Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Charlie
I don’t strut into work the next morning, but I want to.
Today is the day I start helping Ruby see I’m her next chapter, because sometimes, epiphanies need a nudge. Even Newton had to be bonked with an apple.
I grin when I hear Ruby’s voice in my head. Well, actually, the apple thing is a myth. And Ruby in my head is right, but the point about epiphanies needing a nudge stands.
I key in the code to the library offices and drop my backpack at my desk. As a junior reference librarian, I only have a cubicle—shared with Ruby—but I’m usually at the main reference desk, anyway.
Ruby’s stuff isn’t here yet, but she’ll show up any minute.
I’m too restless to wait for her, so I head to the room where we store book donations for sorting to scan for anything worth pulling into regular circulation.
Popular titles with long wait lists, required reading by local schools, the high demand classics.
I find a copy of Things Fall Apart as well as Fahrenheit 451, both in decent condition, and set them aside for processing as Ruby pokes her head in.
She walks in wearing plaid pants and a sleeveless vest with flowers across the chest. I wouldn’t expect mustard yellow pants to go with blue that’s kind of peacocky, or flowers to go with the stripes in the plaid, but it makes sense on her somehow.
She and Sami go thrifting together and get into each other’s closets a lot because they’re both—uh, not tall.
(They hate being called short.) They’re both pocket-sized, and with all the wardrobe raiding, Ruby’s vibe is kind of Classy Punk Rock Librarian.
“Charlie Bucket,” she says.
“Ruby Slippers,” I answer. This is how bad I’ve got it: I hate the nickname Charlie Bucket.
He’s the sad sack kid who wins the Golden Ticket to Wonka’s factory.
And yeah, he’s the hero in the end, but he’s .
. . nice. So nice. And boring. But have I ever told Ruby that?
No. Because today and every day before this one, seeing her dark head of hair pop in with her eyes already laughing at me, or herself, or the world, makes my heart give an extra beat.
So I accepted the nickname because it’s from her, and I gave her a nickname that sounds like it’s not that deep.
Except it is. Because like Dorothy’s ruby slippers, Ruby is magic.
She starts on a box of donations, looking for books to add to her special interest collection: fiction in Spanish, bonus points if it’s not a translation. She talks fast as she skims the titles.
“The girls ambushed me last night, held me down and tickle tortured me, and made me promise to go along with a dumb love bet they made. By the time they let me up, I had agreed to live my life for the ’gram and maybe avenge any evils done to them ever?
It’s blurry. They talked a lot and wouldn’t let me eat my chocolate until I said yes. ”
“Sorry, what? A bet?” That’s a trigger word with Ruby. Specifically, it’s a starting pistol.
“Yeah. They want to set me up on dates and whoever finds me a boyfriend wins.” She sounds mildly exasperated, like she has a fly problem, not like she just pulled Seismic Wall, one of my regular outdoor climbs, down on my head.
When the girls had left last night after pizza, they hadn’t said they were cooking up something else. I thought I’d squashed any plotting with my “Ruby should pick who she wants” speech. I even skipped stopping by their place after the game to avoid stirring up any more ideas.
I’m not a panic kind of guy, but this is the second time in less than a day that the roommates are doing those shock paddles on my heart and no one asked them to.
How did they pitch this bet to Ruby? Did they tell her about our conversation?
Bring up my name as an option? Did she dismiss it, or did it plant a seed?
If they didn’t bring up my name, then whose?
This is an unhelpful spiral. I force myself to quit chasing what-ifs and calmly get actual facts. “What’s your part of the bet, and why are you living your life for the ’gram?”
“Their bet is with each other. My only part is to go on the dates.”
I bite back curse words as I peruse the next donation box, not registering a single word in a single title. No room for them with all the cursing in my head. So much cursing that even Ahab, the cursing parrot who lives next door to Ruby, would have learned a few phrases.
For a split second, I consider texting her roommates and confessing.
But my instincts are stronger than my impulses, so I keep my mouth shut. I don’t want to be next just because I’m here and Ruby has a boyfriend habit.
I want to be chosen because Ruby wants me. Because she recognizes there’s a tension that isn’t safe or tidy simmering beneath our friend chemistry, something that could burn us both if we gave into it.
Has that often looked like me backing her up against a wall and kissing her until she can’t remember her own name?
In my imagination a thousand times, yeah.
I’d already been thinking about how to move us there, but with this bet suddenly in play, I’m going to need to come up with a real plan fast. Like, yesterday.
“How did this go down?” I ask. Without question, this plan will be well-intentioned (Sami) and most likely borrowed from a harebrained Friends episode (Madison).
Unless Ava’s involved, in which case, due to her common sense and deep understanding of Ruby, their plan might be an actual threat to my goal of me plus Ruby forever with hearts around it or whatever middle school kids and emo librarians are doodling these days.
It’s hard to force Ruby to do anything without incredible leverage, but there are a few things that always work. “Did they use guilt or pride to trick you into it?”
“Pride,” she admits. “Madison told me they all love having me as their permanent third wheel.”
“Ooof.” Shout out to Madi, the best button-pusher in their house. Well, after Ruby.
“Anyway,” she continues, flipping through another book at light speed, “they said that even if I don’t find a good match, I’ll at least look like I’m having fun in case Niles thinks I’m moping over him.”
“Got it. This is where you do it for the ‘gram?”
She nods. “I’m supposed to post all my adventures to show I’m a super funtime happy girl.”
“Do you think you’ll have fun for real or have to fake it?” I hold my breath for the answer I want. Fake it, fake it, fake it.
She stops flipping pages and considers the question.
“I’ve always ended up dating people I get to know through class or whatever, so at worst, it’s an interesting social experiment.
Go out with someone to see if I could like them instead of going out with someone because I already like them.
” She frowns. “It doesn’t sound smart when I explain it that way. ”
She closes the book in her hand with a loud snap. “They say I need to go on two dates a week for optimal social media proof to Niles, his mom, and any of our mutuals. When did I became shallow enough to care about the opinions of people I don’t talk to?”
“A lot of people would care if their ex was making a big deal about moving on.” I feel her eyes on me, so I look up to meet them. They remind me of brown agate, and they snap, sparkle, or shine, depending on her mood. Right now, they glint with curiosity.
“Would you?” she asks. “I can’t see you caring if one of your exes posted something like that.”
“Probably not. But I’ve never had an ex get engaged at the same place where they proposed to me first.” It’s not that I’ve never had a serious relationship. I had one in high school and one halfway through college. But nothing like five years long.
“I still can’t see it bothering you,” she says. “You are so chill about everything.”
For as well as Ruby and I know each other, this is one of her blind spots; I’m chill about almost everything—except her. “That’s me. Chill Charlie.”
She sighs and picks up another book to skim. “Each roommate can only set me up on one date a week, and I won’t go on more than two in a week, so the dates go to whoever sets me up first. Sami says she and Josh are a team, and they’re going to start with the single guys at his firm.”
That’s fairly safe. Josh, their neighbor and Sami’s boyfriend, works at his family’s huge law firm. Most young lawyers I know are the kind of cocky Ruby loathes.
“Madison says she’s going to have her friends at Gatsby’s keep an eye out as a backup, but her main plan is to have Oliver scope out his tech connections.”
Madison is a full-time MBA student now, but she used to work at Gatsby’s, a nightclub, and it’s doubtful her girls will spot the right guy for Ruby since I don’t go to Gatsby’s. Threat level: none.
Oliver, on the other hand, is a good judge of character. His company is killing it, and he’s much more likely to know people who take their jobs seriously and act like professionals solving real problems, not trying to develop apps to solve problems no one has. Threat level: moderate.
“What’s Ava’s plan? Grow you the perfect man in her lab?” Since Ava is the friend who’s known Ruby the best and the longest, my money is on her finding Ruby the closest thing to the right guy who isn’t me.
“Ha. If that worked, she would have done it for herself instead of dating my stupid brother—who, by the way, wants nothing to do with this bet.”
“Strange that Joey doesn’t want to watch his little sister go on a bunch of dates. Can’t imagine why.”
She pauses in her spine skimming to tilt her head. “Does it bother you when your sisters date?”
“It didn’t bother me when Megan and Lucy dated, and they both married good dudes. But I’m suspicious of anyone Becca dates.”
“I’ve never heard you say she picks bad guys.”
I shrug. “She doesn’t. Big brother reflex.”
“Excellent logic, Charles.”
“Like Joey is so logical about it?”
She shudders. “I’m glad he’s staying out of this.”
“So what’s Ava’s plan?”
“She says she’s going to research modern dating strategies, but I think she’s going to pick a dating app for me to be on and try some other stuff.”
It’s hard to know how to rate the risk with Ava without knowing her specific plan, but I make a judgment call. Threat level: moderate.
“What does the winner get if it works?” Besides my heart, still bloody after it’s ripped from my chest.
“They won’t tell me their stakes.”
“This whole bet feels chaotic good at best,” I say. “Well-intentioned but with about a dozen ways it can get messy fast. You’re okay going along with this?”
“You don’t think I should?” Her tone is surprised.
“Movie case study,” I answer. “Name three films with a love bet.”
“Ranking or rating?” she asks. We play this game often.
“Modification: rate how well the bet turns out.”
“She’s All That. Bet gets a C-minus because it was never meant to find anyone love. That happens on accident. The bet must be credited somewhat, but it was a flawed design.”
I consider this. “Agree.”
“How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. The complicated double bet. Both designed to make the other fall in love, both succeed. I give her bet a B-plus and his a D-minus.”
“What? No. They should be the same, and they should both be C-minus, max.”
“No way. Her bet sends him away not wanting her anymore. His bet only thinks as far as winning against his friends. No exit plan or concern for her feelings. So rude.”
“But ultimately both bets backfired.”
“No, they didn’t. They each made the other one fall for them. The bets worked. Their goals changed.”
I hate that she’s such a good debater.
That’s not true. I love that she’s a good debater. I don’t like losing the debates.
“I concede again,” I say. “What else you got?”
“Uh . . .” She stares into space for a few seconds. “10 Things I Hate About You.”
“Not a bet.”
“It’s an implicit one. Joseph Gordon-Levitt is gambling that Heath Ledger—”
“RIP,” we both say.
She picks right back up. “He’s gambling that Heath Ledger can get Kat to go out with him. There are stakes and terms.”
“But he’s paying Heath Ledger. It’s a contract.”
“It’s still a gamble from JGL,” Ruby insists. “And he’s staked money on it.”
I have lost this debate too. “Fine. Rating?”
“Effective bet, but once again, not designed with a compassionate exit strategy for the dupe. Probably should be an F, but JGL was very smart about who he picks for Kat. There was definite thought put into it, but I can’t go higher than a C-minus.”
“The theme here is that these bets suck and you would be the dupe in this situation.”
“Nope, because I know there’s a bet, and I’m not making it.
There are no dupes. I have to give every date real consideration because I don’t know what the girls are betting, and that’s so I won’t have a reason to throw it for or against any of them.
” She wrinkles her nose. “That was pretty ingenious of them.”
“Feels like a Madi clause,” I say.
“Definitely. And I’m done talking about this, since I’m sure I’ll have a lot of reasons to complain about it soon. Let’s talk about you. Are you excited it’s Wednesday?”
I give her a confused look. “Why would I be?”
“Hot patron day,” she says.
I roll my eyes and go back to my bin. A girl—woman—came in two weeks ago to do some research on mineral rights, which happens to be my specialty. Or specialty adjacent. I’m into rocks. Climbing them. Collecting them. Whatever. I don’t apologize.
“You need to let it go,” I tell Ruby. “She was doing research.”
“Two weeks in a row on mineral rights? No. She came back last Wednesday because she was guessing it was your regular schedule. You watch, Hot Patron will come in again today with questions about rocks, and when she does, what are you going to give me?”
“An annoyed look.”
“Because I’m right?”
“No, because you always annoy me.” She knows she never annoys me.
“Fine, let’s bet.”
I shake my head. “You have a gambling problem. Leave me alone so I can do my job.”
She flounces to the door and pauses to toss her hair. The hair toss is for dramatic effect; the flounce is not. That’s just how Ruby moves, like it’s an effort to keep herself to a normal speed.
“I’m not leaving because you told me to. I’m leaving because I heard that someone put an inappropriate diorama in the book drop, and I want to see.”
I straighten. People leave the most bizarre stuff in the after-hours book return. “I want to see too.”
She darts out and pulls the door shut after her. No doubt she’s sprinting to get there first, never mind that she’s wearing high heels that look like the tap shoes in old musicals, except these are regular brown, not shiny, and no taps.
For the first time since hearing about her roommates’ plan, I feel like smiling for real as I speed out of the back room . . . until reality hits.
I’m chasing Ruby with no chance of catching her.
Please do not let this be foreshadowing.