When I was two years old, my mom purchased a necklace with my birthstone in it that she hoped I’d wear in the future. I was born in July, making my birthstone a ruby. Looking back, I find this rather interesting, as if Ruby were haunting me from the time I was young. I didn’t know then that Ruby would also be the name of my best friend, a name burned into my brain. A name that would never leave me, the name of a gemstone shattered into a million pieces.

I’m wearing the necklace now, running my finger over the brilliant red stone, as I sit by Ruby’s hospital bed. It seems that I’m always here, every other aspect of my life scared into the shadows. Classroom walls and pencil tapping have yielded to uncomfortably plain white walls and the beep of a heart monitor.
I never know how to feel when I look at Ruby. The typical feelings are there: Sadness, pain, love. But that doesn’t erase the sickness, guilt, and disgust that seep through my soul when I look at her. I feel sick every time someone walks in here, their eyes oozing with unspoken pity for the two of us. No one knows; they don’t even suspect a thing. But I know. I know the full story of Ruby, although it’s a story that can never be told.
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I met Ruby when I was twelve, a newcomer to our middle school. We were basically the antonym of each other, in the beginning. I was just an average, generally happy kid who liked school, pop music, and the color pink. Ruby was another story entirely. She seemed older than she was, for her dad left when she was six, and her mom was always too consumed in her petty affairs to give much attention to Ruby. She was as sharp edged as her namesake gem, bitter, and preferred blood soaked horror movies to the cutesy young adult novels I used to read. Nevertheless, we shared a sense of humor, and we both needed a good friend. And so, good friends we became.
I guess I wanted to be her friend because she was different, because she stood out. Ruby was different in ways that were impossible to describe. She was simple looking, brown hair, brown eyes, and an average figure. She was the image you’d get if you searched for a stock photo of a teenage girl. I once heard someone say she had a ‘forgettable face’ and looking back, this is now laughable. You don’t forget someone like Ruby and now, I never will.
Our first conversation was a prime example of what she was like. She sat by me in science, and one day, I decided to initiate conversation. “Hey, I, uh, like your name.” The painfully awkward compliment spilled from my mouth before I could think of something better to say.
She smiled at me, as if she weren’t used to hearing that. “Thanks.” She said simply.
Eager to continue our brief interaction, I stuttered, “It’s so pretty. It makes me think of red, like uh, a flower.” The young version of myself winced inwardly, wondering if it was possible to be any more lame.
“Or blood.” She said in a perfect deadpan. In time, I would realize that that was just her dry sense of humor. Yet, I still think about it often and can’t help  wondering if it should have been a warning.
In the years to come, we would grow close after that first conversation. Even if we didn’t have much in common, but we both liked a good laugh and relied on each other’s comfort and advice. Ruby remained mostly the same, but I changed more than I thought would be possible.  She brought out the best in me, even if she was the sort of talkative girl teachers hated.
We were the perfect pair, or we would have been if it hadn’t been for Carter.
Thinking back, he ruined everything, from the first time we met him to his last day on Earth. I instantly decided he was a jerk when I laid eyes on him; the way he talked to people made me want to vomit. Yet, Ruby seemed to fall in love at first sight.
Only two weeks after he showed up, the two of them were dating. Ruby soon had a light in her eyes I hadn’t seen, and her smiles became more frequent, but those are the only reasons I couldn’t bring myself to try to end it. I never got what Ruby saw in Carter, but I realized it wasn’t my place when she didn’t talk to me for a week after I tried to explain how awful he was. I told myself it would be harmless; it wouldn’t last long. I tried to pretend that she wouldn’t be hurt, although I knew then, just as well as I know now, that he would be her kiss of death.
As the months sped by, Ruby and I were still close and luckily, she didn’t leave me in the dust in favor of Carter. That didn’t stop me from silently hating the whole affair. It seemed as if I were the only person in the school who didn’t worship the ground Carter walked on. He was not the influence Ruby needed, for he only enticed her propensity to do dangerous things. The two of us were different, sure, but sometimes I wondered if she was really who I thought she was or if one day I’d lose the good aspects of her. My not so subtle hatred for Carter was so strong, I didn’t realize that I could be hurting her as much as Carter would. In the end, both of our influences drove her too far.
Things fell apart in January of our junior year. Depression began to cloud over her, and i realized it was due to Carter. She didn’t text him as much and spent more time with me, for he was apparently distant. That didn’t have to mean something, but the pain and insceurty in Ruby’s eyes ment she was choosing to assume it did. 
I had been home alone on Saturday, studying for my Spanish exam, when, at about four, Ruby called me. I picked up and all I heard was her heavy, uneven breathing.
“Ruby?” I asked, cautiously. “Is everything okay?”
I heard her suck in a breath and a rush of words poured from her mouth as if she couldn’t keep them in. Mostly insults, and a few jumled sentences I couldn’t begin to make out.
I cut her off, thinking she might ramble for eternity if I let her. “Who are you talking about? What happened?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
“Carter,” she said and the rage and horror in her voice stopped me cold. As much as I knew this was bad, nothing could have prepared me for the sentence she uttered next. “He’s dead.”
I shrieked in spite of myself, then tried to calm down. “What happened?”
She audibly sucked in a breath and began to speak hysterically, different emotions rushing out with each word. “He cheated on me! I can’t believe- you were right! I’m so sorry. I was so mad, you have to understand. I heard rumors he was with someone else, and I saw him at the park later. And he confessed!” I could tell she was about to cry as she continued. “He didn’t even care! And there was a shovel there. I just-”
Then everything clicked like a seat belt. “No. No. You- you didn’t.” My voice shook. Ruby was my best friend. I knew her. I knew she wouldn’t do this. Would she?
She sobbed for a second, bouncing from furious and betrayed to regretful and heartbroken. “I don’t know why. I shouldn’t have. But he deserved it! I know he did! But I’m screwed now. No one saw; the park was empty. Please, Avery, nobody needs to know.”
This exceeded my worst expectations. Ruby was crazy. There weren’t words terrible enough to describe how I felt about Carter. But he did not deserve this.
I stayed silent for a few seconds, refusing to give in to the panic, and running my options. I could could call the cops, call my mom, go find Ruby, or maybe just dive in a hole and hide for a few years. The last option was quite compelling. “Where are you?” I asked finally.
“In the car,” She said, crying. “I had to get out. I’m by the gas station, th-  the one near the school. I- Avery, help. I g-gotta get-”
She didn’t get to finish her sentence, as pandemonium erupted on the other side of the line. Screeches and crashes nearly deafened me and the line went dead. The phone fell from my hand. I burst out my front door and hit the street at a dead run.
I got there before the cops did, since she was so close by. I got there in time to see the aftermath of the wreck, my tracks stopping, unable to comprehend the scene. My eyes laid on Ruby, and the trance broke, allowing my feet to carry me to her side. I stared at her mutilated, unconscious body for five seconds and promptly vomited on the road. She was the one who enjoyed gore, but I had always despised it, now more than ever.
I remember I was crying and clutching her hand, hoping she’d wake up. I forced myself to focus on this situation and forget about Carter. That could wait, but from the looks of it, Ruby couldn’t. I heard sirens in the distance then. They were like wails of pain zooming through a world oblivious and uncaring to the fact that one day had reduced my life to shattered glass. Shattered glass like that of the broken windshield on the street.
My brain wasn’t functional enough to remember what happened next, but then I was at the hospital. Ruby’s mom was already there, in tears, and I wanted to punch her. Her selfishness was part of the reason Ruby was like this. She never cared enough about her. I called my parents and soon my mom was there, crying as well. She was the mother Ruby had always wanted and she cared about her genuinely.
Hours later, we were updated on Ruby’s condition. After a bunch of medical terms that made no sense, the doctor got to the point. They had no idea if she was going to wake up. I froze and suddenly, my mind returned to Ruby’s backyard when we were 13, playing on her trampoline. It had been a perfect spring day, sunny, and the bluebirds were singing. On that day, we were messing around and I fell off the side, like my mom always feared I would. The wind was knocked out of me, pain shot through me, and I wondered if I’d ever be able to breathe again. Here in the hospital, I had the same exact feeling, except no birds were singing this time.
It wasn’t until the doctors pulled Ruby’s mother away and I got a moment alone with ruby that the problems came back. Carter. I gasped and stood up, unable to control this small outburst. “Oh gosh, no!” I said starting on a sotto voce rant of fear and shock, staring at Ruby the whole time.
Ruby who was a murderer. Ruby who killed Carter.I found myself stuck, knowing I was supposed to be horrified with her, but I felt so much sympathy and pain from this whole situation.
What would happen to Carter? I didn’t know the deal with his parents; it seemed like he didn’t have any sometimes. There was guaranteed to be an investigation, but Ruby said no one was around. I looked at her, and it hit me that she was wearing gloves. Not surprising considering how cold it was, but that meant there would be no fingerprints. And no one would dare suspect the comatose girl who had just lost her boyfriend. I was the only one who would ever know. Unless, of course, I told someone.
School was a hectic mess that Monday, people swarmed me like gossiping mosquitoes eager to suck information from me about Ruby, and about Carter. Ruby had gained a certain amount of fame (or perhaps infamy) when she was dating Carter, who was this year's passing craze. People were shocked and heartbroken, wondering how the school’s favorite couple could meet such a gory end in one weekend. People began to assume Ruby had swerved off the road from heartbreak after hearing about Carter. They were so wrong.
I refused to answer any questions, and people got the message. That didn’t stop them from talking though. Every time I entered a room, I’d catch a few words, usually involving my name or Ruby’s, then someone would look up and all conversation would screech to a halt like brakes of a car.
The next weeks at school were awful, with the most ridiculous rumors and suspicions circulating about Ruby and Carter. Every time I thought of her, the same question raced through my mind, the same track on repeat for the rest of this miserable existence. How will anything be okay again? It was on the 4th day since the crash, just after what seemed to be the 50th pitiful glance and probably the 200th mention of the name “Ruby” that the answer came to me: Nothing was going to be okay again.
Three weeks after the crash and I still found myself there. Still watching Ruby with the same sickness still swirling inside my stomach. I barely slept, because I still didn’t know what to do. I was always there, sometimes with her mom, sometimes with my mom, but sometimes I was alone. Just me, staring at this lifeless doll who was impersonating my friend.
I struggled constantly with the secret I kept. I was used to telling my mother everything, but I’d never had a secret like this. I was still the only person who knew the truth, and gossipmongers could fabricate as many theories as they like, but I knew the truth. I just couldn’t decide if anyone else should get to know it. Ruby told me not to tell anyone, and I understood why. She was in a coma, she didn’t need to be charged with murder, and I knew this wouldn’t exactly look good for me. Maybe she was right, nobody needs to know.
I stared at Ruby. She looked the same as she had for the past month, not even the slightest change. As I looked at her, I thought back to something the doctor said the day this happened. She had said that Ruby wasn’t wearing a seatbelt, and that we were “lucky” it wasn’t worse. I almost giggled, and I don’t know if it was because of my exhaustion or the near insane state everything had caused in me.
Lucky. Was this lucky? Was it good luck that Ruby was in a coma? Was she lucky to be alive, although you can’t really call this living? Was it good luck that Carter was dead by her hand? And was it good luck that the most horrible secret of all time has been forced upon me, stuffed in a cage where it scratched around, gnawing at my brain and refusing to let me live in peace for this past month and the ones to come? Was all of this really good luck?
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I got up and left the hospital room on that day, not knowing when I’d be back. I needed to go somewhere for a change. Looking at her forever was slowly killing me. The thoughts in my head were poisoning me.  I didn’t know if she’d suddenly wake up, if someone would discover the truth, if things would ever be okay. The uncertainty.
I walked home and sat on my bed. Back then, I didn’t know what was going to happen to Scarlett, if I would ever bring myself to see her again. I didn’t know if she would wake up. And I didn’t know what would happen to me. I still don’t.
People still say it was ‘good luck’ she didn’t die back then. Ha. I guess sometimes good luck isn’t all that great, because when I look back from here, from three long years after the crash, I realize that everything might have been a lot better if she had just died that day.