The Brilliant Fall of Gianna Z. by Kate Messner

draw.
    “Not like we’re exactly filling up those guest book pages anyway.” She watches him leave. “Might as well use them.”
    “I thought there would be more people.” I look around. “I mean, usually . . .”
    “I guess other people have big families that come and hang around.” Ruby flips to the front of the guest book. “The ladies in Grandma’s Red Hat Society came right at eleven because they had a potluck lunch scheduled for eleven thirty and didn’t want to miss it. Mom’s friends from work came early too, on their lunch break. And you guys,” she adds. “Thanks.”
    “I’m really sorry about your grandma,” Ellen says, and she gives Ruby’s shoulder a little squeeze.
    “Me too,” I say.
    Ruby just stands, picking at the corner of the guest book.
    “You missed the French quiz. You can borrow my notes if you want,” I say, and immediately wish the words were attached to me on a string so I could reel them back in. Like she cares about a French quiz right now.
    “Thanks,” she says quietly.
    And then I don’t know what to say until I hear the big oak door open again. “Here comes somebody else.” Maybe they’ll know what to say.
    Two blond ladies come clicking in on their high heels. One is a little taller, but otherwise, they could be twins. They’re both wearing suits with short skirts.
    “Hmph.” Ruby’s mouth turns up, but it’s not a smile. “That’s my mom’s boss with her assistant. Does she look familiar?”
    I stare at the blue eyes and model blond haircut. It does look familiar. Subtract about twenty years, and you’d have . . .
    “Bianca?”
    Ruby nods. “It’s her mom. Michelle Rinaldi. Watch. You’ll see more family resemblance.”
    “Kinda hard to miss,” Ellen whispers. There’s a bottle of fancy spring water sticking out of Mrs. Rinaldi’s bag. That alone would be enough to make an enemy of Ellen.
    But there’s more. The taller woman sashays up to Ruby’s mother and takes her hand, but not the way Nonna held it. She holds it more like you’d hold something you pulled out of the drain in the kitchen sink. Her mouth is tight and her words are clipped while she talks to Ruby’s mom. She nods curtly and struts away with her assistant tagging along behind her, never looking toward the casket once. She is mistletoe, I decide. Pretty and poisonous. Like Bianca. As Nonna would say, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
    “Well,” I say. “I guess we know where Bianca gets it.”
    Ruby nods. “The day my pants ripped must have been the greatest day of her life. I heard she went around telling people like it was the most important news in the universe.”
    “She’s a jerk, Ruby,” Ellen says. “You’re worth twenty of Bianca.”
    “Thanks.”
    “See my picture?” Warren Washington runs back up to us waving a colored guest book page. “It’s Ruby, and she’s smiling because she’s the bestest person I know.”
    Ellen bends down to get a closer look. Ruby looks over at her mom, talking with Ellen’s mother. And I think about Ruby. I think about how quiet I was when Bianca and Mary Beth were laughing at her, and my face burns. I wonder how Ruby would feel if she knew I didn’t stick up for her much.
    Nonna walks over. “Would you girls like to come say a prayer with me?”
    “Sure,” I say. Ellen nods. Ruby shakes her head and starts flipping through the guest book again.
    I follow Nonna, kneel next to her, and scoot over to make room for Ellen. We say a Hail Mary and an Our Father, and Nonna talks quietly into the casket. She tells Ruby’s grandmother what a beautiful family she has and how nice her voice sounded at church last week, as if Mrs. Kinsella might sit up and say, “Thank you.” When she’s done, Ellen and I both make the sign of the cross and walk back to Ruby, who’s hunched over, writing.
    “Is that a journal?” I ask her.
    “It’s just stuff I write. Poems and stuff.” I want to ask more, but her hair falls over