Young Jane Young(43)

I went to go see her at the Allison Springs Cryer, which is the newspaper she owns and which is three streets over from my mom’s office. She has an office there, but a man with a mustache said, “Ha! Mrs. Morgan never comes into the office.” I realized at that moment that I had a new pet peeve. My new pet peeve is people who say “ha” instead of “laughing.”

I did not like his “tone.” I answer the phones for my mom, and I would never say something like that to a client or to a stranger or to anyone else. You would think a grown-up man would understand how to greet people. I said, “Mrs. Morgan is your boss, and you shouldn’t say things like that to strangers.”

The man said, “You’re not a stranger. You’re the kid of Jane Young, the future mayor of our fine burg.”

I said, “What you should say is, ‘Mrs. Morgan isn’t here right now. Would you like me to tell her you stopped by?’”

The man said, “Well, sure, I was going to get to that. Also, I’m not her assistant. I’m the editor in chief.”

“But Mrs. Morgan is still your boss,” I said.

“Technically, yes,” he said. He reshaped the ends of his mustache.

“What’s an editor in chief?” I said.

“It’s someone who comes into the office every day,” he said.

I do not like when someone answers a perfectly good question that way.

Finally, I sent Mrs. Morgan a text message (We need to meet ASAP and IN PRIVATE. This Text Is for Your Eyes Only), and she said we could meet at her office in an hour, which means the man with the mustache was wrong. Mrs. Morgan does sometimes go to her office.

At her office, Mrs. Morgan said, “What’s so urgent, Rubes? What’s so secret?”

I opened my mouth and then I closed it. It was hard to say the words.

Mrs. Morgan said, “I’m starving. Do you want to go to Clara’s? Confessions go down better on a full stomach.”

Clara’s is my favorite restaurant, and Mrs. Morgan is one of the owners. My favorite thing to eat at Clara’s is the corn chowder. My other favorite thing to eat at Clara’s is the chicken pot pie. I was hungry, but I was also a little sick. I said, “I would rather do it right here.”

“Do what?” Mrs. Morgan said. Her eyes grew very wide and interested. “What are we doing?”

I said, “I need to tell you something.”

Mrs. Morgan said, “Yes, I gathered that.”

Then, I said it. I told her that my mom was Aviva Grossman. I said, “I don’t want you to lose all your money trying to get my mom elected when she is a liar.”

Mrs. Morgan sighed and then her eyes grew soft and she smiled. “Ruby, I already know.”

I said, “What?”

Mrs. Morgan said, “Your mom and I have worked together for years. We’ve planned more than a dozen fund-raisers. Do you think I wouldn’t have looked up some information about her? It wouldn’t be good business for me not to know. I’m very rich and the way a person stays very rich is by protecting her interests.”

I said, “Why did you push her to run for mayor then?”

Mrs. Morgan said, “Because, my Ruby, I don’t think any of what happened matters.”

I said, “But, Mrs. Morgan! Have you read the blog?”

Mrs. Morgan said, “I have.”

I said, “Won’t the people of Allison Springs think you lied to them?”

Mrs. Morgan said, “We haven’t, Ruby. Choosing what to reveal is not the same as lying. Your mom is Jane Young now —”

I interrupted her. “No, she’s not.”

“Yes, she is, Ruby. And that’s all there is to it.”

I said, “I don’t think it’s right that you should decide what the people get to know.”

Mrs. Morgan said, “That’s leadership, Ruby. But if people find out, your mom won’t deny it, and we will deal with it then.”

I said, “So Mom knows you know?”

Mrs. Morgan said, “Not in so many words. But we have an understanding.”

I had to sit down on Mrs. Morgan’s couch. I said, “I’m so confused.”

Mrs. Morgan said, “You were brave to come to me. I know what a lot of guts it took.” She put her hand on my hand.

I looked at her wrinkled fingers. She was wearing a ring in the shape of a leopard. He was gold and had green eyes made from emeralds, and he probably cost more money than I have in my entire bank account, and that is disgusting. I bet she didn’t even like the ring that much when she bought it. I pulled my hand away. “DON’T TELL ME ABOUT GUTS!” I yelled. “I don’t care what you think of me because you are a liar, just like my mom. I never want to see you again.”

I ran out of the office, past that stupid editor in chief with the mustache, and I went to our town house, and now I’m writing this e-mail.

I’m so disappointed in Mrs. Morgan.

How can she NOT care that my mom was a totally other person?

What is wrong with everyone?



Your Pen Pal,

Ruby



P.S. I went to bed without eating and now I am starving and the only thing I can think about is corn chowder. I probably should have gone to Clara’s with Mrs. Morgan, since I am never eating there again in protest.