What else could I do at that moment but introduce them and try to act normal y? “I don’t think you two have met. Ruth Hal , this is Michael Chase.
Michael, this is Ruth.”
“Nice to meet you, Ruth,” Michael said.
Stil Ruth said nothing, just kept staring. You’d think she’d never seen a guy speak to her best friend before.
Since he was getting no response from Ruth, Michael turned back to me and continued where he left off. “Anyway, El ie, I know it’s early in the week, but I wanted to ask if you were free this Saturday night. Maybe we could go to the Odeon together?”
I shot a glance at Ruth, whose mouth had literal y dropped open. We had talked about going to see the new Odeon release ourselves, this upcoming Saturday night. “Actual y, Ruth and I had plans—”
With a start, Ruth came out of her spel . “El ie, I forgot to tel you that I have a family party to go to on Saturday night. So you’re free, you’re total y free.”
Family party? Ruth didn’t have any family besides her dad. That was one reason she’d gotten so close to me and my parents, and her dad had gotten so tight with my mom and dad. That, and the fact that her dad and my parents shared a near-obsession with the environment. Ruth was real y looking out for me, despite the shock at seeing me talk to Michael.
“Great,” Michael said with a smile at Ruth. He looked at me again. “Should we meet there at six thirty?”
I was a little surprised that he didn’t offer to pick me up, but then what did I know about going on a date? This would be my first. “Sure. I’l see you there.”
He laughed. “Okay, but it’s only Monday. I think I’l run into you before then.”
I blushed yet again. “Right, right.”
Just then the bel rang. We al said a hasty farewel , and went our separate ways to class.
Chapter Seven
I expected Ruth to be waiting for me at the end of the day. I knew I had some explaining to do. I’d never mentioned Michael to her before, and suddenly we were going on a date. It was kind of a big deal, and Ruth only knew about it because she walked up to me at the right moment. I wasn’t sure what her reaction to the news would be, but the fact that she’d sacrificed our plans so I could go out with Michael was a good sign. I hoped.
I saw her standing just inside the main doors, looking distracted, and tugging at some strands of her long, red hair—clearly lost in thought. Ruth was quiet as we walked out of the building toward the parking lot. We’d planned to go to the library to work on our first serious English project, and she was driving. My eco-friendly parents didn’t believe that we should own more than one car—the whole carbon footprint thing. They figured I could
—and should—walk anywhere I needed to go in Til inghast, even in the winter. It irked them that I circumvented their wishes by driving everywhere with Ruth.
I was quiet, too, waiting for her verdict.
“Why didn’t you tel me about Michael?” she final y said.
Stil unsure how to read her, I tread cautiously. “Tel you what?”
“About your relationship with him.”
“Relationship? We’ve only been in school for a little over a week, and Michael and I have talked a total of maybe five times. Today’s the first time that an actual date came up.”
“Don’t be literal with me, El ie. You’ve obviously been talking to him, and you haven’t mentioned him even once. And you had plenty of opportunities; we were together al Saturday night.”
I had my answer: Ruth was mad. As mad as the reserved Ruth got. I guessed that her anger wasn’t from jealousy of my marginal success with a guy, but because I hadn’t told her. I knew that the very thought of keeping secrets from each other was beyond her comprehension. In fact, to her, it was tantamount to betrayal. It offended her sense of loyalty.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think there was real y much to say.”
“I thought we told each other everything. Whether it seems inconsequential or not.”
“Ruth, no one knows better than you that I have absolutely no experience with guys. I didn’t know if he was just being friendly because we’d both been on that grueling summer program to Guatemala a few years ago. So I didn’t real y know what to tel you—”
“He was on one of your parents’ trips?” She paused to process that little nugget. “So that’s why he was staring at us on the first day of school. . . .”
Ruth saw Michael that day. I was shocked that she noticed him but never mentioned him and offended that she thought the only reason he’d stare at me was familiarity. But I was in the hot seat, not Ruth, so I said, “Yeah, our parents do similar kinds of work. He recognized me in the hal way, and it was so awkward because I didn’t remember him—”
Ruth’s anger couldn’t hold. She interrupted me. “I get it, El ie. Even though I’m stil a little mad that you kept it from me, I’m excited for you,” she said and sounded like she real y meant it. “So, what are you going to wear on Saturday?”
I was forgiven, and Ruth was off and running, mental y cul ing through my limited wardrobe. My parents were not big believers in amassing goods beyond the absolutely necessary. This dismayed Ruth, who was a secret student of fashion although you’d never know it from her bland school
“uniform” of jeans, T-shirts, and sweaters. After listening to Ruth debate the merits of jeans versus skirts, I ventured a question about Michael. One I’d wanted to ask al week, but I’d hesitated to bring up to the very protective Ruth. Until now.
“You don’t know anything about him, do you?” I asked, and there was that crimson flush on my cheeks again. “I mean, have you heard anything about Michael’s move here?”
“Wel , sure, let’s see.” I could practical y see Ruth ticking through her internal file folders on every person in the upper school—another one of her secret hobbies. She col ected gossip, but she didn’t spread it. At least, not to anyone other than me. She claimed that she cul ed this information out of necessity rather than true interest; she said that, as we learned in The Art of War, which we read for history last year, we needed to “know our enemies.” We’d had enough unpleasantness with the popular crowd and wannabes for her taste. Again, part of her protective personality—for herself and me.
“His family moved to Til inghast this summer. He plays footbal and is supposedly amazing. That is what the new footbal coach has been saying, anyway. Al the different groups of guys are friendly with him—the footbal players, the soccer guys, even the stoners—but he hasn’t latched on to one group. He seems to prefer his own company, by his choice, not anyone else’s. Oh, and he’s smart. Scary smart, I hear.”
Blush notwithstanding, I plunged back in with the question I real y wanted to ask. “Has he dated anyone?”
“No.” She laughed. “A couple of girls have crushes on him already, but I haven’t heard about him paying any particular attention to anyone.” She paused and smiled at me. “Until now.”
I smiled back. My private little connection with Michael had suddenly become real.
By the end of the week, I’d grown sick of talking about what I should wear on my date. Ruth had torn through my closet in frustration, judging my col ection of dark-colored jeans, cords, sweaters, T-shirts, and tops completely unsuitable. She then steered me through her own closet, with its rarely worn but definitely cooler mix of casual clothes. But none of them worked on my slimmer, tal er body. Desperate, Ruth final y dragged me to the mal —a place my parents frowned upon as a sad temple to materialism—looking for something “date-like,” whatever that meant.
There was only one good thing about Ruth’s mad quest for the perfect date outfit. Between that and my regular schoolwork, I was so distracted that I barely had any time to think about the purpose for al this madness. So by the time 6:30 on Saturday evening rol ed around, and my parents dropped me off in front of the Odeon with eyebrows arched at the fact that Michael didn’t pick me up, I wasn’t even that nervous.