by Alice Bell
“Which means it’s good.” I was now more eager than ever to read her diary. I had to tug to get it out of her hand.
Later, it felt strange to be driving home so early, when it was still daylight. But I was struck by the sheer blue of the sky. It was a color so pure, it made my soul feel like a physical entity that could be caressed.
* * *
Night came, cool and glistening. I didn’t go to the bar. I was actually tired at an appropriate hour, for once in my life.
I wanted to start a new ritual and go to bed, like a normal person. I put on my softest white gown and stood at the kitchen sink, listening to the coyotes yapping, before opening the bottle of Lexapro. The childproof cap didn’t outsmart me this time.
I tapped two white tablets into my hand and choked them down with water. One of the side effects was loss of sexual appetite and I thought that might not be so bad, especially if Devon had dumped me already.
I couldn’t believe I didn’t have his phone number or any way of reaching him. But he was…whatever he was, which most likely meant he didn’t have a phone number. Or so I told myself.
Upstairs, in the lamplight, I fluffed my pillow and crawled under the covers. I opened Scarlet’s diary. The first entry was titled, A Stranger In My Bed.
11 pm—
Listening to The Stones, ‘Dead Flowers’. Moonlight spills through the window. I am prostrate with the weight of how much my life sucks. Sins of the mother.
“Send me dead flowers…” Mick Jagger whines.
I’ve been looking for my kitty all day, imagining the worst that could befall him, though at least I know he’s not dead. If, or when that happens, my mother will be sure to inform me, without sparing any gory details.
She’s psychic and proud of it. It is not enough that she goes around meddling in people’s affairs and screwing up their lives (I’m living proof). She is writing her third book about it!
A lot of people come to her readings. It is probably just because her books are free and she foists them on people. Why can’t she get any money for her books, like the price of a freaking coffee? Then maybe we wouldn’t have to live in abject poverty.
“And I won’t forget to put roses on your grave…” Mick is still singing.
The song fades and I hear a thump on the porch. I listen for footsteps. I’m greeted by a yowl, instead. KITTY. I fly down the hall to fling open the door. Kitty is being strangled. By a total stranger!
“That’s my cat,” I cry out. “Let him GO!”
Kitty darts past me, mortified.
“Sorry,” the stranger says. His eyes—almond shaped and dark as night—are flirting. “Forgive me?”
My knees go weak. How could I not forgive HIM? He’s six feet of sexy in faded jeans, big black boots. I want to burn his image onto my flesh and wear him, like a tattoo. I don’t even care why he was trying to kidnap Kitty when he is looking at me like he could eat me up.
I blinked. Eyes as dark as night? Six feet of sexy?
Devon wore faded jeans and big black boots. I’d never seen him in anything else. But it couldn’t be Devon. Could it?
I kept reading. Pornographic words leaped off the page. My eyes burned.
He rips off my clothes. I take him eagerly, all hard heat and throbbing ache. We do it for hours. He fills me, like the moonlight. Again and again…
Part Three
I DIDN’T feel him leave, and that’s what I should be teaching my students, preaching to anyone who would listen. You never get to say good-bye. You will never know which moment is your last with anyone who has ever mattered.
26. Ruby
MY ALARM went off at 5:37. I pressed snooze twice and didn’t have time to eat, or even make coffee since I had to be at work an hour early for the senior do-over essays.
I was on my way out the door before I realized I hadn’t rolled my lucky dice. I hesitated, thinking: Why not break this ritual too? I was tired of the dice and their limited outcomes. But my life felt so out of control.
I rolled a six and got déjà vu.
The extra hour tacked onto the morning made the day drag. I yearned to make coffee in the teacher’s lounge but I was afraid of seeing Georgie and Henry. Most of all, I dreaded facing Scarlet.
I couldn’t shake the feeling Devon had been the ‘stranger in her bed’. I had wanted the girls to get wild with their diaries and express their most secret desires. Now, I wished I’d never given the project.
For lunch, I bought cheese and crackers from the vending machine in the cafeteria. I stopped at the soda fountain and filled a large cup with ice and Coke. I sat at my desk, spreading bright orange cheese with the tiny red stick that came in the packet. I kept seeing images of Scarlet and Devon and twisted bed sheets and tangled limbs, skin slick with sweat.
I searched for a Dramamine tablet in my desk. I didn’t find one. I closed my eyes and tapped my foot six times.
Scarlet didn’t arrive with the other girls, which was typical, but I found myself hoping she wouldn’t show at all. Then I felt bad for wishing such a thing.
She was just a young girl. There was no reason to think Devon was the guy she’d had raunchy sex with all night. Except, well, there was a reason. Her description fit Devon right down to his big black boots.
She slouched through the door at her usual ten past, after the rest of us had made our circle. I forced myself to smile at her but she avoided my gaze. I introduced the topic of unreliable narrators and asked the girls to name a few. They brought up Holden Caulfield and Huck Finn. I asked what they thought of Nelly and Lockwood as narrators in Wuthering Heights.
“Stupid,” Charity said.
Scarlet finally met my eyes. “Humbert Humbert,” she said.
“Is he unreliable?” I said. “Or horribly honest?”
I assigned them the task of writing a story using an unreliable narrator. We gave back each other’s diaries and agreed to keep writing. We’d exchange again the next week, on an every other week basis.
As the girls were leaving, I called to Scarlet. “Wait a second,” I said.
I packed my valise, to seem less officious, hoping to make her more comfortable. Or maybe I did it out of cowardice. “Scarlet, you have a strong writing voice. Evocative and authentic.” I examined a spot of water damage on my copy of Joan Didion’s Play It As It Lays.
She said nothing.
I had to look up at her. She was very tall. Her book bag hung at her hip, the strap crossing her long torso. I almost changed my mind. I heard Dr. Ess say, “Let it go.” But I had to reach out to her, as her elder, and her teacher.
“Look, I want you to know, I really enjoyed your diary. I enjoyed the way you wrote it, that is. I’m a bit concerned though. You said you wrote about love. Only you wrote about sex. You do realize there’s a difference?”
Her eyes narrowed. I was confronted with her beauty. Her bones were strong, like her writing. I imagined a man would not be able to resist her. And I remembered Zadie had been tall too.
I saw her jaw tighten but her cheeks turned red. She’s just a girl, I reminded myself.
“You told us we wouldn’t get in trouble,” her tone was low and biting.
“Oh, no, Scarlet. You’re not in trouble. I just—I’m your teacher. And I care. Scarlet, you wrote about having sex with a stranger, a grown man. You’re a minor.”
“How do you know he’s a grown man?”
“Well, I—I got that impression. Are you saying he wasn’t? Was he your age?” my heart pounded too fast.
“Miss Rain, I’m eighteen. Fully legal. And—” she ran her violet eyes down the length of me, making me feel miniscule, and plebian. “I doubt I’m much younger than you. Who do you think you are?”
I swallowed. “Scarlet, listen. That man? He took advantage of you. Even if you’re an adult in the eyes of the law, you’re still in high school. He’s a monster.” I clenched my hands. Sweat trickled between my shoulder blades. “Can’t you see? He would have sex with anything that
moved.”
She stared. Color drained from her face. “You said no rules. You told us we could write whatever we wanted,” now her voice trembled.
“You can. This isn’t about what you wrote. It’s about what happened to you.”
She pressed her fingers to her temples and squeezed her eyes shut. “I cannot believe this.” She opened her eyes; her hands fell to her sides. “I don’t want you to be my teacher anymore. You’re a liar.” She turned and walked away. The door clicked shut behind her.
* * *
I paced back and forth. My limbs tingled. I counted the tiles on the floor, until my breath got even again. I sat at my desk and tried to focus on grading the senior essays. Finally, I checked my watch. I waited for the second hand to turn the time to 6:36.
I zipped my valise and pulled it down the quiet hallway.
Outside the office door, I waited. There was a light inside but it was low. I listened. Far off, I heard voices and the sound of a door clanging shut. I debated with myself. Finally, I turned the knob and went inside.
Mr. Stroop had kept true to his green policy. The cubbyholes were empty, except for a cactus in Henry Thorne’s cubby. A small pink envelope hung from one of the prickly arms. Against my will, I examined it. The envelope had been sealed and kissed with lipstick. Who else but Georgie?
An alarm blinked above the door to Stroop’s office. There was a short wall surrounding the outer office. The gate was locked. I found a locked gate on an easily surmountable wall pretty silly, though I supposed it served as a warning.
I gazed at the rows of filing cabinets behind the wall. Each cabinet had a little lock but it was likely the same key opened every one. Something told me the key was in the secretary’s desk.
I asked myself: Why don’t you turn around and go to the library before you ruin your life?
I could probably find the information I wanted on a computer. But if there was one thing I knew, it was how the simplest ideas could get quickly (and irreversibly) complicated. Wong would probably be at the library. And she was prying. Also, I felt indebted to her. Not just for putting my name in for Teacher of the Year, but for thinking I was great. If she made another comment about how fascinating I was, I might get the urge to live up to her expectations. Going to the library was definitely the hard way.
I would do it quickly, I decided. No big deal. I had to see Scarlet’s file and I had to see it now. I hoisted myself over the wall, landing clumsily in my high heels. The cabinets were locked, as I suspected.
I jerked open the middle drawer of the desk. What a mess. Under a pile of candy wrappers, I found a plastic key ring full of keys, including one that looked just the right size, like Goldilocks’ bed. The drawer I needed slid open.
I had no intention of reading the whole file. I’d be in and out in seconds. My fingers flew. When I found ‘Rose’ I pulled up the folder. My eyes zoomed in on Scarlet’s birthdate. I knew it. She wouldn’t be eighteen for…let’s see, eleven more days. Who was the liar? I couldn’t help noticing her address in the line below. 21698 Stargazer Lane.
I put the folder back and was about to close the cabinet when my eyes fell on Rain, R. Wait, that’s me. My stomach dropped. I gripped the edge of the drawer. Of course I had a file too. Everyone had to be accounted for. Yet I felt violated.
There were copies of letters of recommendation from my professors. I smiled. My smile disappeared when I saw my medical history. I stared, disbelieving. There was a long list of medications I’d used, plus the ones I was supposed to be on now, the dates I had been institutionalized. I blinked. Who had the right to know?
I didn’t hear the door opening.
“Ruby?”
I jumped. The folder fell. I dropped to my knees. With shaking hands, I gathered the papers. My throat was closing. I heard him cross the floor, felt his eyes on me, though I didn’t look up.
“Ruby, what are you doing?” his tone was gentle.
I should have been grateful he wasn’t Stroop, except I felt numb, unreal.
I was aware of him coming over the wall, though I didn’t look up. He squatted down next to me. When he reached for the last page, I snatched it quickly. “Please don’t.”
We stood up at the same time. I put the file away and locked the cabinet, returned the key to the desk. He watched me without saying anything. Finally, I met his gaze. “I needed to see something,” I said. “No one was here so I—”
“You don’t have to explain. But let’s get out of here.”
At the wall, he scooped me up, before I could resist. Being in his arms felt safe. He deposited me on the other side and swung over easily. “Now, we just have to erase the surveillance tapes,” he said.
“What?”
“Just kidding,” he said.
We looked at each other for what seemed a long time. I tore my gaze away, and grabbed the handle of my valise. He took the cactus from his cubbyhole.
“Who’s it from?” I said.
“Georgie.”
“Why’d she give you a cactus?”
He sighed. “She invited me to Baja.”
“Oh. Sounds fun.”
“Does it?”
I shrugged. “So is she your girlfriend yet?”
“No, Ruby.”
“Why not?”
“She isn’t you.”
* * *
I had to drive home into the sunset.
I was still reeling from Henry’s confession. Apparently, I was in Georgie’s way in several aspects of her life—personally and professionally. What else was there? As if I didn’t have enough problems without accidentally acquiring enemies.
Somehow, I couldn’t let go of the hard kernel of resentment I had for Henry. He should have told me a long time ago, after he kissed me, that he was breaking up with his girlfriend and needed time. Instead of saying he would call, and not calling, and making fun of me with Georgie.
I’d waited weeks before calling him. Okay, I shouldn’t have continued to call him on such a regular (compulsive) basis, especially late at night, after I got home from the bar. But why didn’t he ever answer? Or call me back, even just to tell me to leave him alone? He led me on, I decided. No question.
And now he was probably leading Georgie on too, saying things like, “Ruby wants me so bad but she’s not you.” He’d make his fish face and Georgie would collapse into giggles. He’d say, “Watch out for those lips.”
27. Ruby
I READ the directions on the Lexapro bottle. I wondered if I ought to take extra.
Where was Devon?
I missed him; though it wasn’t so long ago I’d seen him. Or was it? Whenever I thought of him, time became slippery and incomprehensible. I barely knew him, so why did it hurt so much to think of him in someone else’s arms?
Because I’d given him my virginity. We had a special connection, maybe even a cosmic one.
No, no, that couldn’t be right. I was messed up. What had I told Scarlet? He’d have sex with anything that moved. “You’re obsessing,” Dr. Ess would say. Love and sex were two different things (as I’d tried to explain to Scarlet). At least, they could be. Not mutually exclusive though, and therein lay the confusion.
A sharp pain stabbed at my heart. I bent over. I remembered Javier crumpled on the floor. I had knelt next to him and laid my head on his broad chest. A policeman had to carry me away. I was smeared with blood.
But that hadn’t happened. I hadn’t been there. I didn’t know he was gone. I didn’t feel him leave, and that’s what I should be teaching my students, preaching to anyone who would listen. You never get to say good-bye. You will never know which moment is your last with anyone who has ever mattered.
My body went cold. My lips trembled. I was on the verge of a panic attack, the kind that felt like falling through darkness.
* * *
The next day, coming back from the cafeteria with my vending machine lunch, I saw Georgie and Stroop in the hallway. She squealed and did some kind of jumping up and
down thing, clapping her hands. I couldn’t help but stare. My stomach churned.
As if she sensed me watching, she whirled around. “Oh! Ruby, you’re always sneaking up on people.” She wiggled her fingers. Her bright lipsticked mouth grinned, and she sashayed off, her heels clicking in the empty hall.
I hoped Stroop would follow suit and disappear but his gaze met mine. He put his hands in his pockets and jiggled loose change. A flicker of a smile crossed his face, as I approached. “Have you heard already?” he spoke in a jocular tone.
“Heard?”
“Miss Hartly has won the nomination for Teacher of the Year.”
I swallowed. “Oh.”
“The Board voted last night. They always favor the teachers who take on extra work, like Georgina has done with Adult Literacy.”
A strangled sound escaped from somewhere inside me. I crushed the packet of crackers in my hand. Stroop’s voice followed me down the hall. “Ruby, wait!”
Inside my classroom, I leaned against the door.
The crackers fell from my hand.
Why did it hurt so much? I’d almost forgotten about the nomination in the midst of my obsession with Devon. What did it matter in the whole scheme of things?
And yet, my eyes filled and it was one more thing that made me feel like a failure—I was crying. Again.
28. Devon
I WALKED down Ruby’s street. I wore earbuds. Social Distortion fed me like an I.V. “Well, it’s been ten years and a thousand tears and look at the mess I’m in,” Mike Ness sang. I’d met him, once, at a party Zadie took me to in L.A. Those were the days, I thought, before I knew how close we were to the end.
My memories (the ones I’d pined for) were too bright, like an old black and white film painted with color. In real life, the moon was jagged, the sidewalks cracked. Skinny street lamps cast pools of limp light. When I leaped over the fence into Ruby’s yard, I saw nothing but weeds and dead flowers.
Her front door hadn’t closed far enough to latch. I was surprised by the darkness inside. I’d expected the usual flicker of candlelight, a warming fire. When I found Ruby on the floor, I rushed to her. She was near the sofa, curled on her side with her knees drawn up. Her pulse leaped into my veins.
