"So I got you a dog, Ruby," said my mother, stating the obvious. "Like your therapist said you should have."
"Mom!" I'm not ashamed that I go to a shrink, but it's still not a factoid you want broadcast to hot college boys who are helping you cook. I mean, Gideon is so well-adjusted that the idea of mental illness must completely repel him.
"I knew Juana had a Great Dane," Mom explained. "So I went and got him for you."
"I wasn't serious!" I cried. "You weren't?"
"No! It was a joke."
"Tell me that's not true."
"Therapists don't tell you what dog breed to get. Why would you think I was serious?"
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"I don't know," said my mother. "Maybe because that's what you told me when we were having a serious conversation about your therapy?"
Gideon grabbed his jacket. "I should be getting home," he said. "It's late. Sorry about your doughnuts, Ruby."
"Oh, that's okay!" I said, as brightly as I could, while my face flushed with shame. Not only did he know I went to a shrink, now he also knew that I lied to my parents and fought with them.
So much for any attraction he might have felt. "Why don't you take a few home for your family?" I said, to cover my embarrassment. "I don't have enough to bring in for the bake sale recruiting, anyhow."
"Okay," he said. "They'll love 'em." As I wrapped four doughnuts for him, Gideon held out his hand to my dad. "Thanks for having me over, Mr. Oliver."
My dad shook enthusiastically. "Call me Kevin."
"And Mrs. Oliver, nice to meet you."
"I don't know what you were thinking, Ruby," my mother snapped at me, ignoring Gideon completely. I handed him the doughnuts. He gave me a quick wave and walked out the door.
My mom and I had a full-on argument over the mess in the house, my lie about the dog, her behavior toward Gideon, my lack of gratitude for Polka-dot and who knows what else. I cleaned the kitchen, wrapped the last two doughnuts in foil for my dad and Hutch to eat the next afternoon and spent the night sleeping on the couch so that Polka-dot-whose enormous people-food meal had seriously disagreed with him--could be
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taken out for walks every hour when he whimpered at the door.
***
I didn't bring my stupid treasure map to Doctor Z; I pretended I needed more time. We spent most of our Tuesday session talking about Polka-dot and how my parents had been transferring all their obsessive worry about me onto him: Polka-dot wasn't getting walked enough. Or he was walking too much and didn't he look like he might be limping? Or he was lonely at night and should sleep with them; no, he needed privacy at night and was content on the living room couch.
He shouldn't be allowed on the couch.
No, he was one of the family now, of course he could get on the couch! Endless discussion.
"It sounds like they love him," said Doctor Z.
I thought about it. "Yeah, they do," I said. "They've fallen in love with him, even though they didn't want him at first."
"Why did they get him if they didn't want him?" she asked. I hadn't told her about my lie. "They got him for me," I told her. Doctor Z crossed her legs. "That's a big present."
"I guess."
"Getting you a Great Dane when they didn't want one themselves."
My mom had been so pissy with me about Polka-dot-saying stuff like "You asked for him, you walk him"-that I hadn't had a minute to think about it that way.
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She had gotten me a big present. One she didn't want around. As a surprise.
Because she thought it would help my mental health. Because she loved me.
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13.
I Am Wearing the Wrong Bra
Roo,
Here, in late payment for services rendered, four apricot Fruit Roll-Ups.
Also, in compensation for unforeseen hardships associated with the job of bodyguard, one candy ring in a flavor that appears to be blue raspberry, though I am not certain. In any case, it is blue. And I am blue.
Roo, I don't know what I did, exactly, because I am a fool, because I am not good with girls, because sometimes I'm all wrong when I'm around you.
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You know that, right? Yes.
Everything has been all wrong between us since the bodyguard thing. I confess I don't know exactly what I did, but I did something wrong. And for the something, I am sorry. Noel
--found in my mail cubby Wednesday morning, written on yellow legal paper and folded in quarters, taped onto a brown paper bag containing four apricot Fruit Roll-Ups and a blue candy ring.
noel and I hadn't spoken more than we had to since the argument about Crystal Mountain. We had done our labs in Chem tersely and without amusement. I didn't sit by him in Art History. I was mad about Ariel, and Nora, and about Noel not understanding why I might be mad, and I felt spazzed out in general around him, so I just acted as cold and silent as I could. That way, at least, I wouldn't end up saying anything more I'd regret.
But I got his note Wednesday morning and I couldn't stay mad. There's something about seeing a guy's feelings written down, something about him taking that risk and committing his heart to paper, that means so much more than anything he could just say.
I read the note over several times and tasted the candy ring.
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It was gross, actually, but no one had ever given me a ring of any kind before.
And here was one from Noel.
An apology ring. A sweet ring. A blue ring.
I tried it on and would have worn it for the rest of the day, but I knew I'd have to explain to Nora where it came from, so instead of wearing it, I wrote Noel back on a blue Post-it and stuck it in his mail cubby.
Sometimes, actually, you are very good with girls.
-R
I wasn't going to feel guilty about writing back, I told myself. It was the only polite thing to do. I couldn't go saying nothing when Noel had given me candy and Fruit Roll-Ups, could I?
And anyway, what I wrote was short. It wasn't like we were having some epic correspondence Nora didn't know about.
Yeah, my note was a little flirty. But Meghan flirted with everyone all the time, and it didn't mean anything. It was simply an expression of her personality. Flirting is a normal part of human interaction. Just because I flirted with Finn when we got him to join Baby CHuBS didn't mean I liked him back. It was only a way to pass the time. And just because Jackson had been sitting at our bake sale table making witty remarks-that didn't mean anything either.
So there. It was fine to write Noel back. I was going
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to Chemistry and I was normal. It was nice to be friends.
When I walked into class, Noel's grin was so wide and open I knew he'd read what I wrote. Everything was easy between us again.
That day's experiment was a ginger ale volcano. We were supposed to put on these beige plastic smocks, which were exceptionally unflattering, and Fleischman gave each pair of lab partners a screw-top bottle of ginger ale, Altoids and small pieces of paper.
"My vanity is challenged," I said to Noel. "I hate it when we have to wear smocks."
"I have no vanity," he said, "but I'm sweating in this thing."
"That's it," I said. "We're not wearing them." I shrugged mine off, took Noel's from him and hung them back up.
"People!" called Fleischman. "I'm not going to make it mandatory, but I think you want to wear your smocks."
"Captain of the Beaker," said Noel. "Prepare the experiment."
"Smockless," I said, "I will do your bidding."
I rolled a stack of Altoids into a small tube of paper, quickly opened the pop and dumped the mints into the ginger ale.
Boom! The ginger ale exploded out the top of the bottle and sprayed all over the room. Ours was first. Boom! Boom! Boom! The others followed. Fleischman was ecstatic. Everyone was laughing and
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wiping their faces, and some boys were trying to drink the pop as it foamed out the top of their bottles.