Ruby Reinvented (2 page)

I nod. “Yes, tell them I'm sick. Because I am, Ellie. I am feeling sick.”

Ellie leaves my room and I'm alone. I start pacing. There's no way I could face Sophie or Damon again. If they feel that way about me, probably everyone else does too. Everyone at school follows Sophie and Damon like sheep dressed in designer clothing. I'll say one thing, Sophie
should
be an actress. She could have won an Oscar for her performance
as the Best Friend this last year. She totally had me fooled.

I hate her. And I hate this school. I wince when I think about going back to private tutoring. No way I can do that again. I just want to be a normal girl with normal friends. But there's nothing normal about my life.

There's only one solution. I have to switch schools.

Yes, that's it! I'll go someplace where nobody knows who my parents are. But how? My parents will have to come to school at some point, and then everyone will know that I'm the daughter of supermodel-turned–TV star Celestine Cruz and Los Angeles Dodgers star pitcher Zack Miller, who
People
magazine recently dubbed the Sexiest Man Alive. Gag.

Maybe if I could just get out of Hollywood. People here are star crazy, always trying to meet someone who could help their career. It won't be like that everywhere. I bet the farther I can get from Hollywood the better. I pull my iPad out of the desk drawer and search for a map of the United States. I find the point in the country that's the farthest away from Hollywood.

Maine.

I google boarding schools in Maine. There are only a few, and most of those are high schools. I have to find one that has a middle school, too.

Bingo.

Midcoast Academy. Grades six through twelve.

It's perfect. And it's 3,174 miles away.

Now I just have to convince my parents to let me live across the country for the next six years. Without them. Without Ellie. Without anyone we've ever met before, in a place we've never even been before, to a school I found on the Internet.

I sit on my bed and groan.

I'm not sure how long I'm there for, but it's dark outside by the time Ellie comes back in.

“Okay, Bea, they are all gone.”

“Good.”

“Sophie said to tell you she hopes you feel better.”

“Right,” I half say, half snort.

“Come on.” She pats my knee. “It's time for the FaceTime.”

“It's eight o'clock already?” I ask.

“Yes, so let's get the FaceTime set up, eh? We do not want to be late for your parents.”

I click on the FaceTime icon. A few seconds later two boxes appear on my screen. Mom's face is in one box; Dad's face is in the other.

“Hi, baby,” Mom says, beaming. She's still in full makeup, and her black curly hair is all sparkly. The
America's Next Cover Model
stylists like to put glitter in it before taping.

“Hi, Mom. Find the next top supermodel yet?”

“Oh, who knows. These auditions are grueling. And wow, is it cold up here in Wisconsin.”

“Hey, you beautiful women. Don't leave me high and dry. Get it? High and dry? Because I'm in the desert?”

“Ha-ha, Dad.” Dad has the worst jokes, but I smile anyway. “How's spring training going?”

“Hot! I'm ready to come home to easy breezy California. I can't wait until I can snuggle with my girls.”

“Three more days,” Mom says. She takes off her chandelier-size earrings. “You know we're always together on your birthday, Bea.”

“Speaking of birthdays, how was your party today?” Dad asks.

“Oh, it was good.” I just can't bear to tell them the truth right now. They'd be so upset for me, and I know how tired Mom is after a shoot. Dad looks exhausted from practicing all day.

“So, have you thought about what you want for your birthday?” Mom asks.

“Yeah, I think I have.”

“Are you going to tell us?” Dad laughs after a long pause.

“Can I tell you when you get here?”

“But then we won't have it ready on time,” Mom says.

“It's not that kind of present,” I say.

“I'm intrigued.” Dad smiles that famous smile of his, the one that makes the edges of his bright blue eyes all crinkly.
Sometimes I think he's more well-known for his smile than he is for his fastball. His nickname isn't the Pretty Pitcher for nothing.

“I'll tell you all about it when you get home,” I say. “Only three more days.”

And that's when I'll spring it on them. I'll tell them about Sophie and the party and Midcoast Academy. There's no way they'll be able to turn me down. It's the only birthday gift I'm going to ask for. They'll have to give it to me.

They'll have to.

 3 

I
TALK ELLIE into letting me stay home on Monday. She makes me go to school on Tuesday, but I figure I can fake it for one day.

My “friends” decorated my locker for my actual birthday, and when I get to school, they're all cheering and clapping. Sophie's leading the pack, of course.

“Happy birthday, bestie!” Sophie squeals, and gives me an air-kiss and a hug.

“Hey, Ruby.” Damon puts his arm around my shoulder. I can't believe I actually liked him. Now instead of getting butterflies in my stomach when I look at him, I feel like I'm going to throw up. And not in the good way. “Happy birthday. I'm glad you're feeling better.”

“Thanks.” I channel my Mom and flash my best Celestine
Cruz smile. Maybe I did inherit the performing gene, because nobody can tell I'm faking. I'm not sure I can keep this up all day, though. By second period I'm exhausted. My head hurts, my cheeks hurt, and I'd really like to punch Sophie in the nose. I don't know how my parents do this for a living. Smile through the pain. That's what Mom says when she has to do a fashion show with a headache, or if she and her director argue just before a taping. I'm smiling so much today that I think my face might stick like this forever.

By lunch I'm totally fried.

“Hey, bestie.” Sophie elbows me gently in the side. For a second I consider elbowing her back . . . only much harder. “You okay? You're so quiet today.”

“Just tired I guess.”

“Awwwww.” She puts her arms around my shoulders and squeezes. I try not to flinch. Then she babbles on about how great my hair looks today (I didn't even brush it) and how we should totally go get matching mani/pedis over the weekend.

I somehow make it through the next few periods with my fake smile and my fake friends. When the bell finally rings for dismissal, I jump up, grab my stuff out of my locker, and head to the parking lot. Like a lot of kids, I take a car home.

“Hello, birthday girl!” Curtis is standing next to the limo. It's such a relief to see him, black suit pressed neatly as
always, chauffeur's hat placed squarely on his head, and a huge smile as he opens the door for me. “How was your day?”

“It was okay.” I climb into the backseat.

“Just okay? Anything special happen on your birthday?”

“My friends,” I begin, barely choking the word out, “decorated my locker.”

“Nice!” Curtis smiles at me in the rearview mirror.

“Do you know if Mom and Dad are home yet?”

“They might be,” Curtis said. “Jimmy was scheduled to pick them up at two.”

My parents have a lot of people who work for them. Curtis and Jimmy are the drivers. Curtis usually takes me to and from school, unless he's on vacation, and then Jimmy takes me. They're both really nice, but I like Curtis a tiny bit better. He seems to know when I don't feel like chatting, so he'll just keep quiet. Like now.

We pull up to our gated street and drive up the long, circular driveway. Jimmy's car is already there, so I practically leap out of Curtis's car before it even stops. Ellie must have heard us pull up, because she's already at the front door.

“Are they home?” I ask it so loudly that my voice echoes off the paving bricks.

Before Ellie can answer, Mom and Dad appear in the doorway.

“There's my baby!” Mom yells, and pulls me into her arms.

“Mom!” I squeeze her as tight as I can. She smells like vanilla and lavender, and her cashmere cardigan feels warm against my face. It's not a sweater I recognize. She's got it paired with black leggings and thigh-high boots. It's a good look, but then of course a supermodel
would
look like she stepped out of a fashion magazine. I just wish her clothing choices would be more . . . her.

Mom lets go, and Dad moves in for a bear hug. “Happy birthday, Bea.”

“Thanks, Daddy.” He's wearing his favorite brown leather jacket, which crinkles softly when I hug him.

“So,” Mom says, her brown eyes shining. “I thought we could go to Sarriette's for dinner tonight.

“Sarriette's?” My stomach rumbles just thinking about it. Their ravioli is to die for. “You want to go out?”

“Well, it is your birthday.” Mom brushes my hair behind my ear.

“Yeah, but you know what happens when we go out.”

“I had my publicist call Sarriette's and ask them to give us a private room and let us in the back door. Nobody will even know we're there.”

I bite my lower lip. Even when we try to sneak into places, someone somehow always finds out. Either some tourist with a cell phone snaps a picture, or the paparazzi jump out of the bushes. Mom and Dad are used to the attention, but they hate when photographers get in my face. I
have to admit—I hate it too. But thinking of Sarriette's ravioli trumps thinking of the annoying paparazzi, so I smile.

I put on a silver dress with sparkly spaghetti straps that I made myself. It took me two months, but I think it's my best one yet. Just deciding where to place the rhinestones took weeks. I wanted to make sure they were sparkly enough to be noticed, but not so sparkly that they took away from the shine of the fabric.

I dig through my closet and find a pair of silver ballet flats that match the dress perfectly. I leave my hair long and loose, and when I glance in the mirror to put on some lip gloss, I think that maybe I'm starting to look a little like Mom. We have the same black curly hair and olive skin, but my blue eyes and dimples come straight from Dad. I sigh. Who am I kidding? Sophie was right. Somehow these features look amazing on my parents, but when combined on my face, they just look weird.

There's a knock on my bedroom door. I open it to find Dad standing there, dressed in blue jeans, a white shirt, and a black tie.

“Your chariot awaits, Bea.” He bends his elbow, and I slip my arm in his. We prance down the stairs and out to the waiting car, my dress following me like a cloud of silver. Jimmy is there, waiting for us to climb in.

“Where's your mother?” Dad asks me.

I shrug. “You know she takes forever to get ready.”

“I'm coming, I'm coming,” Mom calls from the front porch. Her heels are at least three inches tall, but she effortlessly glides down the porch stairs toward the waiting car. I look down at my ballet-slippered feet and decide that no matter how hard I try, I'll never be as glamorous or beautiful as her. Never.

Mom slides in next to me, and Jimmy closes the door behind her. He then makes his way to the driver's seat, and we roll down the driveway toward Sarriette's.

Nobody says anything about my dress. As usual. I shake off the slight sadness I feel. I'm sure if my parents weren't so busy, they'd notice my designs.

“Isn't this so nice?” Mom squeezes my arm with one hand and uses the other to look at her makeup in a compact mirror. “All of us together?”

I smile. We haven't been together in weeks. It's been like this since I was little, so I hardly remember any other way. Ellie takes care of me most of the time, and I FaceTime with my parents every night. I never realize just how much I miss them until they come back.

We pull into a dark parking lot, and the car stops at what I assume is the back door of Sarriette's. Jimmy gets out first, and Mom, Dad, and I stay in the car. He knocks on the door, and a guy in a suit steps outside and talks with him. He nods, and Jimmy comes back to the car to open the door for us.