The Notorious R(uth) B(arakat) G(rimaldi)

Chapter 1: Back to School

🎵No-no-notorious🎵
No-no-notorious
I can't read about it, burns the skin from your eyes

The sultry tones of Duran Duran's 1986 title track filled Ruthie's room as she grabbed her pillow and planted it firmly over her face.

The music, instead of getting muffled, got louder as some cold-hearted person turned it up.

Ruthie groaned and pulled the pillow more firmly around her ears, trying to drown out Simon LeBon's dulcet tones, and the fantastic harmony provided by Nick Rhodes and John Taylor.

Regardless of how kickass the song was, it was just too fucking loud, in Ruthie's opinion.

Her dads didn't think so, apparently.

"Come on, Ruthie Barakat Grimaldi," Dad called in his best DJ voice. "It's only the first day of your junior year once! Up and at 'em!"

The edge of her pillow was lifted, and a rolled up magazine was shoved under to serve as a makeshift megaphone so these words could be bellowed in the general direction of her head.

Great.

"Okay, okay," she muttered, lifting the pillow off her face and turning bleary eyes to her dads. "I'm up, I'm up." She rubbed her eyes, hoping they couldn't tell she'd spent much of last night crying.

"Good morning!" Pop sang out, lifting her off the bed as he enveloped her in a nearly bone-crushing hug.

In spite of herself, Ruthie smiled as she hugged him back, adding a kiss. Hugging Pop was one of her earliest and best memories, right up there with hugging Dad. Pop always smelled like aftershave, toothpaste, and hair products, because he went out to an office every day.

He felt Ruthie's hug and smiled as he released her, blue eyes shining as he shook his damp blond hair out of his eyes. "That's more like it, that's our Ruthie."

"Could you at least turn the music down?" Ruthie countered. "It's just too early for Simon to be this loud," she added.

"It's never too early for Simon," Dad responded, still using his DJ voice. He did turn the music down, though, as he, too, stepped in for his good morning hug and kiss. Dad smelled good in a completely different way from Pop, since he did most of his work from home, and didn't bother with hair products and cologne. Dad's smells came from coffee and laundry detergent, gardening soil and cooking. His dark hair and brown eyes were nearly the same shade, and he had the longest eyelashes Ruthie had ever seen on any living creature, male or female.

"Besides, like he said, it's only the first day of your junior year of high school once, Rosebud," Pop added, mussing her already completely wild hair. "We only get one more of these first days of school with you, you know?"

Rosebud.

Ruthie's other nickname, from when she was a baby. Her dads had given it to her because the "R" and the "B" played nicely off "Ruth" and "Barakat," and they swore that she'd looked just like a little pink rosebud when they first got her, all wrapped up in her blanket. It was a nickname that had been supplanted by the whole "Notorious R.B.G." moniker when Ruth Bader Ginsburg had acquired it a few years ago, and now it only made an appearance when her fathers were feeling emotional.