clicking off my seat belt, jumping out of the passenger seat, and racing to the door. I stop with my hand on the knob, though, because it suddenly occurs to me that it’s kind of rude to just barge into someone else’s house. But then I remember that it’s supposed to be my house.

  I push open the door and tumble inside, my jaw nearly dropping to the floor.

  I’m dreaming. I have to be dreaming. Either that or I’ve died and gone to heaven. This is the kind of kitchen featured in magazines. It’s vast and open, with a tall ceiling, gray granite countertops, cream-colored cabinets, and a massive stove. It has like ten burners on it! The things I could cook in this kitchen are boggling my mind. I could make a feast in here!

  A small chirping sound interrupts my thoughts. Eva responds to it like a dog responding to a whistle. “Oh!” She rummages through her bag for her phone. “That’s the agency calling to talk about your contract for next season. The Channel is stalling, for some reason. I’m trying to get to the bottom of it.” She finds the phone and nods toward the hallway leading off from the kitchen. “Why don’t you go up to your room and rest? I’ll have Esperanza make you some dinner.”

  “Okay,” I say, trying to sound casual and not like my head is going to explode from the excitement of seeing Ruby Rivera’s bedroom. I wander out of the kitchen into a massive foyer with not one grand, curving staircase, but two grand, curving staircases. Wow! I can’t imagine living in a house with two staircases right next to each other. Is one for going up and the other for going down? How am I supposed to know which is which?

  I choose the staircase on the left. With each step, I take in the impressive view of the giant foyer below: the crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, the glittering marble floors. It’s like I’m in a museum!

  I continue down the hallway until I find a bedroom that I assume is Ruby’s, based on the giant pink letters on the wall that spell out “Ruby.”

  The room is massive. Bigger than all the rooms in our Irvine apartment…combined! It’s decorated in soft pinks and greens and has a huge canopy bed in the center, the kind you see in old movies about people who live in castles. And…

  NO. WAY.

  Is that the closet?

  I rush across the room and through a door leading to a whole other room!

  This can’t possibly be a closet. It has aisles. Like a supermarket. And it’s filled with more designer labels than South Coast Plaza! Everything is organized by color, so it feels like stepping into a rainbow. I excitedly run through each of the five aisles of clothes and then stop when I reach the end because my feet can’t move. I can barely even breathe. There is a literal wall of shoes in front of me. As in floor to ceiling, left to right, every square inch covered with shoes.

  I sit down in front of the wall and just stare at it in awe. I can’t believe this is Ruby’s life. I can’t believe she has the audacity to complain about any of this. She’s the luckiest girl in the world! She totally has it made.

  Honestly, if this were my life, I don’t think I’d ever leave this closet. I’d just try on clothes all day. If only the Ellas could see me now. How jealous would they be?

  I don’t know how long I sit there, just gaping at the wall of shoes, but eventually a beeping sound yanks me out of my reverie. I pull Ruby’s phone out of my pocket and let out a screech when I see that Berrin James has actually texted me back! Or he texted Ruby back, anyway.

  Hey girl. Just heading into the studio to record the solo album. Can’t WAIT!

  Solo album? Why is Berrin James recording an album without the rest of Summer Crush? They’re not breaking up, are they? No, that would never happen. They’re like the most successful boy band ever. Besides, I would definitely have heard about that. Maybe it’s just a side project.

  I bite my lip, trying to decide what to write back. The problem is I have no idea what Ruby Rivera and Berrin James talk about. So I just go with:

  Have fun!

  Which I admit is totally lame, but a moment later, Berrin texts back a smiley face and a music note and writes:

  See you at the Tween Choice Awards on Saturday!

  I squeal and hug the phone to my chest. A supermarket-size closet? A wall of shoes? Text messages from superstars? The Tween Choice Awards?

  As I fall onto my back and stare up at the ceiling, all I can think is How on earth will I ever be able to give this back on Sunday?

  The first thing I do when I wake up on Friday morning is check my surroundings: Small bedroom. Small bed. My face on every surface.

  It wasn’t just a dream. The magic didn’t wear off in the middle of the night.

  “WOO-HOO!” I squeal, sitting up.

  The last time I set foot in a real school was on my eighth birthday. At Clear Creek Elementary School in Dallas. Of course, I didn’t realize it would be my last day of school until I came home that afternoon to discover that Mom had made the decision to move us to Hollywood to pursue my acting career.

  If only I knew then what I know now, I might have put up a fight. I might have wrapped my arms and legs around one of the pillars on our front porch and never let go.

  We left the very next day, and I’ve been homeschooled ever since, first by Mom and then, eventually, by tutors on the set of Ruby of the Lamp.

  The truth is I miss being in a classroom. I miss being surrounded by people my own age. I remember having friends back in elementary school. I remember playing and joking around during recess. I remember enjoying my life.

  And that’s exactly what I intend to do today. Enjoy every mi
nute of my limited time in this life.

  I push back the covers and jump out of bed. I admit it was pretty weird sleeping in sheets with my own face on them, but it was better than sleeping in that stuffy mansion, waiting for Mom to wake me up with the measuring tape.

  I walk over to Skylar’s closet and open the door. It’s pretty tiny, but I don’t care. I don’t need much. Just the comfiest thing I can find. For once in my life, I’m not going to fuss over an outfit. I’m not going to worry about makeup or face masks or moisturizing cream. In fact, I may not even brush my hair!

  This is what being normal is all about. Dressing however you want with no consequences!

  Geez, I think as I riffle through Skylar’s wardrobe selection. This girl has no sense of style. I remove a hanger with a black chiffon leopard-print skirt and nearly gag. “Eww,” I whisper, and quickly put it back.

  I eventually find a pair of sweatpants in a drawer and pull them on with a faded gray T-shirt and a soft, ratty hoodie.

  Ahhhh. This is bliss. I feel like I’m ready for bed.

  I quickly brush my teeth and head into the kitchen to find something for breakfast. Last night’s pizza was so delicious, and now I can’t wait to see what these people have in their pantry. I’m going to eat the junkiest, sugariest, carbiest breakfast I can find.

  Skylar’s mother is already up, dressed, and sitting at the kitchen table, typing on a laptop. She’s surrounded by open books. The sight of it brings me so much joy, I nearly run up to her and hug her.

  “Morning!” Rebecca says cheerily.

  “Morning,” I respond, inching my way over to the table to try to get a look at what she’s working on.

  “Sorry I went to sleep so early last night,” she says, still typing away on her laptop. “I was beat. What did you do?”

  I shrug and tilt my head in an attempt to read the title of the open book in front of her. “Just read a little and then went to sleep.”

  The keyboard stops clacking and a shocked silence fills the room.