“Ow! Son of a…”Ruby clamped her lips over the rest of the curse. She’d slammed her elbow into thetowel rod in the closet-sized bathroom. For the millionth time, she wished her family couldlive anywhere besides this crappy trailer. The trailer park sat so close to Highway 27 it was awonder they didn’t all have lung cancer from the exhaust spewed into their front window.All day long, semis rattled by on their daily runs to the luxury restaurants and boutiques inSag Harbor and Southampton. For the millionth time she told herself to get over it. This washer life now, and she needed to deal with it. At least living here was better than living withMom’s ex-boyfriend, Scott, who made his points with his fists.Ruby twisted in the cramped bathroom and angled her face upward in front of the tinymirror, trying to catch the weak light coming from the overhead bulb. The ancient mobilehome was by far the smallest place they’d ever lived, with a fiberglass shell so thin anyonewalking from one end to the other made the whole place shake like thunder. The bathroom’sflimsy plastic door was painted to look like sturdy oak, but if she pushed hard enough itwould probably fall off its plastic hinges. It was times like these that Ruby missed theapartment. Of course, she didn’t miss Mom getting her face smashed in.The tepid water sputtering into Ruby’s cupped hands turned ice cold, a sign that thepropane which fueled the water heater was about to run out. They’d need to find the fundsfor another fifty-gallon tank. Ruby considered her employment options. Maybe she couldpick up a temp shift staffing one of the big parties the elites were always throwing in theHamptons, something that wouldn’t interfere with school and watching Shelley while hermom worked. Or her standby, babysitting—although those opportunities came up less andless now that au pairs were back in fashion. Perhaps she’d ask Mom if they could pick up ahousecleaning job on the side, one that didn’t go through the agency so they wouldn’t haveto split the commission.Ruby carefully scrubbed her face with plain soap and a washcloth, wincing at the ice-cold water. The girls at school were always asking what the secret was to her great skin, withits rare breakouts and creamy complexion.
, Ruby wanted to tell them. It’s easy tokeep skin looking good when pore-clogging makeup is really low on your list of priorities.Instead, she’d replied: “Good genes, I guess.” Maybe it was even true. Maybe her momhad great skin before sadness and worry took their toll.Hopefully Shawn Mosely wouldn’t care that her ancient tube of mascara had basicallydried up. He’d surprised Ruby by asking her out after chemistry, and at first she was soflabbergasted that she stood blinking into his slowly reddening face, too shocked to answer.He seemed nice though—not one of the arrogant jerks from The Village who wore what shequickly learned was the uniform of assholes: Diesel jeans and sockless Pumas. She’d watchthem gun their late-model Hummers or Beemers through the student parking lot while hip-hop blasted from their high-end stereos. But Shawn didn’t seem like that kind of a guy. Hecarried his books in a worn backpack instead of a leather messenger bag, and his expressionwas direct and uncomplicated. Before she could think it through, she’d said yes.“Great!” he’d said, breaking into a huge smile. While Ruby was processing the fact thathe’d seemed kind of worried she would turn him down, he’d asked: “Where should I pickyou up?”“Um.”
How about at the most dilapidated trailer in the Sea Oats Mobile Home Community?You know, the trailer park right behind the water treatment plant? Just watch out for the potholes so big they’ll take out the front end of your car, and make sure to avoid the strung-out surfers coming down from their afternoon crack sessions…
“I’ll meet you somewhere,” she’d answered. “What time?”