Sophie's Different (James Madison Series Book 3)

by Patrick Hodges

  ~ Day 38 (Wed.) ~

  AYDEN

  I smiled as I pedaled my bike off my driveway and onto the street. For the last week, thanks to Marissa, I'd been in a really good mood and, happily, so had Mom.

  Romano's recently finished its partial remodel and had done gonzo business since its grand reopening. She'd made enough in tips to buy us a new microwave and, to my surprise, a small cell phone for me. It wasn't the flashiest thing on the market today, and I couldn't do much on it except make phone calls, send texts and a couple other basic things, but it still made me happy. Finally, I could rejoin the 21st century.

  I turned the corner onto 3rd Avenue, stopping in shock at what I saw. A few blocks down the street, the school bus was driving away, with a frantic Sophie chasing behind, waving her arms and yelling for it to stop. After a few seconds, the bus turned a corner and vanished from sight. Sophie stopped running and bent over, grabbing her knees as she gasped for breath.

  I pedaled up the street, pulling alongside her. “Sophie, are you okay?”

  Straightening up, she registered my presence for the first time. “No, I'm not okay! I missed the stupid bus!”

  My face fell as I realized my incredibly bad timing. Way to go, dumbass. What are you going to do for your next trick, run over her foot?

  As she caught her breath, she must have noticed my crestfallen look, and her face softened. “I'm sorry, Ayden. I didn't mean to yell at you.”

  “It's okay,” I replied. “It was a stupid question.”

  “It's just … I don't know what I'm gonna do now. I can't go home, because my parents and sister have already left, and there's no way I can get to school in time if I walk. But I guess I have no choice.” And with that, she slung her other arm through the strap of her backpack and walked in the direction of the school, which was nearly a mile and a half away.

  As I rolled up alongside her, an idea came to me. “How about I give you a ride?”

  She stopped walking, looking both me and my medium-sized bike up and down. “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah. It won't be super-fast, but it'll still be faster than walking. I've been riding my bike for years. I know what I'm doing.”

  “Have you ever given someone a ride before?”

  “Well … no,” I confessed. “But it's worth a try, right?”

  She considered my offer for a few more moments, and then sighed. “Fine. How are we going to do this? Your bike doesn't look big enough for two.”

  I shrugged my backpack off my shoulders and looped the straps over both handlebars, cinching them tight so it wouldn't touch the tires or swing wildly from side to side. Then I pointed at two small, flat pieces of metal extruding from the hub on both sides of the rear tire. “You stand there, and hold onto my shoulders for balance.”

  “Very impressive,” she said, nodding at my ingenuity.

  I climbed back on, and she gingerly placed her feet on the improvised footholds. I braced my feet on the pavement, making sure we didn't topple over as Sophie grasped my shoulders. At her touch, I could feel my pulse quicken, but my sense of urgency kicked in almost immediately. Pumping my legs harder than usual to account for the extra weight, the bike started to move. It took about a hundred yards to get up to full speed, but eventually we found ourselves whizzing through the neighborhood, toward the school.

  I was in pretty good shape, but the journey proved to be a tough workout. It took all my concentration to keep from getting out of breath, and Sophie seemed to recognize this, so she remained silent until we passed the Big Tree, a huge ash tree that grew along a dirt bike path that led straight to James Madison.

  Almost completely spent, I pulled my bike up to the gate leading to the faculty parking lot and the student bike-racks, and Sophie hopped off. She had a large smile on her face as she checked her cell phone for the time. “Wow, we made it with seven minutes to spare.” She actually sounded impressed.

  My lungs were heaving, but I felt my chest swell with pride. Ayden Saunders, part-time superhero, at your service, milady, I wanted to say, but kept quiet.

  “Thank you so much, Ayden.” She smiled her most awesome smile. “I owe you one.”

  I simply shook my head. “No, you don't. You've already done so much for me, I feel like I still owe you.”

  “Fair enough,” she said, walking toward the school buildings. “But I still might just mention your gallant rescue to Riss later.”

  My breath caught in my throat. Wow. She'd do that for me? “Thanks,” is all I could say.

  “How are things going between you two?”

  I shrugged. “Okay, I guess.” I hopped off my bike, wheeled it up to the nearest bike-rack and secured it with a padlock and chain from my backpack before we resumed our walk. “It's kinda hard sometimes. To talk, I guess. I mean, it's getting a little bit easier, but, you know, it's kinda new for us, getting to know each other … you know?” I must have sounded like a babbling idiot.

  “It's okay, give it time. Before long, you'll be holding hands at the movies.”

  My eyes lit up at the thought, and I immediately snapped into daydream mode. Me and Riss, in a theater, holding hands, eating popcorn from the same box, watching a movie. A romantic scene starts to play, and she looks at me with those amazing eyes. We lean toward each other, and …

  “Ayden!” Sophie yelled, and the fantasy disintegrated.

  “Sorry, spaced out there for a sec. What were you saying?”

  “I was saying, since auditions for the play are next week, we should all meet at my house for a few hours this weekend to rehearse together. You okay with that?”

  “Yeah, sure,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant.

  “Awesome. I think it'd be so cool if all six of us got parts, don't you?”

  After a week and a half of rehearsing, I found myself getting more and more excited at the prospect of getting on stage and performing. I just hoped I wasn't going to pee myself the moment the curtain went up. “Yeah, it would.”

  We'd reached the foot of the stairs leading to the gym, where she'd have her first-period P.E. class. She turned to face me again. “Thanks again, Ayden.”

  “You're welcome,” I replied, and she walked up the stairs and into the gym.

  * * *

  Pulling up to my house, I wheeled my bike past Ron's BMW parked on the driveway, taking note once again how it stuck out like a sore thumb against our house, which had a lot of peeling paint, a front yard teeming with overgrown, unruly bushes, and several missing shingles on the roof.

  To his credit, Ron had been less of a prick in the past week than usual. This made Mom happy, and since things were going so well for me, I wasn't going to get sore about the presence of Ron's midlife-crisis-mobile, though I couldn't stop myself from wondering what it would be like to drive such an awesome car.

  I walked into the house, finding Ron in the den, watching TV. He was still wearing the short-sleeved dress shirt and ugly tie he normally wore to work, and he was already into his second beer. Trying to slip quietly past him, I murmured, “Hey, Ron,” on the way to my room.

  Ron said nothing, which was unusual for him, as he usually never missed the chance to make some snide remark at me when Mom wasn't around. I turned to face him, and our eyes met. His face was blank, but I saw a small smile curl at the side of his lips. It looked creepy as hell, so I quickly made my way down the hall to my room and shut the door.

  I dumped my backpack on the floor next to my bed, sitting down at my desk just as I felt my new phone vibrate in my pocket. Pulling it out, I saw that Simon had sent me a text:

  Simon: Need Ur Help

  Me: Sup?

  Simon: Want to ask M over to my house. What U think?

  Me: U dog!

  I pictured his face going red. This was confirmed by his next message:

  Simon: No! Jeez! Want to ask her for dinner. U think she likes me?

  I wasn't sure how to respond to this. Really? You're asking ME about what's going on inside girls' brains
? If I knew that, I wouldn't be fumbling and stuttering my way through conversations with Riss. I'm about as far from being an expert on girls as a guy can get.

  Realizing I was leaving Simon hanging, I responded:

  Me: yes

  Simon: really?

  Me: just go 4 it, dude.

  Simon: OK. will think about it s'more. L8r.

  Me: L8r.

  At that moment, I felt something surge within me. Both Simon and I, the two biggest nerds in the eighth grade, had found girls we liked. And who, unbelievably, liked us right back. I looked out the window, half-expecting to see a winged pig flying by.

  I stood up, walking over to my closet door. I was in the mood for some Incredible Hulk today. However, as I flung the door open, my jaw dropped when I stared at the spot on the floor where my box of comics should have been.

  It was gone.

  My mind raced, wondering if there'd been a break-in. I looked around my room, and saw that it looked otherwise undisturbed. Nothing else had looked out of place when I walked through the house, either. The only thing missing was my box of comics.

  Ron.

  Son of a …

  I stormed down the hall to the den, where Ron was still watching TV and drinking his third beer. “Something I can do for you, Ayden?” he said smugly.

  Without even stopping to realize that he'd finally gotten my name right, I yelled, “Where are my comic books?”

  “Comic books?” he asked, looking directly at me. “Oh, you mean that box at the bottom of your closet?”

  “Where are they?” I glared at him. “Those are my comics! Give them back!”

  He raised his beer can, drained the contents, and then slammed the empty can down on the table next to him, making me flinch. Matching my glare, he countered, “I just got my cell phone bill. Seems someone ordered $120 worth of stupid, useless apps to my phone a few weeks ago … right after I broke it. Now, who would do a thing like that?”

  Oops.

  Trying not to let my guilt show, I responded, “Maybe it was a mistake.”

  “That's what I said when I called the cell phone company, but they confirmed they were all ordered from my phone, on the day I threw it in the trash. There's only one person who could have gotten to it after that.”

  “Maybe it was …” I trailed off, unable to come up with a plausible lie.

  “Oh, don't even bother, you little bastard,” he said, rising to his feet. I wondered if he was going to actually hit me this time. He raised his right hand, making a motion as if he was going to do just that. I stood still, facing him defiantly, ready to absorb the blow. Go ahead and do it, butt-munch. Maybe this will give Mom the excuse to kick your sorry ass to the curb.

  However, gradually, he lowered his hand again, his face returning to normal. “Nah, I'm not gonna hit you. I'll just hide your prized possessions for a while.”

  “For how long?”

  “Till I've decided you've learned some respect.” He sat back down in his recliner. “But knowing you, that might take a long time.”

  Swallowing my pride, I stared absently at the television, which was showing that stupid commercial with the talking cat that I hated so much, as if it had decided to join Ron in taunting me. “Fine.” I tried to sound defeated. “You win, Ron.”

  “Damn right I win,” he said, wrapping his hand around the remote. “Now go get me another beer, and don't let me see you again until dinnertime.”

  Grumbling, I went to the kitchen, grabbing another beer from the fridge. I returned to the den, handing it to Ron just as his new cell phone rang. Sighing, he used the remote to mute the TV.

  Pulling it from his pocket with one hand, he took the call while grabbing the beer from me with the other. “Hey, Ray, hold on a sec,” he said into the phone. Lowering it, he gave me a savage glare. “Get … out.”

  Still fuming, I walked down the hall toward my room. How dare he steal my stuff! This guy pays half our bills, and he thinks that gives him the right to get drunk, watch porn, and treat me and Mom like dirt? He's not the King of England, he works in a furniture store! And he's not even the manager, he's the freakin' assistant manager!

  Then a sudden thought hit me. I don't know why it hadn't occurred to me before. I paused in the hallway with my hand on the knob of my bedroom door.

  How can an assistant manager afford a BMW? There's just no way.

  Realizing Ron was probably waiting to hear my bedroom door close before resuming his conversation, I opened it, waited a couple of seconds, and then closed it again without stepping through.

  Sure enough, Ron began speaking almost immediately. Hugging the wall, I inched back down the hallway until I was able to hear him more clearly.

  “Yeah, Ray, it's all good,” he was saying. “We got another shipment coming in on Monday.” Pause. “Yeah, man, don't worry, Curt will be there with his truck before we open. The storage units are all cleared out and ready to go.”

  My brow furrowed. I didn't know much about the furniture business, but this did not sound legit.

  “Jeez, Ray, don't get your panties in a bunch! The storage place is run by Doug, an old buddy of mine, okay? He's got us all set up with a fake name and everything. If the cops come nosing around, they'll be looking for someone that don't exist.”

  My eyes widened. Frantically patting my pockets, I realized I'd left my cell phone in my room. Dammit! I should be recording this!

  He scoffed. “Don't worry about Clarence, man, that old geezer doesn't even know what planet he's on half the time. I swear, he's probably been managing the store since Eisenhower. What?” Another pause. “Eisenhower. Dwight Eisenhower. He was President back in the …” He caught himself. “Never mind, Ray! Jesus! Just make sure the inventory's all there, and let me handle the rest. Now go have a smoke or something and let me get back to my day, okay?” He ended the call, and then I heard the TV return to its previous volume.

  As silently as possible, I crept back down the hall to my room. Carefully, I was able to open the door, enter and close the door again with almost no noise. I sat on my bed, listening for possible sounds of Ron stirring, but I heard nothing but the TV blaring.

  Lying down on my bed, I stared up at the ceiling, contemplating what I'd just heard.

  I knew Ron was a jerk, but from the sounds of things, he's into something dirty as well. No matter how desperate Mom is to keep us in this house, there's no way she'd want Ron around if she knew he was breaking the law.

  But what can I do? I'm just a kid. No one would ever believe me over him. Unless … I had proof.

  Grabbing the cell phone from my bedside table, I scanned it until I saw and activated the Camera app, which could also record sound. I smiled. My cell phone may be outdated, even primitive, but it still had everything I needed.

  Time for Invisiboy to come out of retirement. Oh, yeah.

  Chapter 16

  ~ Day 41 (Sat.) ~

  SOPHIE

  The doorbell rang. Running to answer it, I yelled, “I got it, Dad!” in the direction of the living room.

  Mom graciously agreed earlier this week to let my “theater group” – I just loved the sound of that, since most of us had no acting experience whatsoever – have a long rehearsal session at our house. Dad had the day off, so he was in charge of making sure we didn't make a mess or get too rowdy while Mom took Kirsten clothes-shopping.

  I flung open the door to see Ayden and Simon standing there. “Hey guys, Come on in! Everyone else is already here, and my Dad picked up fried chicken for all of us!”

  Auditions were after school this coming Monday and Tuesday, and we'd all done a good job reciting lines from various roles in Peter Pan. Rehearsing together had been a great strategy on our part. We'd bonded as a group, and now that we'd gotten over our initial nervousness, we all believed we could score a part in the play.

  Ayden and Simon had just joined Marissa, Michelle, Kayla, and myself in the family room when Dad walked in, sporting a cheesy grin. “Hey, everyon
e. How're the Broadway Stars of Tomorrow doing today?”

  I giggled, not for the first time, at how corny Dad could be. I introduced him to Kayla, Ayden, and Simon, and he shook their hands with a friendly smile. Then he went in the kitchen and returned with a huge bucket of fried chicken, some side items like mashed potatoes and coleslaw, an ice-cold bottle of Pepsi, and a stack of plastic cups and napkins. “Well, I don't know much about the theater, but I do know you can't be at your best on an empty stomach. So chow down, people, the Tony Awards await!”

  Almost everyone chuckled. One of the great things about being the youngest child in the family was that by now, Dad had his “Dad” thing down pat. Eve and Kirsten had had many parties, study sessions, and get-togethers over the years, and he was always the perfect host, though he never failed to lay down the law whenever things threatened to get out of hand.

  “Thanks, Mr. Devereaux!” Marissa said around a mouthful of extra-crispy chicken. Everyone else was already devouring their lunch, so they just nodded. Michelle just stuck to the coleslaw.

  “No problem. I'll be in the next room if you need me. Just try to keep the noise to a minimum, capeesh?”

  “Ca-what?” Ayden asked, dabbing his mouth with a napkin.

  “It means 'do you understand',” Kayla said. “It's an Italian word.”

  “You speak Italian?” Simon asked, and then caught himself. “Oh, right. The memory thing.”

  “Thanks, Dad, we'll be fine,” I said, and he walked out of the room.

  After the six of us finished eating and cleaned up from lunch, we sat back down on the couches and dug our scripts out.

  “Uh, guys?” Kayla piped up. “Before we start, I've got a couple things to say.”

  “Go ahead,” I said.

  She looked at each one of us in turn. “First off, I just want to thank you for … well, everything you've done. For me. I mean, hanging out with Alexis and her, uh …”

  “Coven?” Marissa suggested.

  Kayla smiled. “Coven. Nice. Yeah, being part of the Coven was never my goal when I moved here from Wisconsin. I just didn't want to face the same kind of … treatment I got back then. I wanted to be … normal. That's why I did the whole 'New York' thing. If I'd known I would've ended up besties with the most horrible girls in school, I wouldn't have bothered.”