Look Into My Eyes

  Ruby pulled on some black over-the-knee socks and a pair of Yellow Stripe sneakers. The dress still retained its thrift store odor, so Ruby sprayed herself with some expensive perfume. (Oriental Rose: she had a sizable collection of beautifully bottled fragrances which, when worn, mingled with the odor of the bubble gum she so often chewed, creating a unique Ruby Redfort fragrance.)

  Clancy had not yet reappeared, so Ruby carried the tray of snacks up the open-tread staircase that connected her room to the rooftop. She liked to sit up here on warm evenings looking at the stars, writing in her notebook, reading, and, more than occasionally, watching the portable TV. She settled down in the beanbag, in one hand a cookie and in the other a large green apple. She believed that the healthy attributes of the apple might counteract the bad effects of the cookie. (Ruby Redfort had a lot of theories like this one.)

  She looked up when Clancy popped his head through the trapdoor. Clancy was a shortish, scrawny-looking boy — not exactly your “yearbook kid” but certainly one of the most engaging characters you were likely to talk to, if of course you bothered to talk to him, which most people didn’t.

  “Oh, boy! I had to make a dash for the stairs or she would have had me peeling tomatoes for the rest of my life. I wouldn’t mind but tomatoes give me hives.”

  He slumped down next to Ruby, who was busy flipping through the channels. Ruby was a keen watcher of TV — she watched a lot. She loved sitcoms, dramas, news shows, quiz shows, documentaries, but it was the detective shows that were her TV passion, and Crazy Cops in particular. Crazy Cops was a police drama that Ruby and Clancy were practically addicted to; it was very informative while at the same time being extremely entertaining. They had both picked up their knowledge about police investigations and human behavior from watching Crazy Cops. “There’s a lot of truth in fiction,” was something Ruby was fond of reminding her parents whenever they complained about her “TV habit.” Sunday night, however, was toon night, and they were just into a fourth episode of Grime Girl of the Crime World, when Ruby heard her parents’ car pulling into the driveway.

  Clancy looked at his watch and groaned. “I guess I gotta go. My dad won’t exactly see the funny side if I’m late.”

  “That’s too bad, Clance. But hey, don’t forget to smile.”

  “Yeah, yeah, some friend you are. I’ll call you later.”

  He left by climbing from the roof onto a branch of the large tree handily positioned right next to the house — from there he could shinny his way down to the yard. Ruby usually descended more conventionally, by way of the stairs.

  Noticing that she had forgotten to tackle the large pile of shoes in the middle of the room, she fetched the beanbag and placed it on top. The room looked magazine-shoot tidy. She took one last look in the mirror, then adjusted the barrette securing her long dark hair in a firm side part, giving her a look of utter composure.

  Satisfied, Ruby sort of half walked, half hopped downstairs, followed silently by Bug.

  “HEY HONEY, HOW’S MY GIRL?” said her father, lifting Ruby up over his shoulder and mussing her hair. It was a “welcome home” ritual Brant Redfort had never grown out of.

  “Hey, Dad, do ya wanna cool it? You’re messing with my look!” said Ruby in a somewhat strangled voice.

  “Oh, Brant!” said Sabina Redfort, pretending to disapprove. “For an intelligent man you really can behave like a total nut.” No one but Sabina would ever describe Brant Redfort as intelligent. Ruby had been born to parents who would never be giving Einstein a run for his money.

  In many ways nature had been generous to Brant and Sabina. They had been given an easy charm and likeability, good looks, and generous personalities. But for all their fairy tale–like graces they had little going on upstairs in the smarts department. However, you would be hard-pressed to meet a more popular couple, and for this reason they headed up just about every committee or fundraising benefit in Twinford. They were what’s known as “socialites.”

  The Redfort family walked upstairs to the living room and settled down on one of the large white couches.

  “So how was Switzerland?” said Ruby.

  “Oh, it was wonderful, just wonderful. If we hadn’t had to get back for the museum launch we would have stayed longer,” said Sabina wistfully.

  “Oh, yeah? What museum launch is that?” said Ruby.

  “Ruby, surely you haven’t forgotten about the Jade Buddha of Khotan!” exclaimed her mother.

  “Sabina honey, she’s pulling your leg,” said Brant, raising his eyes heavenward. “You have been talking about nothing but the museum launch for the last two months.”

  “Oh, very cute!” laughed Sabina as she pinched Ruby on the cheek.

  Ruby’s parents were both wildly excited about the Jade Buddha coming to Twinford. Stolen from the ancient kingdom of Khotan during the eighth century and missing for more than a thousand years, the Buddha had recently been rediscovered encased in a block of ice somewhere north of Alaska. The archaeologist who dug the artifact out of the glacier was the senior curator of the Twinford City Museum, Dr. Enrico Gonzales. In recognition of this monumental and heroic discovery, the people of Khotan had agreed to have the Buddha displayed at the museum for a limited period before it made its long journey home. Brant and Sabina were, of course, on the museum party committee.

  “You guys sure do travel light,” said Ruby, looking around for their suitcases.

  “Oh, yes,” said her mother. “The airline managed to lose every piece of our luggage. Can you believe it!”

  “So I guess you lost all your vacation pictures too?” said Ruby, hopefully. Ruby had endured many tedious hours of her parents’ vacation snapshots and would go to any reasonable lengths to avoid the misery of a family slide show.

  “No,” said her father. “Luckily I kept all the film in my carry-on luggage. I can’t wait to get them developed. You’ll see I got some beautiful shots.” Ruby considered this unlikely; Brant was a horrible photographer.

  After an effusive welcome from a very excited Mrs. Digby —“Good to have you back at last, you’ve been away too long!”— and a good deal more fussing —“You’ve lost weight, Mrs. R., you need feeding up”— supper was ready and the family sat down to eat. Mrs. Digby had gone to a lot of trouble with the table, and there was a huge floral display that was very difficult to see over or, indeed, around.

  During dinner, Ruby’s parents burbled on about the wonderful hotel and the delicious schnitzel and the beautiful Alps. And the conversation went something like this:

  SABINA: Quite the tastiest schnitzel I have ever tasted.

  BRANT: And what about those Alps! Talk about high.

  Until Ruby wished they would start talking about the Jade Buddha again. But then, of course, they did.

  SABINA: Speaking of Switzerland, Marjorie mentioned that the Buddha’s glass display case has been expertly designed by a Swiss expert. No one’s met him, no one. He’s a complete recluse.

  BRANT: Oh, yes, that’s right. A fellow named . . . what’s his name, honey?

  RUBY: Klaus Gustav.

  Ruby hadn’t exactly been listening, but she had been party to so many of these discussions that her brain had absorbed all the interesting and less-than-interesting details.

  SABINA: That’s right, Ruby! Well, according to Marjorie, the glass display case will be the shape of a cylinder and is going to rise up through the museum floor at the stroke of midnight!

  BRANT: How does he do it, do you think?

  SABINA: Beats me! Must be some kind of magician. No one even knows how you get that glass cylinder open — it’s top secret.

  BRANT: Well, if their glass is as excellent as their schnitzel we are going to be in for a treat!

  . . . and they were back to talking about schnitzel again.

  Ruby wished hard for some kind of distraction before her brain froze over. And her wish was granted by a loud thud and a high-pitched shriek.

  “Whatever in the world was that?”
exclaimed Mrs. Redfort.

  “Sounded like dessert,” said Ruby.

  “What?” said her mother.

  “I must say having Consuela around is great if you are looking to lose weight, but I am afraid our friend Bug has been pounding it on.”

  “Bug’s been putting on weight? What do you mean? Why would Bug put on weight?” asked Mrs. Redfort.

  “On account of all the low-flying food in there,” replied Ruby. “Mrs. Digby and Consuela throw ingredients at each other nearly every night. Most of it ends up on the floor and Bug is only too happy to clean up, if you know what I mean.”

  “What!” said Brant, who was very much against pets eating their owners’ food.

  There was a crashing sound followed by a yelp.

  “Yeah, I’ve pretty much gotten used to it but you may get complaints from the neighbors any day soon.”

  “Oh, we don’t want that,” said Brant, looking over toward where Mr. Parker lived. Mr. Parker was a very difficult man.

  “Get used to what?” said Sabina.

  “Kitchen friction.” replied Ruby. “Mrs. Digby can’t stand Consuela, and Consuela can’t stand Mrs. Digby. It’s been like this ever since you guys went away.”

  “Really?” said Sabina.

  “Oh, yeah,” said Ruby, raising her voice a little to make herself heard over what sounded like the smashing of a cut-glass tulip vase. “It’s been terrible. I must say this fish is very good though.”

  Sabina slammed down her napkin, stood up, and strode over to the kitchen door.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Mom,” warned Ruby through a mouthful of mackerel. But Sabina was not to be deterred. She opened the door just as Mrs. Digby took aim with a pitcher of tomato juice. Consuela ducked, and Sabina found herself covered in red gloop.

  “Mrs. Digby! What has gotten into you!”

  Mrs. Digby quickly reached for a dishcloth, put it down, and picked up a large towel.

  “That’s the second time today that someone has thrown a drink over my Oscar Birdet suit!” exclaimed Sabina.

  “Really? Who was the first?” inquired Ruby, who was by now standing in the doorway and chewing on a carrot.

  “Some frantic little man at the airport spills my martini all down my front, and now this! Boy, this tomato juice is never going to come out.”

  “Let me clean it up, Mrs. R.,” said Mrs. Digby, who was looking rather pale in the face.

  “I’ll thank you not to touch it, Mrs. Digby, it’s dry-clean only!” replied Sabina, these last words coming out rather more sharply and with more volume than she had intended.

  “Is never gonna be clean again, Mrs. Redfort. No way José,” said Consuela, giving Mrs. Digby a smug look. Sabina was about to try and calm things down when Mrs. Digby got in first.

  “Well, I can see whose side you are taking in all this, and me a person you’ve known your whole entire life. I see thirty-six years of service and loyalty count for very little around these parts. Maybe I’ll just go and pack the few sorry possessions I own and get out of here for good! No doubt Cousin Emily will take me in.”

  “Oh, Mrs. Digby! Please don’t . . .” pleaded Sabina, but it was no use. Mrs. Digby was already making her way downstairs to her housekeeper’s apartment. There would be no pancakes for breakfast, that was for sure.

  Ruby was relieved when the telephone rang.

  “Redfort high-drama society. You want drama, we got it.”

  She hoped it would be Clancy Crew. He would certainly lighten the atmosphere. But it was Marjorie Humbert.

  The following words were delivered by Ruby at super high speed to avoid conversation.

  “Hello Mrs. Humbert yes I’m weller than you could begin to imagine I would love to chat but I know my mother is on the edge of her seat at the prospect of talking to you — bye, bye, bye!”

  Ruby handed the phone to Sabina. “Gotta walk Bug,” she said, and whistled to the dog.

  Jeepers, could I use some air.

  Ruby and Bug left by the back door and made their way down Cedarwood Drive, turning right on Amster Street. Ruby decided to stop by the tree on Amster Green; a large oak in the middle of a triangle of grass. It stood there surrounded by blossoming trees; a wooden bench sat directly under it. The oak tree was old, with branches that twisted toward the ground and swept up again. It was perfect for climbing. Ruby and Clancy liked to sit in this tree and watch the people down below; when the tree was in leaf it provided perfect cover.

  Ruby jumped onto the bench, swung herself onto the lowest branch, and from there made her way quickly up to the highest climbable limb. Finding the hole in the bark, she felt around with her hand and pulled out a piece of elaborately folded paper: a perfectly formed origami turtle. Ruby and Clancy had gotten into the habit of leaving each other tree notes, written in code and usually folded in this complicated way as it meant they would be sure to know if someone had gotten there first; origami was impossible to re-fold without knowing how, and very few people knew how. Clancy had obviously written the note on his way back home because it said,

  Wvitp xrauuziv vuwp eofyboc

  efivrlw ay va mq vcwpw.*

  Ruby smiled, scribbled something on a bubble-gum wrapper,

  Nsyq ltszsjyk wvy ptrwayoe!

  pushed it into the hole in the tree, and climbed back down.

  When she got home, she found her parents were still discussing the tomato gloop incident. Her mother was saying, “I hate for Mrs. Digby to be unhappy but we can’t lose Consuela, she is a dietary genius.”

  “Why don’t I call that house-management agency?” said her father. “See if they can’t send someone to sort of keep control.”

  “I guess it’s worth a shot,” replied her mother.

  The telephone began to ring.

  “I’ll get it!” called Ruby. She was sure this time it would be Clancy complaining about all the smiling he had had to do at his dad’s dinner, but disappointingly there was no one on the end of the line.

  *THIS IS A VIGENERE CIPHER. IF YOU WANT TO CRACK IT YOU WILL NEED TO FIND THE KEY. CLUE 1: THE EYES HAVE IT.

  THE NEXT MORNING RUBY WAS JUST fixing her barrette the way she always fixed her barrette, when the phone in her bathroom rang.

  It will be Clancy, she thought. I’ll bet he’s calling to complain about his hives.

  She picked up the receiver.

  “Twinford sewage plant, how may we assist?”

  But there was no reply.

  “Weird,” muttered Ruby, replacing the handset.

  There was no sign of Mrs. Digby — no doubt she was still smarting about the tomato-juice incident. So Ruby swallowed a large glass of orange juice in a single gulp, grabbed her schoolbag with one hand and a chocolate peanut cookie with the other, and shouted good-bye to her parents, who didn’t hear because they were engaged in a fascinating discussion about which dry cleaner might best remove a tomato juice stain from a silk jacket.

  BRANT: Honey, take it to Quick Clean. Then you’ll have it back in no time.

  SABINA: Are you kidding, Brant? This is an Oscar Birdet jacket! Do you even know what that means? I’ll take it to Grosvenors.

  RUBY: Oh, brother.

  Ruby’s bike had a flat, so she was taking the school bus this morning.

  Twinford Junior High School was two buildings really. One old, grand and in some ways beautiful — a little run-down on the inside but somehow comfortable. The other starkly modern, stylish, and sterile. Ruby sauntered into class just before Mrs. Drisco, her homeroom teacher, called out her name. Mrs. Drisco made the same comment she always made when Ruby was late, and Ruby made the usual faces behind her back.

  The truth was, Mrs. Drisco found Ruby Redfort “Rather full of herself, utterly unmanageable, and impossible to teach.” Ruby Redfort found Mrs. Drisco “A royal pain in the derriere.”

  They were both right.

  When it came to teaching the smartest student in the history of Twinford Junior High, Mrs. Drisco was out of her
depth. On the other hand, it was a little pathetic for a grown-up teacher to be so snarky.

  Once this little pupil-teacher exchange was over, Ruby went and sat down next to Clancy.

  “So was last night fun?” whispered Ruby.

  “Well, that depends on what you call fun. My sister Nancy accidentally sat on the Spanish ambassador’s dessert,” replied Clancy.

  “Oh, well at least she got dessert — some of us weren’t so lucky,” said Ruby.

  “What?” said Clancy.

  “Never mind, I’ll tell you later,” whispered Ruby.

  It was the usual Twinford Junior High day, nothing in any way out of the ordinary. Ruby had the usual interaction with her archenemy, Vapona Begwell, which went something like this:

  VAPONA: Hey, Ruby, can you see outta those glasses because my suggestion would be, don’t look in the mirror if you don’t wanna give yourself a fright.

  RUBY: Why, you gonna be standing behind me?

  There was a mildly interesting geography lesson followed by a mind-numbingly dreary French class (Ruby’s French was already so good that she spent the lesson reading War and Peace in the original Russian). History had Mrs. Schneiderman promising in the next week or so to give a lecture on the Jade Buddha of Khotan. “My, it’s the most fascinating story,” she said. “I could talk about it forever.”

  “Meet my folks and you probably will,” muttered Ruby.

  At lunchtime Ruby got into an altercation with Mrs. Arthur over the let them eat cake T-shirt she was wearing. Ruby was protesting about Mrs. Arthur’s strict guidelines about cake — or, more accurately, no cake. Mrs. Arthur had banned cake.

  MRS. ARTHUR: Cake is in no way essential and should not be present in any child’s diet.

  RUBY: Cake is one of life’s great wonders and who would deny wonder to a child?

  All the pupils with the exception of Denning Minkle, who had a sugar allergy, supported Ruby. However, Ruby was requested to turn her T-shirt inside out or risk a month of detention.