Ruby in the Sky

by Jeanne Zulick Ferruolo

  It was Ahmad. I invite you to sit with me at lunch.

  Yesterday, I had ducked into a bathroom stall to eat my sandwich. It was gross, but I was hungry and the noise of the cafeteria had made my stomach hurt.

  I typed back: You’re going to get in trouble for sending a message.

  We can work together on the Wax Museum.

  I’m not doing the Wax Museum.

  I will help you.

  I don’t need your help.

  “Make sure you’re taking notes, people,” Mr. Andrews said. “You can read all the information you want, but if you aren’t recording the important parts, you’re going to have a hard time writing out the index cards you’ll need for your presentations.”

  After what seemed like forever, Mr. Andrews said, “Please return your laptops to the cart. Tomorrow we will start outlining speeches.” Chairs scraped as kids grabbed backpacks and made their way out of the classroom.

  Ahmad turned toward me. He was wearing a black vest over the same collared shirt. He pushed his glasses up with his fist. “We have Science with Mrs. Connelly now,” he said.

  I didn’t look up.

  “You would like to sit with me at lunch today?”

  I shook my head no.

  Ahmad’s cheeks tinged pink. He returned his laptop and scurried out. He never seemed to hang out with anyone, either.

  I stared into my laptop screen. The image showed Michael Collins tucked inside the Columbia, staring out at the bright full moon. As I clicked Shut Down, the image faded and I couldn’t help but wonder how Michael Collins had felt—seeing the moon so close, but knowing he would never, ever reach it.

  * * *

  That afternoon, when I got back to the house, there was a note.

  RUBY!!

  Great news! I got a job at Rucki’s Market—the one near your school (next to the post office and library). Come visit me! It’s only a fifteen-minute walk from home and they serve food. I’ll be there until six!

  XOXO,

  Mom

  P.S. See, I told you things would work out!

  I crumpled the note and threw it in the garbage. Maybe things were working out for her, but they weren’t for me.

  Bob dropped his leash at my feet. When I tried to pick it up he snatched it away again, hopping just out of my reach.

  “If you want me to take you outside, drop it.”

  Bob danced around me, the leash still in his mouth.

  “Give it, Bob.”

  Bob scrambled toward the door and scratched.

  I fished through the bin for a hat and gloves. If I was going for a walk, it wasn’t going to be back toward school.

  I grabbed lettuce from the fridge. As I opened the front door to go out, Bob bolted past me. I waited with my arms crossed. Eventually he came back. I hitched the leash to his collar and we set off down Specter Hill Road.

  Bob trotted in front of me, his head held high as if all his senses were on alert. The sky had cleared but the temperature had dropped. The frozen air pinched any skin I’d left exposed. The ice-covered snow sparkled in the afternoon sun. I breathed in the cold, clear air. My quick steps seemed to warm me from inside. The hat and gloves helped, too.

  At the bottom of Abigail’s driveway, the bunny sat beneath her pine tree, still as a statue. I crept closer, but when I was near enough to touch her, the bunny hopped a few feet away. I held Bob’s leash firmly and emptied the greens into the snow and stepped back.

  As I pulled on Bob to leave, I heard a voice.

  “You came back.”

  My stomach tightened. I turned to stare at Abigail. She seemed so tiny and delicate that a strong wind could knock her over. She smiled, revealing the gap in her front teeth.

  I tried to match Dakota’s story against this lady’s quiet manner, but it didn’t fit. Mom’s words echoed in my brain: Sometimes you have to have a little faith. If Mom saw Abigail with the chickadees, I knew she’d want me to help her.

  “You can let Bob off the leash. He’ll behave.”

  “He’ll chase the bunny.”

  “Give it a try.”

  I unhooked Bob. He took a step toward the rabbit. His body quivered.

  “Bob!” Abigail snapped her fingers, and just like that, Bob trotted next to her. When she scratched the top of his head, her eyes crinkled at the corners, reminding me of Mr. Andrews. She fed Bob a treat. “I told you,” she said. “Bob and I have come to an understanding.”

  “He never listens to me,” I said.

  “If you want him to listen, you have to speak up,” she said. “It works on people, too, you know.”

  I wanted to ask her about what Dakota had said. I wanted to know why she didn’t go inside her house. But somehow, I knew if I did, she’d disappear on me again. Right then, I did not want to be alone.

  Abigail stared at me as if she was trying to figure something out. “You’re not like them, are you?” she whispered.

  Like who? I wanted to ask.

  Her voice was so soft and sad that if, at that very moment, the wind hadn’t died down, and the trees hadn’t stood still, I might not have heard what she said next: “You’re like my Lillian.”

  Maybe it was that she didn’t make me talk. Maybe it was because I wanted to see those magic chickadees again. Maybe it was because, for some crazy reason, I liked this lady and her quiet way, but when she said, “Will you please help me feed my pets?” I nodded and followed.

  * * *

  As we neared her campfire, the steaming red teapot whistled. “Would you like some pine needle tea?” she asked. “It’s chock-full of vitamin C.”

  I shook my head.

  The quilt was still shoved in the shed’s broken window. Its fabric must have been pink once, but now its princess pattern had turned a patchy beige.

  The blue jays’ commotion at the feeders reminded me that I had a job. I trudged beneath them. The blue jays took off.

  I turned to find Abigail staring at me. “I think it’s your turn,” she said.

  “My turn to what?”

  “To feed the chickadees, of course.” She retrieved a scoop filled with seeds. “Drop your gloves. They get in the way.” As my gloves fell to the ground, cold air stung my fingertips in sharp pinpricks.

  “Now stretch out your hands. Higher.”

  She dumped frozen seeds into my outstretched hands. Dusty pieces floated into my nose, making me sneeze. She moved near the seed can, Bob by her side.

  “Stand up straight,” she said. “Shoulders back, that’s it, tall like a forest tree.”

  I felt myself grow. I glanced at Abigail to make sure I was doing it right. She motioned for me to look straight ahead. The cold air seemed to blow right through my jeans, but I forgot about that when I saw the tiny, black-capped birds gathering on trees and shrubs. Suddenly, one made its roller-coaster flight toward me.

  For a split second, the bird hovered in front of me. The air from its wings brushed my cheek. I had never been that close to something so wild, and the magic of it took my breath away. The bird’s claws gently gripped my fingertips and I bit my lip. The tiny bird seemed to check me out, then it claimed a seed. My head felt light and I realized I’d been holding my breath the whole time. I gasped for air and the bird flew away, a single seed clenched in its tiny beak.

  Seeds spilled from my hands onto the ground. I was worried Abigail would be upset, but her face had broken into a gap-toothed grin.

  “Something for the squirrels,” she said.

  “How did you get them to do that?” I said.

  “I didn’t. You did.”

  “But I didn’t do anything.”

  “You did everything.”

  “All I did was stand here.”

  “You stood tall. You didn’t run away. Sometimes that’s enough.” She stared out into the sky. I followed her gaze, finding the rising moon.

  “Waxing crescent,” she said.

  “What?”

  “The moon. It’s getting bigger every day unti
l it’s full.”

  “My middle name is Moon.” Suddenly, it felt so easy to talk to Abigail, as if the breeze from the chickadee’s wings had magical powers that had dissolved the prickly pit inside my throat.

  “It’s getting dark. How about we fill these?” She shuffled toward the seed can, then came back and stood beneath the feeders, handing me the scoop.

  I added seeds, filling each container. Bob ran back and forth between us as if he was helping. When we finished, Abigail secured the lid and started toward her crooked shed.

  “Do you want me to come back tomorrow?” I asked.

  She raised a small hand. A yes, I hoped. Then she slipped inside. I heard the latch click. Bob barked.

  “I guess we’re done here,” I said to Bob. But as we made our way toward Specter Hill Road, I felt the tips of my fingers where the chickadee had landed. And I smiled.

  * * *

  Mom’s Fiesta still wasn’t in the driveway when I got back. Inside, I fed Bob and got him fresh water. I was so sick of the cold, I couldn’t stand it. I opened the door to the woodstove. Cecy had shown me how to light it. I needed to try.

  I crumpled some old newspaper and placed small pieces of wood around it. I lit the paper, then watched the flame move to the kindling. Bob pushed in next to me, panting. When the fire took life, he barked.

  “That’s how it’s done, Bob,” I said. When the kindling was burning well, I added a few logs and shut the stove’s iron door. Even though it would take a while to heat the house, I was already feeling warmer.

  The front door to the house swung open.

  “Wow, Ruby!” Mom stepped inside, carrying a foil tray. “You built a fire and I got dinner! I’d say this is a reason to celebrate!”

  She placed the foil container on the table and grabbed paper plates. “I was hoping you’d visit me at the store.”

  “I didn’t know where it was,” I lied.

  “You go by it every day on your way to school.”

  “Why are you all dressed up? Do you have makeup on?”

  She grinned. “First day,” she said, and shrugged. “I wanted to make a good impression.”

  As happy as she was, I was suspicious. This was how it started. Tomorrow, the classified ads would be spread across the table again. I lifted the foil. “What is this?”

  “Dawood basha. Syrian meatballs. Mr. Saleem made them. He is amazing!”

  Mom thought everyone was amazing until they fired her or had her arrested. I wrinkled my nose.

  “Can you at least try it? I didn’t have time to cook.” Since we had begun our search for a forever home, Mom never had time to cook.

  She scooped out the meatballs and some rice. It stained my plate red. “What’s the green stuff?”

  “Parsley. I think there’s mint, too.”

  I nibbled a bite, then gulped down a bunch of water. I made a face. “It’s too spicy. It doesn’t taste like meatballs.”

  “It’s lamb and it’s what we have.” Mom took a large bite and closed her eyes like it was the best thing she’d ever eaten. My stomach rumbled.

  “How was school?”

  “I need you to write a note.”

  “For what?”

  “They’re doing some Wax Museum. I need you to excuse me from it.”

  “Oh, I saw a flyer for that at Rucki’s. Everyone in town goes.”

  “Everyone but us.” I felt her eyes on me. “Anyway, we’ll be gone by then.”

  “Gone where?”

  Was she kidding? “Gone wherever. Our next forever home. We decided Fortin wasn’t working, right?”

  “Our next forever home,” she said, emphasizing forever home, as if she didn’t mean it.

  “Yeah, our next forever home. Preferably warmer and with fewer arrests,” I said in my best snarky voice.

  Mom cringed.

  “You have court next week. You said the case would be over. We decided that when that was done we’d find a better place, right?”

  Mom put down her fork and fixed her eyes on me. “Well, I’m glad you brought that up, Ruby Moon.”

  I flinched. I didn’t want her calling me that. Not now. Not when I knew she was going to mess everything up again.

  “I’ve been thinking. Maybe our problem is we don’t give places a chance.”

  “You got arrested less than a week after we got here. And … don’t you remember? You’re the one who said we haven’t even unpacked yet.”

  She clasped her hands. “You should meet Mr. Saleem. He knows what it’s like to have to work hard to improve his situation. He came here not knowing the language or anyone, and you should see what he’s—”

  “You always do this, Mom.” I threw down my napkin. “When you want to leave it’s all, Go pack, Ruby, we’re done with this place. But now, you meet this one guy for one day and it’s like he’s more important than me. Nothing I want ever matters!” I jumped up from the table so fast the chair flipped over. I didn’t care. I went into my room and slammed the door.

  Bob scratched, so I opened it enough for him to slip in. I flopped on the air mattress. Any good feelings I’d had from feeding the birds with Abigail earlier in the day escaped in an angry puff of smoke.

  I wasn’t going to stay home alone, in this icebox of a house, waiting for Mom to decide, out of the blue again, that she was ready to move on to some new place that she picked without even talking to me. I was tired of never having any say in where we went or what we did. And I sure wasn’t going to get stuck having to be in a stupid Wax Museum because Mom wanted to give Fortin another chance.

  “No more fake forever homes, Bob,” I said. If Mom wouldn’t go back to the only real home we’d ever known, I sure wasn’t going to make things easy for her here.

  I’d almost fallen asleep when Mom knocked. “Ruby?” She pushed the door open and sat on the edge of my mattress. My body rolled into the sunken place next to her. I watched her look out the window into the night. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail, but ringlets had fallen out, framing her face. “It’s almost eight o’clock,” she said.

  “It’s too cloudy.” My eyes began to sting. Do not cry, do not cry, do not cry. I took a deep breath.

  “I’m sorry, Ruby Moon,” she said. “You’re right. I won’t make any more big decisions without you.”

  I kept staring out the window.

  “When court’s done, if you want to move again, we’ll find a new forever home.”

  “In DC?”

  “Oh, Ruby.” She sighed.

  I sat up. “I want to go to court with you.”

  “But you’ll miss school.”

  “Next Friday’s a half day. They have a winter sports program. The school takes everyone to Okemo to go skiing.”

  “You could try skiing, too.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  Mom shook her head. “Fine … I guess. This one time.” She put her arm around me. “Cecy won’t like it.”

  I shrugged. “That’s Cecy for you.”

  Mom laughed. “I’d pick you over Cecy any day.”

  CHAPTER

  6

  For the rest of that week and most of the next, I kept my head down, resolved to stay invisible until I could escape Fortin.

  That Friday, Mom let me miss school, as promised. When Cecy found out Mom was bringing me to court, she refused to go. “If you think it’s a good idea to expose Ruby to all of those criminals, I guess you aren’t interested in my advice after all, Dahlia,” she said with her best sour-milk face. Mom was upset, but I secretly jumped for joy.

  We pulled into a parking lot outside a large brick building. Thick black letters above the entrance read VERMONT SUPERIOR COURT. I headed toward the front entrance.

  “We have to meet with my public defender first,” Mom said. I followed her across the parking lot toward what looked like a very old concrete house. Its outsides were yellowed and dirty. We stepped around a large bucket of sand and a shovel, and then Mom opened the front door and it seemed like we were wal
king into someone’s living room. The floors were all wood and there was a giant empty fireplace.

  “Good morning,” a lady said. She had a long gray ponytail and glasses. She sat at a desk in the middle of the room. “You’re here for Annie, right?”

  Mom gave a weak smile and nodded.

  “Have a seat.” She pointed toward a small room with a couch and chairs. It was already filled with people. “She’ll be right with you.”

  I took a seat next to Mom. Near us, a man in dirty sweats sat slumped in a chair, half-asleep. An elderly couple huddled together, holding hands. A thin woman sat in the corner scratching herself and shivering. A mom held a wiggling toddler. Next to her was a girl with long black hair and a bright orange coat. I recognized her as Melanie, the girl who sat behind me in Mr. Andrews’s class. I couldn’t believe someone from school was here. Before I could look away, Melanie smiled at me. I crossed my arms and pretended to read a poster titled KNOW YOUR RIGHTS!

  I did not like the sour smell in that room. I did not like the sadness that hovered over the people there.

  “Ms. Stacks,” a man called.

  Melanie’s mother stood, handing her the toddler. “Play with her while I talk to my lawyer,” she said.

  There was a tub of toys in a corner. Melanie led her sister over to it and knelt next to her.

  “Here, Jess, let’s do this one.” Melanie pulled out a wooden puzzle and handed her sister a piece. The toddler put it in her mouth. “No, Jess.” Melanie gently showed her how to fit it into the puzzle.

  “Dahlia?” A tall black woman stood in the doorway. Mom and I followed her up a set of stairs and into her office.

  “Hello,” the lady said to me. “I’m Attorney Ralls.” She winked. “Call me Annie.”

  Annie was tall and thin, with hundreds of tiny braids spun so high on her head they added another five inches. One of the braids was bright red and I couldn’t help but follow that crimson streak as it wove in and out. She wore a skinny black skirt and a silky blue blouse.

  She closed the door and took a seat at her desk facing us. She opened a file. “So, turns out Frank Chatty and Mayor Eton will be in court to speak before you plead to the state’s offer.”