Free The Brilliant Fall of Gianna Z. by Kate Messner Page B

you talk to her.” I swear Nonna reads my mind. She knows I have no clue what to say. “Tell her you’re sorry, yes, but then just sit with her and chat.”
    “Chat? About what? Her grandmother’s going to be right there in the casket. How can she chat?”
    “Gianna, it’s almost noon.” Nonna points to the clock. Calling hours started an hour ago. “By the time we get downstairs, Ruby probably will have been hugged by at least thirty strangers saying how sorry they are about her grandmother. You can say that, too. But you’re her friend. Talk to her about school and what’s for lunch in the cafeteria and your leaf project—things from her world. The grown-ups who work with her mom can’t give her that kind of comfort today.”
    But I can. I think about that and follow Nonna downstairs. She hands me the tray of cookies, arranged on a thick white doily. Nonna opens the door, and I step in, ready to join the end of the line of people paying respects.
    Except there is no line. There’s just Ruby’s mom, who looks like Ruby with shorter hair and more wrinkles around her eyes, standing by the casket. There’s a woman who might be her mom’s sister. Her eyes are clear green, like Ruby’s, and she’s talking quietly with Mrs. Kinsella near the casket. I almost don’t see Ruby at first. She’s over in the corner with her marble notebook tucked under her arm, flipping through the guest book. She’s as far from the casket as she could possibly be. A little boy with messy black hair is playing with a dump truck at her feet, making “vroom” noises. Ruby looks down and puts her finger to her lips to shush him.
    “Cindy, I’m Francesca DiCarlo. Your mother sat behind me in church, and she always sang with the most wonderful energy.” Nonna has managed to set down the cookies, uncover them, and take Mrs. Kinsella’s hand in one fluid gesture.
    I look over at Ruby. She squats down, her long limbs all folded up, and moves the dump truck back and forth with the kid, but she’s staring at the casket.
    “My granddaughter Gianna and your daughter are good friends at school,” Nonna says, grabbing back my attention. Ruby’s mom looks at me, probably wondering why she’s never heard my name if we’re such good friends. Then she nods.
    “Ruby has mentioned you, Gianna. You were lab partners last year, right? She said you let her borrow your notes after she was absent.”
    “Um . . . yeah.” Ruby had missed two days of class. I’d just pushed my notes over to her when class started, so she could copy them to catch up. It didn’t seem like a big enough deal to talk about at home, especially since my notes aren’t the greatest.
    “Oh, here’s another girl from school, I think.” Mrs. Kinsella looks up. Ellen steps through with her mom, who must have come right from the hospital where she works. She’s wearing white instead of black but doesn’t seem worried about it. She walks right up to Mrs. Kinsella and hugs her, while Ellen wanders over to me.
    “You girls will want to talk.” Nonna gives us a little push toward Ruby and dump truck boy. He’s probably about three and reminds me of Ian at that age, full of snot and too much energy. Not quite a tree—just a shrub. The kind that looks all shaggy and bright red in the fall.
    “Hi, Ruby,” I say. She turns to me and opens her mouth to say something, but the kid beats her to it.
    “My name is Warren Washington Kinsella Junior.” He wipes his nose on his hand before offering it to me. I shake it and wipe it on Mom’s sweater.
    “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Warren Washington Kinsella.”
    “Junior,” he corrects. Ruby rolls her eyes, but Ellen and I laugh.
    “Can I write in that?” Warren Washington Kinsella Junior tugs at the corner of Ruby’s notebook.
    “No. But you can color. Here.” Ruby pulls a couple of crayons out of her pocket, tears a page from the back of the guest book, and sends Warren Washington Kinsella Junior off to