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ruby

This isthe best day of my life.

Okay, notthebest. The best day of my life was the first day Lorenzo Rossi referred to himself as my best friend. So it’s not actually the best day of my life, but it’s the best one I’ve had in way too long.

I just landed a summer job.

I take a breath, the air already thick with summer humidity despite it not even being 9:00 a.m., and recall my new boss’s words:If you don’t mind the smell, the gig’s yours.

I don’t mind. Not at eighteen dollars an hour, which is just enough to slide me out of the grasp of my parents and their insistence I work for them this summer and live at home. They’re waiting to hear how the interview went, certain I’d flop, just like they’re certain my taking a summer class will end in a failing grade and a wasted opportunity. Much as I can’t wait to tell them they’re wrong, I’m saving that phone call for tomorrow.

Today all I want is to enjoy my victory and my freedom. That’s what makes this day so sweet. I’ve landed plenty of jobs before: waitress, nanny, call center representative, lifeguard, front desk attendant, student marketer for an energy drink. The list goes on. Those jobs I was only after because I needed someextra cash or because some friend I don’t know anymore talked me into applying. But this job means freedom. Oh, and animals. Now I have it all.

I pull out my phone to give Lorenzo the news, but I’m greeted by a text from Brad asking how the interview went. I forgot I’d promised to call him as soon as it was over. I smile at his generous use of emojis. Brad is tall and handsome and has a great football-player body, but I think it’s his air of dorkiness that’s the real reason for my crush on him. After a glance at the time, I settle for a text instead of a call to let him know I landed the job—Brad can be a little long-winded—and then hurry on to my Community Nutrition class.

I take the concrete path behind the student union and emerge into the newly redone section of Shafer University’s old campus. Glass-facade buildings sit nestled among freshly planted shrubs and silver linden trees, which I can identify thanks to a campus tour during my brief membership in the horticulture club last semester. A row of apricot-colored roses throws off a pungent tea scent, a pleasant reminder that even though I’m stuck attending classes all summer, my favorite season is finally here.

Professor Wythe gives me a long look when I walk into class. I’m barely even late, and it’s only the second week of summer semester, early for a teacher to have turned on me. I drop into the seat next to Bree, my only friend in class, right as her hand shoots into the air to answer a question. Bree’s answer betrays not only the fact that she did the reading but that she understood it well enough to put it in her own articulate wordsanddraw conclusions. It was probably a mistake to start sitting with her.

Academically, I don’t really belong among the high-achieving, go-getter students at Shafer. It’s no Ivy League school, but it’s prestigious enough that I wouldn’t have gotten in if not for the private school I’d attended being a feeder schooland my father being the headmaster there. He’s never confirmed it, but my dad hints at having pulled strings to get me in here. And Richard’s hints are never subtle.

“Look at Wythe,” I say quietly to Bree when class ends. “She’s still smiling about that answer you gave.”

Bree shrugs but looks pleased. “You want to grab coffee?”

“I can’t. I’m going to an info meeting for community garden club.”

“Community garden club? You’re not joining, are you?”

“Probably. Why?”

“Aren’t you in like four clubs already? You’re too much,” she says, borrowing a phrase from my parents. Though at least she says it with a hint of fondness. “How do you have time for all that?”

I tuck my laptop into my bag. “Easy when you never study.”

“Ruby,” Bree says in a disapproving tone.

“What? All I need to do is pass this class, not ace it.” Unfortunately, I’m already hovering on the wrong side of that binary.

“I’d skip gardening club if I were you.” She tosses her chocolate-brown hair over her shoulder and gives me a disdainful look. “Have you seen those kids? They’re such dorks.”

“Yeah, I forgot how cool us food science majors are.” There are a lot of Bermuda shorts walking out of the room.

She drops her shoulder and leans into me. “Not all of us. So how’re you liking the class?”

“It’s fine. Seems like as long as you show up, Wythe stays off your back.”

“I heard she gets tough after the first couple weeks. Especially for summer classes.” Bree smirks. Apparently our professor’s potential for savagery excites her. “Are you doing a summer internship?”

“Nope. Missed the deadline.” Also: didn’t care.

“It’s not too late to apply for fall. I just got accepted for the spice company internship!”

“That’s the one you wanted, right?”

“Yep!” She grins. “I’m so fucking excited. Everyone I know who’s interned with them has gotten into a great grad program or landed a job I’d kill for.”