“C’mon, Pratt, you’re not working tonight!” The anonymous shout propels me toward the lodge again.
Ahead of me, groups of classmates clown around, laughing with excitement and waving at friends. I came alone and I feel it. I didn’t mind the idea of coming alone, until now. I’m a loser. Senior night is winter prom with skiing instead of dancing. Nearly everyone comes with a date. How did I not think about this before? I’d considered asking Hope, but when I saw her across the lunchroom today, I froze. Then I assumed Amber would ride with me, but even she has a date. The mystery of who should make tonight interesting. Earlier in the week Carmen hinted she was open to us coming together, but that had disaster written all over it and I ran away quickly.
Adjusting my ski bag over my shoulder, I slap on a smile and lift my head. Blue floodlights cast a winter wonderland glow across the snow along the path into the lodge, making everyone walking by look like oversized Smurfs. I smile at the picture in my head.
And receive a smile in return . . . from Hope.
She’s lingering near the doors, her mostly white ski gear glowing Smurfy blue. I pick up my pace, my heartbeat accelerating. Am I excited to see her? Her fingers smooth the hair around her forehead. Yes, I am. She hurries forward, meeting me halfway. Maybe she’s excited to see me too.
“I was waiting for you,” she confesses.
“You were?”
Her teeth, which glow blue too, catch her bottom lip as she glances away. I imagine if she weren’t blue, she’d be pink. She looks embarrassed. Her blonde hair is parted in two long, braided pigtails hanging on either side of her face. I’m torn between wanting to tug on them playfully—like I would the Hope I grew up with—or using them to drag her close and kiss her, because her blue lips look so kissable right now.
Bodies walk around us as we stand in the middle of the path. She stirs first. “Amber mentioned you were coming alone.” Of course she did. “I thought . . . well I was thinking . . .”
I inch closer. “I was going to ask you to come with me tonight. I’m sorry I didn’t. I didn’t know if we should . . . or if this, I mean . . .”
Hope’s laughter cuts me off. “So ask me now.”
There’s the Hope I know. The flirty, forward girl who winks at me and takes my side merely to bug Amber. “Hope, you want to go to grad night with me?”
“Yes.” Her head bobs happily. “I thought you’d never ask.”
With Hope by my side, I’m relaxed. We locate a table filled with friends and join them. The guys crack jokes and nudge shoulders, as talk turns to graduation, college, and how awesome we are, while the girls become sentimental saps. My chest expands, filling with the memories and laughter my grief had shoved away over the past year. I needed this. I needed a night to find Brett, the high school senior again.
After two plates of snack food and cupcakes, we head outside for skiing. Hope’s decent, but I slow considerably so I can stay by her side as we carve our way down the Vista trail. I don’t mind the tame skiing. Her facial expressions keep me entertained.
“Skiers left, skiers left,” she shouts, her eyes wide with terror as we approach a large group of girls blocking our way. “I’m gonna crash, I’m gonna break a leg.”
I offer suggestions each time she loses it. “Cut right,” I order this time, digging my poles into the packed snow and showing her the way. She veers after me, and we leave the slower group behind.
***
“Skiing is madness. How can you love it so much?” We’ve done three runs and Hope’s huffing and puffing as though she’s run a marathon.
Taking mercy on her, I lead her to my favorite snow bank at the resort. “I guess I like madness,” I admit, throwing myself into the snow wall and using it as a sort of couch.
Dropping her poles, she releases her boots from her skis and sits beside me. The little ball on her hat bouncing around as she agrees. “You used to. I remember when we were kids. You were attempting jumps and tricks before Amber and I had graduated from beginners.”
“I scared my Mom like crazy. She stopped watching me by the time we were nine. I don’t think her nerves could take it.”
“I know the feeling.” Her gloved finger draws shapes in the snow, and I cover her hand with my own, stopping the movement. She glances up. “Last Winter, I saw you making some runs on your board. You scared the crap out of me.”
“You were spying on me?” Snowboarding isn’t allowed on Blue Mountain. If she saw me, she was here after-hours. It’s the only time Eddie lets us ride.
“You rode with such freedom. Such exhilaration. And with no regard for your safety.” She frowns, arching one blonde eyebrow over her narrowed eyes.
Freedom and exhilaration. That’s exactly how I feel when I board. More so since the crash. Off the snow I’m Brett Pratt, orphan. Brett, the caretaker of his screwed up sister. Brett, the over-achiever who strives to make his parents proud. Brett, the responsible.
On the snow, I’m madness.
I want to be madness all the time. But how can I be?
Amber was right. I have changed. I’ve lost my madness. I’ve lost the crazy zest for life Mom simultaneously cursed and loved about me.
Hope and I sit in the snow and talk until our teeth chatter. Carrying our skis, we return to the lodge where we join others by the large fireplace and drink hot chocolate. Mike makes an appearance with Ann. Mike and Ann? I can’t believe she agreed to go out with him. He tells the group lounging around about the skier pileup they witnessed. Hope leans into my side, her cheeks flushed, whether from the fire, cold, or shyness, I have no idea, but I rest my hand on her lower back. It feels right, Hope and I. Different, but good too.
I walk Hope to her car at the end of the night. My hands slip around her waist, locking behind her and pulling her into my chest. The movement is quick—a moment of comfort, a squeeze, then release. It’s a ‘more than friends, but let’s not go further yet’ kind of hug. The yet is the imperative part. She appears to understand, her smile is bright as she leans in and kisses my cheek—getting right up to the edge of my lips—the same way I did two weeks ago.
Following Hope home, it hits me—Amber never showed.
Too wired for sleep and worried about my sister, again, I write to Ruby.
I intend on telling her about Hope and Senior Night and the funny stories we shared around the fire. Instead, I allow myself to write the things I haven’t shared with anyone else. I ask her the things I haven’t asked anyone else. I seek answers and understanding from one of the only other people who can give it to me.
EVERYTHING CHANGES
Ruby
WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 10
I’ve seen Jimmy Hoffman in the hallways numerous times this week. How it’s possible to spot him nearly every passing period while two thousand other students swarm the halls is beyond me. Before he can see me I’ve ducked into classrooms that aren’t mine, sidestepped into bathrooms that I never knew existed, and turned in the opposite direction altogether. What am I afraid of? That he’ll tell me he changed his mind and doesn’t want to go with me anymore? Isn’t that what I want? To not go to this stupid dance?
If I don’t want to go, why would I avoid him and the possibility of his breaking our date? Unless, there’s actually a part of me that wants to go. Not go with just anyone, but to go with Jimmy Hoffman. Am I more afraid of rejection in general or of being rejected by Jimmy Hoffman? Maybe it’s the fact that I really want to go with him and getting close to anyone right now is a horrible idea.
Kamry would beam with smugness, knowing I not only want to go with him, but I’m starting to get excited. I’ll never tell her.
“Ruby!”
Startled, I drop my shoulder bag on the concrete as I’m walking out of school. When I bend down to pick it up, Jimmy Hoffman is jogging up to me. I take a quick look back at the parking lot. Nana is already waiting at the curb.
He chuckles and helps to shift my bag further onto my shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t m
ean to scare you.”
“It’s okay.” My chest is tight. My throat is dry. I’m going to say something stupid.
He clears his throat. “I wanted to ask you what color your dress is. For your corsage.”
“Corsage? Oh right.” I need to get him a boutonniere. “Umm . . . my dress. It’s green, an iridescent green, so it shimmers different shades of green and blue.”
“Oh.” His face crumples a fraction. “I don’t think there are any green flowers, are there?”
“There are actually. Lots. Green Hellebore, cymbidium orchids, green gladiolus, bells of Ireland, hypericum berry. You can also get roses or zinnias or chrysanthemums in green . . .”
Jimmy looks like he wants to smile, but he’s too confused by me to know if he should. My cheeks flush with heat. He probably didn’t need a lesson in horticulture. All I needed to say was, “Ask the florist. They’ll know what to do.” But no, of course I couldn’t say something simple. “I had a thing for flowers when I was in eighth grade. White flowers would be fine, too.”
With one nod and an amused smirk, he says, “White it is. So, uh, we’re going with Kamry and Eddie, and Chad and Monica. Kamry said you’ll be getting ready at her house, so Eddie and I could pick you guys up from there.”
“Yeah, okay. That sounds great!” My voice comes out all high and squeaky. Just go, Ruby. Walk away.
“Rad. Well, if I don’t see you before then . . .” He’s reaching out to me. Is he going to hug me? Don’t stiffen up. Hug him back. Wrap your arms around his neck, embrace the feel of his muscular frame pressed against you. It’s been so long since I’ve been hugged by someone who wasn’t trying to console me or offer condolences. I should savor it.
Before Jimmy Hoffman pulls away, my reflexes finally kick in and I reach out to hug him back. But as I’m getting closer, he’s pulling away. We’re caught in a battle of inching back and forth.
Most awkward hug in the history of hugs throughout mankind.
We step apart. He laughs. “We’ll perfect that.”
We will? I choke on my laughter. “I’ll try to be better next time.”
He tosses a wave and walks back into the school. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I exhale. If only I’d listened to myself, I could’ve walked away and spared myself the humiliation. Could I get any more awkward? I send up a silent prayer that it’s not possible.
“Was that Jimmy Hoffman?” Nana asks as I slide into the passenger’s seat.
“Yes.”
“Ruby Alina, he’s very handsome. He better know how lucky he is to be going with you.”
I half shrug. Should he? I think I’m the lucky one. For the first time since I lost Mom, someone is looking at me with more than pity. Someone wants to do more than ask how I’m doing.
***
When I get home, exactly what I needed to feel less like an idiot is resting peacefully inside my mailbox.
Ruby,
Do you think you’ve changed since your mom’s death? My sister says I’ve changed. You can’t stay the same when you lose your parents.
Everything changes.
Lately, I’ve been thinking about college. My dad and I planned it all out. My future was set. Now, I’m not sure. I know what I should do, but in the back of my mind a voice whispers, “Go for the dream.”
Remember the mountain I asked you to send me to? The snow and the fire? I want that too, and I want to do it before I turn 50 and die in a plane crash. Not that I think I’ll be in a plane crash, but you know what I mean. My parents waited and waited their entire lives to take their dream trip, and they died before they got there. I don’t want to be that guy.
So have I changed? I guess I have.
I think about life more. I think about living it and having fun, maybe more than I used to. Then again, I’ve become a parent, and I didn’t expect that. I worry about my sister more than I ever expected I would. Everything has changed.
Maybe I’m saying too much. I’m sorry if this is more than you bargained for. I remember in your first letter you said you wrote to see if Amber felt the way you did. The way I look at it is there are only so many kids who have lost their parents in a plane crash, and only so many people who know how to deal with this and what it feels like.
So I’m wondering how do you deal with it, besides dance? What does it feel like to you? What has changed in your world?
—Brett
P.S. To answer your last question, I’ll take snow. Though I do love going to Gram’s and chilling at the beach!
P.P.S. Consider “What has changed in your world” to be my question.
Setting the letter in my lap, I close my eyes.
Everything, Brett. Everything.
FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 12
Kamry scrapes my hair back into a high ponytail, my scalp cursing her as she brushes and pulls. There go a few strands. She curls the ends into tight ringlets, creating a huge pom-pom, and pins the curls in place. My hair is bigger than my head. “Why couldn’t I keep my hair down?”
“Because it would be so flat and sweaty by the end of the night. After dancing you’ll be grateful it’s up. Trust me.”
It’s not as though this is my first dance. I don’t want her to be right, but I know she is.
“Why can’t I have your hair?” Kamry tilts her head, admiring the job she’s done in the mirror. “I’m so jealous.”
“It’s just hair, Kam.”
“But it’s thick and smooth and so pretty. Mine is brown. Not dark brown or light brown. You at least have this gorgeous light red tint to yours. Why can’t I have that?”
I get it from my mom, that’s why.
Kamry’s thin hair is twisted into a tight beehive, and she’s already done her makeup. I’m essentially her doll for the night to dress up. Once the hair is done, she begins painting on my makeup. I pray I don’t come out of this looking like a clown.
It’s funny the things I remember when I least expect to. Like tonight. Kamry, Gaby, and Valerie would’ve been at my house, and Mom would’ve lined us up one by one on barstools in the kitchen to fix our hair. It was something we did every formal. Mom knew how to do hair, so the girls always came. No questions asked. It just was.
Nana could’ve tried tonight, but my hair would’ve been better off in the hands of Dad.
I exhale through my nose, fighting tears. “Thanks, Kamry.”
“For what?”
I sweep my hand down my body. “This.”
The initial shock of my thanks wears off, and she smiles through her sympathetic gaze. “Well, I can’t do hair as well as your mom, but hopefully it’s good enough.”
It is.
With one last finishing touch, Kamry grabs the roll-on glitter and rubs it onto my chest, making me shimmer like the stars. “Done! Jimmy is going to wish he’d gotten rid of Danica a long time ago.”
Staring at my reflection in her mirror, I don’t agree with her, but Kamry didn’t do half bad. I feel pretty.
***
Red and white balloons cover the dance floor. Twinkle lights and pink heart cutouts speckle the walls of the hotel ballroom. The music is so loud, conversation with Jimmy Hoffman won’t be a problem because he won’t be able to hear me.
To my disbelief, the dance is more fun than I anticipated. He looks the part of a perfect gentleman in his black tux and green bowtie. Opening my doors, offering his arm everywhere we walk. Repeatedly asking me questions about how I’m doing, if I’m having fun, if it’s okay if he puts his hand on the small of my back, if I’m comfortable with him pulling me closer the longer we dance—to which I nod fervently and wrap my arms around his neck a little tighter.
We’re dancing—in our own bubble—when someone bumps into the back of me. “Oh, I’m sorry.” I peer over my shoulder with an apologetic smile and come face-to-face with Lisabeth. She looks over her shoulder in disgust as if I bumped into her. When we make eye contact, her look of disgust vanishes and is replaced with mortification. She doesn’t apologize. She doesn�
��t say anything. She turns back to Mitchell without a word. When my eyes lock on his, he offers an uncomfortable smile, which I return and immediately turn back.
Without needing to say a word, Jimmy Hoffman shifts us as we dance farther away from Lisabeth and Mitchell.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
I manage to only prattle off pointlessly once when my knowledge of dancing can’t be held in after he asks what my favorite form of dance is. Of course, Kamry’s been talking to him about me. Only told Jimmy he should ask me to the dance, my butt. She’s probably been talking to him about me all week.
What confirms it is when he’s driving me home at the end of the night. “Kamry told me how Mitchell treated you after your mom died. I’m sorry. That was really low.”
Instantly, my lungs want to tie themselves into knots and cut off my air supply. I was hoping to avoid both of those topics tonight and here they are wrapped up together in a giant red bow.
“I don’t know. I suppose I have changed. We weren’t supposed to be together anymore, I guess.” I start picking at my nails, the ones Kamry so carefully painted, and stare out the passenger’s side window. I focus on the dark sky and the white light of an airplane flashing repeatedly as it soars across the twinkling atmosphere.
“Doesn’t make what he did okay. How long were you guys together?”
“Since freshman year.”
“Same as me and Danica.” His voice is far away.
I stop picking at my nails and turn to him. “I’m sorry. I heard about what she did to you. Compared to Mitchell, I think you win.”
Jimmy laughs. “Do I get a trophy?”
“I’ll make you one. It’ll say, ‘My Ex-Girlfriend Is Worse Than Your Ex-Girlfriend.’ ”
Paper Planes and Other Things We Lost Page 7
