“Yeah, and then again in junior year.”
“That’s what I’m going to do. I hope I can get a National Merit scholarship like you.”
I nod as Ruby begins to outline her SAT strategy as well, and bite into my hot dog.
I have approximately twenty-four minutes left on my lunch break. Much to my relief, there’s no sign of Finn yet, the grill at the Float being helmed today by an extremely crabby old man who told Ruby she had to pay for my hot dog. When I offered to pay her back, she flapped her hand at me. “Fred’ll get over it. He’s all bark and no bite.”
It’s been almost a week since I started working at Carla’s, and this is the first day I’ve actually had time to eat a real lunch, instead of slapping together a peanut butter sandwich from Carla’s mini kitchen in the back room. Lucky for me, when I texted her, Ruby was able to meet last-minute for lunch.
The job has been surprisingly busy. Along with watching over Harriet, Miss Peggy, Lorna, and Alice every other day, I’ve also gotten to help out with a few mommy/kid painting parties, as well as a raucous group of middle-aged women who were fooling no one when they insisted their plastic bottles were filled with pink lemonade, not rosé.
So far, no one in my family seems to have caught on. But ever since my night on the deck with Charlie, I’ve been paying more attention to how we talk to one another: Charlie gives one-word answers about tutoring and support group while Mom watches him and chews on her nails until she catches herself. Meanwhile, Dad complains about work, unless he’s asking about my internship or drilling Charlie on what he’s thinking about baseball next year.
I’m not sure any of us are being our real selves right now.
But when I’m at Carla’s, I can breathe. It seems simple, but I like how it feels to help people. I love encouraging the Wild Meadows ladies to paint new things, to go outside of their comfort zones. I love watching how excited the little kids are when they come back to pick up their freshly glazed creations, how they hold their new pieces reverently.
The only not-great part of the new job has been the Casper brothers.
Each afternoon I leave Carla’s, I see Johnny leaning against a beat-up old blue Datsun at the edge of the lot, smoking a cigarette or furtively shaking hands with different people, clearly passing things back and forth. He’s taken to giving me a two-finger salute when he sees me, nodding his head and grinning.
Two days ago, though, I saw Finn standing across from him. Finn had his apron on, his hair knotted up, and I could see him pointing at Johnny, who was slouched back against the car. It didn’t seem like a friendly conversation.
But Finn doesn’t seem to be into those much at all. He’s been doing his best to avoid me, and when I do see him, he ignores me so hard, so fiercely, it’s obvious to everyone within a five-mile radius. Yesterday I overheard Carla, after witnessing one of our exchanges, say to Finn, “I thought you guys were friends?”
I left before I could hear the answer.
Ruby leans forward, interrupting my thoughts.
“So, how long have you wanted to be a doctor?” she asks.
“Since fourth grade,” I say, choosing not to explain that the revelation came about after wishing out loud that my sick brother would die. A trickle of sweat makes its way down my back, my legs sticky against the picnic table. “How about you?”
She sits up, her whole face getting smilier—a reality I didn’t think was possible. “So, last summer, my church group went down South to volunteer to help the communities hardest hit by the hurricane, and it was totally life-changing. The fact that I could actually help people? I knew then that I wanted to be a doctor more than anything else in the world. I mean, I always knew I was interested in being a doctor, but that solidified it. I never felt so sure about anything in my life.”
She’s so excited and so passionate, the sun so bright behind her, that it’s hard to look at her. I pick at a splinter on the table.
“And then I read this whole profile about the people who started Doctors Without Borders, and it just blew my mind,” Ruby continues. “That’s what I ultimately want to do. And I feel like if I can get into the best programs, I can make the most difference, you know?”
I give a halfhearted nod.
“Like, don’t you get excited thinking about it? How you can work with people and save their lives? It’s like being a real-life superhero, but you don’t need powers, and . . .”
As she continues to talk about all the amazing things we’ll get to do as doctors, for the first time since I wrote that e-mail to Dr. Gambier, I realize that even though I got out of the internship, there’s still Harvard, and after that, med school, and after that, the rest of my life.
This summer is only a reprieve.
“I was thinking about trying for a summer internship at one of the hospitals. Didn’t I hear you were doing something like that?” Ruby leans forward eagerly.
I look at her open smile and think about Em and how she was right; keeping this secret is lonely. I don’t want to lie to Ruby.
I shake my head. “I had one, but it didn’t work out. I’m working at a pottery studio instead. But that’s a secret.”
Ruby looks surprised, and I immediately wonder if I should have told her the truth, because the more people that know, the more chance there is of my secret being blown. But what do I think will happen at the end of the summer? Do I really think I can get away with this for the rest of my life?
“Is this part of . . . ?” She stops, then starts again. “Is that why things were hard at the beginning of the summer, when we met?”
I nod, picking more intently at the picnic table.
“Your parents don’t know?”
I shake my head.
“Are you going to tell them?” she asks. She sounds like Em, and I feel myself bristle at the reminder.
“I will. Soon.” My voice is sharp. It’s a lie, but it’s easier than the truth.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried,” she says, clearly embarrassed.
“No, it’s not you. I just . . . It’s really not a big deal, I promise.” I wave my hand, like I can brush the whole thing off.
But I can tell by her uneasy “Okay” that Ruby isn’t at all convinced.
“So, tell me more about what you want to focus on in med school,” I say, hoping to change the subject.
“Um, I was thinking of focusing on emergency medicine, but then I wonder if I might do more good in something more research based.”
She grows more confident when she talks about being a doctor, but as she continues, I feel that familiar hitch in my heart—a feeling I haven’t had in the days since I quit that internship, a feeling I was pretty sure I was done with.
This isn’t good.
In my head, I start singing a Taylor Swift song, hoping that will calm me down. My hands are hard at work at the splinter on the table as Ruby continues to muse over all the different types of medicine she likes.
“Oh crap, I’ve done it, haven’t I?”
I look up at Ruby, surprised. The expression on her face is stricken.
“Wha—”
She drops her head to her hands, digging her hands in her curls, and lets out a strangled moan. “This is exactly what my mom told me not to do.”
“Ruby—”
She lifts her glasses, rubs the bridge of her nose. “I just get so excited about all this stuff and then I talk too much, and I know it’s weird and I’m too intense, and my mom keeps reminding me that I need to listen, too.”
“No, it’s fine—”
“I’m just not good at talking to people sometimes? I totally think it’s because I’m the youngest in my class, and even though my parents thought it was fine, I feel like I missed out on something important, like there was some how-to-make-friends phase I skipped over.”
She frowns, shaking the ketchup bottle furiously on top of her fries again.