Ruby Starr Series, Book 1

by Deborah Lytton

  “The easiest thing for you to do is make up a routine where you step forward and back and side to side. Maybe spin once or twice. That should do it.”

  She makes it sound so easy. But it’s not. I have never felt so completely uncoordinated in my life. I bet Abe could do a better job, and he’s a dog. I’m like the tin girl who can’t bend her arms and legs. All I can do is swivel on one foot.

  Mom turns on some music. “Feel the beat, Ruby. Connect to the music, like when you play the piano.”

  I tilt my head to the side. “That’s with my fingers, Mom. Not the same. Not at all.”

  But Mom isn’t giving up yet. “Just step side to side to the rhythm. Like this.”

  Mom demonstrates. It’s super embarrassing when your mom is a better dancer than you are. I try to watch her feet and follow her back and forth and side to side. Then she throws me off by spinning around. Her hair whirls around her like a golden cape.

  “Whoa, Mom. Way too much,” I tell her.

  “You can do it,” she says. “Close your eyes for a minute. Imagine you are dancing along with the music. No one is going to watch you. Just dance what is in your heart.”

  I close my eyes. Listen to the rhythm of the music. And try to move along with it. I am a graceful butterfly, able to shift and glide with grace. My lavender wings are speckled with light blue like drips of paint. They flutter delicately. I float on the breeze, touching down on a rose, then lifting off again. Suddenly, I realize my wings are still wet with paint. Only it’s too late. They stick together like glue. And I plummet to the ground, landing in a flower bush.

  I look up to see Mom standing over me, offering me a hand. I’m not exactly in a flower bush. I’m in Abe’s dog bed. Abe’s dog bed is known for two things:

  1. No one except Abe ever sits in it because, duh, it’s a dog bed.

  2. It is so covered with layers of Abe’s fur that you can’t tell what color it is anymore.

  “Let’s try again,” Mom says with a grin as she pulls me to my feet. Only she doesn’t let go of my hands, and we dance around the room together. Fur flies off my shirt to float in the air. (It sounds prettier than it looks.)

  “This is actually kind of fun!” I call out.

  Mom laughs. “It’s supposed to be fun!”

  We dance around and around the room until the song ends. And then we fall onto the sofa. We lie there side by side.

  Mom brushes my hair back off my face. “Ruby, I think you’re wrong. You can dance. You can do anything you want to do—as long as you believe in yourself.”

  I sit up and look at her. “That’s the trouble. Sometimes I don’t believe in myself.” Like when my book club disappears to the other side of the playground. And my best friend partners up with the new girl for a class project.

  “Everyone has moments like that. Even when they’re grown up. I sometimes have those moments at work. Even now. But you know what I do? I remind myself who I am. And I think of something I like about myself.” She hugs me close. “Maybe you could try that next time.”

  “Maybe” is my answer. Maybe I could also discover I am secretly a superhero. And tomorrow, instead of going to school, I could save the world from destruction. My superpower would be a magical pickle wand that would make people do anything I told them to do. I think I’d look pretty good in a bright-green cape zooming around on fire-powered roller skates.

  Chapter 5

  Trouble with a Lowercase t

  The next morning, I have butterflies in my stomach. Actually, they aren’t butterflies; they are tennis balls bouncing around inside me. Butterflies are light and airy with fluttering wings that would tickle my stomach. What I feel is a pounding, like a furry, neon tennis ball is loose inside me.

  The morning bell is about to ring when I run up the stairs with my backpack. Siri is already in line. So are Jessica and Daisy. Charlotte stands behind them. I remember Gram’s words yesterday. Maybe being here is hard for Charlotte. Maybe she just wants to make friends. I can be her friend too. (This is what’s called being optimistic. I’m an optimistic kind of girl.)

  I line up behind Charlotte. She turns around and waves.

  “Hi,” I say with a big smile. She smiles back.

  “Ready for your dance today?” I think for a tiny second that she is making fun of me. It’s not what she says. It’s how she says it. There’s something in her voice that sounds a little teasing. It sounds like the question mark at the end of her question is turned sideways a little bit so it can laugh at me. But I know I have a big imagination, so I tell myself it’s nothing. I nod.

  “Super ready,” I answer. I am ready. I have planned the whole thing out. And in front of my mirror, it was splendid. (It really was. Not like an oddball grandma or a tin girl at all.)

  Charlotte turns back around. And that’s when I see them.

  Pink laces.

  In Charlotte’s sneakers.

  She is wearing Unicorn laces.

  The drool-covered tennis balls in my stomach hit me so hard I make a sound. Something like a whoosh comes out of my mouth.

  Whoooooooooosh.

  Charlotte turns to look at me, her eyebrows raised. She is waiting for me to explain the strange sound.

  I shrug, clear my throat, and say the first thing that comes to my mind. “Hair ball.” (Remember Number 3 about me—saying a lot of things without thinking? Well, this is a perfect example—telling Charlotte I am part cat, and the gross part too. The part that vomits up balls of hair from licking itself.)

  I see myself suddenly morph into a creature. My face stretches into a cat face with whiskers and tawny fur. My body grows paws instead of hands and feet. My tail waves in the air. I am not a pet cat; I am a lion. I have giant teeth and a growl that can be heard from miles away. I am fearless and powerful. The first thing I do is chew the laces right out of Charlotte’s shoes. Then I vomit them up in a giant lion hair ball.

  • • •

  I am still coughing when the bell rings. Charlotte has stepped a short distance away from me. I follow her pink laces into the classroom. As I hang up my backpack and pull out my homework folder, my mind is only thinking one thing: Who told Charlotte to wear pink laces? And why didn’t anyone tell me? (Wait, that’s two things. My mind is thinking two things at once, like one of those wishbones from a turkey. It starts out as one thought and splits into two. Maybe I’m some kind of incredible genius brainiac who can do things no one else can do, like a young Einstein in training.)

  Today we have extra partner time to work on our Statue of Liberty projects. Yay, me. At least Will B doesn’t smell like salami today.

  By lunch, I have to force the smile onto my face. I can feel the muscles stretching and pulling back like they just don’t want to curve up. But I force them into something like a smile. I think.

  I eat my apple and pretzels without saying much. No one notices anyway. They are all surrounding wonderful Charlotte. My friends crowd next to her, sharing her gummy worms. Who brings gummy worms for lunch? Do they have any nutritional value? Is loading up on sugar in the middle of the school day a great idea?

  Absolutely and completely

  Not.

  A.

  Good.

  Idea.

  And the only person who would bring a lunch like that is someone trying to win friends. Note to self: never underestimate the power of the gummy worm.

  Maybe I am cranky because they all seem to like Charlotte so much better than me. “We never chose a book for next week’s meeting,” I say softly.

  No one notices. So I try again a bit louder. “We need to choose a book for next week.”

  Now, all four heads turn to look at me. There. Much better, I think.

  “We didn’t finish though,” Jessica tells me, as if I can’t remember the horror that was yesterday.

  “Yeah, I thought we would
just do Black Beauty again,” Siri adds.

  I shrug. “No one seemed that excited. I thought maybe we should try a new book.”

  Jessica shakes her head. “I like Black Beauty. It’s a classic. And anyway, I finished it last night. I want to talk about the ending.”

  “I’m almost done,” Daisy adds. “And I like it too.”

  Siri shrugs. “That’s not why we left. It wasn’t the book. We just wanted to try being in a play.”

  She might as well have told me that the reason she left was because I was boring. And Charlotte was interesting. My stomach twinges, like I’ve swallowed a flamingo, and it is poking me with its long, curvy beak.

  “Then I guess we’ll stick with Black Beauty for next Tuesday.” I give in. Charlotte gives me a small smile. I am not sure if it is meant to be a nice smile or an I won smile. I smile a teeny smile back (which could be a nice smile or a game’s on smile).

  After we finish eating, everyone wants to work on the play. Charlotte places us in our spots. I stand next to Siri.

  “Princesses, show me your best dance. Then I will decide who may go to the ball,” Charlotte says in a queenly voice.

  The game seems a little babyish to me. I mean, I stopped playing princesses in kindergarten. We’re fifth graders now. I think we could come up with something a little bit more grown-up than Cinderella.

  I turn to Siri to say something about it, but then I see the look on her face. She is smiling at Charlotte like Charlotte is a movie star or something. So I keep my mouth closed, but I can’t help a half eye roll. (A half eye roll usually can go completely unnoticed except to the eye roller who knows they are rolling their eyes.)

  “I’ll go first,” Siri says. Siri can do a back handspring, pitches on an all-boys’ (except for her) baseball team, and wants to be a fashion designer when she grows up. I have never known her to be a good dancer. Until now, that is. All I can do is stand there, watching. I realize my mouth is hanging open like that kid Jason who falls asleep in class every day and drools all over his books. So I close it quick before saliva drips onto my shoes.

  Siri is spinning, leaping, even twirling with her leg like the ballerina inside a jewelry box Gram gave me when I turned six. She is even better than Charlotte.

  Siri finishes with a deep curtsy. We all clap and holler for her. I scream the loudest. After all, she is my best friend. Before I can give her a high five, Charlotte runs to Siri and hugs her tight.

  Then Charlotte turns to me. “Your turn.” I think she might actually be smirking instead of smiling. I know it’s hard to tell the difference between a smirk and a smile because they both curve the mouth upward the same way. But a smirk is bratty, while a smile is happy. And the look Charlotte gives me is definitely of the bratty type.

  I try to remember Mom’s advice. Think of something I like about myself. All I can think about is how lame my dance will look. Mine is the dance version of a paint-by-the-numbers picture. It’s a dance-by-the-numbers routine.

  Jessica calls out, “Go, Ruby!” And Daisy claps for me. I remind myself that the thing I like best about myself is my imagination. So I use it.

  I am a princess locked in a witch’s castle and guarded by a giant ogre with garlic breath. I think I can slip out of the dungeon and slide down the castle wall on my magical hoverboard, but first I have to distract the ogre. So I dance around remembering to mouth-breathe while I spin in circles. My skirts whirl so fast they make the ogre dizzy. When he closes his eyes, I slide right through the window, activate my hoverboard, and fly to freedom.

  I slide to a stop, arms outstretched to touch the air. Only I am standing before my friends. Correction: three friends and one sort-of friend. All of them are statues. They are staring at me, and no one is clapping or even smiling. I freeze, wondering if I have completely and totally humiliated myself. If I have ever wanted to be invisible, this is the moment. Then Jessica breaks the silence and grabs my arms.

  “Ruby, you did it! You danced!”

  Daisy joins her, giving me a high five. “You were like a real princess!”

  Siri hugs me. “And you said you couldn’t dance.”

  Even Charlotte manages to smile at me and says, “Good job.”

  I shrug. “Thanks.” I try to act like it doesn’t matter that much to me. But inside I am jumping up and down like it’s Christmas morning. I did it. I really did it.

  The good feeling stays with me all the way to the end of the day. Mrs. S has to help at the pickup line in front of school. Teachers trade off the job each week. The teachers hate when it’s their turn, but the students love it because we get out of class ten minutes early.

  “What are you wearing for Halloween?” Jessica asks Charlotte on the way down the steps. I watch as she bites into a mini chocolate-chip cookie from Charlotte.

  Charlotte tilts her head to the side. Her ponytail bounces on the edge of her shoulder. She offers Siri a cookie next. “I don’t know yet. I was thinking about being a pop star. You know, with a microphone and maybe a pink wig. What about you?”

  Jessica grins, looking at Daisy before answering. “We’re going as Thing 1 and Thing 2—from The Cat in the Hat. We love Dr. Seuss.”

  “I’m going as a butterfly,” Siri says, cookie in hand.

  “Did you make up your mind yet?” Daisy asks me. Somehow she has a cookie now too. I notice that everyone is eating the mini cookies. Everyone, that is, except me. Charlotte hasn’t offered me one. I’m not hungry, but it’s the point of it. If someone gives something to everyone else around you, but leaves you (and only you) out, it makes you really want that thing, even if you didn’t want it in the first place. That’s a really long way of saying I want a cookie!

  “Any ideas?” Jessica adds.

  I haven’t decided what to be for Halloween. I always have a hard time choosing. Sometimes I don’t decide until October 30. This is why Halloween is my mother’s least favorite day of the year. She always has to scramble around to find a costume for me at the last minute. I’d like to be more considerate and make a decision early, but choosing between characters in my favorite books is like choosing only one chocolate from a candy shop. It’s not an easy decision. It takes time.

  I shake my head. “Not yet. I’m considering Dorothy, Hermione, or Alice.”

  Siri grins at me, then turns to Charlotte. “Ruby always dresses as a character from a book. So that’s Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz, Hermione from Harry Potter, and Alice—”

  “Let me guess. In Wonderland,” Charlotte finishes for her with an eye roll.

  “Do you have a problem with Alice in Wonderland?” I ask. My head tilts to the side, and I’m pretty sure I narrow my eyes too.

  “Ruby!” Siri gives me a look. The kind of look that says you need to shut your mouth and not say another word. I see this look on my mother sometimes.

  “Just asking,” I say without looking away from Charlotte.

  She shrugs. Closing the bag of cookies and tossing them into the trash. Now I know for sure I am not getting that mini cookie. “Not really. It just seems kind of boring.”

  Boring? Boring? What could possibly be boring about Alice in Wonderland?

  “What’s boring about one of the greatest characters ever written? She’s brave and smart and makes friends with all kinds of creatures without judging them.” I could go on and on, but I stop there. I stop because Charlotte is judgy, while Alice is not.

  Charlotte pretend yawns.

  Now I know for absolute sure that I am narrowing my eyes. “Who asked you anyway?” It’s not a great comeback, especially since I was the one who asked her. But I have to go with it for two reasons:

  1. It’s already out there.

  2. I can’t think of anything else.

  “I’d rather live my life than read about someone else’s life,” Charlotte says with a smirk.

  I’m not going t
o lie. Her words are like a slap to my face. My cheek burns pink as though she has actually touched it. I can feel all the eyes on me, waiting for me to do something. So I do.

  “What’s your problem with books, anyway? What did they ever do to you? Or haven’t you ever read one?”

  I wish I could take the words back. I wish I could rewind and handle this differently. It’s not like me to lash out. And now I’m in big trouble. There are two kinds of trouble: trouble with a capital T and trouble with a lowercase t. Trouble with a capital T gets you sent to the principal. It’s things like cheating or hitting someone or breaking something that doesn’t belong to you. I don’t get in that kind of trouble. Trouble with a lowercase t—now that’s my specialty. Lowercase t trouble is something you wish you hadn’t done, but it’s too late to take it back. You can’t fix it without calling more attention to the problem.

  That’s what I have done. I have started a war with Charlotte. And there is no going back.

  We’ve reached the front of school. Charlotte walks away without another word. Then she looks over her shoulder at Siri. “Coming?” It doesn’t come out like a question. It’s more like a command you would give to a dog. I know this because Siri gives me a sorry look and then follows Charlotte to the pickup line. Daisy and Jessica haven’t moved. They are still watching me, as if they are waiting to see what I will do next.

  My nose starts to burn, and then my eyes get watery. I Am Not Going to Cry at School. Not now. Not ever. Not unless I trip while running the mile during PE because my shoelace has come untied, and I split my chin open and need twelve stitches. That’s the only time I might need to cry, and then only if absolutely necessary.

  “You can go ahead,” I tell them in a quiet voice. “I’m going to wait here for my mom.” I pull out a copy of The Secret Garden. I have always wanted to read this book, ever since my mom gave it to me. This is the exact copy of the book she read when she was my age. I hold it tightly in my hands, looking down at the drawing of the secret garden. And I wish I could escape into it, if only for the next ten minutes. Or maybe the rest of the year.