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  “You don’t know?” Levitt says.

  “Thirteen years.”

  “And your boy is fourteen?”

  “Fourteen years,” says Nell-mom.

  “You have a marriage license?”

  “What?”

  “Well, Mrs.—” Levitt squints at her notes. “Ta—what?”

  “Tabeata,” Nell-mom says. “T-a-b-e-a-t-a.”

  “In the phone book it says ‘T-a-b-i-t-a.’”

  Nell-mom smirks. “I don’t care what it says.”

  “Okay,” Levitt says. “And it seems you don’t have a wedding ring.”

  “I don’t like rings.”

  “I see. What about the license then?”

  “What about it?”

  “Oh, dear,” Levitt sighs. Then Nell-mom turns to her, and by the look in her eye I can tell she’s done being quiet. And that isn’t good.

  “Why are people so stuck on this?”

  “What do you mean, ‘stuck’?”

  “We don’t need a piece of paper.”

  Mrs. Levitt’s face is getting redder and redder. “Are you telling me now that you are NOT married?”

  “You knew that,” Nell-mom replies. “I didn’t have to tell you anything.”

  Mrs. Levitt writes that in her notebook and then looks up. “I did not know it,” she says.

  “We do everything married people do,” Nell-mom continues. “We live together. We take care of each other. We take care of Ruby and Ray.”

  “But it’s not really the same at all,” Levitt says. “Nor is it the best example for your children. Have you thought about what they’re learning here?”

  Nell-mom folds her arms and shakes her head, like she does when she’s mad at Gary Daddy-o.

  “Not going to school, living in squalor—”

  “You call this squalor?”

  “It’s not me, all right? It’s what I see here—”

  “She worked all day,” I say. “She doesn’t have time—”

  But Levitt isn’t listening. “It’s just part and parcel, Ruby,” she answers. “Part of everything that’s wrong here. And the truth is I’m worried about you.”

  “Well, you can stop worrying,” I say. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”

  “You lie, you steal, you don’t go to school, and your parents aren’t married—”

  “I never lied in my life—” I start to say but she puts her hands up and shakes her head.

  “You lied about where you live.”

  She has me there.

  “You know what?” Nell-mom says. “None of this is any of your business.”

  “I think you’re wrong, Miss,” Levitt says. “But I’m not out to get you here—”

  Nell-mom walks over to the sink, turning her back to us. Because I’ve seen her like this before, I know that Nell-mom is about to get really, really mad. But I don’t think Levitt knows it. And I can’t help it. I start to get scared.

  BANG! A dish flies across the room, and then another dish, and a glass.

  “What—”

  BANG! Solange jumps up from the windowsill and races out of the room.

  “Mom—Nell-mom,” I call out, but she isn’t listening.

  “Who ARE you?” Nell-mom screams. “Telling me WHAT I’M SUPPOSED TO DO?!”

  “NELL-MOM!” Now I’m yelling, too, but it doesn’t stop her. Three more glasses are broken and a cereal bowl goes SPLAT! onto the floor.

  Mrs. Levitt is done talking. She grabs me by the hand and pulls me out of the kitchen so fast my feet barely skim across the floor. And then she pushes me toward the door.

  “Come on—”

  “You come on!” I say, shaking free.

  “We’re getting out of here—”

  “YOU get out—”

  “You are coming with me—”

  “She is NOT coming with you.” Now Nell-mom is standing in the doorway.

  “I am taking this child out of here, and if you stop me I will call the police,” says Levitt. I can see she’s shaking pretty bad.

  I look around for someone, anyone, to stop this from happening. But no one is there. Gary Daddy-o left for Philadelphia last night and Ray could be anywhere.

  “NO!” Nell-mom is yelling, but by this time Levitt is ignoring her.

  “I know you don’t like this,” she says. “But right now it’s for the best.”

  “Nell-mom,” I say, trying to get her to look at me.

  Levitt answers instead: “Ruby. Listen.”

  I call to Nell-mom again, softly, but she’s turned to block the front door and won’t look my way.

  “Look, Miss,” Levitt is saying, “I assure you I will call the police.”

  “Well, you’ll have to use someone else’s phone,” says Nell-mom, and then Levitt nods and looks at me.

  “All right. Very good.”

  Levitt squishes past Nell-mom and scoots outside. I see her cross the street, walking with quick, determined steps to the phone booth on the corner. Meanwhile, Nell-mom starts pulling clothes out of drawers and packing—clothes, shoes, books, and pillows. “We’re getting out of here, Ruby. Help me.”

  “What?” I say. Does Nell-mom really think she can get us packed and out the door before Levitt gets back? Two apples fly out of the refrigerator and a jar of peanut butter is shoved in a bag.

  Nell-mom looks at me. “Money.”

  “Didn’t Gary Daddy-o leave you some?”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “Will you get married like Mrs. Levitt says?”

  “No,” says Nell-mom. Her voice is flat.

  “Why not?”

  Her eyes narrow. “Just . . . can’t.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Nell-mom reaches into the refrigerator, then bangs it shut and straightens up. “It’s not me, okay? This is your father’s fault. ALL of it!”

  “How can it be? He’s not even here!”

  “Exactly.” Nell-mom scowls. “Can’t be bothered with us.”

  What is she talking about? I don’t understand. “But he’s a musician. He’s on the road—”

  “I don’t have time for this, Ruby! Come ON!” Nell-mom pulls a suitcase out of the closet and rushes through my room, sweeping up everything in sight. But I can’t leave without Solange. Where is she? As I kneel to look under the couch, I can hear Nell-mom sobbing, which tells me there’s a police car outside. The next thing I know, they’re pounding on the door.

  I don’t want to go like this, with dishes in pieces on the floor and my cat cowering under the sofa. I don’t want to remember it, most of all.

  “Ma’am?” the policeman calls as Mrs. Belusa leans out her window upstairs.

  “Who is that?” she says. “What’s happening?”

  I want to remember that shawl on the couch, and Nell-mom dancing in it. I want to remember Ray playing “My Melancholy Baby” at night in his room, and Gary Daddy-o juggling oranges in the kitchen.

  “I’ll get her things together,” Levitt is saying. “Just get her out of there.”

  I close my eyes and stick my fingers in my ears. I won’t remember this. I refuse.

  “Ruby.” Nell-mom’s voice sounds muffled and broken.

  “Ma’am!” the policeman pounds harder on the door.

  I try to tell them about Solange and Ray and Gary Daddy-o. I try to tell them about Nell-mom, how she paints iodine on my cuts in different shapes and calls them abstract art; how I know she doesn’t mean to yell or get mad, and the only reason she’s like this is because she’s scared of social workers—with good reason.

  But they’re not even looking at me. Levitt sees the suitcase in my room and grabs it. She brings it down to the squad car while Solange, who has finally come out, jumps up on a shelf to watch.
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  They make me go with them, boom-boom-boom down the stairs while I hear Nell-mom calling my name as the neighbors rush out to gather around her. I watch her bending forward, the tendons standing out in her neck, and as the car pulls away I watch her mouth silently screaming and I close my eyes again.

  I won’t remember this. I won’t remember this at all.

  10

  Regular Real

  WE’RE ON THE top floor of what could either be an orphanage or asylum, but the sign outside says it’s a children’s home. There are just three girls in here, and before she leaves, Levitt tells me their names: Judy, Harriet, and Manuela. Judy is small with blue eyes and a worry line between them. Harriet is huge by comparison, a tomboy with jeans and dark brown hair in a pixie cut with bangs. Of the three, Manuela is dressed the nicest, with a white blouse and blue sweater. She has long, dark hair knotted into a braid that falls down to her waist. Right now, they’re all staring at me.

  “What’s your name?”

  “When d’you get here?”

  “Tú are . . . okay?”

  Manuela has an accent, but I can’t tell where she’s from. Normally I’d be curious, but I’m too upset to worry about it right now. I want to start on a hunger strike but don’t know if I can last. Even if the food is terrible, I know I’m still going to get hungry. On the other hand, a kid who won’t eat could be pretty upsetting to the people here—and like Gregory Corso said, that might be enough to get me out.

  I decide to tell them my name, but instantly regret it because they want to know everything. I put my hand up and shake my head.

  “Stop,” says Manuela. “She doesn’t want to talk about it.”

  “Like you know what she wants,” says Harriet, and I glance upward to look at her more closely. From the way everyone’s looking at her I can see she doesn’t take arguments lightly.

  “I know we shouldn’t bug her,” Manuela says, but no sooner are the words out of her mouth when Harriet shoves her. Manuela stumbles back against the wall.

  “Hey!” I say.

  “Hey, what?” Harriet asks.

  “Leave her alone.”

  “Gonna make me?”

  “Yeah,” I say, getting up from the mattress I’m sitting on. The whole room is full of these thin, lumpy mattresses, except for three beds that have been made up.

  “Be careful,” Manuela calls out. “Harriet is strong.”

  Maybe she is, I’m thinking. But she hasn’t been dragged out of her house today while her mom stands there screaming. I pull my arm back and let it fly, punching Harriet like I’m in a John Wayne movie. I’m expecting her to come back at me full throttle and try to brace myself, but instead she sinks like a stone.

  “You killed her!” Judy screams. Harriet lies there, flat on her back. When nobody says anything, Judy screams again.

  I’m not sure what happened next, exactly. I think Harriet must have reached out and grabbed my leg because I fall backward and hit my head. The next thing I know Harriet’s pulling my hair so hard it’s coming out in chunks. I kick her ankle and she lets go, but then her nose starts bleeding and that makes her really mad. She pushes me down and starts slapping me, and then I see Manuela trying to pull her off. When Harriet turns around to punch Manuela, she’s stopped by a woman’s voice.

  “What y’all doin’?” the woman calls. I look up to see a long, thin arm and bright blue eyes in a wrinkly face. The woman looking at me has white hair in curls around her head and sounds like she’s from the South.

  “I said, what’s going on?” the woman says as she pulls Harriet up.

  Harriet rubs her nose and sniffles. “She punched me!”

  “Who punched you?”

  “Her—whatever her name is. The new girl.”

  “That so?” the woman says, holding out a hand to me. Even though she’s old and thin, her arm is strong and she gets me on my feet in half a second. “What is your name, new girl?”

  “Ruby.”

  “Ruby, huh? Well, my name is Rose and I have a piece of advice for you. Don’t let our director, Mr. Sinningson, catch you fighting.”

  “She started it!” Harriet says.

  Rose leans down to peer at me. “I’m going to give you a break, Ruby, ’cause you just got here. And I know you probably had a hard day.”

  I look at her without answering.

  “But you know if they catch you again, they can send you to juvie. You know what that is?”

  “No.”

  “Juvenile hall,” says Harriet, and Rose turns to look at her.

  “That’s right,” says Rose.

  “I think she should go there now,” Harriet says.

  “And I think you should both apologize.”

  “I didn’t start nothin’!” Harriet says.

  Rose folds her arms, looking at us both.

  “She punched me for no reason,” Harriet says.

  “Listen, Harriet—” says Rose.

  “Miss Harriet to you—”

  Rose turns to me. “Is that what happened?”

  “Shut up, Rose,” Harriet tells her. “Or I’ll tell Sin what a crumb you are—”

  “And then what?” says Rose. “You think he’s going to find someone else to take the guff you guys dish out?”

  I find myself starting to smile when Harriet glares at me.

  “Judy,” Rose continues, “what happened?”

  “Um, well—Harriet was just trying to be friendly. You know how it is. But, um, Ruby didn’t want to talk to us,” Judy says, blinking.

  “She was pushing Manuela,” I say, when Rose shakes her head.

  “Okay—all of you. For the last time, you better be nice to each other. ’Cause there’s nobody else who’s going to be nice to you. Understand?”

  Manuela turns away and Judy looks down at the floor.

  “Still,” Harriet whines. “My nose really hurts.”

  “All right, Miss Harriet,” sighs Rose. “Let’s take a look.”

  She leads Harriet toward the door and the other girls follow. At the door, Rose turns around to look at me.

  “We’re gonna have to find you a pillow, but it may take awhile. I don’t know why, but they’re in short supply around here. Meanwhile, dinner’s in half an hour. You want to come down?”

  “No.”

  “No, what?” Rose asks.

  I look at her blankly.

  “No, thank you,” she prompts me.

  “Oh,” I say. “No, thank you.”

  “You won’t eat until breakfast if you skip tonight.”

  “I know.”

  “All righty, then,” Rose sighs. She heads for the stairs and Judy follows, but as soon as Rose leaves, Harriet wheels around and pops Manuela—right in the mouth. I lunge at Harriet but she’s too quick for me, shoving my hands away before she rushes out the door.

  “You okay?” I ask Manuela.

  “Sure,” she says, rubbing her mouth. “She is too stupid to hurt me.”

  “Yeah, well, she hurt me.”

  “I’m sorry,” she says.

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “What about dinner?”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Want me to bring it back here? I can put it in my shirt and they won’t see.”

  “I want you to leave me alone,” I say, looking out the window.

  “Tú cannot go without eating,” Manuela says.

  It takes me a second to figure out that “tú” means “you.”

  “You can if you’re on a hunger strike.”

  “Is that what tú are doing?” she says.

  I pull on the window, but no matter how hard I tug, it won’t budge. Manuela tries to help but she can’t move it either. “I think they paint it shut,” she says.

  “You’re kidd
ing.”

  “The one in the corner opens,” says Manuela. “But we need permission.”

  “To open a window? You’re kidding, right?”

  Manuela shrugs.

  I lean my head against the pane, shutting my eyes tight so I won’t be able to cry. If I have to stay here tonight I should at least be able to open a window.

  “Sure tú are not wanting something?”

  “Just for you to go,” I say. After a minute I hear Manuela’s shoes on the stairs.

  Where is this place? I open my eyes. It’s got to be Brooklyn because we went over the Brooklyn Bridge and followed a sign that said Jay Street. It’s the ugliest building on the block, wide and squat, and if it had a color you wouldn’t know it. I think it’s yellow, but it could easily be gray.

  I hear Rose joking around in the kitchen while forks and bowls clatter on the table downstairs. Not four miles from here, Sophie is feeding her turtle while her mom, Mrs. Tania, heats up Chinese takeout on the stove. Les and Bo are eating leftovers from their party, and I bet the Soroccos are having lasagna.

  I’ve got to stop thinking about food.

  Where is Ray? Did he come home or did somebody warn him? What about Nell-mom? Will she call Gary Daddy-o and will he have to stop touring? What did she mean when she said it was all his fault? She hates it when he’s on the road a lot, but what else can he do? It isn’t fair to blame him for landing me here.

  I walk over to the bed by the corner, which has no blankets or pillows on it. If the window opens, I’m sleeping here. I pull up on the window’s handle and it moves. Finally! I’m getting somewhere. It smells like a mixture of gas and tar outside but it’s better than room air. I pull the window up all the way, letting in a breeze that cools my face.

  I lean over the sill, looking down at the street.

  I asked Nell-mom about Wisconsin once and she said it was like the rest of the world—regular and real. She said the only place that wasn’t real was the place in your head, but that Beats were really good at making that place up and that’s why we all got together.

  But there are no Beats around here, and I’m stuck in the regular real world. If I don’t show up at Blue Skies tomorrow, Sky and Blu will be wondering where I am. Except if no one knows where to find me, how am I going to get home—and what will happen to Solange? She’s been with me since I was eight. When we brought her home she was a tiny black ball of fur with a sandpaper tongue. I used to put oil from our tuna can on my fingers and let her lick it off. After a while she’d lick my fingers anyway, whether I had tuna on them or not. Now she sleeps with me every night, and tonight she’ll come looking and I won’t be there.