by Kari Luna
“Always strange, but never a stranger,” he said, hopping up and wiggling his butt in the aisle. And then he blew me a kiss.
“See you soon, princess,” he said. And then he disappeared.
“See you soon,” I said to the lunch ladies and baby black bears, to The Cure, the flying books, to all of them. They weren’t gone yet, but I had a feeling they would be soon. And then I picked up my phone and said hello to my new world, texting Drew. Counting down the hours, letting him know I’d be there soon.
|||||||||||
I crawled across Finny again, but this time it woke him up.
“Whoa!” he said, startled. “Did you travel? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said. I wasn’t in the mood to talk about Walt. “Go back to sleep.”
And then I noticed Dad’s book open across his chest.
“Dad’s tape came with a letter.”
Finny sat up, stretched his arms and turned on the overhead light.
“I can sleep when I’m dead,” he said. And then he reached in his bag and pulled two chocolate bars out of it. “Spill it.”
I handed him the letter so he could read it himself. It was better to let Dad do the talking.
And I distracted myself with grooming, running a comb through my bangs, making them as straight as Cleopatra’s. I found my Strike-A-Rose lip gloss and a piece of gum, both of which totally improved my mouth. My clothes were wrinkled, but I was saved by a tiny deodorant and a sample of pineapple hand lotion, both of which made me feel better.
“Wow,” Finny said, folding the letter back up and handing it to me. “My dad has never said anything this nice to me.”
“Maybe leaving gives you perspective,” I said, even though I would have given anything to have traded a letter for an actual father.
“So does staying,” Finny said. “I hope he’s right about the gaps.”
“Me too,” I said, remembering I still had work to do. And then Finny did part of the work for me.
“You know how you’re always listening to those tapes?” he asked.
“Yeah . . .”
“Someone thought you might want to move into a new century.”
“I told you,” I said. “I love analog.”
“Just think about a playlist as the modern version of the mixtape,” he said, handing me his iPod. It was already open to a playlist called Welcome to Today.
“You made this for me?” I said.
“I put it together, but someone else named it and dictated the songs,” he said.
“Peyton?” I said, since she was the only other person who had been with him.
“Way better than that,” he said. “Drew.”
My heart beat faster, the thought of him, thinking of me.
“That was the secret,” Finny said. “While you were off with Walt, we were planning a total Sophie Get Happy attack.”
“But how—”
“Drew has good taste,” Finny said. “I just read off some of the bands I had, and he instantly knew which songs he wanted to use. He likes those old bands you like, but he’s also into the new stuff. And we both thought you might like the sound of the future.”
I looked at the playlist. It was full of bands I didn’t know, like Noah and the Whale and The Shins, but there was also a song by Sonic Youth. Kim Gordon, bringing me home.
“He’s a keeper,” Finny said.
“Drew wasn’t mad that I didn’t tell him you were with me?”
“He was at first,” Finny said. “But I explained it to him.”
I laughed. “I would have loved to have heard that,” I said, and then it hit me. “Wait, what did you tell him?”
“Nothing you don’t already know,” Finny said. “I didn’t tell him about your dad or anything. I also didn’t tell him I was gay—I’m hoping he figured that out—but I let him know that you and I are best friends.”
“That’s all you said?”
“That, and that I will always know you better than he will,” Finny said, grinning. “I told him I’m the guy you’ll call in the middle of the night when some other guy decides he doesn’t like you anymore. I’m the guy who buys you chocolate to make you feel better, the one your mom calls when she’s worried, and the one you call when you have nightmares.”
“I’ve never done that,” I said, but he was on a roll.
“I’m the guy who picks up the pieces, keeps you going and inspires you. Because you inspire me,” Finny said, grabbing my hand. “Look, I’m not worried about you liking anyone more than me because we’re friends. Best friends. And you will always like me as much as you like yourself.”
Friendship, summed up in a monologue.
“I adore you, you know that?” I said, not a bit surprised at the words coming out of my mouth.
“I know,” he said. “I adore you, too, which is why I helped him. If anything’s going to start closing those gaps, this should do it.”
“You’re already doing it,” I said, giving him the biggest hug imaginable. “Thanks, Finn.”
I took out my headphones to listen, but then I decided instead of being in my own little world, I wanted to bring Finny into it.
“Do you have your dual-headphone adapter?”
“Sure,” he said, getting it out of his bag. “You want to share?”
“Of course!” I said. “But only if you’ll dance with me.”
Our car was relatively empty, so Finny and I spread out in the aisle, headphones reaching, iPod between us. Finny hit Play and the first song came on. It sounded like it came from the eighties but was new. I moved my head from side to side as Finny tapped his toes. As the music continued, we bounced up and down, arms flying as much as they could in the aisle. Outside it was pitch-black, like we were driving through the middle of the earth, but inside I felt bright, like light was bursting out of every cell.
When the chorus came, Finny grabbed my hand and tried to spin me. Headphone cords tangling, we fell down in the aisle, laughing, probably waking everyone else up, but I didn’t care. One boy had made me a playlist. And the other one was dancing with me, just like he had from the beginning. No judgment, no fear. If that wasn’t love, I didn’t know what was. Which made me realize: I needed to make someone else a tape.
How to Make a Mixtape
by Sophie Sophia, as inspired by Angelino Sophia
Spread all of your albums out in front of you.
Think about what you want to say. Are you proving a point? Saying thanks? Or do you just have a theme?
Include only songs that remind you of your theme and person. (If your heart beats a little faster when you hear it, that’s the song.)
Ordering is an art. Make sure it’s perfect it before you press Record.
Be creative with the name of the tape. The world really doesn’t need another Randy’s Favorites #3.
Give without expecting anything in return.
Into digital? You should try analog. There’s nothing like spending a day making a mixtape. (You can do the same thing with a playlist, just don’t tell me about it.)
TWENTY-SIX
I feel so extraordinary, something’s got a hold on me.
I get this feeling I’m in motion, a sudden sense of liberty.
—New Order, “True Faith”
“Have you ever seen a sky like that?” I said, pressing my face against the window, making wet spots on the glass with my breath. “I don’t remember it being so blue before.”
“Someone’s happy to be home,” Finny said.
“That would be me,” I said, looking around as we got outside.
“Should I call my mom, or you want to call yours?”
“Neither,” I said. “We’re going to play it New York style and walk. Besides, I need to decompress.”
Finny snickered. “Since
when have you ever decompressed?”
“Since I realized that stress contributes to traveling,” I said. “Apparently it’s easier to feel love when you’re calm.”
“Yeah, because nobody loves a spaz,” he said, smiling. “You want to do some yoga along the way, too? Or chanting?”
“Make fun of me all you want,” I said. “I just want to breathe.”
The station was twenty blocks from my house, which, before we left, felt like an eternity. But now we had New York feet. They came in handy, since the blocks here were twice as long as the ones in New York.
“I think my New York feet wore off,” Finny said, slowing after several blocks. “Have you decompressed yet?”
“I’m getting there,” I said.
My lungs took in air—I could feel it—instead of the panicked breathing I was used to. Something about my body was more relaxed. Maybe that was what happened when the gaps filled—you became whole. And when your body sensed that, it relaxed.
“I had my first authentic bagel,” Finny said, trudging down the sidewalk.
“You got a glimpse of a famous physicist’s basement,” I said.
“I have an in with the physics department at NYU!”
“And an adviser for your science project,” I said. “Oh, crap, we need to text Peyton.”
I reached for my phone, but Finny was already on it.
“And . . . done,” he said. “I also gave the boys at Bobst a run for their money.”
“We need to go back,” I said. “You totally have a future in New York.”
“You do, too,” he said. “With your dad.”
I looked up and down Mapleberry, the street we were on. It was flat, like all the streets in Havencrest, and contained the same style of houses and trees, all in a row. Like someone had hit the Repeat button. I was strangely comforted by the monotony, which reminded me of my new possible life. Instead of hills and high-rises, my inner landscape could be more predictable, like suburbia instead of Manhattan.
“We’re almost home,” I said. “It’s time for me to face the music.”
Finny dropped his bag, regained his energy and tapped, doing his best Gene Kelly impression on the sidewalk.
“Facing the music’s not so bad,” he said, flashing jazz hands. “Unless, of course, it’s disco.”
New York was amazing, but it didn’t have Finny. Which meant it had nothing on Havencrest.
|||||||||||
We got closer to the house, and I saw Mom standing with her back to the picture window. According to her, that window was classic sixties architecture. It was designed to make the inhabitants feel closer with nature, which was funny since Mom’s body language—arms crossed, hands digging into her back—was more hostile than Zen.
“Are you going to be okay?” Finny said, nearing the house with me.
“Yeah,” I said. “I can’t thank you enough for going with me.”
“What are best friends for?” he said, grinning. “Besides, it will be nice to have you owe me. Maybe I need a cool pocket or to hang out with you and your hot new boyfriend or something.”
“He’s not my boyfriend!”
“Not yet,” Finny said. And then we saw my mom turn around.
“And I’ll leave you to it,” he said. “Good luck!”
Finny headed for his house, and Mom ran out the front door, hair in a ponytail. Mom never wore a ponytail.
“Sophie?” she said, arms outstretched.
“Sophie,” she said, pulling me into her. We clung to each other like magnetic dolls and then hobbled over to the magnolia tree in our yard. Mom sat and leaned against the trunk, and I sat and leaned against her, leaves above us fanning out like millions of umbrellas. Shading us from everything but ourselves.
“You are very, very grounded,” Mom said, stroking my hair. I knew she meant it, but I also knew she was happy to see me.
“Just put a GPS tracking device in my brain until I graduate,” I said. And then I got brave.
“I wish you could be grounded,” I said. “I know about Dad.”
“What about Dad?”
“That you made him leave.”
Mom turned to look at me.
“Peyton didn’t tell me,” I said. “I overheard her telling Finny.”
“I was going to tell you,” she said. “When you were older.”
“I’m fourteen,” I said. “How much older do I have to be?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “The timing never felt right.”
“Mom, you lied,” I said. I had stopped being mad at her. Now I just wanted to understand.
“Yes,” she said, straightening her shoulders. “I lied. Because I’m your mother. And I will do whatever it takes to protect you, whether you like it or not.”
Dad was right. She saved me from him.
“I just want to understand,” I said quietly.
“You don’t know how many times I went to work terrified you might not be there when I got back,” she said.
I picked leaves off my tights.
“Never knowing what your father was going to do or when.”
“I know we had to leave,” I said. “I get that now. I just wish you hadn’t lied to me. All this time I thought Dad didn’t love me.”
“Sophie,” she said, grabbing my hands. “How could you think that?”
“He left one night and never came back,” I said. “He didn’t call me, and you said you didn’t know where he was.”
“I didn’t,” she said. “We agreed to stop all contact.”
“But knowing we left him, it makes a difference,” I said. “He was so devastated he disappeared almost continuously until he met Peyton.”
“She sounded nice.”
“She helped him write the book,” I said.
Mom looked down.
“Mom, the book is about episodes. It’s about me.”
“Sophie—”
“I know you think he’s crazy,” I said. “And maybe he is. But he did that—research, writing, all of it—for me.”
“That’s because he loves you.” Her eyes sparkled.
“I know,” I said, taking the Love tape out of my bag and handing it to her.
“I found a box of these in the basement,” I said. “There were hundreds of them, all addressed to me, and this one came with a letter.”
Mom turned the tape over in her hands, looking at Dad’s slanted writing.
“You can read it if you want,” I said.
“That’s okay,” she said, handing the tape back. “It’s between you and your dad.”
I liked the way she said it, like she was okay with me finally having a relationship with him, even if it was only through a cassette tape.
“I know you’re not your father,” she said, running her hand down the leg of her black pants, removing leaves. Then she put her hand to my side.
“It’s just that bipolar shows up around your age,” she said. “Your dad left and we moved to San Francisco and then all of these things started happening . . . the suspension . . . and then we moved here and it was the same thing all over again. I had to call someone. I had to make sure the thing that destroyed him didn’t destroy you, too.”
I couldn’t tell her what I was yet—a traveler. I didn’t think she’d understand, but I could tell her what I wasn’t.
“I’m not bipolar,” I said. “And Dad may be sick, but that’s not all he is. I have proof.”
“I never said he was bipolar,” she said. “I just said he had problems. What proof are you talking about?”
I took Dad’s book and handed it to her.
“I think you should hear it from him.”
By the time she read about the Sophie Effect, I hoped to have already proven it. To have stopped traveling, so it wouldn’t be an issue.
So she could love me again without fear. We were both quiet for a moment. Mom held the book in her hands, not opening it. That’s when the new Sophie Sophia showed up.
“Thanks for protecting me,” I said, laying my head on her shoulder.
“Thanks for coming back,” she said.
“When Dad gets back, he can explain it even better,” I said. “In person.”
“Just don’t spend your time waiting,” Mom said. “He always comes back, but you never know when.”
Leaves blew around and blackbirds flew in from wherever they were before, squawking at each other. I leaned over and hugged her so tight, I hoped Dad felt it. She squeezed me back, and this time, instead of wondering if she loved me, I knew she did.
“Here,” I said, taking Finny’s iPod out of my bag and handing it to her. “I made you something. I know you’ve always wanted me to go more modern, so I did. Welcome to today’s version of the mixtape.”
“You made me a playlist?”
“It’s called Love 2.0,” I said.
“You made me a playlist,” she said, her face softening as she put the earbuds in her ears.
LOVE 2.0, BY SOPHIE SOPHIA, Courtesy of Finny’s iPod
TAKE CARE OF BUSINESS
Nina Simone
THE ONE I LOVE
R.E.M.
LA LA LOVE YOU
The Pixies
WITHOUT YOU HERE
Holly Golightly
THE SUN IS SHINING
The Dirtbombs
LOOK TO TOMORROW
The Now Time Delegation
Mom listened for a while, skimming through the songs. I’d had to use what was on Finny’s iPod, but he had plenty of stuff I knew Mom would like, including some older songs. But since I was putting one foot forward, I included some newer music, too.
“I love it,” she said. “I’ll listen to the whole thing later.”
“Great,” I said. “Because I’m starving. And I need a shower.”