Sophie and the New Girl

by Nancy N. Rue

  “What about Jimmy?” Sophie said. “Will he get kicked off the Round Table?”

  “That’s what we’re going to decide,” Mrs. Clayton said.

  Liberty Lawhead walked solemnly to her desk in the Civil Rights for All office, feeling the weight of important work on her shoulders. As she slid into her chair, she saw the downtrodden she was about to save huddled in the waiting room. They looked so weary, so disappointed, and her heart ached for them. I will make change happen for them, she vowed. She doubled her fist and pounded it on the desktop —

  “Did somebody knock?” Ms. Hess said.

  Sophie swallowed as their other block teacher hurried her trim little self toward the door, gold hoop earrings bouncing. Oops.

  Fiona cleared her throat then, the signal she used when Sophie drifted too far into a Sophie-World and lost track of what was going on in class. Sophie nodded at her and turned to the “I Have a Dream” speech she was supposed to be reading.

  It’s definitely time to start working on a Liberty Lawhead movie, she thought. Before I get in trouble and lose the camera. With the way Daddy was yelling again, it could happen even without her making less than a B.

  The “scuttlebutt” had reached record heights by the time Sophie, Darbie, and Fiona met Maggie and Willoughby in the locker room for third-period PE.

  Willoughby’s eyes were practically the size of Frisbees as she pulled her GMMS T-shirt over her head. “Everybody says Jimmy started the fight,” she said. “But he’s so nice!”

  “Whether he started it or not, I think he won,” Fiona said. “He doesn’t even look as banged-up as you do, Soph.”

  Sophie realized she hadn’t even looked at Jimmy during first and second periods, or thought about the scrape across her very-exposed forehead. She’d been too caught up in Liberty Lawhead.

  “Eddie has a bruise on his arm,” Maggie said as she tied a neat knot in her shoelace and straightened up. “We better get out there, or we’ll be late for roll call.”

  Maggie, Sophie thought as she followed her outside, had never been late for anything in her life. If there was a rule, Maggie would follow it. Gill gave Sophie a soft punch on the arm as they lined up. “Hey, Sophie,” she said, “is that Round Table like a court where you decide who’s guilty and stuff?”

  Before Sophie could answer, another voice poked itself in.

  “I already know who’s guilty,” said Phoebe. “I saw the whole thing.”

  “Of course you did,” Fiona said. She grinned at Sophie.

  “So what happened?” Gill said.

  She and her friend Harley, and the twin Wheaties, Nikki and Vette, gathered with the Corn Flakes around Phoebe, whose eyes took on a sharp gleam. She gave everybody that sort-of-a-smile Sophie remembered from the festival. Sophie zeroed in once again on the gap between Phoebe’s front teeth. Big teeth, Sophie noted.

  “The chubby kid couldn’t stand it when Gymnastics Boy won that retarded stuffed animal for Little Miss Don’t You Think I’m Cute,” Phoebe said. “So he follows him around, working himself into a sweat.”

  Phoebe pushed up her sweatshirt sleeves and lowered her head like a bull. Her nostrils were actually flaring. Willoughby gave her poodle shriek.

  “Finally,” Phoebe went on with the group around her watching, mouths open, “Chubbo can’t stand it any longer, and he goes up to Gymnastics Boy. He doesn’t even say anything, he just shoves him — ”

  Phoebe stepped forward with her hands outstretched and shoved Maggie backward at the shoulders. A shrill whistle shattered the moment, and Coach Yates was suddenly on them.

  “What’s this about?” she yelled.

  “I was demonstrating,” Phoebe said. Her eyes were still on Maggie.

  “If demonstrating means you have to put your hands on somebody, Karnes, you can’t do it. Period.” Before Sophie could get her hands over her ears, Coach Yates put her whistle to her lips and gave it an extra-long blow. “All right, let’s hit the volleyball court!”

  The Wheaties took off. Phoebe motioned the Corn Flakes toward her. “Since she interrupted, let me just cut to the chase,” she said. “Gymnastics Boy defended himself, but he should have taken Chubbo out totally, in my opinion.” She looked straight at Maggie. “I bet you thought the same thing.”

  Maggie blinked. “I wasn’t even there.”

  “Well, I’m just saying. You people like a good fight, right?”

  “Who wants detention over here?” Coach Yates yelled.

  Everybody scattered for the court, except for Fiona, who held on to Sophie’s sweatshirt as they ran. “What did she mean, ‘you people’? Not us!”

  “I don’t know,” Sophie said. “Mrs. Clayton told me I’m not supposed to be listening to rumors anyway.”

  “Then we better stay away from that Phoebe girl,” Fiona said. She put her hand up. “I know, I know, we still have to be decent to her. Corn Flake Code. But decent doesn’t mean we have to be her best friend.”

  “I’m fine with that,” Sophie said. Because Phoebe Karnes made her feel more than a little bit squirmy inside.

  During lunch that day, the Corn Flakes met in Mr. Stires’ science lab to edit the Fall Festival film. Since only two people could use the equipment at the same time, Fiona and Maggie took that over while Darbie filmed Sophie doing an introduction. Willoughby “directed,” which meant she stood behind Darbie doing cheer motions. Sophie was starting her introduction over for the third time when Fiona let out a “Score!”

  “You guys have to see this!” she said. “Come here — quick!”

  All of them, including Mr. Stires, hurried over to her and Maggie.

  “Whatcha got?” Mr. Stires said.

  “Only the proof of who started the fight.” Fiona shoved the stubborn strand of hair behind her ear and pointed to the screen. “Look.”

  “Coach Nanini getting dunked,” Darbie said.

  “No, look behind him, at the snow-cone booth.” Fiona ran the film back and played it in slow motion. “Watch what’s happening.”

  Sophie squinted through her glasses. “Hey!” she said. “That’s Eddie — shoving Jimmy!”

  “Just like that one girl told us,” Willoughby said. “He did start it!” She punctuated her words with a poodle shriek.

  Sophie watched, smile spreading. In the background of the dunking footage, Jimmy took a step backward, shaking his head. Eddie kept moving toward him. Just as Eddie threw the first punch and Jimmy ducked, there was a splash of water, and the film stopped.

  “It looks like you just made Sophie’s work at the Round Table a piece of cake, girls,” Mr. Stires said. Even his bald head was shining. “Let’s polish this up for prime-time viewing.”

  “Ladies and Gentlemen of the Round Table Council,” Sophie said that afternoon in her best Liberty Lawhead voice, “I have not shown you this film to prove who is guilty, but to show who needs help. I have a dream that we can change Eddie Wornom’s attitude, and the attitude of every other student who needs it. Thank you.”

  There was a murmur of agreement as Sophie took her seat. Jimmy gave Sophie a shaky smile. Across the table, Mrs. Clayton nodded. Sophie was pretty sure she hadn’t missed the “I Have a Dream” part.

  But I was being sincere, Sophie thought. After all, Liberty Lawhead never used the words of people like Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. simply to impress people.

  Liberty folded her hands neatly on the table. She didn’t have to try to impress people. She merely did her job and did it well. At this very moment, she was about to change the life of the angry young man who couldn’t keep his fists to himself. She tilted her face toward the head of Civil Rights for All, Mr. Virile —

  “I suggest,” Coach Nanini was saying, “that we use our Campus Commission program with Eddie.”

  The eighth-grade girl on the council, a serious brunette named Hannah who wore contact lenses that made her blink a lot, raised her hand. “Is that like community service, only they do it at school?”

  “Yard duty,�
�� said the eighth-grade boy with the two pimples on his chin.

  “He’ll have work to do on campus during lunch and after school,” Coach Nanini said, “but I’m going to use that time to work on anger management with him.”

  Pimple Boy grinned, showing the rubber bands on his braces. “So he’ll think he’s picking up trash, but he’s really getting therapy.”

  “Thank you, Oliver,” Mrs. Clayton said drily. “We can always count on you to sum things up for us.”

  News that the Film Club’s footage had brought Eddie down spread like a rash of poison ivy the next day. No matter how many times Sophie explained that bringing people down wasn’t the Round Table’s goal, nobody believed it. Least of all Eddie.

  During announcements first period, Miss Imes got on the intercom in the office and said that Film Club was meeting during lunch, and new members were welcome to join. When the Corn Flakes got to third-period PE, Willoughby’s eyes were once more Frisbee-size.

  “Before Miss Imes even got done with the announcement,” she said, “Eddie goes, ‘Film Club is a bunch of losers. All they do is try to get stuff on people and turn ’em in.’ ”

  “Well,” Fiona said cheerfully, “at least we don’t have to worry about Eddie joining Film Club.”

  Sophie sighed. “I don’t think anybody will want to join Film Club unless we make it more exciting.”

  But somebody else did want to join. When the Corn Flakes showed up in Mr. Stires’ room that day at lunch, there sat Phoebe. Gap-toothed smile and all.

  Four

  Welcome to Film Club,” Miss Imes said to Phoebe. “And you are?”

  “Phoebe Karnes, and I have a ton of acting experience.”

  Miss Imes twitched an arrow-eyebrow. “We aren’t so much about acting as we are about the art of film, the technical side.”

  Fiona raised her hand. “Uh, Miss Imes?”

  “Yes, Fiona,” Miss Imes said in her voice-as-pointy-as-her-eyebrows. Fiona gave Sophie a poke.

  “We wanted to talk to you about that,” Sophie said. “We really want to act in our films. We can show you what we mean.”

  “Do you have the films, Mags?” Darbie said.

  Maggie, of course, produced the Corn Flakes Productions’ Treasure Book and opened it to the back, where all their DVDs were neatly tucked into plastic sleeves.

  “These are some of the movies we’ve made,” Sophie said.

  Miss Imes’ other eyebrow went up, and Mr. Stires stroked his mustache. It didn’t look good.

  “So pop one in.” Phoebe shook her bangs out of her eyes.

  “Let’s see what ya got.”

  Maggie slipped a DVD into the player, and the title Medieval Maidens glowed on the screen in the gold letters Kitty had designed before she left for the hospital. The sight of them made Sophie sad.

  But it was hard to stay that way watching herself and the other Corn Flakes cavort across the screen in the flowing gowns and pointy hats, and at times shiny armor, which Senora LaQuita and Maggie had made. It was hard to hear what their characters were saying, though, because Phoebe talked through the entire thing.

  “Costumes aren’t bad,” she said.

  “Dude — who taught you guys swordplay?”

  “Oops, somebody dropped a line there — nice save, though.”

  “Yeah, get them with that speech, Sophie Baby. That’s the best piece of acting in the whole thing. You’re cookin’ — you’re hot.”

  Sophie didn’t know whether to tell Phoebe to shush or keep it up. She was giving Corn Flakes Productions great reviews — sort of.

  When Kitty’s THE END appeared, both Mr. Stires and Miss Imes clapped. Phoebe whistled through her teeth. Sophie wondered if that space between them helped her do that.

  “All right, I see the potential,” Miss Imes said. “Go ahead and introduce drama. But we still expect you to continue to improve your technical skills.”

  “I don’t know about technical stuff,” Phoebe said, shrugging. “But trust me, I can act.”

  “I don’t doubt it for a moment,” Miss Imes said.

  Fiona watched Phoebe exit, leaving a trail of acting credits behind her. “I said we’d be decent to her, but I didn’t know we’d have to work with her.”

  “Maybe it won’t be that hard.” Willoughby’s bubbly voice flattened. “You think?”

  Darbie fiddled with her bangs. “She’s different — and we’re all about accepting people being different — ”

  Her voice trailed off. There was a big question mark in the air. They all looked at Sophie.

  “She’s just not different the way we’re different,” Sophie said. “She’s like, way bossy — ”

  “She thinks she’s ready for Hollywood,” Fiona said.

  Willoughby’s little eyebrows knitted together. “It’s like, she could be mean if she didn’t like somebody.”

  “She doesn’t like me,” Maggie said. Her words fell harder than usual.

  “Really, Mags?” Darbie said. “You mean, because she pushed you when she was talking about the fight?”

  “She said she was just demonstrating,” Willoughby said.

  So far, Sophie couldn’t see anything in Maggie’s face.

  “I’m just saying she doesn’t like me,” Maggie said.

  “Which means it won’t be that much fun for you,” Fiona said. “I say we — ”

  “We can’t ‘say’ anything,” Sophie said. “This isn’t Corn Flakes Productions, it’s the Film Club. We don’t get to say who can and can’t be in it.”

  Willoughby seemed to wilt. “Then what do we do? Quit?”

  “No way!” Fiona said.

  “Then what, Sophie?” Darbie said.

  Sophie nodded slowly. “The only thing we can do. We talk to Dr. Peter.”

  Fortunately, there was no Film Club meeting the next afternoon, the day they always met Dr. Peter at the church for Bible study. It was a good thing his class was based on the problems they brought in, because they hauled in a big one that day.

  Dr. Peter was waiting for them with an eye-twinkly smile on his face. Their different-colored beanbag chairs and matching Bible covers formed a circle.

  Sophie loved Dr. Peter more than any grown-up outside her own family. He was the one who had taught her to make films from her daydreams instead of escaping into them and missing what was going on in real life. Now that he led their Bible study, he taught cool things like that to the whole group. That included all the Corn Flakes except Willoughby, who had cheerleading practice after school, plus two of the Wheaties, Harley and Gill.

  “You girls look like you’re ready to pop open like a soda can.” Dr. Peter grinned at them in that way that made his short, gelled curls seem to perk right up. It was impossible not to feel like everything could be okay with Dr. Peter around. “Let the fizzing begin,” he said.

  “Well, there’s this girl,” Fiona said.

  She plunged into the story of Phoebe, with Darbie and Sophie adding details. The Wheaties put in a few of their own.

  “I didn’t like the way she pushed Maggie,” Gill said.

  “Did that bother you, Maggie?” Dr. Peter’s eyes looked concerned.

  Maggie shrugged. “She was just telling a story, I guess.”

  “She needs to lighten up,” Gill said. “Only we’re not supposed to put her down, are we?”

  “We’re just supposed to try to help people be better, right?” Sophie said.

  Dr. Peter grinned at them again. “What do you need me for? You already know the answers.”

  “But what if I don’t like those answers?” Fiona said. “This isn’t very Christian, but I don’t especially want to help her. She’s just sort of — ”

  “Okay, tell you what,” Dr. Peter said. “Let’s dig into a Bible story and see if we can’t figure this out.”

  “That’s class, Dr. Peter,” Darbie said.

  Sophie liked it when Darbie said that, especially about Dr. Peter. He was great.

  He had them tu
rn to the Gospel of Luke, chapter 15, verse 1. They were all getting pretty good at finding their way around in the Bible, and everybody found it in the New Testament right away. Sophie prepared to go into imagination mode. “I want you to picture yourself as one of the ‘bad guys’ this time,” Dr. Peter said.

  “I don’t want to be a bad guy,” Maggie said.

  “Nobody does,” Dr. Peter said.

  Fiona grunted. “I know some people that do. Oops, sorry, Dr. P. Go on.”

  “Trust me, you’ll understand it better if you put yourself in the place of one of the teachers of the law.”

  “Those blackguards who were always blathering to Jesus about following the rules?” Darbie said.

  She pronounced “blackguards” like “blaggards,” one of Sophie’s favorite Darbie-words. Sophie pressed her lips into a tight line and made her body stiff, so she’d feel more like a blackguard who couldn’t even smile because having fun was against the rules.

  “Now imagine that you are there,” Dr. Peter said in his soft about-to-read voice. “And Jesus is talking to you.”

  Sophie pictured an outside hallway with columns, like she’d seen in Bible story books. With imaginary sandals on her feet and the taste of Israel dust on her tongue, she was ready.

  “ ‘Now the tax collectors and “sinners” were all gathering around to hear him,’ ” Dr. Peter read. “ ‘But the Pharisees and the teachers of the law — ’ ” He paused. “That’s you.”

  “Got it,” Fiona said.

  “ ‘The teachers of the law muttered, “This man welcomes sinners and eats with them.” ’ ”

  Sophie pinched her Pharisee face tighter. How wretched, Sophie/the Pharisee thought. Those slime.

  “ ‘Then Jesus told them this parable — ’ ”

  “What’s a parable?” Maggie said.

  Sometimes it was hard to stay in character with Maggie there. She wasn’t the Corn Flake with the most imagination.

  “A parable is a story that’s told to teach a lesson,” Dr. Peter said. Sophie could hear the grin in his voice. “Like this one is about to do, any minute now.”