Finding Ruby Starling Read online

  FOR KATE LEVANN, WHO IS POSSIBLY MY VERY OWN ENGLISH TWIN, EVEN THOUGH WE LOOK NOTHING ALIKE, ARE DIFFERENT AGES, AND AREN’T, IN FACT, RELATED.

  CONTENTS

  TITLE PAGE

  DEDICATION

  DEAR RUBY STARLING…

  SHORCA! SCRIPT

  TEASER FOR THE ENCYCLOPEDIA OF ME

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  COPYRIGHT

  Dear Ruby Starling,

  I know no one starts off email messages with “dear,” but this is more important than most email messages. It may even be The Most Important Email Message Of Our Time! ALL CAPS IMPORTANT!

  Please please please just read it and don’t slam your laptop shut and shout, “There’s a crazy Ruth stalking me online!”

  I’m not stalking you. And the pics are proof that I’m not crazy. Although it might be hard to tell I’m not crazy from that first one. Don’t be afraid! That stain on my shirt is just ketchup. (My BFF, Jedgar Johnston, and I were making our first-ever animated horror short, Zippy the Zombie Squirrel. You can find it on YouTube. It is both hysterically funny and totes terrifying!)

  Anyway, here’s the thing. Do you ever use FaceTrace? It’s sort of like Google image search, but way fancier. You put a picture of your face into it and SHAZAM!, it swoops through the entire Internet and gives you ALL the other photos of yourself. It isn’t perfect or anything. Once it gave me a picture of a baby monkey, but it was a very very very cute one, so I chose not to be insulted. Anyway, Ruby Starling, THAT is how I found all these pics!

  Look at them!

  (Are you looking?)

  At first, I couldn’t figure it out. I mean, I haven’t been to all those places! I haven’t worn all those clothes! And I have never ever had lavender hair!

  Then I realized it: All of the pics aren’t me. Some of them are you.

  Then — as you can imagine — I thought, well, who are YOU? And why do you have my face? Is it something ominous and terrible and bizarre? Did you steal my identity? WHAT?

  My heart was beating super hard.

  I looked at the pics for a long, long time.

  And then, just like that, it was obvious. I figured it out!!!! It wasn’t like in movies when the heroine solves the case and then there is a big swell of music, even though I sort of felt like there should be. My eyes were overflowing with tears. Because … well …

  Ruby Starling, WE ARE IDENTICAL TWINS!

  It’s not something terrible, after all.

  It’s something amazing!

  I’m trying to imagine what you are doing right now: throwing up or showing someone else in disbelief or smacking your forehead or laughing or crying or fainting or squealing with glee or calling the police or even screaming. I didn’t know how to react myself! At all! There isn’t even anyone at home for me to tell right now, except Caleb, my slobbering golden retriever, and he’s not as excited about this as he should be. So I decided to do the only thing I could do, which was to write to you RIGHT AWAY. After all, who is going to know how I feel right this second more than you? Because you must feel exactly the same way that I do.

  Which is confused! And also, ecstatic!

  I have so many questions for you, Ruby Starling. They are getting jumbled up inside my fingers even as I try to type them out. Such as, did you KNOW that they split us up? Did you know we were adopted out to different families? Did you have ANY IDEA that I existed? And, if so, why didn’t I know about you? And if you didn’t know about me, did you always feel like some part of you was missing? And if you did know about me, how did you find out? Did YOUR adoptive parents know? And if you knew, why didn’t you WRITE? Or call? And ohmygosh, why didn’t anyone tell me? It seems like this is the kind of thing that shouldn’t be a secret! It shouldn’t be ALLOWED to be a secret!

  Seriously, this is the craziest thing I can even imagine!

  On second thought, I suppose that you could be impersonating me for nefarious reasons. What if you ARE? I’m not actually OK with that, so if that is what is going on here, I have to ask you to CEASE AND DESIST!

  Or …

  Wait, is this a joke?

  Jedgar? JEDGAR ALLEN JOHNSTON?

  Is this something you made up? Did you plant the photos and the email address and all the other stuff? Are you filming this? Is it a project?

  If so, that is a tiny bit brilliant (and I totes would never have thought of it!) but also infuriating, and Jedgar, if this is you, I’m never speaking to you again, at least not for a while.

  But if this is for real? (And I soooooo hope that it is …)

  Then WRITE BACK RIGHT AWAY, RUBY STARLING.

  Yours super sincerely,

  Ruth Quayle

  I am very very mad. I am so mad that my leg is jumping up and down in an uncontrollable angry twitch, which is obvi what they mean by hopping mad. I am writing this because I do not trust myself to talk to you without spitting or crying. I know Dad would tell me, “You will not be punished for your anger, you will be punished by your anger” (because coincidentally, that is the quote he texted me this morning, as part of his quest to Buddhify my life), but I do not care what wisdom his Buddhist Page-A-Day calendar would apply to this situation. I AM STILL VERY ANGRY.

  First of all, JEDGAR, there is a big distance between “funny” and “not funny.” It’s the length of the Amazon River, plus the Mississippi, the Danube, the Thames, and the Tigris and Euphrates, plus whatever other rivers you can name from last semester’s geography test, all added together. Do you know how serious this is? It is the most serious. You shouldn’t be allowed to toy with a person’s emotional stuff. It’s mean. So if you are impersonating my twin sister living in England and Photoshopping pics to look like prettier, better-dressed versions of me and planting them on a fake British fashion blog and a fake British school website and creating fake email addresses to trick me, then it is OVER BETWEEN US. By which I mean “our friendship,” not any of that crazy stuff about kissing that you were talking about last Tuesday.

  By the way, you don’t actually like-like me! Your brain is just tricking you into thinking you like-like me because I am always around. After you said what you said, I Googled “love.” You know, to see what it’s all about. And what I found out is that proximity is the number-one cause of all love-falling-into feelings! True fact! (It was on Wikipedia.) So it’s all just a lie. (Not that you are lying to me! Not that. But rather, your feelings are lying to you.)

  Well, that was a huge relief. So now you know! It was nothing! Just a mistake! And we can get back to normal, ASAP.

  Anyway, if it’s not you, playing a complicated (but totes impressive!) prank, then guess what? You aren’t going to believe this, but I have the most amazing, incredible news!

  I HAVE FOUND AN IDENTICAL TWIN SISTER LIVING IN GREAT BRITAIN! Specifically, one Ms. Ruby Starling, age 122/3, who resides in a charming hamlet (possibly) to the north (or south) of (or probably near to) London (I haven’t Google Mapped it yet), which is (likely) very picturesque and (maybe) has rolling hills and maybe even sheep or rock stars. Or, if not, then the opposite, such as the totally industrial, filthy, and sadlike town in Billy Elliot! Anyway, J., I’m not actually sure where she lives, but that doesn’t matter.

  What does matter is that I have a TWIN! Exclamation point! Bold font! ITALICS!

  You know how I’m always saying things like, “I feel like I’m missing something!” and you’re like, “Stop being weirder than necessary, Ruth.” Well, yes, sure, you might think that I feel weird because I was adopted and/or because of Ashley Mary Jane, but now there is a real answer. A better answer!

  The answer is: Ruby Starling.

  Oh, JEDGAR! I feel like I’m going to go completely crazy! O
bviously, I wrote her an email RIGHT AWAY, and I’ve been running up and down the stairs ever since waiting for her to answer while Caleb barks at me in lazy disgust.

  I can’t even explain how weird this whole situation is! Writing an email to my twin sister! Having a twin sister! It may be the weirdest thing that has ever happened to me, and, as you know, lots of weird things have happened to me.

  How long do you think it will take her to write me back? It is 6:00 p.m. in England, where she lives (my own twin sister! Living in England! Just there! Existing!), so it’s not like she already went to bed and won’t answer until morning, amirite? I would answer RIGHT AWAY, wouldn’t you? If someone who looked exactly like you sent you an email from halfway around the world?

  Jedgar Allen Johnston, if this is a joke you have manufactured as some kind of experimental film project, tell me RIGHT NOW. Right now. Or I swear, Jedgar, I swear, I WILL DO SOMETHING TERRIBLE.

  If not …

  OMG.

  Whoa. That’s amazing. I mean, like, if it’s real. And NO! I didn’t do that. I didn’t do anything. I don’t even know how you would do something like that. Would I have to hack your computer? Because I don’t know how. I might watch YouTube and edit movies but I would never figure out how to “hack” things just to play mean jokes on my friends. Do you even know me? I’d never do that.

  Anyway, don’t get all mad, but it does sound kind of crazy. I guess you technically could have a twin, being adopted and everything, but there are lots of possible reasons why you look so much like that other girl. You could have plenty of relatives you don’t know about, doofus. I mean, I look almost exactly like my cousin The Ham, except I’m smaller and less porcine and three years younger. Gene pools can be completely weird. Maybe she is the kid of your third cousin’s aunt, and she just happens to have gotten the same combo of proteins that make you look like you. Genes ARE just proteins, you know. Like cheese. Or bacon. (Mmmm, bacon.) You know what I just read? That most girls grow up to look like their father’s mother! So maybe you and she both have the same grandmother on your dad’s side. Which could make her your half sister. Or your cousin. Think about it.

  So, look. I don’t want to talk about Tuesday at the park and what I said and what you said. Just so you know, I was kidding. I didn’t mean it. I mean, I did mean it, but just only for that exact moment that I said it. I like you a lot less now, if that makes you feel better.

  Have you thought about writing the script for SHORCA!? I think a Claymation movie about a shark/orca hybrid chomping its way down the coast is completely genius. It might be the best idea we’ve ever had! Zombies are like vampires: totally over. Which is why Zippy got two thumbs down on KidzMakeMovies.com. (Also, because I think my brothers posted at least half the reviews.) Sharks are definitely the next big thing. SHORCA! might make us famous on the site or even at Cortez, if Mr. M. lets us show it in art class, like he did with The Way the Vampires Died.

  Want to come over and work on it? My mom bought us some black and some white clay to make the SHORCAs. There’s kind of nothing else you can do about Ruby-Starling-Who-Lives-In-England-And-Looks-Like-You, anyway. I looked at the pictures again and the resemblance is creepy. It’ll be cool to see what she says when she writes back.

  If she does, I guess.

  So there you are,

  you: Ruth.

  Ruth, alone.

  At home.

  On the blue couch in the den

  that smells like Dad’s socks

  and Caleb’s drooly toys,

  thinking about

  shark/whale

  hybrids chomping their

  way across the screen.

  The TV is on and you are

  eating a cookie (three)

  and looking at pictures of you

  on the Internet

  just to see

  how you have changed, since you

  last noticed yourself.

  And then you find yourself,

  there. Look!

  Except you aren’t you.

  You are a different you

  existing differently

  in England, with funny

  English things,

  like tea and crumpets

  and accents

  and fashion sense.

  What do you do with that?

  You have to suppose

  that some people

  already know

  (like your Real mom, for example)

  (and your Real dad)

  (except your real parents

  are more real than

  the Real imagined ones

  who ski in the winter

  and summer on the Cape

  where the sand is kept white and perfect

  by hired helpers

  because they are probably quite famous,

  rich, and misunderstood

  and deserve only the best of snow

  and beaches)

  and aren’t telling you,

  all of which makes your

  heart — Ashley Mary Jane’s

  heart — beat so

  hard that it is like thunder

  and the secret is going to be

  lightning, flashing down

  and leaving a pattern

  tattooed on everyone

  it touches, if it doesn’t

  ruin them,

  everything,

  me, us.

  The more I think about it, the more I realize that while it is all totes exciting and everything — having a TWIN! In a different COUNTRY! — it also could mean a lot of serious things! Like, if she IS my twin, then maybe she knows who my parents really are! Or maybe there are more of us! Or who knows what? I mean, at first I was excited, but I thought about it too much, and I kind of got freaked out.

  I can’t come over right now! Dad’s here. He came home early because Mom is away, as you know, being smart and important in Boston, and so I had no one to call except for him, of course, when this momentous thing happened! He didn’t answer, being ALSO busy and important, but I left him a message that just said, “I NEED YOU! DAD!” (I may have been having a panic attack at the time! I couldn’t really breathe right!) and so he raced home, thinking I was trapped under something heavy, such as the dinosaur in the dining room. He burst in the door shouting, “WAS THERE AN EARTHQUAKE? ARE YOU OK?”

  To be honest, he seemed a little disappointed that there was no earthquake and I was like, “Dad, I am fine.” I was, at the time, calmly lying on the couch, sweating, with nothing heavier on me than Caleb, who was actually pinning me down to stop me from running up and down the stairs anymore. (It makes him nervous when people exercise inside.)

  I could tell that Dad was completely confused about why he had to abandon his paperwork (which he hates anyway! so really I did him a favor!) to race home when I was A-OK, and he wasn’t sure how to decode the mystery that is me, Ruth Quayle. I should have just told him, but now that he was actually home, I was scared to talk about Ruby Starling. What if he got mad? What if he got sad? What if he had no idea what I was talking about? What if he laughed? I mean, I know he wouldn’t, because he’s Dad and he’s mostly awesome, but lately he’s been laughing at lots of stuff I say, even when I don’t mean it to be funny. So instead of telling the truth, I told him that I thought I saw a burglar climbing in through the skylight next door, but it turned out to be a false alarm, just their overly large cat, Arthur, enjoying an afternoon nap in the sun.

  I think he knows something is up, though, because he keeps asking me if I’m OK in his overly concerned Dad-voice. Maybe he is noticing that my leg won’t stay still. But he’s not asking the right questions! And I can’t just blurt it out! It sounds too … weird. Besides, the shock might be too much for him. Or for me. I’m the one with the heart thing, after all.

  Dad’s solution to everything is either to a) read about Buddhism and/or meditate or b) for us to do something together. I’m just not in the mood for Buddha and/or sitting still, so he called in to his o
ffice to say that I’m sick, and he’s playing Doctor You on the Xbox. This is a “together” thing in that I watch and he plays. It’s never my turn because he’s so good at it, which is grossly unfair. He did a jillion years in medical school, so it would be totes embarrassing if he couldn’t take the appendix out of an animated elderly man, wouldn’t it? On the plus side, seeing as I never get a chance to even try, I can just hit Send/Receive on my in-box to see if Ruby Starling’s answer has arrived, and completely freak out while pretending to be relaxing all la-di-da and joyful on the couch, applauding Dad’s amazeballs surgical techniques.

  I can’t believe Ruby Starling still hasn’t replied. What’s wrong with her? How can she not be falling all over herself to answer RIGHT AWAY? Maybe the Internet is broken in England. I’m going to write to her again using a different email address that I found right there on her school’s website. (It says that all the students’ email addresses are their [email protected]. Why would this be public? That’s crazy!) (Also, I Google Mapped her school, and doesn’t it look amazing? It looks like something from an antique novel about English boarding schools featuring girls named Gwendoline and Beatrix!) After I did that, I did a Google Maps walking tour of the town where she lives and it’s the prettiest town ever! Just exactly what I’d pictured something British to be! With old stone buildings and rolling green hills and country lanes! I didn’t picture the Starbucks or the McDonald’s, but I guess those are everywhere, which, frankly, I think is an appalling affront to picturesque English villages. You can practically HEAR the clip-clop of history galloping down the cobbled streets! Nothing here is anywhere nearly as interesting-looking, I can tell you that.

  Ruby is so LUCKY.

  Also, when it comes to that thing you don’t want to talk about, I knew you were kidding but also not kidding. I hadn’t given one thought to kissing until you brought it up, and then all I could think about was slugs and how they leave that silvery trail of slime all over the place that absolutely cannot be washed off. And I have to be honest, when I thought of the slugs, I gagged just a little bit.