“Would it help if I called and explained it to him?”
“Would you call and explain it to him?”
“He’d take it better from you, but I will if you really need me to.”
“I’ll think about it. But if our group wins, then I’ll be gone part of the summer too. Dad wants to take me camping a bunch, and I’m supposed to stay two weeks with Kate. At least that was the plan before . . .”
“Listen, it’s very important to have a good relationship with both of your parents. You do need to see your dad more, just as I need to see Carson. But I’m pretty sure you’ll regret it if you miss being part of this. I see how this film group has helped you adjust here and given you direction. Austin and I were just talking about it last night.”
Last night I was wallowing in self-pity and pretty much every bad emotion a human can have. Remembering that, I wonder what was wrong with me.
Mom pours milk and sugar into a cup, then adds the tea from the teapot. “I’d hate to see you quit your art—which just so happens to be a pattern in your life. But then, it’s hard dumping Nick, even if he only asked you a few days ago.”
“I know. One of my New Year’s resolutions was to stay committed to my dreams and goals. So this is like the big test. It’s just hard to tell Nick. And Dad.”
“I know, sweetie. And it’s your decision, but you have to choose.” Then Mom tries hard to hide her smile. “But one bit of advice . . . I wouldn’t tell Grandma Hazel. She still thinks movies are of the devil.”
This makes me chuckle. “Grandma Hazel thinks most everything is of the devil.”
Then Mom feels bad for saying that, as usual, and off she goes telling the good points of her former mother-in-law, her example of faithfulness, and on and on.
But all I can think about is how I’m going to tell Nick that his second prom date is dumping him.
chapter twenty-one
I know what I have to do, but I really, really, really don’t want to do it.
The coffeehouse is abuzz with the sounds of the steamer hissing away, cups chinking onto saucers, and people chatting. I make espresso drinks like second nature now and greet customers with familiar faces as my hands move to the shots of espresso, steaming milk, flavorings, and whipped topping. But underneath my outward friendliness, a nagging feeling follows me. I’ll forget it for a short time, especially when a few people from school come in and I overhear them talking about Film Night.
“Can you imagine getting to spend a week this summer working on location at a real film?”
The imaginings fill my head, but then I remember Nick like a bolt of lightning zapping my chest.
Couldn’t I get someone else to tell him? Kate would be the logical choice—Kate would even do it. She’d forewarn him at least, take the pressure off of me, give the poor guy a bit of notice before the blow.
On my break, I send her a text in my little attempt to smooth things out.
“Hi” is all I write.
But she doesn’t respond, which angers me.
Natasha comes in with her worn leather satchel and points to her table—her signal that whenever I have time, could I bring her a tea and scone. I’m helping a few junior high–aged kids who are addicted to coffee—which is disturbing, in my opinion. They order mochas with extra shots and talk and laugh louder than I think they should. I nod to Natasha.
Awhile later I carry her Chai tea with an extra teaspoon of Mexican vanilla—an experiment I’m trying.
She takes a sip and smiles. “This is really quite good, Ruby. You may have created a new favorite for me.”
The people who come to the Underground are the best part of my job. Some happiness rises in me to see the old guys at their tables. There are some customers passing through the area, and I love to hear where they’re going. The stories I get from them are enough for a hundred films. But Natasha is by far my favorite.
Later I catch a glimpse of her at her table, sitting with her pile of books and tea. I wonder about her. About what she does for fun, if she’s lonely at night and missing her husband, about all those little daily rituals, friendships, family connections, and interests that create a person’s life.
She waves at me, and I come over with a dish towel in my hand.
“You and I need to sit down for a cup of tea sometime.”
“I was just thinking how I’d love to join you.”
“Did you have your break already?”
“No, I haven’t,” I say.
“Great then. I plan to be here a few hours.”
I clean a table near her, stacking the dishes and carrying them into the kitchen.
“So when do you leave for your trip?” I ask when I return to wash the small oval table.
“I still have a few months to go.”
“I bet you can’t wait.”
“Well, part of me can. I have a lot to do, and strangely, it’s as much fun preparing as it is going. The hardest part used to be the post-trip depression. But now I’ve even eliminated that.”
“How did you do that?”
“I’ve learned to discipline my thoughts—and to look at my life from different perspectives.”
“Huh?” I ask. A few customers walk in; I look at them and then back at Natasha. “I’ll come back.”
After a while Aunt Jenna tells me to go on my break, so I bring a maple scone and a Kenya-blend coffee and sit with Natasha. She stacks her books onto another empty chair and smiles as I sit down.
We talk about travel and favorite books, and then I go back to her earlier subject. “What did you mean about looking at life from other perspectives?”
Natasha smiles, and the lines around her bright blue eyes deepen.
“Every day, understandably, we see the things that encompass our lives from our own perspective. But feelings, opinions, our age, moods, our past, to name a few things, cloud the truth of what really is.”
“I get that.”
“When we see beyond our perspective to what really is and also see other people’s view, we come a long way in understanding truth and other people.”
Kate comes to mind. And I realize I haven’t thought about her perspective. What would it be like to be the one left behind? Kate has a lot of friends, but nothing like our friendship. And then she meets this guy she really likes, and immediately I’m against it.
“And what did you mean by disciplining your thoughts? I’m not sure I’d want to. I love making up stories as I go through the day.”
“Oh, I’m a definite supporter of imagination. I’m referring to those harmful rebel thoughts and feelings that need to be put in their proper place. For instance, after my husband died, I couldn’t get out of living in the past. I kept thinking about the past, being angry that we didn’t get to do half of the things we’d dreamed of doing together. It consumed me. Then a friend challenged me not to allow those thoughts in. That seemed impossible, but I decided to let myself be sad on the fifteenth of every month. Whenever I was sad, I’d tell myself to stop it, that on the fifteenth I’d be sad all day long.”
“But I bet on the fifteenth you didn’t want to be sad.”
“Sometimes I did. But usually I was okay, even on the fifteenth. I miss my husband every day. I miss our dreams and just his presence in the house, even watching TV together. But I don’t let it control my thoughts and emotions. I take the love for him with me everywhere, and that makes me happy instead of depressed.”
Natasha is quiet a moment, sipping her tea and staring into the liquid like it’s a fortune-teller’s crystal ball. Maybe she’ll tell me exactly how to solve my future.
“Time doesn’t get slower, I promise you that. There are many ways to go, many opportunities, and exciting things to do. I want to see every country in the world. I want a thousand things, and I could fill my life with obsessive pursuit of them. But that wouldn’t fulfill me, give my life meaning or purpose.”
Something in the words meaning and purpose reverberates through me like the b
eat of bass through a woofer. They are what I’ve wanted for as long as I can remember. Yet I haven’t thought much about my life having meaning or a purpose in a while. Since moving here, my thoughts have been mostly about me, and the things I want, and the things that interest me. Even my friendship with Kate has been more about her supporting me, and she’s the one who needs the support.
“Ruby, I wish I could give you the key to life’s answers. But what I know is this. Seek God for what to do in your life. Seek God to know meaning and to know Him. Ask Him to guide you into who He wants you to be.”
“But how do you know when God is telling you something?”
“When I’m trying to decide where to go in the world next, I spin the globe with my eyes shut and stop it spinning someplace—”
Natasha laughs then as she sees my incredulous look.
“I’m kidding. Well, okay, sometimes I do that for fun. But to hear God, I always have to listen carefully while I’m seeking Him. You seek God by just talking to Him with your open and honest heart. And then you listen.”
“The small, still voice—there’s a verse about that, I think.”
“Some say it’s your own intuition, your inner self speaking. But I don’t agree.”
“Why not?”
“It’s important to pay attention to the intuition and common sense God gave us. But I think if someone is truly seeking God, the one true God who created love and life, and they listen in the stillness, God will speak. So follow that quiet voice.”
Later that night, I prop myself up in bed and reach for my journal. I’ve been thinking all day about my conversation with Natasha. I write “Finding God’s Purpose” at the top of a page, and underneath I write questions as fast as I think of them: “What am I drawn to? Is it good for me? Am I talented at it? What gets in the way of my doing it? Am I listening for the small, still voice?”
I wonder how many other people are like me. Most of my friends back home don’t write out goals or God’s-purpose lists. They appear content to just live, be in their clubs, play sports and train, and focus on getting good grades to get into good colleges to get good jobs. But my brain won’t stop there. I need meaning. I want to do something special and be someone special. Is that wrong?
My phone beeps in the middle of these thoughts. I can’t resist looking to see who sent a text.
Nick.
Regret comes quickly. I meant to call him earlier.
NICK: So have you picked our colors yet? My mom wants to get my tie tomorrow.
Is it cowardly to do this through a text message? Yes, it’s totally cowardly.
NICK: And do you want a wrist corsage or one that pins to your dress. My mom thought the wrist one so it doesn't mess up your dress.
I should call him. I should dial his number right now.
ME: Nick.
NICK: Yeah?
ME: I can't come.
NICK: Ha-ha.
I drop the phone on my lap and stare at the one piece of artwork I’ve hung in my room. A poster of a Salvador Dali painting. In the painting, the artist painted himself painting, but he’s also staring out from the canvas and extending a hand as if to seek a hand of help to pull him from the canvas. Though right now, I think maybe he’s actually offering a hand, reaching out, and if only I could grasp it, he’d pull me away from all this and into the surrealistic world of the painting.
Ah, yes, perspective. I need to think of Nick and not put this off any longer.
My phone buzzes again.
NICK: You're kidding, right? Tell me you're kidding.
ME: Wish I was. I'm really sorry.
NICK: Wait, no. You have to come.
ME: It's a long story, but I really can't come.
NICK: Uh. K.
ME: Do you think you can find someone else?
NICK: Now? It was a stretch for you to say yes. But then it worked out with Nikki. She would've gone with me and . . .
ME: I'm so so sorry. What can I do?
NICK: Come be my date.
chapter twenty-two
“So he probably hates me,” I say to Mom. It’s a few minutes before time to leave for school. I didn’t sleep well again, and when I did, my head was full of strange dreams, both good and bad.
Mom and I stand in the kitchen eating cereal and drinking coffee.
“He won’t go alone or in a group?” Mom asks as she chews her organic, cardboardy-looking oat bran cereal.
“What guy would? Not the jock kind anyway.”
“I meant to remind you to call him yesterday. The opportunity with your film group sort of blinded my parental judgment, and then I had that article due last night. I do wonder whether it’s right to ruin Nick’s prom because something better came along. You did give him your word.”
“But you said I should—”
“I know. But if he can’t find a date, we really should keep your commitment to him.”
“Then I’d miss the main work weekend on the film. They may not let me stay in the group if I’m not here.”
“Yes, I know. And I was going to tell you that your group could have the work weekend here,” Mom says. “Austin and I will hardly be here this weekend. We’re meeting your dad partway to drop Mac, then to pick him up.”
“I heard my name,” Mac says, walking into the kitchen with his backpack on over his pajamas.
“We could hang out upstairs, or if everything looked okay, maybe we’d spend the weekend in the garage apartment . . .” She’s mumbling to herself as she plans it out, then returns to our discussion. “There would be no drinking or drugs or anything going on, right?”
“Like she’d tell you,” Mac says and laughs at himself for being so clever.
“It’s an intense work weekend. I can’t imagine Rob allowing any sort of partying. There’ll be coffee, Monsters, and Red Bulls, I’m sure.”
“Let me talk to Austin, but you first need to figure out the prom. I know what I’d like for you, but I want you to do the right thing too.”
But what is the right thing to do? I wonder. Mom isn’t being very helpful in this.
On the way to school, I get a text from Jeffers.
JEFFERS: Wow, you aren't the favorite person in Cottonwood right now.
ME: So everyone hates me?
JEFFERS: I didn't say that.
ME: Nick probably does. Though I'm still going to be his date if he can't find someone else.
JEFFERS: Okay, I admit this to you and you alone. Nick is one of my best friends, but let's face it, that ego of his can get a bit too big for a head that's not that great.
ME: Nick has an ego?
JEFFERS: He hides it well, I'll give him that. But in sports, he's gotta be the best or else it's excuses as to why he's not. And why hasn't he had a girlfriend before? Is it because he's shy, or can't make up his mind, or is intimidated by smart women like you—oh no. He's a tightwad and doesn't want the work of a girlfriend. Now it's like some kind of monster has been unleashed. He'll be a player in college, I can see it already.
ME: I still feel bad leaving him without a date.
JEFFERS: Yeah, but you really shouldn't. He's going with Jackie.
ME: He is! He didn't even tell me.
Funny how offended I am rhar he's replaced me so quickly. And yet this should be a relief—an answer to prayer if I’d prayed. It is a relief too, but another part of me wanted to see my friends and maybe make up with Kate.
JEFFERS: That guy needs to be dumped. All this drama around him is making him really hard to be around.
ME: What's Kate say about all this?
JEFFERS: She isn't saying much. Everyone knows the two of you had a fight. But it's understandable.
ME: Why do you say that?
JEFFERS: Sometimes we gotta say things that our friends don't like. That's what a true friend is.
ME: So you think what she said was right?
JEFFERS: What she said to you? Huh, what? I'm confused. I heard that you didn't like her having a grown man
as her boyfriend.
ME: Everyone knows about that? I thought he was a secret.
JEFFERS: Did you move to Mars? Of course everyone knows. Didn't you know her parents caught her at his apartment? She's grounded for like forever. I think till she's thirty or something.
ME: No way!
I immediately send a note to Kate.
ME TO KATE: I heard what happened? Are you okay?
An auto-response comes back to me:
Kate is unavailable at this time and for the near future.
ME TO JEFFERS: No way!!!! I just tried writing her.
JEFFERS: I don't want any of my friends dating some college guy. She's too naive. He probably took advantage of that. He did, didn't he?
ME: I told her she was naive too. And I don't know anything else.
JEFFERS: That means he did.
ME: No, it doesn't.
JEFFERS: So they didn't.
ME: Didn't?
JEFFERS: So they DID! I knew itl We'll kill him.
ME: Wait, stop, no!
JEFFERS: No?
ME: What do I know, we had a fight, remember?
So it’s a bit of another lie, but Jeffers doesn’t need to know something that personal, and shouldn’t even ask. Jeffers would spread it all over the school in the excuse of protecting her.
My friend needs me. And I’m hundreds of miles and quite a few commitments away.
He stares into the book like he’s searching into a deep well trying to find something. I don’t interrupt him but instead sit beside Josef on the other end of the table with my heart doing such a tuck and roll that the breath I take sounds more like a gasp. Josef glances up at me like maybe I saw a ghost, but I act like nothing is wrong, say hello, and pull out a notebook from my book bag.
Kaden hasn’t looked up.
He said he’d e-mail me, but he didn’t. Rob mentioned family trouble, and I wonder what that was about. A family death, mother with cancer, car accident?
I’ve tried to forget Kaden, be angry at him, but seeing him at the other end of the table, immersed in a thick book, I’m surprised again by the attraction I feel.
His dark lashes remain angled downward as he turns the page. What is he reading? His hands draw my attention next; long, thin fingers hold the book, and his pinky finger looks a little crooked, like my right pinky. People are chatting around us, but Kaden is lost in the world of the pages.
Ruby Unscripted Page 17
