Her mother said she was an ambitious girl. "Since she was a child she knew what she wanted and she figured out how to get it. She didn't depend on anyone to hand it to her. Not Ruby. We named her for Ruby Keeler, my favorite movie star. Who knew our Ruby would also be a dancer, a star? When our family hit rough times and I had to give up my job to care for my husband, Ruby became our sole support. But our girl never complained. She was a gem, just like her name."

Her boyfriend, brother of actor and entertainer Danny Thomas, declined this reporter's request for an interview. He was in seclusion, according to family members, mourning the loss of a wonderful girl.

5.

Christina Christina Demetrious was done in by that news story. Ruby was an ambitious girl...she knew what she wanted, Ruby's mother said. She couldn't get that line out of her head. If she died suddenly, would her mother say that about her? She didn't think so. Her mother didn't know who she was or what she wanted. And that thought made her cry as much as the story in the paper.

Christina and her family had been at an anniversary party for her aunt and uncle in Metuchen on the day the plane crashed. The next morning, when Papou, her grandfather, had taken out the trash, he'd found pieces of the plane in their yard. Her father dropped them off at the police station on his way to work at his restaurant, Three Brothers Luncheonette. Baba was disappointed she wasn't coming to work with him at the restaurant after graduation. She might have if there weren't already four male cousins waiting to take over when Baba and her uncles retired. None of them believed a girl had any place working in a restaurant except as a waitress, a cashier or maybe a bookkeeper. Athena was smart to go into business with Mama, where she had a real future.

Christina was sure Dr. O would cancel the annual holiday outing to New York. She could see the toll the crash had taken, the way Dr. O worked all day, then rushed to the makeshift morgue to help identify bodies by their dental records. That would take the steam out of anyone. Sure, Dr. O still told jokes in the office-the one about the guy with the carrot in his ear was his latest-and he still whistled his patients' favorite tunes while he worked on their teeth, but she could see it in his eyes, a sadness that was never there before.

This was the third year Christina had worked for Dr. O after school. He'd asked her to work for him full-time starting in June, when she graduated from Battin High School, and she was going to take him up on his offer.

If her mother knew who sometimes came to Dr. O's office she would faint. Faint and then forbid her ever to return. Or maybe the other way around. Forbid, then faint. Her mother lived to see her girls safely married to Greek husbands, as if then nothing bad could happen to them. She already had her eye on someone for Christina, Zak Galanos. He was a senior at Newark State, majoring in education. Next year he'd be teaching. His father worked at Singer's and was known around town as the Sewing Machine Man because he could repair or recondition any Singer. Christina's father thought she could do better. A businessman, maybe, or a lawyer.

If her father knew she'd met Longy Zwillman, New Jersey's most notorious gangster, at Dr. O's office, let alone held a dental mirror in his mouth, she didn't know what he'd do. But it wouldn't be good. Now that Longy had a fancy society wife, two children, and lived in an ivy-covered mansion in West Orange, he was considered a wealthy businessman, not a gangster. He was active in the community, philanthropic, giving money to synagogues and other Jewish charities. No more talk of murder or other crimes. Still, everyone in her parents' generation knew about him.

We don't discuss what happens in the office, Daisy always reminded her. Daisy Dupree had worked as Dr. O's secretary forever, since he set up his dental practice nearly twenty years ago. She was considered family by the Osners. Christina was learning from Daisy how to be discreet. Discretion. A word most of her cla.s.smates had never heard, and certainly never practiced.

Yesterday, Daisy had taken her aside to explain the rules for this year's holiday outing. "Mrs. Osner has imposed a moratorium on crash talk," Daisy said. "And, Christina...why don't you wear the sweater set Mrs. Osner gave you for your birthday? I know she'd like to see it on you."

She'd be happy to wear the sweater set. It was beautiful. Mrs. Osner's gifts always were. As for happy talk, she could do that. Who wanted to talk about the crash, anyway? Who wanted to think that only eight people could be identified by their faces? Only eight. They all needed a break, didn't they?

- THE TRIP FROM ELIZABETH to New York on the train took twenty-three minutes, with one stop in Newark. Christina brought along her knitting. She was making argyle socks for Jack for Christmas. The contrasting colors hung on dangling bobbins, not easy to keep straight on a herky-jerky train. She couldn't work on them at home, except alone in her bedroom, because everyone knew you knitted argyle socks only for a boyfriend. When she was with the family she worked on the scarf she was knitting for Jack's younger brother, Mason, or the matching coat for Mason's dog, Fred. If Mama asked, Who is that for, Christina? she could say it was for Mr. Durkee, her favorite teacher, and Mama would approve.

Daisy, who was sitting next to her on the train, leaned over and said, "I love those socks!"

"They're for Jack." Daisy knew Christina had a boyfriend. She'd met him once, when he'd brought his brother to the office. Christina was proud of Jack. He knew how to shake hands and look a person right in the eye. Plus, he had a great smile without ever having had orthodontia. She couldn't tell Mama or Baba about Jack because he wasn't Greek, which was too bad, because she was sure they'd like him.

"Lucky Jack!" Daisy said. Then she went back to the book she was reading. Christina couldn't see the t.i.tle because Daisy covered her books in oilcloth to keep them clean, the same pattern as the covering on the kitchen table at Christina's house.

This year Natalie brought her friend Miri on the holiday outing, and the two girls sat together in their matching camel-hair coats, yakking away. They seemed so young to Christina, even though she knew they'd be in tenth grade at Battin next year. Had she been that young three years ago? She didn't think so.

Steve was reading that new book The Catcher in the Rye. Christina had no idea what the t.i.tle meant. Some of the girls at school went on dates to Staten Island, where you could be legally served at eighteen. Some of them had fake IDs. They drank rye-and-ginger ales. Maybe that's what the t.i.tle meant. The Catcher in the Rye and Ginger Ale. The idea made her laugh. If she wanted to know more she'd have to go to the public library and reserve a copy of the book. Maybe she would.

The train swerved, causing Christina to drop a st.i.tch. She rested her knitting on her lap and looked over at Mrs. Osner, who sat with Fern. She didn't get why they let Fern drag that cowboy bunny everywhere, and even worse, let her tell people he had no p.e.n.i.s. In Christina's family Fern would get her mouth washed out with soap just for saying that word out loud.

Mrs. Osner was wearing her mink coat and alligator pumps. She carried a matching alligator pocketbook. A small mink hat was perched on top of her short blond hair. Her nails were perfectly manicured. She used just a touch of makeup to accent her eyes and a bit of rouge to give her a healthy glow. Christina couldn't help imagining Mrs. Osner's underwear. She'd grown up playing on the floor of her mother's shop, Nia's Lingerie, with the packing boxes from the girdles and bra.s.sieres as her toys. She'd watched as her mother had gently guided excess flesh into boned and padded girdles, lifted sagging b.r.e.a.s.t.s into bra.s.siere cups, telling each customer to take a big breath and hold it as she hooked the bottoms of the bra.s.sieres into the tops of the girdles. But Mrs. Osner was trim and probably wore just a panty girdle, bra and slip. No bones or hooks for her.

She shifted in her seat and picked up her knitting. She felt bloated. She'd doubled her pads, sprinkled them with baby powder, and neatly pinned them to her sanitary belt. Her mother had forbidden her to use Tampax until after she was safely married. "It could spoil you," Mama said. Christina got the message. It's good her mother didn't know how far she'd already gone with Jack.

- EVERY YEAR their first stop in the city was lining up to see the Christmas windows at Lord & Taylor, followed by the viewing of the huge, beautiful tree at Rockefeller Center and the skaters in the rink below. Christina sometimes skated on the frozen pond in Warinanco Park, but she had never worn a velvet skating skirt or learned to twirl with her head tilted back.

Then it was time for lunch at Lindy's. Christina had learned to order a hot turkey platter, something she could eat with a knife and fork, instead of one of their signature sandwiches piled high with corned beef and pastrami.

She was glad she'd taken Daisy's advice and worn the sweater set Mrs. Osner had given her on her last birthday. Mrs. Osner was pleased to see it. "That style suits you, Christina. And I like the collar."

"My grandmother embroidered it for me." All the girls at school were envious of Christina's collar collection. Yaya embroidered them with tiny flowers to match her sweaters.

"An elegant touch," Mrs. Osner said.

She wasn't sure Mrs. Osner meant it but Daisy had taught her you never second-guess a compliment. She was lucky to have a grown-up friend like Daisy to help her navigate the world that was waiting on the other side of high school. When she looked over at Daisy, Daisy smiled at her.

- CHRISTINA RELAXED for the first time that day when, finally, it was time for the Christmas show at Radio City Music Hall. She sank back into the plush red seat and let her eyes close for a minute. The movie was I'll See You in My Dreams with Doris Day and Danny Thomas. She loved Doris Day. If Christina could be anyone, she might be Doris Day. Doris was so perky and had such a good voice. Christina sang in the shower, pretending to be Doris, belting out one song after the other. But she knew she didn't sound anything like her, no matter how hard she tried.

After the show they made a stop at Hanson's, the drugstore where Ruby Granik hung out before she got on the plane. Even though they weren't supposed to talk about the crash today, a visit to Hanson's was the one thing Natalie wanted for Hanukkah-that and dance cla.s.ses in New York.

Christina needed another Midol. She needed to get to the ladies' room to change her pads.

Daisy Daisy had three thoughts on the train coming back from New York.

One: She could see plain as day that to Christina, the holiday outing was a ch.o.r.e, something to get through without appearing to be suffering. She understood her discomfort around the Osner family. What did Christina have in common with any of them? She and Steve might be the same age, but they'd never gone to school together and didn't share the same friends. And to Christina, Natalie was a child. She didn't seem smitten by little Fern, either, though personally, Daisy found Fern irresistible.

But she appreciated the effort Christina was making, going overboard in telling Corinne and Dr. O how much she'd enjoyed the movie, how Doris Day was her all-time favorite movie star, how the songs in the movie were so beautiful she'd be humming them in the shower for years to come. When she compared the ice cream at Hanson's to the homemade ice cream at Schutt's in Elizabeth, Daisy put an arm around her shoulder to gently shut her up.

In all her years with Dr. O, Daisy had never allowed herself to grow emotionally attached to the young a.s.sistants who came and went, working a few years before marrying, having babies, then sending pictures of their growing families every Christmas. But she had to admit, she felt maternal toward Christina. She could not imagine having a better daughter. Kind, loyal, bright, hardworking. She had to hand it to her parents for raising such a fine young lady. She knew Christina's father from his restaurant. Most days she'd go down to Three Brothers to get Dr. O a sandwich and coffee for lunch. He'd eat in his tiny lab, sitting on a high stool, thumbing through the lastest issue of Esquire or one of the other magazines he subscribed to. She brought her lunch from home and ate at her desk, between patients.

Recently, Dr. O had asked her about Christina's boyfriend. She told him Jack McKittrick struck her as a fine young man, an electrician with a good future. He was responsible and mature for his years.

"But they're so young," Dr. O had said.

That was certainly true. Christina just turning eighteen, Jack, what, maybe twenty-one? Daisy liked Jack. She sensed something different about him. And she liked the way he'd treated Christina the few times she'd seen them together.

Daisy so wanted the younger generation to enjoy themselves today, for Dr. O's sake. The annual holiday outing was his idea, and because it was important to him, Daisy did her best to organize the events and tickets. Dr. O needed a good day right now, a day to celebrate life and family and friends, a day without death. So follow Christina's example, kids, and show some enthusiasm!

Two: She should be pleased Steve was reading The Catcher in the Rye, and she would be if she hadn't selected the same t.i.tle for his Hanukkah gift, wrapped and waiting in her car. She'd planned to hand the bag with their holiday books to Corinne when they said goodbye at the train station in Elizabeth, so Corinne could put them under the Hanukkah bush. Steve could take it back to the bookshop and exchange it for another book, not that there was another as perfect for him as Catcher. She wondered who had given it to him, or had he taken it out of the library? If so, she should be doubly pleased. But she wasn't.

Three: She needed a stiff drink, the sooner, the better.

Christina When they got back to Elizabeth, Daisy offered Christina a ride home from the train station. It was already dark and Christina was grateful she wouldn't have to take the bus. When Daisy dropped Christina off at her house, she handed her a wrapped gift. "You might not want to put this one under the tree. It could be too personal."

Christina thanked Daisy and tucked it under her coat. As soon as she was safely in her room, with her back to the door, she ripped the paper off Daisy's gift. No surprise that it was a book. Daisy bought all her gifts at the Ritz Book Shop, just up the street from the office. Christina didn't know anyone who bought books the way Daisy did. Once, Christina had asked Daisy why she didn't use the public library. Daisy said, "Oh, but I do. The bookshop is for books I just have to own." Daisy didn't buy just any book. She gave a lot of thought to each of them. Christina had never heard of this one, Love Without Fear. Daisy's note said, Dearest Christina, I wish someone had given me this book when I was your age. I had so many questions but I was too afraid to ask them. Merry Christmas to a special young woman. It's a pleasure to work with you.

Daisy There was also a small separate package with a key to the office in a purple leather key holder. Her own key to the office. That meant they trusted her. It meant they thought she was mature enough to handle emergencies and to lock up after hours if she was last to leave. The key meant more than the book. Until she looked at the book. The book shocked her. And it made her wet down there. She'd have to keep it hidden under her mattress and read it only at night before she went to sleep.

She would write a friendly thank-you note to Daisy, making a big deal out of the key and a smaller deal out of the book.

Elizabeth Daily Post

LITTLE THINGS SAY A LOT.

By Henry Ammerman DEC. 21-When Elizabeth firemen hacked their way through the underbelly of the wrecked C-46, they piled the shoes, gloves, eyegla.s.ses and other salvage into boxes that were carried into the Elizabethtown Water Company's garage.

The items revealed stories that for a moment made the victims seem alive. A set of medical records told of a soldier who had survived the Korean battlefield, only to perish here. A pile of press clippings and photographs of a man described as a "212-pound Brooklyn wrestler" reminded us that the strong fall with the weak.

Other pieces of salvage, though anonymous, told their own stories. A pair of high-powered binoculars, the carrying case burned off, would never be used at a Florida racetrack. A child's twisted bicycle would never be ridden in the warm afternoons. An antic.i.p.ated Merry Christmas was evidenced by the gay holiday wrapping on a set of men's pajamas.

"Handle with care" was the admonition scrawled on the remains of a photo alb.u.m.

If only it could have been.

6.

Miri Was it wrong to go to a holiday dance just a week after something horrible had happened in their town? None of her friends thought so. They hardly talked about the crash anymore. They wanted to dress up and dance and have a good time. There might be boys from the Weequahic section of Newark at the Y, older boys who wouldn't necessarily know they were just ninth graders.

Miri wore her favorite dress, red wool with a full skirt and metallic b.u.t.tons down the front that either were or weren't made of old coins. Rusty thought they were. Her boss's wife saved their daughter's best things for Miri. Miri used to think Rusty bought them at a snazzy shop, Bonwit Teller, because that's what the labels inside said. But last year Miri met Mrs. Whitten, the boss's wife, at an office party, and when Mrs. Whitten admired Miri's dress, Miri jumped at the chance to say it came from Bonwit Teller. Mrs. Whitten said, "Yes, dear, I know. We get almost all of Charlotte's good clothes at Bonwit's."

How embarra.s.sing that until then she'd had no idea Rusty was bringing her hand-me-downs from Charlotte Whitten. What must Mrs. Whitten have thought? But when she'd confronted Rusty about Charlotte's dresses, expecting, she wasn't sure what, Rusty said, cheerfully, "I never said I bought them, honey."

"You never said you didn't."

"They're beautiful dresses. What's the difference if Charlotte wore them half a dozen times?"

So Miri learned to adjust, to be grateful to Charlotte Whitten for being her size, for having good taste, for taking care of her clothes. But she didn't tell her friends. She wasn't sure she ever would.

Some of the girls wore Cuban heels to the dance and others wore saddle shoes or ballet flats, but Miri carried Rusty's black pumps with heels and changed into them in the coatroom at the Y.

"Just don't get them wet," Rusty had said, before Miri left the house.

"Don't worry. I'm not walking outside."

"Even from the car to the Y, wear your flats."

"Okay."

They weren't Rusty's best shoes. These were leather and scuffed around the heel, though Rusty kept them polished. Miri was hoping to attract the attention of the older boys with her heels, and she did, for a minute-until they realized she was just in ninth grade and was friends with Steve Osner's younger sister.

At first the boys stood around surveying the room. The girls stood around talking to one another and pretending not to notice the boys. Then someone put on the first slow dance of the night-Nat King Cole singing "Unforgettable." That was the moment Miri would always remember, the moment she thought of as changing her life, because he was there, the mystery boy from Natalie's party, and he was heading her way. When he put his arms around her to dance, she melted into him, praying the song would never end.

Unforgettable, that's what you are Unforgettable, though near or far...

But like all songs, it did end, and when it did, he took a step away from her and looked deep into her eyes. His were blue. Miri held her breath. "You're taller than I remembered," he said.

"It's the shoes."

"Oh, the shoes." He smiled at her, a smile so disarming she melted on the spot.

She smiled back. "I'm Miri."

"I know."

He knew?

"I'm Mason." His voice was gravelly, as if maybe he had a sore throat.

"Mason." She tried it out. She'd never known anyone named Mason.

"Mason McKittrick."

McKittrick. Miri tried to hide her disappointment. He wasn't Jewish. Irene wouldn't approve. Okay, she wouldn't tell her. She wouldn't tell anyone. He would be another of her secrets. She was beginning to enjoy having secrets from her family.

While Natalie danced to every song with Winky Herkovitz, the best dancer in ninth grade, who dipped her, flipped her from knee to knee and twirled her, while Suzanne, the shiksa the Jewish boys loved, danced to every song with a different partner, while Eleanor, who still had braces on her teeth and refused to smile for photos, had a deep conversation with a chaperone, a teacher Uncle Henry's age and Robo, well developed and athletic, made out in the cloakroom with Pete Wolf, who believed in Martians, Miri danced only with Mason.

After a while he led her outside so he could have a smoke. She'd been right. He did smoke, and his brand was Luckies. Lucky Strike Means Fine Tobacco. He offered one to her. She shook her head. She'd tried it once and had almost choked to death. Almost vomited in front of everyone. But she liked the way he held the cigarette between his teeth. When he'd had enough he tossed it to the ground and stepped on it, crushing it like a bug.

He kissed her then, outside the Y in the freezing-cold December night air, with neither of them wearing a coat. Her teeth were chattering but she wasn't going to suggest they go back inside, not as long as he was holding her that way, not as long as he was kissing her that way and she was kissing him back. They kissed a second time and her legs turned to jelly. She'd heard that expression a million times, but until now she hadn't understood it. She'd never been kissed by a boy like Mason. No sloppy tongue shoved halfway down her throat, no washing out her ear. Just perfect kisses. Two, three, four-she lost count. If she died then she was sure she'd die happy.

They went back inside for the last dance. The lights had been dimmed and she and Mason danced cheek to cheek, thanks to her mother's heels, their arms wrapped around one another. In the meadow we can build a snowman...She was glad it wasn't "Goodnight, Irene," often the last song at a dance. She loved her grandmother but she didn't want to think about her tonight.

"Can I walk you home?" Mason asked while they, and everyone else, scrambled for their coats.

Miri nodded. "I just have to tell my friends."

Outside, Robo's father was waiting for them. The girls had already piled into the car. "I'm walking home with Mason," she told them.

"Who's Mason?" Natalie asked.

"The boy I've been dancing with, the one from your party...remember?"

"Yeah, but who is he?" Natalie said while the other girls hung on every word.

"Mason McKittrick. He goes to Jefferson," Miri said. "He knows Steve."

All this time Mason was standing next to her, listening. "Hey..." he said, giving a small wave to her friends.