I look back at Rebecca, who’s finished off the hash browns and has moved on to the pancakes. I can still see the lingering hurt in her eyes. The result of thinking her daughter doesn’t care about anything that’s important to her.
And I make a decision.
“Mom,” I say.
She looks over at me as she takes a bite of syrupy, buttery pancake. “Yah?” she says with her mouth full.
“What are you doing the rest of the day?”
“I have to stop by the university library to check out a few books for class next week, but other than that, not much. Why?”
I shake out my stiff leg and wrinkled pajama bottoms. “I thought we could spend the day together.”
Rebecca smiles. “That would be great. What do you want to do?”
“I want to see where you work.”
She stops chewing and stares at me, completely dumbfounded. “What?”
“Show me everything. The university. The library. Your office. Wherever you spend your time. I want a full tour of your life.”
She looks like she’s about to argue or question my motives or both. So before she can do any of that, I stand up, step around her, grab one more piece of toast, and head down the hallway to get dressed.
I have never worked so hard in my entire life. That was worse than ten gym classes combined! By the end of the forty-five-minute Kaboom! workout, I am completely drenched in sweat, panting like a dog, and I feel like I might collapse.
Oh, wait.
I am collapsing.
Here I go. Down. Down. Down. Now I’m on the floor. I might think the Riveras’ state-of-the-art gym was impressive if I weren’t on my back right now.
What on earth was that?
That wasn’t a workout. That was an execution method. And Tyler, Ruby and Eva’s personal trainer, is the executioner. I can’t believe Eva actually pays him for this. He should be put in jail for the stuff he just made us do. Fifty push-ups, followed by twenty jump knee tucks, followed by fifty burpees? I didn’t even know what a burpee was before this morning. But now I know all too well. It’s probably a form of torture in some countries.
You would think, given that I’m in Ruby’s body and Ruby seems to do this every day, that I would have been able to handle it. But apparently, fitness is about a lot more than just muscle. Because I certainly didn’t handle it.
I think I’m just going to lie here for the rest of the day. Not by choice, but by necessity. I don’t think my legs work anymore. And I’m fairly certain if I attempt to stand up, I’ll probably barf.
But it becomes apparent that spending my Saturday on this gym floor is not going to be an option when Eva says, “C’mon Ruby. Stop being dramatic. We need to be at the photo shoot in an hour. Get up.”
I can barely breathe and she wants me to be photographed right now? Is she crazy? If I don’t get a giant doughnut for breakfast after this, I’m going to stage a formal protest.
“And what’s this one about?” I ask, plucking a copy of Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen, from Rebecca’s office shelf.
Of course, I know what it’s about. It’s one of my favorites. But Skylar hasn’t read it, so I have to pretend. Plus, I just like listening to Rebecca describe the books. She has a way of talking about the stories that makes me feel alive inside. And it obviously makes her feel alive inside, too, judging by the way her eyes sparkle as she speaks. And she doesn’t just describe what happens, like she’s reading straight off the back of the book. She dives into the complexities of the plot, the internal conflicts of each character, the way it fits into the time period during which it was written. I swear I could listen to her describe books all day. And I pretty much have been. Ever since we got to her office, I’ve just been walking around her bookshelves, picking titles at random, and asking her about them.
She tilts her head and studies me from her chair behind the desk. I can tell she’s been enjoying our afternoon together, but that air of suspicion hasn’t vanished from her face since we left the apartment. “Skylar, what are you doing?”
I turn the book around and run my fingertips over the illustration of Elizabeth Bennet on the cover. She was a girl who never let anyone tell her what to do. Not society, not Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and certainly not her mother.
I could learn a few things from Lizzie Bennet. I don’t have half the guts she has.
“I just want to know more about what you do all day.”
“I get that,” Rebecca says, leaning forward in her desk chair. “I’m just wondering why all of a sudden you’ve taken such an interest in my job. You never have before.”
I’m about to apologize on behalf of Skylar, when Rebecca says, “Is this about Dad?”
I blink in surprise. “Dad?”
It’s the first time Rebecca has brought him up. And apart from our brief conversation on FaceTime yesterday, I don’t know much about him. I remember Skylar telling me that her parents are getting a divorce. She seemed upset about it in the prop room. But it’s really not my place to get involved.
“No,” I tell her. “Why would this be about him?”
Rebecca shrugs. “I don’t know. I thought maybe with Dad being so far away, you might be feeling a bit lonely and wanting to spend some extra time with me. And don’t get me wrong. I love it. I love you pretending to be interested in my work and all these books, but you don’t have to do that. You don’t have to pretend just to hang out with me. We can hang out and not talk about books.”
I shake my head adamantly. “No. I really do want to know.” And then, for good measure, I add, “And yes, I do miss Dad. A lot, but…”
My voice breaks and I can’t even finish the sentence. Because it’s in that moment I realize the statement is true. Truer than I ever knew.
I miss my dad.
Even though I don’t even know him.
I’ve never admitted it to anyone, but every time I stand in front of a camera, a thought flickers through my mind for just a moment. The thought that maybe he’ll see this. That maybe somewhere out there, wherever he is, whatever he’s doing, he’ll see his daughter on a screen and wonder how I am.
I know it’s stupid. I know he’s not doing that. I know he left more than twelve years ago, and if there was ever a chance he might come back or even reach out, it would have happened by now. And yet, I still find myself thinking about it every time someone yells “Action!” Maybe it’s the one thing that’s gotten me through the past four years.
I haven’t even realized I started crying until Rebecca is beside me, holding out a tissue. I sniffle and take it, wiping my eyes and feeling ridiculous. “Sorry,” I say, trying to laugh.
Rebecca puts her arms around me and pulls me into a hug. “I miss him, too, sweetie.”
I know she’s talking about someone else. Someone I don’t miss and don’t love and barely even know. And yet it still feels good to hear her say that. To feel her wrap her arms tightly around me. To feel her run her fingers down my hair.
It’s not even my body she’s squeezing. It’s not even my hair she’s touching. It’s not even my mom.
And yet, she still makes me feel like everything will be okay.
Like the world is safe.
I guess that’s just what moms do. No matter who they belong to.
I don’t get a giant doughnut. I get another flaxseed protein smoothie with exactly one quarter of a banana and two—count them, two—strawberries. It tastes like cement. Not that I know what cement tastes like, but I imagine it tastes a lot like this.
Afterward, we get into the car and Eva drives us to a huge rusty warehouse in the middle of downtown Los Angeles. The outside looks like the kind of place kidnappers take their victims. But the inside is completely different. The giant, open space has been transformed into a magnificent photography studio. There’s a huge white back
drop that’s been set up in the middle with about a zillion lights pointed at it. On the far wall is a table full of delicious-looking food. A woman in a chef’s hat is standing in front of an omelet station.
Mmm. Omelets…
But before I can even get a chance to smell the food, I’m whisked into a curtained-off section of the warehouse, where another woman introduces herself to us as Michaela, my stylist.
Eva shakes her hand and immediately starts talking in her usual bossy voice. “For the new album, we want something a tad more mature than the last album but that still says ‘fragile little girl’…”
Eva keeps talking, but I don’t hear a word. I’m too busy dissecting her first sentence.
New album?
Ruby Rivera has a new album coming out? Why don’t I know about this? Have they been keeping it a secret? Is it already finished? Will I get to hear it?
I try to listen in on Eva and Michaela’s conversation in hopes of picking up some more information, but they’re not talking about the album at all. They’re discussing which clothes I should wear for the cover. Then, for the next forty-five minutes, I feel like a Barbie doll as they dress me in a million different combinations and argue over every little thing: the length of the dresses, the cut of the sleeves, the dip of the collars, the color of the headbands, boots vs. flats, necklace vs. choker, belt vs. no belt. Everything Michaela suggests, Eva vetoes. I’m not sure why there even is a stylist when Eva ends up making all the decisions.
Finally, after what feels like forever, five complete outfits are selected and I’m dressed in the first one. It’s a cute blue-and-white sundress with a yellow belt. Even though I agree with Michaela that it’s a little on the “safe” side, I don’t dare tell Eva.
Next, my hair and makeup are done. That takes a full two hours. And then finally, I’m ready to actually take the photos. This is something I’m quickly learning about celebrity life. Nearly half of the time is spent preparing to be a celebrity, and the other half is spent being the celebrity.
The photographer’s name is Jules, and she is super funky. She’s dressed in baggy black pants, a cropped shirt, and a trucker hat that she keeps tilted to one side.
“So, Ruby!” she says, talking rapidly and clapping her hands. “We’re going to have fun today. Yeah? Fun? We’re going to have it?”
I nod. “Yes!”
“Good. Good. Good. Okay, so first things first. Music?”
“Um…yes? I like music.”
She laughs like I’ve made a big joke. “LOL. Winky emoji. Good one. What kind of music do you want to listen to?”
Oh! Duh!
Well, obviously I want to listen to Ruby Rivera! I mean, if anything is going to help me channel her for this photo shoot, that would be it.
“Do you, um, by chance, happen to have the new album?” I ask hesitantly.
Jules looks at me like I’m speaking another language. “Whose new album?”
I glance uneasily between Jules and Eva. “Um…mine?”
Eva gives me a confused look. “Why?”
I fidget with the hem of my dress. “I just thought listening to it would help me get into the right mood for the cover photos.”
Jules blinks like she’s waking up from a dream. “Oh! Right! Yes. Good idea. Clap. Clap. Clap. High five.”
I reach up to give her a high five before realizing she’s only saying high five. She’s not actually offering one. She turns and yells at an assistant to get the music ready.
“Are you sure that’s what you want to listen to?” Eva asks.
Why is everyone so shocked that I want to listen to my own music? What does Ruby usually listen to during photo shoots?
You know what? It doesn’t even matter what Ruby listens to. She’s not here. I’m here. And I choose to listen to my favorite artist. “Yes, I’m sure,” I say with authority.
Eva shrugs. “Okay, sweetie. I just ask because last time you were in the studio you said you never wanted to hear any of those songs again for the rest of your life.”
I snort. That sounds just like Ruby. She’s so ungrateful for what she has.
I flash Eva a confident smile. “Well, I changed my mind.”
She beams back at me. “Great! I personally love the new album, and I think your fans are going to—”
But I don’t hear the rest of what she says, because just then, the most amazing song in the history of music comes on over the warehouse speakers.
We spend the rest of the afternoon walking around UC–Irvine. It’s a beautiful campus, with modern brick-and-glass buildings, tree-lined sidewalks, and students milling around, talking about everything from politics to literature to architecture.
The libraries are my favorite part of the tour. They actually have more than one! They have a whole library devoted entirely to science, another one devoted to law, and another to film. And, of course, the regular library, which houses all the great works of literature. Rebecca spends extra time in there, walking me through the fiction section, telling me stories about hiding in the stacks of her elementary school library during PE. That was before anyone figured out how brilliant she was and skipped her ahead two grades.
Two grades! Skylar’s mom is basically a genius!
As we walk through campus and Rebecca points out each building and tells me what people study inside, I can’t help but picture myself at one of these places someday. If I were a normal kid, at a normal school, I could be here in six years. This could be my home. I could be one of those students.
And who knows? Maybe I will be. Maybe Skylar and I will never figure out how to reverse the magic. Maybe I’ll get to live this life forever and go to middle school, and high school, and college. Maybe I’ll actually get to decide what happens in my life.
Or maybe on Monday morning, I’ll wake up and find myself back in that mansion that I paid for. Maybe I’ll poof back into Ruby Rivera and be stuck doing what everyone tells me to do for the rest of my life.
When we’re finally tired and starving again, Rebecca takes me to one of the university cafeterias. It reminds me a little of the commissary on the Xoom! lot, with various stations offering everything from burgers to salads to stir-fry. Not that I’ve ever been able to eat in the Xoom! commissary, but we once shot a scene in there after they closed. It was the episode where Ruby and Miles sneak into the middle school down the street from the Jinn Academy and have to pretend to be normal kids.
Strangely enough, that’s kind of how I’ve felt the past two days. Like I’m sneaking into someone’s life and pretending to belong there.
“What looks good?” Rebecca says as we stand in the middle of the cafeteria.
I scan my options before finally deciding on a massive burger from the grill. Rebecca joins me there, and we order and bring our trays to the dining area.
We’re just looking for a seat when I hear a voice call out, “Hey! Over here!”
My instincts immediately kick in, and without thinking, I turn and try to cover my face with my tray to avoid being photographed. Until, a second later, I realize how ridiculous I look. I’m not Ruby anymore. I don’t have to hide every time someone calls out to me.
Besides, the person wasn’t even calling to me. It turns out they were calling to Rebecca, which makes sense. She’s the one who’s known around here.
“What are you doing?” Rebecca asks me, and I realize I’m still holding my tray up, hiding my face behind my massive cheeseburger. I try to play it off by pretending to scratch my nose with my upper arm.
“Nothing,” I mutter.
She nods to the man who’s standing up, waving us over. “That’s a fellow professor from the literature department. Do you mind if we sit with him?”
I shrug. “No.”
I don’t mind at all. In fact, all I can think about as we walk over there is how much I h
ope they talk about books so I can eavesdrop.
“Hi, Clint,” Rebecca says as we approach the booth. “This is my daughter, Skylar. Skylar, this is Clint.”
He flashes me a huge smile and sticks out his hand. I’m still holding my tray, though, which it takes him a second to realize, and then he quickly lowers his hand and rubs his palm against his jeans. He almost looks nervous for some reason.
“Hi,” I say pleasantly. “Nice to meet you.” I glance down at the table, searching for a place to put my tray, but the entire surface is covered in papers and open books, which Clint doesn’t seem to notice.
Rebecca directs her gaze to the cluttered table as well, clearly hoping to bring it to his attention. But he’s too busy smiling at us. Rebecca clears her throat and nudges her chin toward the table.
Clint finally gets the hint and looks down, jumping into action. “Oh gosh. I’m sorry. I forgot, I…” But I can’t hear the rest of the sentence, because he mumbles it under his breath as he hurriedly clears space on the table.
I look over at Rebecca and she’s biting her lip to conceal a smile.
Did I miss something?
We sit down and I immediately go to work on my burger. It’s way too big and messy to eat with my hands, so I carve into it with a fork and knife.
“So you’re the famous ‘To a Skylark,’ ” Clint says.
“Huh?” I ask, my mouth full of meat.
Rebecca laughs and nudges me with her elbow. “I told him about the Shelley poem you’re named after.”
I smile and nod. “Oh, right.” Of course Skylar would be named after something cool like an old poem. That’s what happens when your parents are both professors. You get cool names that mean something. My mom named me after her favorite precious gemstone.
“Your mom told me you’re going to your first middle school dance tonight,” Clint says. It sounds like he’s fishing for something to get me talking. A conversation starter. Well, if he is, then he just caught the big one, because the reminder of tonight’s dance makes me positively giddy. I nod. “Yup.”
Better You Than Me Page 19
