Ruby Reinvented (23 page)

“Okay, if you're sure it's a good—”

“I'm going to find him now.”

“Want me to come with you?”

“No, thanks though. This is something I have to do on my own.”

 31 

I
FIND CONNOR on the basketball court. Luckily, he's alone. I don't think I could deal with Shane and Timmy right now. I stand there while he dribbles and shoots. He glances my way but doesn't say a word.

“Hey.” I stand on the edge of the court and kick a blob of dirt off of the asphalt.

Dribble, dribble, dribble. Shoot.

“Hey,” I say, a little bit louder this time.

He takes a shot and misses. After a very loud sigh, he picks the basketball up and holds it under his arm. “What do you want?”

I put my hands in the pocket of my hoodie. “I want to talk to you.”

“Why?”

“Because I—I think I can help.”

“What makes you think I need help?”

“Summer told me what happened.”

“Whatever,” Connor mumbles.

“I want to help.” I practically have to yell because he's standing about ten feet away from me.

“I don't want your help.” He starts dribbling again.

“But my parents can fund your project. I'm sure that they—”

“You think I'd take help from your
parents
?” He stops dribbling and throws the basketball down.

“Why not?” I say it so softly I'm not sure if he even hears me.

“You mean your
supposedly
dead parents? The parents you've been lying to me about since we met? Those parents?”

“I'm so sorry I lied to you. I really am. But I want to make it up to you.”

“You can't make it up to me. And for sure you can't make it up to me by having your
very alive
parents feel sorry for me.”

“It's not like that.” This time I look right at him.

“It doesn't matter. I don't want
their
help.” He speaks of my parents as if they're the greatest villains of all time.

“Why not? What's the difference where you get the money from, as long as you get it?”

He laughs, but it's not a ha-ha kind of laugh. “You totally
don't get it. But of course you don't. Your parents are alive!”

“Okay, so I don't get it.” Now I'm getting mad. “Why don't you explain it to me, then?”

“That's just it! I shouldn't have to explain anything to you. I never had to before when you
pretended
to understand what it's like to grow up without parents.”

“I know, I know. I made a huge mistake. I tried to explain to you why I did it—”

“If you really did understand, you'd know that if I took money from your parents, I'd constantly be reminded of the fact that my project was possible because of your parents, which would remind me of the fact that I'm all alone in the world. At least before, I thought I was alone with you—” He shakes his head and walks away before I can say anything else, and I'm left standing on the basketball court by myself.

I sit down on the blacktop and hug my knees to my chest. I can't blame him for not wanting to talk to me. And I definitely can't blame him for not wanting to take money from my parents. But he is acting so immature. Shouldn't he do everything he can to get that observation deck built? Doesn't he know he doesn't have to be in this alone, even if he thinks he does?

And then it hits me.

He doesn't have to be in this alone.

I leap up and run back toward the dorm. I know exactly
how to get that observation deck built—and how to win Connor back.

I will my legs to move faster.

When I finally reach the dorms, I swing the door to my room open and find Summer eating pancakes out of a plastic container.

“Did you find him?” she asks in between bites.

“Yes.” I crawl under my bed and pull out my box of fabric.

“And?”

“He won't even hear me out.” I carefully lift everything out of the box until I find what I'm looking for. “Aha!”

“What? What's aha? And why do you suddenly look so happy?” Summer walks toward me.

I hold up the unfinished dress, the dress that's going to solve all my problems. Then I pull out a crinkled, rolled up paper and flatten it on my desk.

Summer stares at it over my shoulder. “Holy wow.”

I turn around and see that her mouth is hanging open. I have to admit. It's the most amazing design I have.

“I designed this dress for my mom last Christmas. I rolled up the sketch and tied a big velvet ribbon around it.”

“She didn't like it?” Summer asks.

“She never opened it. She got a call from her agent on Christmas morning. Some work emergency. So she left. By the time she came back, she'd forgotten all about it. It
was still under the tree the next week when she left for the countrywide auditions for
America's Next Cover Model
, so I packed it up.”

“But you started making it?” Summer looks at the dress in my hand.

I shrug. “I thought maybe I could give it to her next Christmas.”

“It's incredible,” Summer says. “But how's it going to help Connor?”

“We're going to auction it off and use the money for the observation deck.”

“But it's for your mom.”

“She doesn't know that.” My voice shakes a little.

“You think we'll get enough for it? That observation deck's pretty expensive.” Summer cocks her head to one side.

“We will if supermodel and TV star Celestine Cruz models it.”

“You want your parents to come to the fashion show? To Midcoast?”

“No.” I shake my head. “I don't want them to. But they have to. It's the only way to save Connor's observation deck.”

“But you said he wouldn't take the money from your parents.” Summer raises an eyebrow.

“The money won't be coming from my parents. It will be coming from the people who buy the dress. He can't turn all of them down.”

Summer's eyes get wide. “That's brilliant!”

“I know, right?”

“A website! We'll need a website so people can bid for it online.”

“Can you make a website that fast?”

“Totally. You know I always get As in tech.”

I rummage through my desk and hand Summer the check that I got for winning the Spotlight Project. “Here.”

“What's this for?”

“The website. I can't ask you to do all this work for nothing.”

“Bea.” Summer raises one eyebrow. “That's what friends do.”

I'm still holding the check out to her, but she ignores it.

“But—” I start to protest.

“Put that money toward the observation deck, and let's get to work.” Summer opens her laptop and begins typing away. I'm suddenly grateful that Summer pays attention in tech class.

I pull out my sewing machine. I only have one chance to save Connor's observation deck. And maybe, if I'm really lucky, my friendship with him too.

 32 

I
CAN'T WAIT until eight o'clock. I text my parents and ask if they can talk sooner.

While I wait to hear from them, I pull the box of fabric out of my closet. I slice and sew and stitch as fast as my fingers will let me, following the specs on the design. I silently pray that my mother's measurements haven't changed much since Christmas.

While I'm busy bringing the sketch to life, Summer's working on the website so people can bid on the dress from their phones during the fashion show. She only stops to attend the Parents' Weekend dinner with her family. I don't know how long she's gone for, but she opens the door in a huff.

“Have you talked with them?” She hands me a doggie bag.

“No.” I look at the time. Ten after seven. I lay my head down on the desk, careful not to touch the dress. “I'm afraid it will be too late.”

“Nah.” Summer shakes her head. “The fashion show isn't till tomorrow afternoon. There's still time.”

I hold up the almost-finished dress. “What do you think?”

“Wow, Bea.” Summer walks over and gently touches the fabric. “It's the best one yet.”

“I think so too. It's simple and elegant, just like my mom.”

“She's going to love it.”

“I hope so. I just wonder if—”

Just then my phone rings. It's my parents on FaceTime.

When their faces appear on screen, they look panicked.

“What's the matter, baby? Are you okay?” Mom is in full makeup. She must be getting ready to do a taping.

“Sort of,” I say.

“What is it?” Dad looks tired. Or maybe that's his worried look.

I take a deep breath. “I need you to be here. Tomorrow.”

“Are you sick?” Mom asks.

“No.” I shake my head.

“Are you in trouble?” Mom's voice is higher than normal.

“Not exactly.”

“Bea, what on earth is going on?” Dad asks.

And then I start to cry.

“What is it, hon? Why are you so upset?” Mom moves her face closer to the camera.

I take a deep breath, and I tell them.

Everything. The words spew out of my mouth, like they've been waiting at a starting line behind my tongue for months, ready to sprint.

I tell them how I told everyone that my name was Bea and that my parents were dead. I tell them about Connor and Cassandra and the photographers at the Spring Fling. I tell them about the Spotlight Project and how I won. I tell them that I didn't want them to come to Parents' Weekend so that people would come to my fashion show for me—not to see them. And then I tell them that none of that matters now because Connor needs to have his observation deck funded. And I need their help.

I squeeze my eyes shut and wait for them to answer. It's quiet for so long that I worry that they hung up. I open one eye and peer at the screen. They haven't gone anywhere. It's way worse than that.

Mom is crying.

And I start to cry. Again.