Ruby in the Sky

by Jeanne Zulick Ferruolo

  Ahmad stared at his feet.

  Mom took a step back. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to—”

  “It is nothing to be sorry for,” Mr. Saleem said, smiling at Ahmad. “I remind my nephew that we are not in Syria. We are in America now.” When he said America it sounded like Amreeka. “I remind him that here it is very proper for a man to shake hands with a woman.”

  Even though Mr. Saleem had just reprimanded Ahmad, he had a kind of sparkle in his eyes that made me think he was really proud of him. Mr. Saleem clasped his hands together. “Please, may I get you something to eat?” he said.

  I thought about the Syrian meatballs from the other night. I shook my head.

  “How about a sandwich with cheese and a Game Changer?”

  I didn’t like the sound of either one.

  “I insist. Ahmad, please set the table for your school friend. Ruby can have something to eat,” Mr. Saleem said. “And then Ahmad will walk her home.”

  As Mr. Saleem turned and began limping into the back, Ahmad set out a plate and napkin.

  I pulled Mom aside.

  “Ruby! That was so rude,” she said. There was no sparkle in her eyes.

  “What?” I said, blinking back tears.

  “You know,” she whispered. “He offered you food and you shook your head.”

  “Don’t leave me here!” I gripped her sleeve.

  “You know we need this job, Ruby. Don’t start. These people are kind and Ahmad goes to school with you. He seems like he’d be a nice friend.”

  I hate this place. I hate this place. I HATE THIS PLACE, I wanted to scream.

  Mom pulled away from me and disappeared through the swinging door. A moment later, Ahmad stepped through the same door carrying a grilled cheese and a steaming mug. I heard the Fiesta roar.

  “Please.” Ahmad directed me to a stool at the counter. “Sandwich with cheese and Game Changer.”

  I sat. He slid onto the stool next to me.

  I sniffed the Game Changer.

  “It is my uncle’s specialty.”

  It smelled like hot chocolate. I took a sip. It wasn’t just hot chocolate. It was the thickest, creamiest hot chocolate creation ever invented in the history of the world. I took another sip. It was as though someone had melted the best chocolate bar ever made and mixed it with cinnamon and nutmeg and Christmas. Each sip warmed me from the inside out. I didn’t want it to end.

  “This is amazing.” I closed my eyes and let the chocolaty goodness fill me.

  Ahmad smiled. “It is the Syrian spices that make it so good. When I first came to America, I missed my family. I couldn’t speak English. Every day, I came home from school homesick for Syria. Uncle made his Game Changer to help my sorrow.”

  I ate in silence.

  “You were not in school today,” Ahmad said.

  I shook my head. “Did I miss anything?”

  “We watched a movie in Science. In Language Arts we did more research for the Wax Museum.”

  Nothing, then, I thought.

  Mr. Saleem came out from the back. “Ahmad, you will walk Ruby home.”

  I wiped my mouth and stood. “I’m fine.”

  Mr. Saleem smiled. “I insist,” he said with sparkling eyes.

  * * *

  Outside, Ahmad walked silently beside me. I sped up. I did not want or need a friend in Fortin. I found it easier to move on to the next forever home if I didn’t have people making me promise to text or call them. And I definitely did not want a boyfriend, ever. Ugh. And what if Dakota saw us walking together? I would never hear the end of it.

  But no matter how fast I walked, Ahmad kept up, wearing his usual grin, even though we weren’t talking, even though it was freezing and he’d be walking over a mile round-trip.

  “Why are you always smiling?” I asked.

  Ahmad jammed his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “I am happy to be in America. I am happy to go to school and meet a new friend.”

  “I hate school,” I said. I thought about my last report card in Orlando. Mom never saw it or how I was barely passing. Why work hard at something you know you’ll never finish?

  “In Syria, there has been a big war,” Ahmad said. “Every day, we were under siege. I could only go to school from six a.m. until eight a.m. In America, I can go to school all day. I am happy for this.”

  “You had a two-hour school day in Syria? Lucky.”

  “Not lucky. School must end by eight a.m. because the bombs started then.”

  “Bombs? Like real bombs that explode?”

  “Of course.” Ahmad kicked a piece of ice. “There was much fear for my mother.”

  “Where is your mother?”

  “She is in Jordan now. But when we were in Syria, she was worried for me every day. Amu—that is what I call Uncle Mohammed—he was already here in Fortin. He told my mother, You must come to Amreeka. It will be better here. But my mother would not leave her sister, so I came alone. Maybe, someday, she will come. Inshallah. My brother, too.”

  “Inshallah? What does that mean?”

  “It means, If God is willing.”

  “Where is your brother?”

  “Omar has found work in Turkey.”

  “Do you ever talk to them?” I asked.

  “I talk to my mother every day on WhatsApp, but it is not the same as seeing her in person, you know?”

  I knew. “What about your father?”

  “My father is gone,” Ahmad said, and his smile evaporated for the first time.

  I tried to ignore the sudden hurt in my heart.

  Ahmad opened his mouth to say something but then closed it. “The bombs,” he finally said. “The bombs found my father.”

  I blinked hard, wishing I had kept my own mouth shut.

  Ahmad was silent.

  “I’m sorry, Ahmad.” Before I even realized what I was doing, I heard myself tell him, “My father is gone, too … and I had to leave my home. I know it’s not the same.” I swallowed hard.

  “When we had to leave Syria, everything happened very fast. We could only take the things we were able to carry.”

  I thought about how every time Mom and I moved, it seemed like we were able to fit less and less into our garbage-bag suitcases. I had begun to feel like I was leaving a piece of myself behind with each stuffed animal that didn’t make the trip to the next forever home.

  “What couldn’t you bring with you that you miss the most, Ahmad?” I asked.

  “It is not the things I miss. It is the people. We had a beautiful life in Syria. All of my family lived nearby. Every day I rode my bike to see my cousin Ali.” Ahmad sighed. “Now we are scattered like seeds. Ali is in Saudi Arabia. Others are in Greece … Lebanon, Romania.” Ahmad’s forehead wrinkled. “I think it will be impossible for us to be together again.”

  I didn’t know what to say. “You must have hated it here at first.”

  “One day, I tried to run away from Amu.”

  “Where were you going?” I asked. But I already knew the answer. Sometimes I wanted to run away, too. Where didn’t matter.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “I only knew that I did not want to be here. I thought to myself, It is too hard here. Maybe somewhere else it will be less hard.”

  “So did you? Run away?”

  “Amu saw that I had packed my things.”

  “Was he mad?”

  Ahmad shook his head. “He brought me outside and showed me this little bird. A tiny bird with a black crown and gray feathers.”

  “A chickadee?”

  “Yes, this chickadee. It was eating out of a feeder Amu had made. He said to me, You see this tiny bird? If he can survive this cold winter in Vermont, you can, too.” Ahmad smiled. “So I stayed. I decided I would be brave like this tiny bird.”

  Snow began to fall gently on us. I was glad for the distraction. I stuck out my tongue to catch a flake.

  Ahmad laughed and copied me. “Talj, talj,” he said.
<
br />   “What?”

  “It is a famous song. Talj, talj, am betshati eddini talj. Snow is falling on the world.”

  “Snow is falling on the world,” I repeated.

  Ahmad smiled. “Friendship, prosperity, and love are falling like snow. That is how this song goes.”

  “It’s a good song,” I said. We were at the bottom of my driveway. “This is it,” I told him.

  Ahmad bowed deeply. “Goodbye, my new friend Ruby,” he said, grinning.

  “Thank you for walking me home, Ahmad.”

  And even though that day had been about the worst since we got to Fortin, as I watched Ahmad catching snowflakes on his tongue on his way back to Rucki’s, I couldn’t help but hum his song to myself. Talj, talj. As he disappeared on the other side of the hill, I realized I was grinning, too.

  CHAPTER

  7

  The next morning I turned over on my air mattress and squinted at the alarm clock. It was almost noon. I bolted upright in bed, feeling my heart beat faster.

  Bob pushed open my door, his leash in his mouth. I breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s Saturday,” I said to Bob.

  I tugged on my sweatshirt and stepped into the kitchen. “Mom!” I called, but only the rattling windows answered. The woodstove sat frozen and silent. There was a note on the table.

  Ruby,

  I had to go in to work at Rucki’s. I didn’t want to wake you. Cecy made Blueberry Buckle. I’ll be home as soon as I can. Sorry the house is so cold. Cecy is stopping by with firewood later.

  I love you, Mom

  Bob leaped up trying to grab the note with his teeth. I snatched it away.

  I sliced a piece of the cake. It was the perfect combination of sweet and sour. I had a second piece and fed one to Bob. He kept licking the floor even after it was gone.

  I thought about the long cold afternoon in front of us.

  “How do you feel about feeding the birds?” I asked Bob.

  His tail whacked everything in sight.

  * * *

  Cecy had found more warm clothes for me at Family Thrift. I dressed in snow pants, a scarf, hat, my boots and gloves. Outside, Bob hopped around me with his puppy grin as if to say, Aren’t we having fun? Isn’t snow the best? I felt bad, thinking how much he would miss these walks when we moved. Bob was the only one who seemed to like Fortin.

  “You are a Froot Loop, Bob,” I said.

  We hiked down Specter Hill Road as a cold breeze gusted. A dusting of snow swirled in a mini-tornado. As I sped up to match Bob’s quick pace, a feeling of warmth grew inside me. I raised my chin against the frozen air, feeling as if I’d won something.

  At the bottom of the hill, I peered under the pine tree. No bunny, but the food I’d left was gone. I dug in my pocket and scooped out more lettuce.

  Bob tugged on the leash, pulling me down Abigail’s driveway. I still hadn’t told Mom I’d been back here. But Mom was too busy with court and her new job to pay attention to what I was doing. When she was done with all that, maybe I’d introduce her to Abigail.

  As we neared the campfire, I let go of the leash. Bob galloped toward Abigail, who was sitting on the bench with her head back. When she heard us, she sat up and smiled. It was the first time I’d seen her without all of her scarves. With her face fully exposed, she reminded me of a peeled apple that had been left in the sun, brown and spotted and wrinkly.

  Nearby, a deer rooted in the snow. When the doe spotted Bob, it thundered away. Bob dashed after it, leaping like a wild gazelle.

  “Bob!” Abigail commanded. He slid in his tracks, turned, then trotted next to her, panting and smiling as if to say, I just wanted to play!

  “Good boy,” Abigail said. Then she turned toward me. “I was about to head out on a hike.” She lifted her feet to reveal two wooden ovals, like flattened baskets, one strapped to each boot. “Care to join me?”

  “What are those wooden things on your feet?”

  “Snowshoes. It’s the only way to hike in the deeper snow.” She held up another pair. “Would you like to try them?”

  I nodded. Abigail put the snowshoes on the ground. I stepped into them.

  “How did you get that deer to come so close?” I asked.

  “One of my pets. She stops by for a good scratch and some corn.”

  As I watched Abigail buckle the straps around my boots, I noticed a name written across the snowshoes: LILLIAN JACOBS. I couldn’t help but hear Dakota’s voice in my head: People knew she murdered them. But the cops could never pin it on her.

  Abigail handed me a pair of ski poles. “Try them.”

  I took a few steps, using the poles for balance. The snowshoes felt heavy and clumsy.

  “Don’t pick up your foot. Let the back one drag in the snow. You got it,” she said.

  Pretty cool. The snowshoes kept me from sinking.

  “Let’s go. I want to show you something.” Abigail headed into the woods. “Keep an eye on Bob. I haven’t checked the pond for new traps lately. Stay in my tracks.”

  “But what about the birds?”

  “I usually feed them at dawn and dusk. We can take care of them when we get back.”

  Abigail tramped down a path, making it easier for Bob and me. The trees dripped with marshmallow-cream snow and the sky turned a deeper blue. It was so clean and quiet. Like the snow had sucked up all the hard sounds and left only the soft ones—the breeze ruffling the pine branches, the soft chick-a-dee-dee-dee of the birds, the swish of my snow pants.

  She pointed at a tree. “See the yellow paint? It’s called a blaze and it marks this trail. When you’re hiking in the forest, always make sure you can find the next blaze; it will keep you from getting lost.”

  Bob trotted behind Abigail. Every now and then he’d veer off her path to leap into deeper snow. He looked like a seal, diving into it. When he went too far, she’d whistle and he’d fall back in line between us.

  I watched her thin frame march effortlessly through the deep snow. She might have been tiny, but she was strong. We hiked deep into the woods. The yellow trail wound in a wide circle. If it weren’t for Abigail and the blazes, I’d definitely be lost. My legs were getting tired and I began to fall behind.

  “You need to step it up,” she said. “It’s not much farther.”

  Eventually, we came to a small clearing. It peaked in the middle and there was some kind of structure at the top. We hiked up the hill toward it. A trickle of sweat formed on the back of my neck. I loosened my scarf and unzipped my coat.

  “Almost there,” she said. “Stay in my footsteps.”

  As we approached the structure, I realized it was a bench made from tree branches.

  “Who made that?” I asked.

  But Abigail’s eyes were fixed on the moon rising over the horizon.

  I looked at my watch. It was almost four o’clock.

  “It’s a full moon,” she said. “A perfect day for the Moon Bench.” She brushed away snow and fell back into it. “Oh, that feels good.”

  It was like we were on top of the world. I slowly turned, taking in the scene around us. “What are those?” I asked, pointing at the horizon.

  “The Green Mountains, of course. There’s Killington Peak and Pico,” she said. “That snowcap in the distance is Mount Mansfield. It’s the tallest in Vermont.”

  The mountains rose and fell, dusty blue against the gray sky. The full moon hovered above them.

  The sky was turning orange and pink and purple like it seemed to do in Vermont before the dark came. I fell onto the seat next to her.

  The front legs of the Moon Bench were longer than its back legs, which forced me to lean back. I gazed at the rising full moon. It was so big and bright and close I felt as if I could almost touch it. It made me think of Michael Collins, racing toward it like a moth toward light.

  If I were Michael Collins, orbiting the moon alone, all I’d want to do would be to get back home. It made me think that being in Fortin wasn’t much different from being on t
he moon. Everything I knew was so far away. Everything I was surrounded by was strange and different.

  “Did you know that at the next full moon, there is going to be a Ruby Moon?” Abigail said. “That’s what some people call a total lunar eclipse, because the moon can appear red.” Her wild silver hair blew out in every direction, but her dark eyes were now as blue and peaceful as the mountains on the horizon. She seemed so much different from the shapeless creature I’d met two weeks ago.

  “A Ruby Moon? Is that really real?” I asked.

  “Of course it is.”

  “My dad used to tell a story about the night I was born. He said there was a full, bright red moon that night. He said it looked like a ruby in the sky, so my parents named me Ruby Moon.” I closed my eyes and could almost hear Dad’s voice. The Ruby Moon story had become my bedtime lullaby, but each time Dad told it, the moon got bigger and brighter. Each time he told it, I felt as if the moon had shone red just for me.

  “Ruby Moons are very real. But rare,” Abigail said. “They only happen during a total lunar eclipse.”

  “How does it happen?”

  “If you look at the moon during a total eclipse, you’ll see the Earth’s shadow creep across its face. The shadow makes that part of the moon appear dark, like a cookie with a bite taken out. But the shadow keeps growing. Then”—Abigail paused, raising her arms to sweep the sky—“when the shadow has totally blacked out the moon, it changes. Instead of black, it appears red.” Her gaze was fixed on the moon as if it was happening right before her.

  “But what makes the moon look red?”

  “Good question,” Abigail said. “Even though the Earth is blocking the sun, indirect sunlight is refracted—bent—as it passes through Earth’s atmosphere. When this happens, shorter-wavelength blue colors get filtered out, leaving the reds and oranges to light up the moon.”

  “It would be so cool to watch the Ruby Moon from here next month.” I took a deep breath. “But we’ll probably be gone by then. Mom and I are moving to our next forever home soon.”

  “Where’s that?”