Sophie Flakes Out Page 2

  He was one of the absurd little creep boys the Corn Flakes had named the Fruit Loops. At least there were only two of them now, since Eddie Wornom was no longer around.

  Two too many, Sophie thought as she got to her feet and readjusted her glasses. I need to escape from them too.

  Actually, she thought, as she gave up on getting the locker open and shoved at it with her backpack to get it closed, she didn’t really need to go to Willoughby’s or anywhere else to shut it all out. Escape was never more than a dream character away.

  And do I need one now or what? Sophie thought. Hello!

  She stopped pushing and headed for the hall. Somebody who could protect the right of kids to grow up—that’s what she saw taking shape in her dream-mind. Maybe the leader of a good gang.

  What could her name be? Goodie? Nah, too sappy.

  My name will be revealed on a need-to-know basis, thought the tough little woman with the smooth muscles that made her T-shirt sleeves curve outward. I don’t tell it to just any punk who shoves me in a crowd, she told herself as she dodged passing elbows like a championship boxer. They can see that I can’t be pushed around.

  But though she was tough, she didn’t swagger. It was sheer confidence that drove her straight into the thick of the danger on the street—

  “Sophie LaCroix—do you want to tell me what you’re doing down here?”

  Sophie blinked and found herself standing in the middle of an eighth-grade hall.

  Two

  Sophie?” The voice of Miss Imes, Sophie’s math teacher, was as pointy as her dark eyebrows that shot like arrowheads toward her almost-white hair.

  “What are you doing way down here?” “I don’t know,” Sophie said.

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Miss Imes looked over Sophie’s head at the students surging past. “Slow it down. You’ll all get a seat.”

  Nobody talked back. Even eighth graders don’t mess with her, Sophie thought. Rumor had it that eighth graders really didn’t take orders from anybody. She’d never had a chance to check that out firsthand. She’d never even been in an eighthgrade hall.

  “You’d best get yourself to class before you’re marked tardy,” Miss Imes said to her. “I don’t want you getting into any trouble that will keep you out of the new Film Club project.”

  “What new project?” Sophie could feel her eyes popping. “You’ll find out at lunch,” Miss Imes said. “It’s exciting.” Nothing actually sounded exciting when it came dryly out of Miss Imes’ mouth. After all, she was a math teacher. But if she said it was, it was.

  “No tardies,” Miss Imes said.

  Sophie turned and followed the throng toward the main hall where she could cross to seventh-grade territory.

  And the sooner the better, she thought.

  It was different down here. There were boy-girl couples holding hands and girls striding as if they were going down a fashion show runway and guys spewing out language Sophie hadn’t heard since Eddie Wornom had been sent away to military school.

  But even all that didn’t dampen the promise of a new project. Sophie went into a higher gear. No way was she going to be late and mess up being able to participate.

  Not only that, she thought as she ducked around a hugging couple, I don’t want to get kicked off Round Table either.

  Round Table was the handpicked council of students and faculty members who figured out how to help kids who got in trouble and needed to change more than they needed punishment.

  The tough little good-gang leader quickened her steps. There was so much work to be done. The more punk-wannabes she could get out of trouble, the better.

  Sophie was three long leaps from her first-period-classroom door when the final bell rang. She slipped in just as it was closing—one of the few benefits of being the smallest kid in the seventh grade. Inside, everybody was standing up, yelling “Here!” as Ms. Hess, the younger of the two English/History block teachers, called out their names so they could head to the gym for the movie.

  Fiona grabbed Sophie’s arm. “I answered for you. There’s so much confusion in here Ms. Hess didn’t even notice.”

  “I’m glad it wasn’t Mrs. Clayton,” Sophie said. Not only was the other teacher older and sharper, she was the head of the Round Table.

  “Wish you were coming with,” Darbie said as Ms. Hess herded the class out.

  Sophie nodded miserably and stepped aside so Julia and Anne-Stuart could pass.

  “What are you hanging back for?” Anne-Stuart said through her nose.

  “Not going,” Sophie said.

  Anne-Stuart exchanged glances with Julia, and they both curled their lips.

  “Oh,” Julia said. “I get it.”

  No, you do not “get it,” Sophie thought as they gave her a final smirk and exited. She was pretty sure they didn’t know what empathize meant. She was grateful for the pinky fingers Darbie and Fiona wiggled at her as they left.

  But Sophie still felt like a loser as she went up to Mrs. Clayton’s desk. “My dad wouldn’t sign my permission slip,” she said to the top of Mrs. Clayton’s cement-like helmet of yellowy-blonde hair. “He thinks it’s too violent.”

  Mrs. Clayton bulleted a long look at her before she said in her trumpet voice, “I’ll write you a library pass for first and second periods.” At least she added, “I can trust you.”

  That didn’t make Sophie feel any less out of it. But when she walked into the library, she could feel a smile spreading from ear to ear.

  “Kitty!” she said.

  “Shhh!” the librarian said.

  Sophie hurried over to the set of shelves where her friend Kitty Munford, the final Corn Flake, was flipping listlessly through a book. Her face, pale and puffy, seemed to fill with light when she saw Sophie.

  It was hard to hug somebody who was sitting in a wheelchair, but Sophie managed. She’d just seen Kitty on Sunday, but now that Kitty was being homeschooled while she was having chemotherapy for her leukemia, Sophie missed being with her every day.

  “What are you doing here?” Sophie whispered as she squatted beside the chair Kitty used when she got too weak to walk. “My mom’s talking to somebody in the office,” Kitty said.

  “I’m supposed to be checking out some books, but I’m sick of reading.”

  Sophie nodded. She hoped she looked empathetic, since she had never been as sick as Kitty was and had no idea what it must be like. From the tired look in Kitty’s blue eyes and the lack of hair under her pink-and-black-tweed hat, Sophie knew it must be pretty awful. The hair was the only thing she could empathize with, since she’d shaved her head at the beginning of the year so Kitty wouldn’t have to be bald alone. Sophie’s was growing back in. Kitty’s wasn’t.

  Kitty folded her fingers weakly around Sophie’s arm. “Are you doing another Corn Flakes production soon?”

  “Yes!” Sophie said. “Miss Imes says it’s going to be something special.”

  “Can I please, please be in it? I’m going nutso being at home.” “Of course you can!” Sophie said. “You’re a Corn Flake.” “My mom is driving me bonkers, Sophie. She ‘protects’ me every single minute!”

  Sophie nodded. She was sure she was empathizing now. “I hear you. We all hear you. Just about everybody’s parents are, like, smothering them.”

  Kitty tugged at her hat. “Mom’s totally in my space all the time.”

  “Don’t worry,” Sophie said. “We’ll make a part in the film for you.”

  “You’re saving my life,” Kitty said.

  When Kitty’s mother bustled into the library looking like she expected to find Kitty passed out on the floor, Sophie was sure Kitty hadn’t been exaggerating.

  “Mom, Sophie says I can be in the next movie!” Kitty said. “Shhh!” the librarian said.

  “We’ll see,” Mrs. Munford said.

  When she’d pushed Kitty out the door, with Kitty grabbing at the wheels of her chair and saying, “Mom—I can do it!” Sophie found a corner and began
to see …

  The good-gang leader still did not expose her name to the world. But she did reveal what she was about. With her gang of good-hearted members gathered around her, hanging on every tough-love word that came from her lips, she explained to them how they needed to protect the right of every kid on the streets to grow up to be independent and unafraid. “It’s a jungle out there, ”she told them, eyes intense beneath the bill of her ball cap. “Everyone is telling them who to be, but we can’t let them get tangled up—”

  By the time the bell rang for third period, Good-Something was fully formed. Sophie dashed to PE ready to reveal her to the Flakes in the locker room.

  Marching forward on her short but muscular legs, she could feel the desperate kids following her. They were waiting for their street orders, and she was ready to deliver them, just as soon as she got through this crowd of unruly boys who obviously didn’t need protection and support as much as they needed somebody to teach them some manners. They were spilling out from a clogged doorway, blocking her path, but Good-Something lowered her head and plowed right through them. Oh, but her spirit was mightier than her body, and she felt herself going down—until a large hand seemed to come down from the heavens and lift her up—

  “Little Bit, you want to get yourself trampled?”

  Sophie felt her feet hit solid ground again as Coach Nanini, the boys’ PE teacher, set her down in the hallway, apart from the mob of boys pushing into the locker room.

  “I must have lost my head,” Sophie said. She grinned at him. He grinned back, his one big eyebrow crumpling down over his eyes. He always reminded her of a big happy gorilla with no hair. To her, he was Coach Virile.

  “You’re going to lose worse than your head if you get under those animals’ feet,” he said. He handed Sophie her glasses, which he’d obviously rescued.

  “I’ll lose worse if I don’t get to roll call on time,” Sophie said as she put them back on.

  “You got that right.” Coach Virile leaned down and lowered his high-pitched-for-a-huge-guy voice. “I wouldn’t cross Coach Yates today. She’s a little grumpy.”

  More than usual? Sophie wanted to say. The girls’ PE teacher yelled more than Sophie’s father did when he was watching the Dallas Cowboys on TV. Sophie hurried into the locker room. Fiona, Darbie, and Maggie were already there changing.

  “You are so lucky you missed that movie, Soph,” Fiona said instead of hello.

  Darbie nodded through the neck hole of her T-shirt as she poked her head in. “I nearly went mental with boredom.”

  “Our films are a lot better,” Maggie said.

  Sophie knew they were all lying, but she appreciated it. Besides, they’d reminded her of what Miss Imes had said about a new Film Club project. She was explaining when Willoughby dashed in, backpack flying out behind her.

  “You’re gonna be late for roll call,” Maggie said, voice matter-of-fact.

  “I know!” Willoughby said. She tried to slide her backpack off, but the strap caught on her sweater.

  “Stop before you hurt yourself,” Fiona said. “Come on, guys.”

  The Corn Flakes went into action, Maggie and Darbie stripping off Willoughby’s backpack, sweater, tank top, and jeans, while Sophie and Fiona pulled on her sweatshirt and track pants as soon as there was a place to put them.

  “Give me your arm,” Sophie said, holding out the sleeve of the sweatshirt.

  But Fiona had Willoughby focused on shoving her foot into a tennis shoe, so Sophie took the arm herself.

  Willoughby yelped. She was always shrieking in a voice that reminded Sophie of a poodle, but this was different. Willoughby pulled back her arm and cradled it.

  “Did I grab you too hard?” Sophie said.

  “No,” Willoughby said. “I hurt it last night. I was practicing a new cheer and I fell over the coffee table.” She did give her poodle-laugh then. “I’m such a klutz.”

  “You guys carry her while I get this other shoe on her,” Fiona said.

  They made it to the line in time for roll call, but not without a stony stare from Coach Yates. Her graying ponytail seemed to pinch her face even tighter than usual, and Sophie decided Coach Virile had been right.

  By the time she got through PE and Miss Imes’ fourth-period math class, Sophie was sure she would unzip and come right out of her skin if she didn’t find out what the special film project was. All the Film Club members met in Miss Imes’ classroom at lunch. That included the Corn Flakes and the boys they thought of as the Lucky Charms—because they never acted heinous the way the Fruit Loops did and were actually fun sometimes. When Mr. Stires, their other adviser and also their science teacher, arrived, Miss Imes, as Willoughby put it, dished.

  “There is going to be a film festival in one month,” she said. “Schools from three counties have been invited to participate. Each entry is to follow the theme ‘Bringing History to Life Today.’ ”

  Sophie squealed. Could that have been any more perfect? The Corn Flakes had been making movies about history for a whole year. And Jimmy, Nathan, and Vincent were such huge history buffs, they had their own swords and swashbuckler boots.

  Even now, Vincent, who was skinny and had a big, loose grin that filled up most of his face, was waving his arm.

  “Did you want to say something, Vincent?” Mr. Stires said with the usual chuckle. He thought just about everything students did was amusing. Even his toothbrush mustache always looked cheerful.

  “Seeing that movie this morning made me think of this,” Vincent said. His voice cracked, which it did a lot. Whenever Vincent’s voice cracked, Nathan’s face turned red. But, then, Nathan’s face was always turning red.

  “No offense, Vincent,” Fiona said, “but I don’t think gangs are history.”

  Vincent wiggled his eyebrows. “1920s gangs are.” There was a thinking-silence.

  “You mean, like gangsters and Al Capone and tommy guns?” Jimmy said. He was quieter than the other two Charms, but when he said something, everybody listened. The Corn Pops, Sophie had noticed, listened because Jimmy was also blond and tanned and had muscles from being in gymnastics.

  “I know about the twenties,” Darbie said. “They did the Charleston and swallowed goldfish back then.” “I’m not doing that,” Maggie said.

  “We could have some really good characters,” Vincent said.

  “Guys with names like Bugsy—”

  “Goodsy!” Sophie said.

  Nathan cocked his curly head, topped as always with a Redskins ball cap. “I don’t remember a gangster named Goodsy.” He reddened.

  “I think she’s talking about a new character,” Fiona said. She leaned into Sophie. “What have you got, Soph?”

  Sophie launched into Goodsy—Goodsy Malone—and the rest of the group listened. Vincent added ideas, and his voice cracked more with each one, which meant he was excited. Jimmy nodded. Maggie pulled out the Corn Flakes Treasure Book to take notes. Nathan turned a happier red, and Willoughby was already designing twenties hairdos on binder paper.

  “I think it’s our best idea yet,” Fiona said.

  “A lot of people are going to see this,” Miss Imes said, “so you want it to be the best you can do.”

  “It will be,” Sophie promised her.

  “Let’s all take a vow to give it 200 percent,” Fiona said. “I think it only goes up to 100,” Vincent said.

  “I’m in,” Jimmy said. Everybody else agreed. Then they all looked at Sophie. She was always the director.

  “Okay,” she said. “We start doing research today after school. Meet in the library—”

  “I can’t,” Willoughby said. “I have cheerleading practice.” “That’s not 100 percent,” Maggie said.

  But Sophie put her hand up. “We already knew Willoughby has practice every school day. You can meet other times, right?” Willoughby nodded until her curls bounced like springs. “Let’s cut her some slack,” Sophie said. She was sure that was something the tough but bighearted—and defini
tely empathetic—Goodsy Malone would say.

  Three

  Right after sixth period, Sophie ran for the pay phone near the gym to call Mama before the after-school line formed. Her mother’s voice was thin when she answered.

  “I need to stay after, okay?” Sophie said. “We have a new Film Club project—we’re going to be in a festival— wait ’til I tell you about it—”

  “Soph—”

  “I can take the late bus—”

  “Sophie.” Mama’s voice stretched like a rubber band. “You have to watch Zeke, remember?”

  Sophie didn’t mean for the impatient, “Aw, man,” to slip out, but it did.

  “I’m sorry,” Mama said, “but I’m feeling really tired. I’m afraid Zeke will try to Spider-Man his way up the side of the house if nobody’s watching him.”

  Mama tried to laugh. Sophie didn’t.

  “Things are going to be a lot easier after this little one is born, Dream Girl,” Mama said.

  But even Mama’s pet name for her—the one that always showed she really did understand who Sophie was—added a link to the imaginary chain around her ankle.

  “Z-Boy won’t be home for half an hour,” Mama said. “That gives you a little time with your friends.”

  If the bus wasn’t leaving, like, right this minute, Sophie wanted to say. As it was, there was barely time to sprint to the library to deliver the bad news to the club and race to the front of the school. When she finally got there, panting like a dog, the bus was already leaving.

  “No!” she called after it. Her voice squeaked up.

  “Miss your bus?” said an all-too-familiar voice. The expected sniff followed.

  “What’ll you do now?” B.J. chimed in.

  “I’d call a cab,” Julia said. “But that’s just me.”

  Cassie gave her stringy tresses a toss. “Use your cell phone. Oh, wait—you don’t have one!”

  Only the Corn Flake Code kept Sophie from rolling her eyes at all of them. She turned away and Willoughby popped up, curls dancing in the wind.