Sophie's World

by Nancy N. Rue

  “In Williamsburg, we had to call the sergeant ‘sir’—”

  The twinkle disappeared.

  “I guess Mama told you what happened,” Sophie said.

  “She did.” Daddy pulled up the pink vanity stool and sat carefully on it. “What were you thinking, Soph?”

  “I was thinking about a story I was making up,” Sophie said. “And then all of a sudden, my group was gone. I guess I got carried away.”

  He blinked and ran his hand through his thick black hair. “At least you’re honest.”

  I hope that counts when you start thinking up my punishment, Sophie thought.

  “But you give me the same reason every time something like this happens.”

  “I couldn’t help it,” Sophie said. “You should see that place. Everything is exactly like it was back in the olden days—exactly !”

  “They make it that way so you can learn your history—not so you can get so caught up in the fantasy of it that you wander off. Can you promise me that this won’t happen again?”

  Sophie thought about it, and then she shook her head.

  “Why not?”

  “Because—it just happens.”

  “And is it the same thing that ‘just happens’ when you stare into space in the classroom and don’t get your work done?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Daddy’s eyebrows pinched together. “Then we have to find a way to make it stop happening,” he said.

  There was a light tap on the door and Mama slipped in. She perched on the edge of Sophie’s bed, her feet dangling above the floor.

  “We’re just talking about how we’re going to stop all this daydreaming,” Daddy said.

  You were just talking about it, Sophie thought. I don’t want to stop daydreaming.

  “I guess we’re going to have to go with what we talked about,” he said.

  What is this? Sophie thought. Are they going to put me in the stocks or what?

  “Okay,” Daddy said to her. “As soon as we can get you in, you’re going to start seeing a counselor. Your mother will fill you in on all the details.”

  Sophie thought her eyes were going to pop out of her head. “A counselor?” she said. “You mean, like a psychiatrist?”

  “No!” Mama said. “He’s a counselor you can talk to.” She reached across and touched Sophie’s cheek. “We know you’re unhappy, Dream Girl.”

  “And he helps kids straighten out so they can do better in school.” Daddy sat up straight. “And you have to promise, Sophie, that you will try to do everything he says. Am I clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” Sophie said.

  When her parents had closed the door behind them, Sophie flounced across her pillows, hair streaming.

  “Please,” Antoinette cried to the governor. “Please don’t send me to that awful place. I’m not crazy! I have a mission to accomplish!”

  “Are you nuts?”

  Sophie looked up miserably at Lacie, whose compact frame stood in the doorway, still in her soccer clothes.

  “They think I am,” Sophie said. “And don’t you know how to knock?” She flung both arms out to her sides.

  “Okay, lose the drama.” Lacie scooped her dark-like-Daddy’s hair into a ponytail holder she’d been wearing on her wrist. “Do you want to go see this shrink?”

  “No! He’s just gonna tell me I’m weird like everybody else does, and my grades are still going to be bad, and Daddy will ground me forever, and then I’ll have to sit here like I’m in prison—”

  “Not that you wouldn’t actually enjoy the drama.” Lacie’s face took on the sharp look that made her freckles fold into stern little dashes. “You want some advice?”

  Like I could stop you, Sophie wanted to say.

  “You need something to do,” Lacie said. “So you won’t even think about daydreaming.”

  “I don’t want to play soccer, if that’s what you’re going to say.”

  “It doesn’t have to be soccer. It can be volleyball or softball—”

  “I’m not good at sports.”

  “Okay, so chess—no, not chess. That’s for brainy kids.”

  “I’m not stupid!”

  “I’m not either. I make straight A’s—remember?”

  Sophie sniffed. As if you or Daddy ever let me forget it.

  “It’s cool to make good grades if you handle it right,” Lacie said. “You’re smart enough if you’ll just focus. You don’t focus because you’re off on Planet Weird, so you need something that you can think about—something in the real world.”

  That’s just it, Sophie thought. Sometimes I don’t even like the real world.

  “You only think you’re not good at sports,” Lacie said. “Let me work with you on some basic skills.”

  “N.O.!”

  Lacie scrunched up one eye and put her finger in her ear. “Okay, okay! Why do you have to do that? You about pierced my eardrum. A simple ‘no’ would do.”

  “Would it get you out of my room?” Sophie said.

  “Probably.”

  “Then—simply no.”

  “All right. Fine.” Lacie folded her arms across her chest the way Daddy did. “I’m just trying to help you so you won’t become a total loser. Just promise me you aren’t going to wear that stupid white cap to school.”

  “I thought you said a simple ‘no’ would get you out of my room.”

  “I’m going. I’m just telling you—”

  Sophie readied for another high-pitched squeal. Lacie raced out the door.

  Antoinette sighed under the mosquito netting. If it weren’t for her mission to save Lafayette, she would fire Lacette, that saucy little maidservant. Then she would flee this miserable place. She would board a ship and sail triumphantly back to Paris, where they understood her for the hero she really was.

  The next morning in language arts, Maggie passed Sophie a note that said, “So did you get busted?” Sophie wrote back with her quill pen: Yef. Bufted.

  Sophie counted every minute, trying to ignore Maggie and B.J. and her group who couldn’t seem to talk about anything else BUT the incident on the field trip. In social studies, Ms. Quelling took her aside and said, “You can’t hope for better than a C in citizenship after your stunt yesterday. Keep your mind on your work, and STOP making your S ’s like F ’s.”

  The misery went on for days. Every day, Sophie stopped at the cafeteria door just long enough to throw away her sandwich, and then she fled outside to meet Antoinette. About a week after the field trip, on a lonely Tuesday, she was on the top of the rusted monkey bars nobody ever used.

  Antoinette didn’t care about rust—or the stocks—or the advancing British soldiers. All she cared about was getting to Lafayette. His encampment lay just over the hill. She knew the troops were making ready to cross the James River, right into the trap. Antoinette let her cloak fly out behind her as she grappled up the hill, ignoring the biting wind, fearless now of even Governor Spotswood himself. If she could just reach the top before —

  “Hey—where are you?”

  Sophie had to twist to look under her own arm. A pair of wonderful gray eyes, set in a golden face, looked up at her. The girl tucked a strand of chocolate brown hair behind her ear, where it crept out again.

  “Are you climbing a hill or a wall?” she said. Sophie had never seen the girl before, and she didn’t dare believe her ears.

  “Hill,” she said finally.

  “Who are you?” the girl said.

  “Sophie LaCroix.”

  “I know that. I mean, who are you right now?”

  “I’m Antoinette,” Sophie said.

  She waited for the eye roll, the curled lip, the “You are weird!”

  “Oh,” the girl said. “So—can I play?” Her eyes took on a dreamy glow. “I could be Henriette.”

  Four

  Sophie stared with her mouth wide open as “Henriette” climbed to the bar below her.

  “Are we French?” the girl whispered.

  Sop
hie nodded.

  “Bonjour!” the girl cried.

  Sophie answered, “Bonjour!”

  “Merci, Mademoiselle Antoinette. Why are we climbing this hill?”

  Sophie sucked in her breath. Her answer might send “Henriette” racing across the playground yelling “Weirdo alert!” Sophie let out the breath.

  “I must get a message to Lafayette,” she said. “Or else he and his troops will walk into a trap—”

  “You can’t go alone! It’s too dangerous! I’ll keep watch for you.”

  Sophie squinted at her through her glasses. “Can you be trusted?”

  “You have my word,” said “Henriette” solemnly. “I can give you no greater guarantee than that.”

  Sophie fought back a smile of relief and nodded seriously, whispering, “All right, then. But stay low.”

  Behind them, Great Marsh Elementary School transformed into the maze of gardens and stone walls of Williamsburg, and the shouts of other students became those of the British, foiled in their attempt to trick the brave Marquis de Lafayette.

  The Marquis bowed on one knee to kiss their hands.

  “You brave damsels must allow me to repay you in some way.”

  “It is enough to know we have helped you,” Antoinette said, her head bowed.

  “Oui, monsieur,” said Henriette.

  “What are y’all doing up there?”

  Sophie unfolded from her bow. Four faces stared up at them.

  “This is what she was doing in Williamsburg, Julia,” said B.J. “Being weird.” She pointed at Sophie and nudged the tall girl.

  Julia tucked in her chin. Her thick, russet ponytail fell forward. “What are y’all doing?” she said again.

  “Imagining,” said “Henriette.” “What are y’all doing?”

  A nervous-eyed girl with short, black hair let out a squeal that reminded Sophie of a toy poodle.

  “We’re being normal,” Julia said. She glanced at her friends expectantly, and they all nodded. The giggly one cackled with B.J. and a fourth girl, who was so thin that Sophie felt certain she’d fall over if someone breathed on her. Skinny Girl ended with a loud, juicy sniff.

  “Would you like a serviette?” said “Henriette.”

  Julia flipped an impatient hand through the air. “This is just way too weird.”

  She turned and strode off, ponytail swishing importantly from side to side. The other three followed her like ducks.

  “I have two questions,” Sophie said when they were gone.

  “Number one,” said “Henriette,” holding up a finger.

  “What’s a serviette?”

  “It’s French for ‘napkin.’ She totally needed to blow her nose, but I don’t know the word for Kleenex.” She held up a second finger. “Number two?”

  “What’s your this-world name?”

  “Fiona Bunting. Today’s my first day.”

  Sophie swung down from the bars and dropped to the ground with Fiona right behind her.

  “How did you know my name already, then?” Sophie said.

  “I heard B.J. talking about you in class, so I asked her your name.” Fiona rolled her wonderful gray eyes. “She said it was Soapy, and then she was all laughing. That’s because she’s a Pop—you know, a popular girl. They think every corny word out of their mouths is funny.”

  Sophie gave her a sideways glance. “You didn’t think it was funny—what B.J. said?”

  “No! I thought it was absolutely heinous.”

  “Heinous?” Sophie said.

  “Dreadful. Wretched,” said Fiona. “Heinous far exceeds horrible.”

  “Oh,” said Sophie. “I understand you.”

  “Yeah,” Fiona said, “and I understand you too.”

  For the rest of the week, Sophie and Fiona lived together in the world of Antoinette and Henriette. After lunch, after school—even on the phone after supper and almost all weekend—until Lacie complained to Daddy that Sophie was hogging the line. Mostly, for Sophie, it was about what Fiona called the deliciousness of it all. Some of it, though, helped her NOT to think about going to see the counselor on Monday.

  During after-lunch free time that day, Sophie and Fiona were near the monkey bars. Sophie crouched on the ground beside Fiona, holding her hand and stroking her forehead.

  “Now what are y’all doing?”

  Sophie tried to ignore the sound of Julia’s voice. Henriette had scarlet fever—this was no time for conversation.

  “Hello? Anybody home?”

  Sophie finally looked up at her least favorite faces on the playground.

  Fiona groaned, “Must you be so imperious, Julia?”

  “What?” B.J. said. Kitty hovered around B.J. like a moth, echoing “What?” and sending the giggly girl into poodle shrieks.

  “Willoughby—Kitty—shut up,” Julia said.

  “We’re playing a game,” Fiona said.

  “I know that,” Julia said.

  Fiona blinked her gray eyes. “Then why did you ask?”

  “Well,” Julia said, “because you’re lying on the ground and Soapy is patting your head like you’re a cocker spaniel.”

  That sent Willoughby into a fresh batch of giggles.

  “Willoughby!” Julia said, snapping her red braid like a whip. “I told you to shut up !”

  “I can’t help it,” Willoughby said. “Her voice makes me laugh.”

  “Yours doesn’t make me laugh,” Julia said.

  Willoughby whimpered and hid behind the shoulder of the skinny blonde.

  “You should get up off the ground, Fiona,” the skinny girl said. Her voice was thick, as if she still had nose problems.

  “Tell me why, Anne-Stuart,” Fiona said to the skinny girl. “Is there a rule against lying down outside?”

  “There ought to be,” Julia said. “There ought to be a rule against being weird, period.”

  “But who says what’s weird and what’s not?” Fiona said.

  Sophie gaped at her friend. Fiona sure enjoyed an argument. Sophie usually just shrugged and went back into her daydreams when stuff like this happened. They only had about five more minutes of free time to bring Henriette back to health, and she didn’t want to waste it on the Pops.

  “Everybody knows it’s weird to still be playing make believe in the sixth grade,” B.J. said. “That’s like a rule itself.”

  “Everybody knows it,” Kitty chimed in. “I even know it.”

  “That’s why everybody thinks you’re strange, Sophie,” Anne-Stuart said. “If you acted, you know, like normal, you’d have more friends.”

  Fiona propped herself up on her elbows. “Would you be our friend, Anne-Stuart?”

  “I am so over this,” Julia said, and led her train of Pops away.

  Fiona lifted her face closer to Sophie’s. “I didn’t think she wanted us in her little group.”

  “Whatever,” Sophie said. She flopped back onto her elbows. She could feel herself scowling.

  “Are you mad at me?” Fiona said.

  “No,” Sophie said. “I just wish I didn’t have to go where I have to go this afternoon.”

  “Orthodontist?”

  “No.” Sophie pulled a strand of her hair under her nose like a moustache. “Do you promise you won’t tell another single solitary person about this? Not now or ever.”

  Fiona’s eyes went round. “I promise on Henriette’s soul,” she said. “What’s up?”

  “I have to go see a psychiatrist,” Sophie whispered.

  Fiona sat straight up. “No way! My parents tried that on me too.”

  “Then—what do you think he’s going to be like? I can’t even imagine it—and I can imagine just about anything!”

  Fiona rolled onto her belly and rested her chin in her hands. “He’ll be old and bald and definitely crazier than you, but don’t worry. Even though it’s heinous at first, it won’t last long.”

  “It won’t?” Sophie said.

  “No.” Fiona looked wise. “See, the thing
with psychiatrists is that if they’re going to change you, you have to want to change. Both my therapists told me that first thing. When I told them I didn’t want to change, they told my parents they couldn’t do anything for me.”

  Sophie sagged. “I can’t do that. I promised my father that I would try to do everything the counselor told me.”

  Fiona gave an elaborate sigh and fell back into Henriette’s deathbed.

  “Then I suppose our fun is over,” she said. She flung her arm across her forehead.

  “No, Henriette!” Antoinette cried. “Nothing will ever come between us. Not the British! Not that evil doctor! Nothing!”

  Nothing except the bell.

  “Don’t let them change you,” Fiona said as they jogged toward the building. “Don’t let them.”

  That afternoon, Sophie trudged toward the old Suburban with her sadness cloak so heavy that she could barely lift herself into the front seat.

  From the back, Zeke shouted, “Hey, Mama!” Her little brother always yelled as though he stood at the opposite end of a soccer field.

  Sophie turned to look at him. His dark, thick hair stood in spikes, and his eyebrows wobbled up and down.

  “You know what about Spider-Man?”

  While Mama cooed over something Zeke had told her about a hundred and three times, Sophie stared glumly out the window.

  I don’t get it, she thought. Zeke thinks Spider-Man is real. He thinks he IS Spider-Man or Peter Parker or whoever and nobody sends him off to a psychiatrist. I know Antoinette is only in my mind, but everybody thinks I’m a nut case. And now I have to go try to explain that to some stranger.

  She sighed all the way from the hollow in her stomach. This was heinous. Absolutely heinous.

  Five

  The counselor was waiting when Mama, Zeke, and Sophie arrived. He wasn’t what Sophie and Fiona had dreamed up—at all—with his short, gelled hair and his twinkly blue eyes behind rimless glasses. He didn’t look even a little bit crazy.

  “Hey, Sophie,” he said, reaching to shake her hand. “I’m Peter Topping, but you can call me Dr. Peter if you want.”

  Zeke was obviously impressed, because he immediately launched into babble about the ice cream he was about to get if Sophie didn’t cry while she was at the doctor. Too bad he wasn’t the one who had to stay, Sophie thought.