“I’m Italian,” I said. Fatima, it turns out that your pen pal is ITALIAN and GERMAN-JEWISH, which is almost as good as being INDONESIAN-MUSLIM.
I googled “Mariano Donatello” the next morning, and there weren’t many hits, except a few things in Italy, so I added, “Miami,” which is where my mom is from. And I still didn’t get anything. And I googled “Mariano Donatello, obituary” and still nothing. An “obituary” is like a “book report on a dead person.”
Mr. Allison said it wasn’t that weird. Mr. Allison said, considering the year Mariano Donatello died (I was born in 2003, so he must have died in 2003 or 2002), he might not have had that much time to establish an “online presence.” An “online presence” is “all the true things and all the lies about a person on the Internet.” My “online presence” is very pathetic. If you google my name “RUBY YOUNG” and “ALLISON SPRINGS,” the main thing you will find is a “fake” Instagram account called “RUBY YOUNG IS A LOOZER SPAZZ,” which someone made when I was in sixth grade and which my mom can’t get anyone at Instagram to take down.
The next day, Mr. Allison sent me a link to a genealogy website, and he said I should try using this website if I wanted to build a “family tree.” To start researching, you had to give the website $49.95 in the form of a credit card payment, and this is where the Very Bad Thing comes in. I went downstairs to ask my mom if I could use the business American Express card, even though this wasn’t really business, and she said, “Yes,” and waved at me. She was on the phone and I could tell she hadn’t really heard me. I guess I didn’t want her to hear me because I think she would have most likely said, “No.”
But I DID use the credit card anyway!
It’s going to sound ridiculous, but I was so anxious, I ended up throwing up. I said to myself, “Ruby, don’t be a spazz.” That’s what the kids at school call me, though you probably already figured that out. “Ruby the Loozer Spazz” or “Ruby the Spazz” or sometimes just “Spazz.” “Spazz” means “I have a lot of fears and I freak out sometimes.” It is NOT a compliment.
I mean, I’ll pay her back. I HAVE money.
I am a very honest person. I try never to lie, and I hate the thought of lying to my mom.
By the way, there wasn’t even any information about Mariano Donatello on the genealogy website.
Your Pen Pal,
Ruby the Liar
To: “Fatima” [email protected]
From: “Ruby”
[email protected]
Date: October 15
Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Your American Pen Pal, Friends Around the World Pen Pal Program Dear Fatima,
I’m sorry it has been so long since I’ve written. I have disappointing news. I think my mom won’t be able to do the Skype. I’m really sorry . . .
:(
:(
:(
Thank you again for the advice. I created a PayPal account like you said and I transferred the $49.95 to my mom from my bank account. I explained what happened and she said it wasn’t a big deal, but I shouldn’t make a habit of using the credit card for “extracurricular” purposes. I think she misused the word “extracurricular,” but I understood what she meant. “Extracurricular” means “outside of school, like sports, newspaper, bullying, and French club.”
I think my mom was less mad than she might have been because I told her the afternoon before the debate. She was busy getting ready, even though everyone in town already knows what she looks like. When she is an event planner, she always wears black sleeveless dresses. But when you are a politician, you have to wear colors. So my mom had to buy some new clothes, and she had to have her hair trimmed.
The debate was at Allison Springs City Hall, which is only a couple of blocks from my mom’s work. Usually, we would walk, but Mrs. Morgan thought we should arrive in her Town Car. It was very silly, because it took twice as long for us to ride in the car as it would have taken us to walk.
The city hall smells like the library, but less moldy. It smells like old things and paper and the radiator and wax, but I kind of like those scents.
Mrs. Morgan went backstage with my mom, and I chose a seat in the audience. No one was there yet, so I decided to sit in the second row. I did not want to sit in the first row because I did not want to distract Mom. While I waited, I read my book for language arts. The book is about a girl whose dad is a lawyer, who is defending an African American person who is falsely accused of a crime. Mr. Dower said it was his favorite book, but I was not enjoying it very much. The girl in the book was very na?ve about the way the world worked and she was kind of obsessed with her father. Maybe I didn’t like the book because I couldn’t “relate” to it. For instance, if I ever wrote a book about my childhood, I would not have much to say about Mariano Donatello. I was still thinking about that when someone called my name. It was Franny West, Wes West’s wife.
“How are you, Ruby?” she said. “I like your new glasses.”
“They’re about six months old,” I said.
“I guess I haven’t seen you in ages,” she said.
I liked Franny a lot, but I wasn’t sure if I should talk to her, considering that her husband was “the competition.”
“What’s wrong?” she said.
“Nothing,” I said.
She sat down next to me. I must have stiffened because she said, “Don’t worry. I’ll move before the debate starts.”
“How have you been?” she said. “How is school?”
“I have a pen pal,” I said.
“I love pen pals,” she said. “Where is your pen pal from?”
We talked about You for a while. Only good things, so don’t worry.
People were starting to come into the hall. I was hoping Franny would move, but she didn’t. I said, “How are you, Franny?”
She said. “Oh, the election is very exciting! I’ve been running around all of the time.”
“Me, too!” I said.
She said, “I miss your mother. I miss having her to talk to. I know we weren’t really friends . . . Tell her I miss her, would you?”
“Yes,” I said.
“The truth is, Ruby, I’ve been having a kind of hard year,” she said. She looked around to see if anyone was paying attention to us. “I was pregnant,” she said, “but now I’m not.” Franny’s eyes began to tear, and she looked like a glum goldfish.
I did not know what to say. My mom says when you do not know what to say, you can either say “I don’t know what to say” or you can say “I’m sorry” or you can say nothing and offer a “comforting gesture.” I put my hand on her hand.
“Thank you for not saying ‘It wasn’t meant to be’ or ‘You can always try again,’ ” Franny said.
“I wouldn’t say those things,” I said.
“I wasn’t even sure if I wanted a child, so why am I so sad?” Franny said.
“I don’t know,” I said. But then I did know. “Because the things we don’t have are sadder than the things we have. Because the things we don’t have exist in our imaginations, where they are perfect.” I knew this because it was how I felt about Mariano Donatello.
“Yes,” she said, “I think that’s it, Ruby. You’re very wise.”
“Thank you,” I said.