Ruby Reinvented (16 page)

“Summer tells us you'll be doing a fashion show for the Spotlight Project,” Veronica says.

I can feel my ears heat up. “Well, maybe. If I win.”

“She'll win.” Summer takes a gulp of orange juice.

“You applied for the Spotlight Project?” Connor asks. I look up from my plate. Everyone's staring at me.

“Yeah, but it's not a big deal, really, I just—Summer thought—”

“It
is
a big deal,” Summer squeals. “You guys have to see Bea's dresses. She makes them herself. With a real sewing machine. We're going to have a fashion show and model them, so everyone can see how awesome they are.”

“How exciting,” Veronica says. “I can't wait to see it.”

I'm very happy when the conversation shifts from my fashion show to Connor's observation deck.

“So if we break ground at the beginning of June,” Connor says, “we should be finished by the time school starts again.”

Eric nods. “That's the plan.”

“What a talented group of kids we have here.” Veronica pours herself some coffee. It smells really good, but for the first time in a long time, I don't want any. It's really nice to be a regular kid.

“Okay, kiddo.” Eric leans back in his chair and smiles at Summer. “You can clear the table.”

“Gee, thanks,” Summer says.

“I'll help you.” I pick up my plate and walk around the table to gather the others.

“You don't have to, Bea. It's my chore.”

“I want to,” I say, and I mean it. One, because I want to help Summer, and two, because I'll do anything to live like a normal kid, including doing dishes. I've never cleaned up after a meal before, but I've watched Ellie a million times, so I know what to do.

I clear the table, and Summer loads the dishwasher. Once I wipe the table off, Connor and Eric unroll the sketch and huddle around it.

“It's almost time to leave for the dentist,” Veronica yells down from upstairs.

“Ugh, I forgot about that.” Summer pours the soap in the dishwasher and presses start.

“Mom's taking me and Holly. Want to stay here with Connor and my dad?”

I glance up at Connor, who glances up at me at the exact same time. “Sure, I guess.” I shrug.

Since I'm not sure what else I should do, I stand next to Connor and look down at the sketch sprawled across the kitchen table. “You did all this yourself?”

“Nah.” Connor shakes his head. “Eric helped me.”

“Hardly,” Eric says. “I only helped get everything to scale. Connor did the real work.”

Just as I'm about to tell them how amazing it is, the phone rings. Eric runs into the office to answer it, so Connor and I are left standing at the kitchen table. Alone. Again. I say a silent prayer that I'll think of something brilliant to say.

Nothing comes to me.

“That's really cool,” Connor says. “About your fashion show.”

“Thanks, but it's not nearly as cool as your observation deck. You should have applied for the Spotlight Project.”

“Nah,” Connor says. “It's not anywhere near ready yet.”

“Even what you have is amazing.”

“Do you sketch your stuff out first?” Connor asks.

“Mm-hm.” I nod, hoping my face isn't as red as it feels.

“I've never met anyone else who carries a sketchbook around.”

“Me neither!” I say this a little too enthusiastically, but I'm thrilled that Connor and I have another thing in common. A real thing.

“Can I see your sketches?” Connor asks.

“Oh, you don't have to—”

“I want to.” Connor gives me a smile.

“Okay. I'll be right back.” I dart up the stairs and pull my sketchpad out of my suitcase. Connor's sitting at the kitchen table when I get back. Eric is still on the phone.

Connor rolls up his sketch, and I place my sketchpad on the table in front of him. My heart is beating a trillion miles a minute. I'm not sure if that's because I flew down the stairs or if it's because Connor is looking at my work.

He goes to open the pad, and I instinctively plop my hand on top of it.

“What?” He laughs.

“It's just . . .” I sigh. “Nobody's ever seen my sketches before.”

“Nobody?” He raises his eyebrows.

“No,” I say. “I just never thought to show anyone.”

“Yeah,” he says. “I never showed anyone my stuff either till I met Eric.”

“Really?” I ask. “But it's so good.”

Connor shrugs. “I guess I just didn't think anyone would care about a bunch of drawings.”

“That's exactly how I feel.” I'm nodding my head so hard I get dizzy. “I mean, who cares about a bunch of stupid dresses that I draw?”

“I do,” Connor says in a small voice.

Now my heart is beating so fast that I'm pretty sure it's going to hurl itself out of my body and land right on top of the table. I take a deep breath and move my hand off of the sketchpad as Connor flips to the first page.

 19 

H
IS EYES WIDEN when he looks at the first sketch. I hold my breath.

“This is awesome,” he says.

“You don't have to say that. You won't hurt my feelings if you—”

“No, I'm serious.” He flips through the pages, looking carefully at the rest of the designs. “You're really talented.”

There's that word again. And Connor is using it to describe
me
. I realize my mouth is hanging open, so I close it before he looks up at me.

“Thank you,” I say, my smile a mile wide.

“These are great. You should be a fashion designer someday.” Connor smiles. “But I bet you already thought of that.”

“Not really,” I say. “I never really thought about what I wanted to do when I grew up. I mean, I love designing clothes, but I just figured I'd never be good enough.”

“Are you kidding me? You're probably good enough already.”

A rush of warmth floods my entire body, and it takes all of my self-control to keep my feet glued to the ground. I just want to scream and yell and jump up and down.

Connor is still looking at the sketches, spending several minutes on each one. “Seems that's another thing we have in common. We both like to sketch.”

“Do you have more drawings?” I ask.

“Tons.”

“Can I see them?”

“I guess that's only fair.”

I follow Connor out to the patio. His sketchbook is on the table. The silver design on the cover catches the sun so it looks like the book is covered in starlight. He opens it up and flips to the first page. It's a perfect drawing of Summer's house at night.

“That's amazing.” I stare at the sketch. “It looks exactly like Summer's house. Exactly.”

“I hope so.” Connor laughs. “I was in the front yard when I drew it.”

“The stars look so real.”

He flips the page and I recognize the next drawing
immediately. It's the main office at Midcoast Academy. Again, at night.

“You even drew the porch swing. That really makes the building come to life. Do you always draw pictures at night?” I force my eyes away from the drawing so I can look at him. He's still looking at the sketch.

“Yep. The buildings and stuff are just background. The stars are what I really want to show. It's cool to be able to change the constellations around however I want. It's like being the controller of the universe.” He laughs. “Well, at least controller of my sketchpad.”

He turns the page again. There's another sketch of a house at night, but this one I don't recognize.

“This is the house I lived in till my parents died,” he says quietly.

“Oh wow.” I stare at the sketch. “Did you draw that from memory?”

“No, my uncle had a picture of it.”

“It's really amazing,” I say. “It looks so much like a photo.”

“I look at this sketch every night before I go to sleep, hoping I'll remember something about living there.”

“Do you?” My eyes focus on Connor's face, but he's focused on the sketch.

“No,” he says. “No matter how hard I try.”

“It's a really nice house,” I say.

“Yeah.” Connor laughs, but it's not a funny kind of laugh. “I just wish I remembered living there.”

I look down at the drawing and nod.

“Don't you wish you could remember more?” Connor looks at me. I look down at the table.

“I guess,” I say, my brain searching for ways to politely change the subject without seeming too insensitive. I really don't want to give fake answers to his questions.

“You don't like to talk about it much, huh?” Connor leans back in his chair, and I squirm in mine.

“I guess not,” I say. “I don't want to think too much about bad stuff that happened in the past. Especially when so much good stuff is happening now.”

Connor breaks out into a huge smile. “You're right. Sometimes I know I think too much about them—about the past.”

“You should totally think about them,” I say. “You should always remember them and what they meant to you. But you have to live your life, too, you know?”

“Yeah, thanks. It's really nice to get advice from someone who understands.”

And there's that old familiar yank on my stomach. The yank that tells me what a bad person I am, lying to Connor, to Summer, to Summer's incredibly nice family. Suddenly I feel sick because what I'm doing is so awful.

“Hey, you wanna take the kayak out?” Connor pushes his chair back and stands up.

“I—uhhh—are we allowed?” I stammer.

“Yeah, as long as we wear life jackets. Let me go grab a couple and let Eric know what we're doing.”

“Okay.” I stand up and walk over to the dock. I've never been in a kayak before, and I wonder if I'll wind up falling out—right in front of Connor. My cheeks burn just thinking about how completely lame that would be.

Connor jogs toward me with two life jackets in his hands and Topaz barking behind him.

“You have to stay, Topaz. We'll be back soon.” He gives the dog a pat on the head and flips one of the kayaks over. I breathe a little easier when I see it's a two-person boat. At least I won't have to pilot my own. Pilot? I wonder if that's even the right word to use for a boat driver.

Connor drags the kayak until it's next to the dock. We put on our life jackets, and he holds the back of the boat. “Climb in.”

I start to put my right foot in, when Connor laughs. “You've never been in a kayak?”

I nod, mortified that it's so obvious.

“You should get down low. You don't want to get in while standing. It's a little tippy.”

Tippy. Great.

I do as he says and practically crawl into the boat. Once
I'm finally in, he hands me a paddle. Then he effortlessly slides himself down onto his seat, behind mine, and pushes us off the dock.

“Whoa!” I yell, as we glide through the water. The boat is rocking back and forth like a baby's cradle.

“See? Tippy,” Connor says.

I make a sound that's half whimper, half screech.

“Need a lesson?” Connor asks.

“Is it that bad?”

“Only because you're holding the paddle, but you aren't exactly paddling.”

I am so very grateful that he's behind me and can't see that my face is redder than it's ever been in my whole entire life.

“Here,” he says. “Let me show you.”

I turn around and watch as he paddles, left then right. “Looks easy enough.”

“It is easy. Give it a try.”

I gently dip my paddle in the water, copying his movements.

“You got it!” He laughs. “Don't they have boats in California?”

I don't tell him about the boats that I go on. I figure mentioning the two-hundred-foot yachts and million-dollar cruisers might raise a few unwanted questions. “Kayaking is new to me.”

We paddle out to the middle of the bay until the only sound I can hear is our paddles hitting the water. Otherwise, it's totally silent.