I should be listening. I should be focusing. I should be running.
Instead, I feel thick fingers wrap around my upper arm. Again.
Twenty
TRAPPED IN SOPHIE’S BODY, I’M NO LONGER EQUIPPED WITH THE strength I need to protect myself. It’s like my survival instinct has been dulled by those intricate nuances of Sophie bleeding into Amelia like a stain. Did I once know how to twist my body in a certain way so my attacker released his grip? If I did, it’s lost now. Mr. Graham yanks me off the ground, pinning me under a strong arm, knocking the wind out of my lungs and the scream from between my lips. He drags me out of the room, my bare feet grazing the hardwood, the safety of Mrs. Graham’s deep breathing retreating behind us.
In those split seconds it takes Mr. Graham to enter the hallway with his daughter in his arms, I cannot make any predictions as to where we might be going or what he might do to me . . . her . . . us. Anger radiates off him, heavy in the silence between us. He pushes me into the guest room and quietly shuts the door.
My entire body is shaking with fear when he turns to face me with his bloodshot eyes.
“You.” He points at me and takes a step closer. “Need.” He grits his teeth. “To.” He closes those scary eyes. “Stop.”
This time I fight the urge to give up. Whether it’s Sophie’s urge or my own, I have no idea, but I swallow it back. I will not nod and back up shaking. If he’s going to hurt me, he’s going to hurt me. I might as well go down fighting.
“You don’t want me to remember, but I remember. You tried to take her. You tried to take her the night of the accident and she pulled off your necklace and you knew it was evidence, so you hid it away. I can prove it all. I’ve written everything down and I’m going to help her. You can’t stop me. You aren’t even my dad. You’re just a liar and a monster and . . .”
The words spill out and over the course of my diatribe, Mr. Graham’s face transforms from anger to shock to hurt back to anger and finally . . . softens into acceptance. He backs away from me and sits down on the bed, his head bent into his hands.
“You’re right.” He doesn’t lift his head when he says the words and if the house weren’t cloaked in this dark silence, I never would have heard him. It feels like the kind of moment where I should blink and wake up in the hospital room, his words triggering the monumental shift back. Mystery solved. But even after I shut my eyes for a beat longer than natural, I’m still standing in front of a broken man and my arm is sore and my heart is pounding.
I shake my head. That’s it? I’m right? I don’t feel so much threatened by this man as I am horrified. I open my mouth before I can even organize the slew of profanities appropriate for the level of anger coursing through Sophie’s tiny body. But her dad speaks before I can.
“I never thought it would come to this. I honestly never considered the fact that you might find out. Your mom and I made an agreement.”
Suddenly the safety of Mrs. Graham tucked into a bed down the hall evaporates. I can’t trust either of them. “I’m going to the police,” I blurt.
Mr. Graham pulls his eyebrows together in confusion. “The police?”
I stand up and wish so badly for my height right now. “I don’t know why you wanted to hurt me . . . er . . . Amelia. Did she come too close to winning? Did she threaten your perfect family? Was she inconvenient? Did she know something she shouldn’t? See something? Or—”
Mr. Graham stands up now, his eyes narrowed to slits, interrupting me. “Excuse me?” For the first time since I woke up as Sophie, Mr. Graham appears genuinely confused. “Amelia Fischer?”
I shrink back just a little from the question. My eyes are fixed on his, searching for some sort of tell that never comes. “I,” I begin, but have no idea how to finish.
“You said you saw someone.” He shakes his head as though the pieces are clicking into place. “Did you think it was me?” Tears gather in his eyes as he releases a short bark of laughter that’s all heartbreak and no humor. “Oh, Sophie.”
It’s not him.
Tears slip from my own eyes and I don’t even try to stop them, couldn’t if I wanted to. “But the necklace,” I whisper.
He reaches out to grab my hands between his shaking ones. “I found it at the hospital. The police had put it with your things and I didn’t want it lying around causing more questions. Honey, there was no one else there. It was a terrible accident, but you were driving that car and it’s my job to protect you. I’ve already spoken with Mrs. Fischer and she’s not going to press charges. It’s time to let this go. It’s no one’s fault. Not yours or Amelia’s. You’re going to be okay. You’re going to get better.”
“But . . .”
“Sophie, we can’t help you if you don’t let us.” He guides me to sit on the bed, patting the mattress beside him.
“Tell me again, Daddy!” My father glances at his watch, but I know when I see him smile that he’ll make the time. He sits on the bed and pats the mattress, but I crawl into his lap instead, laying my head down on his chest and breathing in his cologne.
“Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess.” He brushes back my hair and I snuggle in closer. “All she ever wanted to do was help people. She made everyone smile with her kindness. In another land there was a handsome prince who didn’t know how to be happy. He liked storms instead of sunshine.”
“I like sunshine,” I whisper, looking up.
“I know you do, sweet pea. When the beautiful princess and the evil prince met he wanted to take her happiness for himself. And because the beautiful princess was so kind, she let him. A great darkness fell over the land because the princess lost her happiness.”
“But then I came!”
“But then you came.”
Maybe I crawl into his lap now because I’m more Sophie than Amelia. Or maybe because I uncovered the wrong kind of secrets and they aren’t mine to uncover. I think of the choices my mom made, the moving and working and stress. Mae and I always felt like she was purposefully ruining our lives. But maybe everyone is trying the best they can.
Mr. Graham’s arms relax a little and he kisses the top of my head. I still fit perfectly within the safety of his arms. At least for tonight.
Twenty-One
AN ALARM I DON’T REMEMBER SETTING RIPS ME OUT OF A DEAD sleep. Sophie’s phone is on her bedside table with a sticky note attached.
This was beeping and pinging all night long. Don’t avoid your friends—they want what’s best for you. We all do. Love, Mom
Mrs. Graham must have returned it early this morning, but the thought of her creeping into Sophie’s room while I’m asleep and completely unaware totally freaks me out. Especially since Mr. Graham caught me sneaking around their room last night. Did he tell her what happened? Is she pretending not to know or did she really not sense the seismic shift that occurred between us? Is this how other families work? Somehow the undercurrent of secrets and half truths that runs beneath the Grahams’ day-to-day lives makes me wonder if I was too busy treading water in my old life to see all the murkiness below.
I toss aside Sophie’s pillow and breathe a sigh of relief when I find her notebook and the necklace from Mae’s car. I lift the silver necklace and clasp it around my neck as a reminder, a warning, a clue. Is the other necklace still on the floor of their closet? Did Mrs. Graham find it? Did Mr. Graham return it to the safe? I can’t think about any of that right now. Mr. Graham might think his daughter is suffering from post–traumatic stress disorder, but I need to remember the truth. My sister and I are in danger. Someone is out there. Hunting us. I am Amelia Fischer and I am not safe. I tuck the medallion under my shirt and it’s cold and wrong against my skin. I won’t forget.
Considering how easy it was to slip into Sophie last night, to crawl into a dad’s lap, I can’t trust my memories anymore. I’m too scared they’ll grow hazy or disappear altogether. Writing everything down and obsessively reading it is the only thing keeping me sane. I start with the most
recent entries, the St. Anthony necklace, Sophie’s house angel, Jake’s late-night visit, the discoveries in the safe. Reading the line . . .
Mr. Graham not shadow man
. . . brings with it a fresh wave of shame. I thought I had it all figured out, but of course, nothing is ever that easy. I think of Mr. Graham, how he’s not really Sophie’s dad. It must have killed him when I didn’t recognize him that day in the hospital, must have tapped into his darkest fears. Perhaps that’s why it’s so important for the Grahams to look like the perfect family. Because they’re not. What you see is almost never what you get.
Sophie’s phone pings and buzzes at the same time pulling me back to reality. Her notification list is extraordinary. There are hundreds of missed texts, Instagram tags, FaceTimes, and calls. From yesterday. Janie is sorry, but she’s worried about me and loves me and knows I’ll forgive her and she has something super important to talk to me about so I need to call her right away. Brooke wants to know if the rumors are true that I ate donuts and tried to run away with Landon Crane. There are messages from girls on the tennis team, from classes, even random followers from God only knows where asking if everything is okay because Sophie hasn’t posted in a while.
What does my phone look like right now? Have I missed any calls, gotten any messages? I can barely remember me. Does anyone else? The questions make my throat hurt, so I push them aside, continuing through Sophie’s impressive list instead.
Jake wants to know if I have my period or if I’m suffering from permanent brain damage after the accident. Charming. Zach is coming to pick me up for school despite the fact that I completely blew him off yesterday. Sweet. And then one from a number Sophie’s phone doesn’t recognize.
It’s Landon. Pick you up at 7:30. We should talk.
Super. So my friends are worried, my followers are panicked, and Landon and Zach are both coming to pick me up in roughly twenty minutes.
As I rush around the room, I try not to consider why it feels so natural to select an outfit and put on makeup in this body today. Sophie’s preferred life palette of millennial pink, dove gray, and milky white must be the opposite to my . . . what? What color was my favorite shirt, what shade of eye shadow looked best on my still-tan summer skin? I’m clutching onto the broader sense of my old life like a fuzzy dream where if I look a little bit away I can see the big picture more clearly. The general is still there. It’s the details that are going. Those insignificant and yet essential intricacies that made me me. It makes me want to scream to lose them.
I shoot Zach a quick text telling him not to pick me up and that I’ll see him later. I then tell Landon that I’ll meet him at the corner. There’s no way in hell Mrs. Graham’s going to let me get in a car with him after the Pete’s incident yesterday.
When I walk into the kitchen it’s so silent I almost expect it to be empty. But Mr. Graham is sitting at the table, lost in his phone as it vibrates and swooshes with every click and swipe. Mrs. Graham stares off into space while stirring something on the stove.
Her face falls when her eyes land on me, and relief washes over me because maybe her disappointment means I’m not somehow morphing into her daughter with every second. Maybe I’m still me and she can sense that.
“Oh, sweetheart, I thought you’d still be sleeping.” She’s panicky and I understand that this isn’t about who I am or who I am not. This is about yesterday. I should be sleeping off the crazy. “I thought maybe you’d want to stay home today?” she continues, desperate. “You seemed so tired yesterday.”
Without thinking, I place my hand over my heart, over the saint, a twisted pledge to save a girl I have no idea how to save. But today is a new day. I think about Landon and Murray coming to rescue me and quickly shake my head. I paste on a smile and try to find the words I know they desperately want to hear.
“I feel like a new person, actually. I just needed to sleep, that’s all. The sooner I get back into my routine, the better.”
Mr. Graham looks up and offers me a smile. And I know immediately that we’ll never talk about last night. He’ll never tell Mrs. Graham. He’ll tuck it away, move along, and get back to the business of being okay.
Mrs. Graham is a little trickier. She must not want another Pete’s incident. Her mouth opens and closes and then opens again as though she too is trying to find words. She finally smiles back and nods, unconvinced but outnumbered, more questions, more concerns swept under the vintage oriental rug beneath her expensive flats. Their cleaning lady must have a field day over here.
The Grahams have the kind of house I would have driven by in the evening and stretched my neck to peek inside, all glowy and inviting. I’d see Sophie’s family at the dining room table, imagine I saw people laughing, joking, talking about their day. I guess that’s part of the reason why I used to spend so much time obsessing over Sophie online. Scrolling through the posts about her perfect life made me feel like I was getting a glimpse of what it was like to actually be Sophie Graham. But the reality isn’t anything like what I imagined.
When I was eleven and living in Fremont, Indiana, a house in our town caught fire in the middle of the night, killing the entire family. They brought counselors into the elementary school because one of the kids who died, Dave, was in the grade below me. I remember becoming oddly obsessed with the tragedy, riveted by the boarded-up windows and charred edges before they knocked the house down. It kind of set the bar for tragedy for me. Sure, we were poor and constantly moving, but it could always be worse.
I could never properly express with words how or why the Grahams give me the same feeling, but they do. Just in an entirely opposite way. Before, Sophie Graham was a constant reminder of how bad my life sucked—how much I wanted the things she had. Now it feels like there’s no better, no worse, no bar set in either direction.
Life went on all around that burned-up house, people still laughed, birds still sang. Life goes on all around the Grahams’ house as well. People still get dressed and eat breakfast no matter who’s unraveling or what secrets sit locked away in safes.
My thoughts are interrupted by the doorbell ringing shrilly at 7:20. So much for sneaking out with Landon. Guess I’m not the only person who’s behind on texts. I try to jump up to intercept but, of course, both Mr. and Mrs. Graham beat me to it.
Voices rise to the fourteen-foot ceilings, hellos and deep laughter and some chirpy sounds coming from Mrs. Graham. Shit. It must be Zach. Why the hell did he ignore my text? And sure enough, instead of Landon’s unintentionally shaggy hair, I see a meticulously styled version with identical results. The only difference between Landon and Zach’s morning routine is approximately forty-five minutes of extra sleep and a hair dryer.
Zach suffers from a bad case of unintentionally lame. Firm handshakes and perfect white smiles are exchanged between the men, which makes me feel like I’m watching some weird sort of mating ritual. Zach looks like an extra from a Disney movie in his letter jacket and ridiculous pink T-shirt with a navy fish on it. No wonder Mrs. Graham is always pushing neon tropical print. Sophie’s preferred muted hues aren’t nearly as complementary.
“It’s so nice to see you. You’re so sweet to pick up Sophie for school.” Mrs. Graham gives one of Zach’s broad shoulders a squeeze, her smile wide and proud.
And when he looks up and smiles at me I feel this crazy sense of relief wash over me, like that moment when you find your favorite stuffed animal as a kid and squeeze it hard against your chest. Wait. I stop, blink hard to avoid Sophie’s feelings bleeding into my own.
Sophie’s boyfriend is some kind of walking, talking security blanket. Even Mr. Graham looks happy to see Zach. Apparently, in Graham-land the first step to healing is having your perfect boyfriend pick you up for school despite the fact that you completely blew him off yesterday and the asshole you’re hooking up with on the side snuck through your window last night. Fake it till you make it, baby.
“So sweet.” The sarcastic edge to my voice is actually a reli
ef, proof that there’s still some Amelia rattling around in here after all. I tuck my notebook safely inside Sophie’s bag, sling it over my shoulder, and scoot through the door, the lesser of two evils at this point. Or three if I consider the fact that Landon is probably pulling out of his driveway as we speak. “Well, we don’t want to be late.”
I can’t help but notice how Mr. Graham has slipped his arm around Mrs. Graham as they both stand beaming at us from the doorway. It’s like they’re actors putting on a show, only their smiles are a little shakier and the curtain only rises when there’s an audience around to appreciate them. I’m struck by a strange sadness for Sophie and her life. Did she feel like she was acting as well? Is that why she dated Zach but hooked up on the side? Did she know that Mr. Graham wasn’t her biological father? Was that part of the performance too?
Once the car doors close, Zach gives my hand a little squeeze, and it occurs to me that there will be no discussion about how I treated him yesterday. “Babe, I’ve missed you.” Ugh, he sounds like a cartoon boyfriend, saying the stuff that he thinks he’s supposed to say to his perfect girlfriend. Did Sophie really fall for this crap?
“Didn’t you get my text? I don’t need a ride. I’m just going to jump out at the corner.” I don’t even bother buckling my seat belt. Zach drives a brand-new Jeep, checking yet another box in the guide to being the perfect high school prom king. But with the apple-scented air freshener come other feelings powerful enough to make me want to gag.
The glow from the drive-in movie screen illuminates Zach’s chiseled angles and reminds me how lucky I am to be sitting next to him. And then I remind myself that I’m supposed to be more confident than that, but that’s harder to remember. It just feels right. He and I. Zach and Sophie. My post of us sharing popcorn from five minutes ago already has almost one hundred likes. It’s happening.
Channeling the confidence I’m supposed to have, I let my fingers wander a little bit toward the gearshift that separates us, seeking out his hand. I breathe through butterflies and focus on what I want, leaning into my new boyfriend for what is, without a doubt, going to be the most amazing kiss of my entire life.
Now You See Her Page 13