Lock and Key(34)
Author: Sarah Dessen

“It’s so nice to meet you!” Denise said, breaking into a big smile. “I can see the family resemblance, I have to say!”

Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Excuse Denise,” she said to me. “She feels like she always has to say something, even when it’s completely inane.”

“How is that inane?” Denise asked.

“Because they don’t look a thing alike?” Charlotte replied.

Denise looked at me again. “Maybe not hair color,” she said. “Or complexion. But in the face, around the eyes . . . you can’t see that?”

“No,” Charlotte told her, taking another sip of her wine. After swallowing, she added, “No offense, of course.”

“None taken,” Cora said, steering them both out of the doorway and down the stairs. “Now go eat, you guys. Jamie bought enough barbecue to feed an army, and it’s getting cold.”

“You coming?” Charlotte asked her as Denise started down to the foyer, her ponytail bobbing with each step.

“In a minute.”

Cora and I both stood there, watching them as they made their way downstairs, already bickering about something else as they disappeared into the kitchen. “They were my suitemates in college,” she said to me. “The first week I thought they hated each other. Turned out it was the opposite. They’ve been best friends since they were five.”

“Really,” I said, peering down into the kitchen, where I could now see Charlotte and Denise working their way through the crowd, saying hello as they went.

“You know what they say. Opposites attract.”

I nodded, and for a moment we both just looked down at the party. I could see Jamie now, out in the backyard, standing by a stretch of darkness that I assumed was the pond.

“So,” Cora said suddenly, “how was the mall?”

“Good,” I said. Then, as it was clear she was waiting for more detail, I added, “I got some good stuff. And a job, actually.”

“A job?”

I nodded. “At this jewelry place.”

“Ruby, I don’t know.” She crossed her arms over her chest, leaning back against the rail behind her. “I think you should just be focusing on school for the time being.”

“It’s only fifteen hours a week, if that,” I told her. “And I’m used to working.”

“I’m sure you are,” she said. “But Perkins Day is more rigorous, academically, than you’re used to. I saw your transcripts. If you want to go to college, you really need to make your grades and your applications the number one priority.”

College? I thought. “I can do both,” I said.

“You don’t have to, though. That’s just the point.” She shook her head. “When I was in high school, I was working thirty-hour weeks—I had no choice. You do.”

“This isn’t thirty hours,” I said.

She narrowed her eyes at me, making it clear I just wasn’t getting what she was saying. “Ruby, we want to do this for you, okay? You don’t have to make things harder than they have to be just to prove a point.”

I opened my mouth, ready to tell her that I’d never asked her to worry about my future, or make it her problem. That I was practically eighteen, as well as being completely capable of making my own decisions about what I could and could not handle. And that being in my life for less than a week didn’t make her my mother or guardian, regardless of what it said on any piece of paper.

But just as I drew in a breath to say all this, I looked again at her red eyes and stopped myself. It had been a long day for both of us, and going further into this would only make it longer.

“Fine,” I said. “We’ll talk about it. Later, though. All right? ”

Cora looked surprised. She clearly had not been expecting me to agree, even with provisions. “Fine,” she said. She swallowed, then glanced back down at the party. “So, there’s food downstairs, if you haven’t eaten. Sorry I didn’t mention the party before—everything’s been kind of crazy.”

“It’s okay,” I said.

She looked at me for another moment. “Right,” she said slowly, finally. “Well, I should get back downstairs. Just . . . come down whenever.”

I nodded, and then she stepped past me and started down the stairs. Halfway down, she looked back up at me, and I knew she was still wondering what exactly had precipitated this sudden acquiescence. I couldn’t tell her, of course, what I’d overheard. It wasn’t my business, then or now. But as I started to my room, I kept thinking about what Denise had said, and the resemblance she claimed to be able to see. Maybe my sister and I shared more than we thought. We were both waiting and wishing for something we couldn’t completely control: I wanted to be alone, and she the total opposite. It was weird, really, to have something so contrary in common. But at least it was something.

“. . . all I can say is, acupuncture works. What? No, it doesn’t hurt. At all.”

“. . . so that was it. I decided that night, no more blind dates. I don’t care if he is a doctor.”

“. . . only thirty thousand miles and the original warranty. I mean, it’s such a steal!”

I’d been walking through the party for a little more than twenty minutes, nodding at people who nodded at me and picking at my second plate of barbecue, coleslaw, and potato salad. Even though Jamie and Cora’s friends seemed nice enough, I was more than happy not to have to talk to anyone, until I heard one voice that cut through all the others.

“Roscoe!”

Jamie was standing at the back of the yard, past the far end of the pond, peering into the dark. As I walked over to him, I got my first up-close look at the pond, which I was surprised to see was already filled with water, a hose dangling in from one side. In the dark it seemed even bigger, and I couldn’t tell how deep it was: it looked like it went down forever.

“What’s going on?” I asked when I reached him.

“Roscoe’s vanished,” he said. “He tends to do this. He’s not fond of crowds. It’s not at the level of the smoke detector, but it’s still a problem.”

I looked into the dark, then slowly turned back to the pond. “He can swim, right?”

Jamie’s eyes widened. “Shit,” he said. “I didn’t even think about that.”

“I’m sure he’s not in there,” I told him, feeling bad for even suggesting it as he walked to the pond’s edge, peering down into it, a worried look on his face. “In fact—”