We walked into the park’s main square, where a bunch of other high school kids were slung around the wrought-iron tables, eating ice cream and drinking cans of soda they tipped flasks of vodka into. I was disappointed not to recognize anyone; it would have been nice to have a witness.
“Do you want ice cream or anything?” I offered.
Ruby shrugged. “I’m okay. Do you?”
“Nah,” I lied. Of course I wanted ice cream. But we kept walking. A group of thirteen- or fourteen-year-old boys was scootering back and forth under one of the archways, propelling themselves into the air and clattering back to the sidewalk while the rest of them hollered, “Sick!” They weren’t really supposed to be there—skateboards and skates were banned, and scooters were implied—and they looked like they knew it was only a matter of time before they were asked to leave. I saw them see us, and I felt my shoulders creep up just slightly and pulled my hands from my pockets. Then one of the boys waved, calling, “Hi, Ruby!”
“Oh, hey, Elon!” Ruby waved. The boys standing around him immediately began elbowing him in the arms, murmuring their admiration.
“I used to babysit him,” Ruby leaned over to explain. “His parents paid twenty-five bucks an hour.”
“Wow.”
“Still wasn’t enough,” she added. I laughed as if I agreed, like I wasn’t wondering if Elon might still need a babysitter now.
We reached the end of the promenade, and without buildings on either side of us the breeze cut coldly across my shoulders. Ruby saw me shiver and looped her sweatshirt-covered arm through my bare one. I was afraid to look at her but I did it anyway. We were close enough that I could see twin freckles at her temple, which for some reason made me think of Frankenstein, which I still hadn’t finished. I was supposed to be halfway into Ceremony by now.
“It’s the least I can do,” said Ruby.
“What is?”
With her free arm she pointed at the one wrapped around mine.
“Oh right. Thanks.”
We crossed the bridge into the rose garden, which was lit only patchily, and therefore empty. I couldn’t tell Ruby about the duke-and-duchess thing (obviously), but I wanted to play my game. I wanted to do whatever I could to make the night last. So I told Ruby the rules: find your favorite flower here, and I’ll find mine. I started to walk away—I liked to start in a particular spot—but Ruby took my hand.
I froze, staring at our hands like I’d never seen anything like them and didn’t know what to do next. But I didn’t let go, and neither did Ruby.
“I’m scared,” she said.
My heart was in my throat.
“It’s dark,” she continued.
Oh, that.
“Can’t we find our favorite ones together?”
Technically speaking, that was against the rules. That sort of thing compromised the integrity of the individual’s choice. But I figured I could make an exception, just this once.
“So tell me the deal with your dad,” she said. Her hand was warm and small in mine. I wanted to look at it, lift our hands to my face, but then what? I couldn’t risk alerting her to their togetherness. If she thought about it too much she might stop.
“What do you mean?”
“You said he’s moving back from Virginia.”
“Maybe moving back. From North Carolina.”
“Same thing,” she said, and we grinned at each other in the dark before she continued. “So would that be a good thing, if he came back? Or not?”
“Not if I’m going to be there for college,” I said, surprising myself with that if. I needed to change the subject. “These are good ones,” I said, using my free hand to point to the yolk-yellow roses labeled GOLDEN CELEBRATION. Ruby peered at them politely. “I’m worried you’re not taking this seriously,” I added. She laughed.
“I’m old-fashioned,” she said. “I think roses should be red.”
“Ah.” I nodded. “Well, just wait for the Ingrid Bergmans.”