Sophie's World

by Nancy N. Rue

  “This is yours,” Maggie said to her. “There’s a cloak in here for you too. Mom made it your size.”

  Sophie took the dress and held it against her as Maggie pulled out a long, forest-green dress with matching cape for Fiona and a dashing white uniform with red trim, for her to wear as Lafayette.

  “That’s exactly how I imagined him!” Sophie said.

  “We looked it up in a book,” Maggie said. “If we’re gonna do this, we want it to be real, right?”

  “Now all we need is a musket for him,” Fiona said. She was breathless.

  “I brought one,” Maggie said. “It’s fake, of course.”

  It wouldn’t have surprised Sophie if it had been the real thing. Everything else was so exactly the way the guides in Williamsburg dressed that Sophie had to keep blinking to make sure she wasn’t still dreaming.

  Out of the last bag Maggie began to pull a black cape—velour, not velvet, but with a hood big enough for all of Sophie’s hair. Its plush fabric never seemed to stop unfolding.

  “Oh, Maggie,” Sophie said. “It’s magnificent!”

  “I knew you’d say that,” Maggie said. She didn’t smile, but her eyes, for a moment, looked soft.

  Breathless, Sophie donned the luscious black cloak. The woods were ablaze with autumn leaves. There was just a hint of a chill in the air. From someplace close by, someone had a wood fire going, so its time-honored aroma drifted into their scene. It was magically 1779 in Williamsburg.

  With serious faces, Fiona and Maggie set up the tripod and made ready for the first scene. From then on, Sophie was Antoinette—elegant and brave and held in honor by Henriette and the Marquis de Lafayette. And yet she was also Sophie Rae LaCroix, famous filmmaker, intent on making a fine film that would pack theaters everywhere.

  There were a couple of problems though. Once, Sophie forgot to turn the camera on, and they had to do a whole scene over. The other thing: Maggie couldn’t act.

  “She’s like a stick saying words,” Fiona whispered to Sophie.

  Sophie tried to coach her, but Maggie just stared with a blank face.

  “I wish you spoke French,” Fiona said.

  “I could do it in Spanish,” Maggie said.

  “Do that,” Sophie said “At least it’s a foreign language.”

  It helped. When they were wrapping up the final scene, Fiona said she wished they could go back and do all of Maggie’s scenes in Spanish. It was already two o’clock, and they had to dig into sandwiches in the Suburban while Mama drove everybody back to their house to be picked up.

  “I have an idea,” Mama said.

  “Is it scathingly brilliant?” Fiona said.

  “I think so. Why don’t we have a premiere at our house tonight?”

  “What’s a premiere?” Maggie said.

  “It’s a first showing,” Fiona told her. “People get all dressed up—can we do that?”

  “Absolutely you can,” Mama said. “Soph, get Daddy to help you burn the DVD. And I’ll set up the family room and make some hors d’oeuvres.” Mama said they should invite their parents and come over about seven.

  Sophie spent three hours getting ready, which was good because she wasn’t allowed into the family room until Fiona arrived with Boppa.

  “My parents already had plans,” Fiona said. Her gray eyes were sparkling. “But your mom said I could sleep over.”

  When Maggie and her mom appeared, both with their hair up in fancy buns, Mama said, “Shall we go in?” She put out her hand to take Daddy’s arm and led the way. Lacie wanted to know why she was wearing a long skirt just to go to the family room. Sophie swished her black cloak and wished Lacie would be whisked away by bats.

  The family room was breathtaking, Sophie thought. Candles burning. Chairs set up like an intimate theatre. Computer-printed programs on each seat, announcing the premiere of Antoinette and Henriette Save the Day for Lafayette.

  “This is fabulous,” Mrs. LaQuita said.

  “It’s amazing,” Daddy said. “My wife is terrified of the computer.”

  “You did a great job here,” Boppa said.

  Mama looked at Sophie and smiled her elfin smile. “It was worth it.”

  When the first scene finally wiggled its way onto the TV screen, Sophie was immediately lost in the delicious black cloak and the way it swirled when she walked. Lost in the drama of Antoinette begging Henriette not to die. She was even lost in the stiff-legged Lafayette, who looked into the camera when he was supposed to be professing his undying gratitude to Antoinette.

  “Oops—there goes that fast pan again,” Daddy said. He too seemed engrossed in their movie. “Who had the camera then?”

  “That would be Sophie,” Maggie said.

  “You have to remember to move it very slowly, Soph,” Daddy said. “Much slower than you would think. There are a couple of other things, but overall this isn’t too bad.”

  “I think it’s wonderful,” Mama said. “Better than that thing we rented the other night.”

  Sophie wished everyone would simply watch the story. It was so beautiful she could hardly bear it. She could actually see what she had been dreaming of for so long, exactly the way she had imagined it. She had to put her hand to her chest so it wouldn’t burst.

  At the end, everyone clapped, and Boppa kissed each of the girls’ hands. Maggie pulled hers away as if he had taken a bite out of it, but Sophie thought it was romantic. Everything was floating on a cloud—until Lacie ran out of the room choking and sputtering.

  “She was laughing,” Maggie said.

  “What was your first clue?” Fiona said.

  Sophie looked at Mama and Daddy, but neither of them went after Lacie to tell her how rude she was.

  Let her laugh, Sophie thought. Just wait until I become a famous movie director. Lacie won’t scorn me then. That wasn’t just a dream. It was really going to happen someday.

  Eleven

  Late that night, with flashlights under the bedspread and the now dog-eared Idea Book, Fiona and Sophie got right to work on the sequel.

  “You know something?” Fiona said. “Now that Lafayette has gone back to France, we don’t really need him. We can write Maggie out.”

  “Wouldn’t that be rude?”

  Fiona pressed her mouth tight, and then she said, “I think she was the reason Lacie thought our movie was so lame. Maggie was always bossing us around. And then she couldn’t act her way out of a wet paper bag. Wasn’t it embarrassing to watch her play Lafayette?”

  Sophie had to admit that it was. But she still had a squirmy feeling inside.

  “We’ll have to give back the costumes,” she said.

  “Oh, yeah—huh?”

  “I really like that cloak.”

  “You make Antoinette what she is,” Fiona said. “Not the cloak.”

  Sophie sighed. “We have to tell her in a nice way.”

  “I’m not as nice as you are,” Fiona said. “You think of something.”

  Sophie closed her eyes. She imagined Jesus, although his eyes looked more sad than kind, and he wasn’t smiling. When she imagined Antoinette, she was holding a feathered pen over a piece of parchment, but there were tears in her eyes.

  “I think we should write her a farewell letter,” Sophie said. “We should write like they did in the eighteenth century.”

  “Boppa has an actual inkwell—and those pens you dip in. He’ll let us use that.”

  “Does Boppa say yes to everything?” Sophie said.

  Fiona nodded. “He does it to make up for my parents, because they’re never around.” She tapped her Idea Book with her pen. “So—you dictate the letter to me, and then we can get all the stuff tomorrow and do the real one.”

  The letter Sophie came up with was, as Fiona called it, a masterpiece. It took them until longer than expected to get the eighteenth century version done, because Maggie showed up at Sophie’s house Monday afternoon and wanted to know what the Corn Flakes were going to do next. They wouldn’t be able
to put the finishing touches on the letter until Tuesday, after Sophie’s session with Dr. Peter.

  “I don’t see why you have to keep going to him,” Fiona said. “You’re doing so good! You’re making B’s now.”

  “I don’t know,” Sophie said. But she didn’t really care.

  The minute Sophie was curled up in Dr. Peter’s window seat, she started right in. “Daddy still doesn’t get me,” she said.

  “He’s still after you about those daydreams, huh?”

  Sophie hugged a face pillow to her chest. “It’s better now that we’re making them into movies. But it’s still ‘Sophie, do it this way.’ Or worse, ‘Sophie, why can’t you be more like Lacie?’ And he keeps reminding me that if I don’t keep my grades up, I can’t use the camera. And I have to!” She tilted up her chin. “I’m going to be a film director someday. For real.”

  “I don’t doubt it for a second,” Dr. Peter said. “Would you like to try something fun with me?”

  “Yes,” Sophie said.

  “I want you to pretend that you are you.” He wrinkled his nose with a grin. “And I’ll pretend to be your father. What’s my name?”

  “Daddy,” Sophie said. “But couldn’t it be like I’m Antoinette and you’re my papa? Sometimes now when I don’t know what to do, I imagine Antoinette, and then I know.”

  “Do you know why that is?” Dr. Peter said.

  Sophie shook her head.

  “Antoinette is you. She is the very strong and brave you. How do you think she got the way she is if you didn’t make her up? She is the you who knows what to do.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “Let’s try this and you be Sophie. Just say whatever Antoinette would say, and that’ll be you.”

  “I’ll try,” Sophie said.

  Dr. Peter sat up very tall on the seat and puffed out his chest.

  “All right, Soph,” he said in a deep voice. “Let’s talk about those grades.”

  Sophie burst into giggles.

  “Excuse me?” he said in a deep voice. “I’m not messing around here.”

  “You sound just like my father!” Sophie said.

  “I amyour father!”

  “Okay.” Sophie sat up straight on the pillows. “Father—oops—Daddy, I’m doing the very best work I can in school.”

  “Well, you’re making B’s now. But why can’t you make A’s? You’re every bit as bright as your sister.”

  Sophie searched for Antoinette. “That may be—Daddy. But you know, don’t you, that I’m not the least bit like Lacette.”

  Dr. Peter gave her Daddy’s pinch between the eyebrows. “Who is Lacette?”

  “Lacie! Daddy, we are not the same. And sometimes I feel as if, like, you want me to be her twin, and I’m not. I know I wasn’t doing my best before, but now I am—and it’s MY best.”

  Sophie realized that she was crying. She took off her salt-stained glasses. Dr. Peter handed her a Kleenex and waited for a moment.

  “It’s all right to cry,” he said. “You’re showing your true feelings, and that’s what you need to do with your dad. Just the way you did it just now. You were very calm, very respectful.”

  Sophie shook her head. “He would still yell at me.”

  “How do you know that if you’ve never tried?” Dr. Peter wrinkled his nose. “You know what, Sophie? You have nothing to lose. You tell me he yells at you now, so what would be the difference? And he might not yell. He might be so surprised, he couldn’t say anything at all.”

  Sophie giggled again. “Like that’s ever going to happen. He can always say something. He’s really smart.”

  “That’s where you get your intelligence. And from your mom you get your creative side.” He nodded. “God began a very good thing when he made you. I know he’s very proud of you.”

  Sophie stiffened against the pillows. “I don’t get that,” she said.

  “Get what?”

  “If God—if Jesus loves me so much, then why doesn’t he make people understand me?”

  “Why don’t you ask him? Are you still imagining him there with you?”

  “Yes—but he doesn’t ever say anything!”

  “He’s probably working in a different way. But I’ll tell you something.” Dr. Peter leaned forward like he was about to tell her a secret. Sophie found herself leaning in too. “You know how I said Antoinette knows what to do because she’s in you?”

  Sophie nodded.

  “Jesus also shows you what to do because he’s in you.”

  “He doesn’t show me!”

  “Sure he does.” Dr. Peter laced his fingers around one knee. “I want you to try something else on your own—just for this week.”

  “I just have to try, right?” Sophie said.

  “Yes, just try. Whenever you don’t know what to do, instead of imagining Antoinette, I want you to imagine Jesus, just the way you’ve been doing. Ask him what to do.” He grinned. “And then wait until you know that something is right, and then do it.”

  “Wait?” Sophie said. “What if one of the Corn Pops is in my face? I have to stop and imagine Jesus right then?”

  Dr. Peter blinked. “You’ve lost me. Is this a new game—you being chased by cereal boxes?”

  “Nooo!” Sophie explained the Corn Pops and the Corn Flakes to him.

  “That’s really clever,” he said. “You know that, don’t you?”

  Sophie shrugged.

  “Let me just say one thing about that, and then we have to finish up.” He adjusted his glasses. “I think the names are great. Just be sure you look past the group’s nickname. Be sure you look into each person. Especially when it comes to yourself.”

  “Okay,” Sophie said.

  “That’s it for today then.”

  He high-fived her, and she was off to finish the letter with Fiona. When they were finished, there was only one tiny blob of ink on the paper, which Sophie thought made it more realistic. Still, when she and Fiona put it on Maggie’s table first period on Wednesday, scrolled and tied with a ribbon, Sophie had a hard time letting go of it.

  “It’s going to hurt her feelings,” Sophie said.

  “Would you rather have her there bossing us around?” Fiona edged away from the table. “It just isn’t the same with her there. I liked it better when it was just you and me.”

  Sophie at once felt sorry for Fiona—more sorry than she felt for Maggie. She left the parchment scroll on the table, and she forced herself not to look at Maggie the whole period. In social studies, Maggie wouldn’t look at her.

  “I think we worked it out,” Fiona said after lunch. They were sitting on a set of swings no other sixth-grader would be caught dead on.

  “I guess,” Sophie said. “Did she read it? I didn’t see her read it at all.”

  “I think we’re about to find out.” Fiona sat up straight. “Here she comes.”

  When Maggie reached the swings, Fiona said cheerfully, “Hi, Maggie.”

  “I didn’t come to say hi,” Maggie said. “I came to say that you didn’t have to go to so much trouble because I thought the movie was stupid anyway.” She gave her dark hair a flip with her hand. “And who wants to be a Corn Flake?” Then she turned and walked back toward the school building.

  “She thinks she’s ‘all that,’” Fiona said.

  Sophie pulled a strand of hair under her nose. “I don’t want to talk about it right now.” She closed her eyes and imagined Jesus. He was as kind as ever. She felt worse.

  What do I do? Sophie said to him. I don’t think what we just did was right—but I don’t know what to do. If I call Maggie back, Fiona will be mad at me. She probably won’t want to be my friend anymore.

  She waited, just as Dr. Peter had told her to, but there was no sudden burst of inspiration. There was only Fiona saying, “Come on—that was the bell.”

  Sophie climbed off the swing, but Fiona stayed on hers.

  “Soph?” she said. “Are you mad at me?”

  “No!” Sop
hie said.

  They gave each other weak smiles and walked back to the building together.

  But for the rest of the day, Sophie felt more alone than she had in a long time. The office lady bringing her a note last period from Mama didn’t even help: Your mother is going to be about ten minutes late picking you up. She wants you to wait on the playground, and she will find you.

  “They must have told her in the office that’s the safest place to be after school,” Fiona said. “There’s always a teacher out there.” Fiona tilted her head almost shyly. “I wish I could stay with you.”

  Sophie said she wished she could too, but secretly she was glad to be alone as she headed for the swings. She needed to badger Jesus until he showed her something. Sophie pulled up her sweatshirt hood. The thought of her lost black cloak stabbed her.

  “Jesus?” she whispered. “Did we do the wrong thing, kicking Maggie out?”

  There was a scream—though Sophie knew right away that it wasn’t Jesus answering her. It was coming from across the playground, where a small group was streaming away from the fence, leaving behind a lone figure who was waving her hands and screaming. It was Kitty.

  The group walking away from her was the Corn Pops. Not a single one of them looked back.

  Sophie took off toward Kitty, but Julia planted her tall self right in Sophie’s path.

  “Don’t go there,” Julia hissed. “Just leave it alone, or you are going to be so sorry.”

  Twelve

  Julia kept looking at Sophie through hardened eyes—until Willoughby gave a stifled squeal and B.J. pulled at Julia’s elbow.

  “Mr. Denton is coming!” she said in a hoarse whisper.

  “Just leave it alone,” Julia said to Sophie one more time. Then she was gone, with her train of Pops behind her.

  Do they really think Mr. Denton isn’t going to see Kitty over there freaking out? Sophie thought.

  “Everything all right out here?” Mr. Denton called.

  “Yes!” Kitty called back. “I’m fine!”

  Mr. Denton waved and sat down on a bench by the door. Sophie hurried over to Kitty and squatted down beside her.