And some of the tweets don’t even have anything to do with the Carey Divine scandal. Some of them are just plain mean.
@RubyRivera When are you going to get it through your skull that no one on this planet thinks you’re cool
@RubyRivera Your face looks like someone ran over it with a tractor
What is this person even talking about? Ruby has a gorgeous face. Why are people so cruel?
I close Twitter and click over to the picture Eva posted after we stepped out of the bathroom. Even though my smile is completely fake and devoid of any happiness, I look pretty. My makeup is great. My hair is perfect. My dress is sparkling. And the picture already has over fifty thousand likes! I quickly scroll through the comments, my spirits lifting with each one.
I still love you, Ruby Rivera!
Don’t listen to anything anyone says about you. You are a goddess.
You are the best, Ruby! I <3 you to the moon and back!
I smile. See? People still love me. The true fans will never be shaken.
But then I scroll a little farther down and my blood turns ice-cold in my veins.
I thought you were a role model, Ruby. Turns out you’re just a snob. #Unfollowed
Who do you think you are, dissing Carey Divine? She is so much more talented than you!
I hope they cancel your stupid show.
Cancel the show? Would they really do that? Could they really do that? Have I actually ruined more than just Ruby’s career? Have I ruined Ryder’s career and Barry’s career and all those people who work on the show?
Oh gosh, I can’t breathe.
I can’t stop thinking about the barrage of negative comments people have posted about such a sweet and innocent picture. What is the matter with them? Don’t they realize that Ruby has feelings like any normal human being? That I have feelings? Do they not think Ruby will see these comments? Or maybe they hope she will. Maybe there are people out there who are just that mean.
“Ruby!” Eva hisses from the seat next to me. “What are you doing?” She quickly grabs the phone from me and stuffs it into her purse.
I sit numbly in my seat, staring at the stage only three rows in front of me. That’s how famous Ruby Rivera is. She’s been seated in the third row at the Tween Choice Awards. And yet I can’t seem to focus on anything that’s happening. I think Summer Crush is accepting an award. I can hear Berrin James’s voice coming from somewhere, but it’s like I can’t really hear it. It blends into a buzzing sound that seems to have taken over my brain.
Eva must notice my near-comatose state, because she puts a gentle hand on my knee and whispers, “Don’t worry about it, sweetie. This will all blow over.”
“Those comments,” I whisper back numbly. Thankfully, no one can hear me over the raucous applause and cheers that Summer Crush is getting as they walk off the stage. “They were so horrible.”
Eva just chuckles. “There are always going to be hateful comments, honey. That’s the nature of the game. Don’t worry. The publicity team is already hard at work deleting them all.”
What?
My head whips in her direction so fast, the room starts to spin. “Deleting them?” I repeat a little too loud.
Eva shushes me and points to the stage, where Ryder Vance is standing at the mic, saying something about the award he’s so excited to present.
Ruby’s publicity team deletes all the negative comments on her pictures.
I always thought there were no bad comments posted about her because everyone simply loved her. But that’s not the reality at all. There are people out there who have nothing better to do than to write awful things.
It doesn’t make any sense.
What did Ruby ever do to any of these people, except entertain them. And sing for them? And give up her childhood for them? No wonder she wanted my life so badly. A little shade from the Ellas is nothing compared to what Ruby deals with on a daily basis.
It’s like the whole world is a pack of mean girls to her.
The whole world bullies her.
And yet every day she gets up, she goes to work, she films, she records, she performs, she dances.
She smiles.
I feel sick to my stomach at the thought of all of those smiles. Every interview I’ve ever watched. Every picture I’ve ever downloaded to my phone. Every bright and shiny smile she’s ever flashed at a camera.
They were all masks.
They were all covering something underneath. Something I’m only starting to see. Feel. Know.
Suddenly, the room erupts in wild applause, interrupting my thoughts and finally cutting through the buzzing in my head. I glance up at the stage and Ryder is staring right at me, clapping his hands and beaming at me. I glance around and notice that everyone in the whole theater is looking at me.
“Ruby!” Eva calls out over the cheers. “That’s you! He called your name! You won! You finally won! Get up there!”
Huh?
I’m so confused. I’m so disoriented.
I feel Eva pushing at my back. “Go!” she says.
Suddenly, there’s a man in front of me with a camera hoisted onto his shoulder. It’s pointed right at my face.
“Smile,” Eva whispers to me. It sounds like a threat.
Dazedly, I rise to my feet and walk down the aisle toward the stage. But I can’t feel a single thing. Not happiness. Not elation. Not even shock. All the sensation in my body is gone. I mount the steps and someone thrusts a gold statue into my hand. I stare down at it in a complete fog. On the bottom there’s a plaque that reads:
“Best Actress”
Ruby finally won.
I won.
And yet, even as I dig deep down, searching for some kind of emotion, some kind of reaction, the only thing I can bring myself to feel is loss.
The next morning, I refuse to get out of bed. I refuse to do anything, including look at Skylar’s phone. For one, I don’t want to see that picture again. It’s already ingrained in my mind. I barely slept at all last night because every time I closed my eyes, I could see the image. The Photoshopped image of me barfing all over the South Coast Plaza table.
And also, I refuse to look at Skylar’s phone because I don’t want to see all the missed calls I’ve undoubtedly gotten from her. She has to have seen the image. I know she checks her own feed because that’s the reason she even texted me in the first place yesterday to warn me about the Ellas. She saw me tagged in one of Daniella’s photos. And now she’ll be calling to tell me she told me so. She told me to watch out for them and I didn’t listen.
I’m sure Ethan has texted, too. I didn’t even say goodbye last night. I just left.
Finally, at lunchtime, Rebecca lures me out of bed with the promise of Chinese takeout. When I drag myself into the living room, the food has already arrived and Rebecca has arranged it on the coffee table. It smells delicious. I drop down onto the couch, grab a plate and some chopsticks, and start stuffing my face.
Rebecca sits down in her usual reading chair and studies me, like she’s trying to decide whether or not to say something that’s on her mind. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about last night?”
I look away from her, unable to meet her eye as I swallow down a lump of sesame chicken. “Mmm-hmm.”
She’s been trying to get me to talk to her about what happened at the dance ever since I called her from the bathroom and asked her to come pick me up. As soon as I got in the car, she could tell something was wrong. If my tearstained cheeks didn’t give me away, my total silence the entire way home probably did. But I refused to talk about it. I wanted to. I really did. I could think of no better person to open up to than Rebecca. Kind, warmhearted, understanding Rebecca. But then I remembered the look on her face at the cafeteria when I told her I was going to the dance with my “new friends.” She
looked like she had just won the daughter lottery. I couldn’t bear to burst her bubble and tell her I’d already messed it up. That my “new friends” turned out to be the girls who have been bullying Skylar for who knows how long. I couldn’t bear to see that disappointment on Rebecca’s face.
Or maybe it was my own disappointment I just couldn’t bear.
“I know what will cheer you up,” Rebecca says, picking up the TV remote. She scrolls through the list of recorded shows on the DVR until she gets to the one that says Tween Choice Awards, and pushes play.
I sigh. I really don’t want to watch this. I really don’t want to see what an amazing time Skylar had last night living my life. It’ll just remind me of how horrible my night went and how dreadfully I let her down. The opening music of the awards show starts and the deep voice of the announcer booms, “Live from the Red Carpet in Hollywood, California. Welcome to the Annual Tween Choice Awards!”
I grab the remote and push pause. “Maybe later,” I mumble.
“Okay,” Rebecca says nervously, and when I glance over at her, I notice that she’s not eating. Instead, she’s just sitting there, fidgeting with the ends of her fingernails. I also notice, for the first time, that she looks different. Her hair is not tied back in a ponytail, but instead is flowing loose and long over her shoulders. I never even realized how long it is. Or what a pretty shade of strawberry blond it is. Her face is still clean of makeup, but it looks freshly washed and moisturized. And even her clothes are different. Normally, she just wears basic blacks and grays but today, she has a pop of color. Her shirt is pink. Not like a bright pink. More of a pale, almost peachy pink. But still pink.
“Why aren’t you eating?” I ask suspiciously.
She straightens up a bit, looking anxious. “Well, actually, that’s something I wanted to talk to you about.” She clears her throat.” I was thinking about our conversation yesterday in the car…after we got back from campus, and I thought maybe…well, you might be right.”
I swallow the lump of fried rice in my mouth. “About what?”
“About going out with Clint.”
She stops and watches my reaction carefully. Like she’s expecting me to jump up and flip the table in a fit of rage. I nod for her to continue.
“The truth is he did ask me out”—she fights to hide a smile—“a few times, actually, but I’ve always said no. Because your father and I…well, we’re still working out the logistics of the divorce and I was worried about you and…” Her voice trails off, like she’s afraid to even finish.
“And…,” I prompt, feeling my spirits lift for the first time today.
“And, well, you said I should do what makes me happy and you’re right. So I called him last night while you were at the dance and we’re supposed to have lunch today.” She says this last part fast, like she’s just trying to get it over with. “But I can cancel. If you—”
“No!” I practically yell. I set my plate down on the coffee table and leap off the couch. “You should go! I’m happy for you! You’re going to have so much fun.”
She gives me an uneasy look. “Are you sure?”
I nod. “Absolutely.” One of us should have some fun around here, and it’s certainly not going to be me.
She smiles. “Okay, good. But if you need me, just call or text. I’ll have my ringer on the whole time and—”
I roll my eyes playfully. “Mom, I’ll be fine. Go. Have fun.”
She sighs, like a huge burden has just been lifted from her shoulders. Then she stands, flashes me another warm smile, grabs her bag from the kitchen table, and heads out the door.
I turn back to my Chinese food and the paused recording of last night’s Tween Choice Awards. I guess I have nothing better to do than watch Skylar prance around, having the time of her life on the red carpet. I pop another piece of sesame chicken into my mouth, grab the remote, and press play.
The next morning, there are about thirty people packed inside Ruby’s living room. All of them have been brought in to “deal” with the celebrity scandal.
That’s what Eva has been calling it. A celebrity scandal. Ruby trusted me with her life, her career, her body, and this is what I’ve done with it. I’ve ruined everything.
There are people from the Xoom! publicity team, people from the Xoom! legal team, studio executives, Ruby’s agent, Ruby’s personal lawyer, even some guy named Peter, who I believe is some kind of money manager. They’re all milling around, throwing out suggestions, talking on phones, typing into laptops. It looks like a war zone. And apparently it is, because according to all the celebrity blogs and news sites, I’ve declared war on poor Carey Divine.
And, of course, Carey is playing the victim in all this. She actually spoke to The Celebrity Spot after the awards show last night and told them how much it saddens her to see her BFF unnecessarily lash out like this.
Now everyone is trying to come up with the right “angle” to go to the press with. An excuse that will “restore” Ruby’s perfect angelic wholesome image. I’ve heard every ridiculous suggestion from “she was poisoned by the on-set caterer and not acting like herself,” to “Ruby Rivera’s evil twin, who she was separated from at birth, took her place.”
After that one, I left the room.
I’ve been hiding out in Eva’s office ever since, reading screenplays from the pile. All the movies Eva rejected for her daughter. I don’t know what it is, but somehow, reading these screenplays calms my nerves. I can still hear the voices from the war zone down the hall, but getting lost in these stories is keeping my pulse at a semi-normal level. It’s funny. I’ve always watched my mom disappear into books after she’s had a bad day or after she used to have bad fights with my dad. The books were like her friends. Her confidants. The things she could turn to when the rest of the world seemed to be closing in on her. I never understood that. And maybe that’s because I never liked books.
But these aren’t books. They’re screenplays. They’re totally different. They’re not full of pages and pages of daunting words. They’re full of action and emotional cues and entertaining dialogue. They get straight to the point, instead of wandering around it for countless chapters.
And yet, they seem to have the same effect on me as the books do on my mom. Each time I turn the final page of one, I immediately reach for another. It’s like I crave their comfort. I love meeting all these new characters, watching them go on wild adventures, frantically turning the pages to see how they’re going to get out of all that trouble they seem to get themselves into.
But mostly, I love how I can hide inside these worlds. Even the cheesy ones. I never realized how easy it is to hide inside stories. When I’m in the middle of one of the screenplays, it’s like all that other noise disappears. The war zone in the other room doesn’t even exist.
But that’s not the only reason I’m hiding in this office. It’s not just the war zone out there. It’s the war zone in my head. It’s the guilt and the shame and the regret. They’ve been following me around ever since I ran off that red carpet. No matter where I go or what I do, I can’t seem to shake those emotions.
And also, I’m hiding from Ruby’s phone.
After I bumbled through the world’s shortest acceptance speech ever last night, I insisted to Eva that we go straight home, even though we’d been invited to countless after-parties and celebrations around town. As soon as we got back, I hid Ruby’s phone in the back of the mall closet, and I haven’t looked at it since. For one, I can’t bear to see any more of those hateful comments. But more than that, I can’t bear to see my phone number on the caller ID. I know Ruby has probably been calling and calling. There’s no way she hasn’t heard the news. There’s no way she doesn’t know. And now she’s probably trying to get ahold of me so she can yell at me for ruining her life. For messing up everything.
I just don’t think I can take that r
ight now.
I don’t think I can take her anger and disappointment on top of Eva’s, on top of the Channel’s, on top of my own.
“Ruby?” A voice interrupts my thoughts. I look up from the script that’s open on my lap and see Lesley standing in the doorway. I just met her and already I like her more than any of the others. She has a kindness in her eyes. Even though she talks faster than anyone I’ve ever met, there’s a gentleness about her. In fact, when she came to the house this morning, she was the only one who didn’t look mad at me. She looked more like she felt sorry for me.
“Yeah?” I say.
Lesley walks over and sits down next to me. Without a word, she peeks at the title page of the script in my lap and lets out a chuckle. “Ah, yes. The killer tween robots from outer space. I remember that one.”
“It’s better than it sounds. The dialogue is funny. Although the middle needs some work.”
Lesley nods. “Most of them do.” She pauses and studies me for a second. “Since when are you interested in reading scripts?”
I shrug. “I like the stories. And they’re easier to read than books.”
She furrows her brow. “I thought you loved books. I never see you without one.”
I don’t know what to say to that. Of course, she’s talking about the real Ruby. Not this fake imposter version that I am. “Screenplays are more fun. They’re like getting to read a movie. I can see it all happening in my head.”
Lesley smiles. “Barry told me how you saved the final episode from those giant plot flaws the writers missed. And then you came up with a bunch of amazing ideas for next season?”
I bite my lip, remembering. That was pretty awesome. “Yeah.”
“I was surprised to hear it,” she admits. “You’ve never really taken that much interest in the show. But it sounds like your ideas were really good. Maybe you have a future as a screenwriter.”
I let out a small laugh, because it feels like she’s joking. But when I glance over at her, she looks completely serious. I have no idea how to respond to that, though. I don’t know if Ruby has any interest in becoming a screenwriter. Somehow I doubt it. So I decide to change the subject. “How’s it going out there?” I ask, jutting my chin toward the door.
Better You Than Me Page 24
