Sophie Flakes Out Page 6

  “That’s our best scene!” Sophie wailed, loud enough for Mr. Stires to look up from taking roll and twitch his mustache.

  “Mr. Stires wouldn’t tell us who complained,” Fiona whispered.

  He didn’t have to, Sophie thought. She would have bet her video camera it was her father. It made her want to take a bite right out of her science book.

  “Let’s head to the lab, folks,” Mr. Stires said.

  But Sophie couldn’t keep her mind on test tubes or anything else except how un-swell their film was going to be now.

  The whole Film Club gathered just outside the door to sixth-period Life Skills before the bell rang. Maggie kept an eye on the clock so they could dive inside the room in time to escape a tardy-detention from Coach Yates. Her mood hadn’t gotten any better in the last few days.

  “We have to figure something out,” Vincent said. “What’s everybody doing after school?”

  “Bible study,” Maggie said. “What about after that?”

  “We don’t have school tomorrow,” Darbie said. “Let’s meet at my house tonight.”

  Willoughby was already tugging at Sophie’s sleeve, and Sophie knew why.

  “This is an emergency,” Sophie said to her.

  “But you said you’d come,” Willoughby said. “I asked you first.”

  “What are you two going on about?” Darbie said.

  Fiona folded her arms and looked at Sophie. “Let me guess. You and Willoughby have plans with those eighth graders.”

  “Sort of,” Sophie said.

  “That was a yes-or-no question,” Vincent said.

  Why do you always have to be so mathematical? Sophie wanted to say to him.

  “I did promise Willoughby I’d come to her party,” she said.

  All Corn Flake eyes shifted to Willoughby.

  “You’re having a party?” Fiona said.

  “I hope this doesn’t sound rude, Willoughby,” Darbie said. “But why didn’t you invite us? We’re your best friends.”

  “Why can’t they come?” Sophie knew her voice sounded as fake as a Corn Pop smile. “It’s your house.”

  Willoughby grabbed a curl and strangled a finger with it. “I kind of already asked them, but they just want Sophie. I mean, they haven’t met the rest of you yet.”

  “So let me get this straight,” Fiona said, hands on hips. “You’re having a party at your house, but somebody else is telling you who can come and who can’t.”

  “Yates Alert,” Maggie whispered hoarsely. “We have fifteen seconds.”

  But nobody moved until Willoughby finally nodded and said, “Sort of.”

  “That was another yes-or-no question,” Vincent said. This time, Sophie had to agree with him.

  Maggie herded them all into the room just as the bell rang. There was a note on Sophie’s desk almost before Coach Yates closed the door.

  “PLEASE come to my party, Sophie,” Willoughby had written. “I NEED you there.”

  Sophie looked over to see tears threatening to spill out onto Willoughby’s cheeks.

  “I have to go to Willoughby’s party,” Sophie wrote to Fiona. “I don’t know why. I just do.”

  At Bible study that afternoon, the fact that Kitty was there, tucked neatly into her wheelchair, was overshadowed by Fiona putting her hand up almost before Dr. Peter could get the words “So, ladies, how was your week?” out of his mouth.

  “I guess I’m about to find out,” he said, eyes sparkling.

  “I just have a question,” Fiona said. “What happens if you make a rule and somebody breaks it because there’s another rule that is the opposite of that rule?”

  Dr. Peter let his eyes cross. It would have been funny if Sophie hadn’t known exactly where Fiona was going.

  “I’m glad you asked that, actually,” Dr. Peter said. “Because it goes back to the story we’re studying. Let me ask you something—what did you do Sunday after church?”

  They all looked at each other. “Homework,” Gill said.

  Harley grunted in agreement.

  Maggie was flipping back through her calendar. “We worked on our film,” she said.

  “It scares me that you have an appointment book, Maggie,” Dr. Peter said. “But that’s exactly my point. All of you broke the commandment about keeping the Sabbath holy.”

  “Sorry,” Kitty said. And then she gave her nervous Kittygiggle.

  Sophie squirmed a little. “But I thought that’s what the story was about. Didn’t Jesus change that rule because his disciples were hungry?”

  Dr. Peter rubbed his hands together and wrinkled his glasses into place with his nose. “Just as I thought. We need to look at the story a little more closely.” He picked up a stack of pastel-colored pads and handed them out, each one matching a beanbag chair color. Kitty giggled and said she’d missed this class so much. Sophie just got a squirmy feeling in her stomach. So far this didn’t promise to help her with the Corn Flake situation, much less Daddy and the Parent Patrol.

  “On this pad,” Dr. Peter said, “I want you to write down all the rules you are expected to follow, even the ones you’ve made for your own group of friends.”

  “Corn Flake Code,” Maggie said.

  Gill looked at Harley. “Do we have rules?” Harley, of course, grunted.

  It took the whole hour for everybody to list all their rules, since naturally they had to talk about every one as they went along. By the end of the class, Sophie was no closer to any answers. In fact, the chain around her ankle had gained several links. Dr. Peter said he’d explain it all next week. Fiona was still saying things to Sophie like, “I get it, but I don’t get it. Gadzooks!”

  Sophie had no word, even in their new slang, to describe how she felt going over to Willoughby’s that night.

  I want to go, but I don’t, she thought in Daddy’s truck on the way over. I’m happy they asked me, and I’m not. I want to help Willoughby, but I don’t want to hurt my other Corn Flakes.

  “You look like you’re having a scrimmage with yourself over there, Soph,” Daddy said. “Want me to referee?”

  His eyes were actually sympathetic, but even as Sophie opened her mouth to explain it to him, she could hear Fiona saying, Somebody said the kidnapping scene was too “scary” for kids our age.

  Daddy doesn’t even know anything about kids our age, Sophie thought. So what was the point?

  Goodsy Malone shook her head. These old town council members, they didn’t know from nothin’. She’d have to handle this on her own, just like always.

  She settled back into the seat of the 1928 Pierce-Arrow car and watched through the windshield with trained eyes. Even now there could be members of the Capone organization lurking in the shadows. In fact, didn’t she see movement in that yard? Wasn’t there someone running straight for the Pierce-Arrow?

  “Look out!” she shouted, hand already on her weapon.

  The tires squealed, and the vehicle fishtailed to a stop.

  Daddy was glaring at her. “What was that all about?”

  Sophie blinked through her glasses at the empty road in front of them.

  “Don’t be screaming like that when I’m driving,” Daddy said as he shook his head and jerked the truck back into gear.

  “I could have had an accident.”

  His eyes weren’t sympathetic anymore.

  Daddy waited in the truck until Willoughby let Sophie in the front door. Sophie wondered if Victoria’s and Ginger’s parents still did that with them.

  “I’m glad he’s met your dad before,” Sophie said, “or he would have come all the way to the door to check him out.”

  Willoughby gave a poodle-shriek. “I’m glad he didn’t! My dad’s at work.”

  Sophie felt the stomach knot forming again. “He’s not gonna be here?”

  “No, but it’s cool,” Willoughby said. “He doesn’t care if I have friends over.”

  Sophie gazed at her in awe.

  “Okay, squirt, we’re out of here.” A curl
y-haired boy of about eighteen followed his deep voice into the room. There was another identical boy right behind him. He messed up Willoughby’s hair with his fingers.

  “These are my twin brothers,” Willoughby said, “Matt and Andy.” She wriggled away from the one with his hands in her hair. “And fortunately, they’re leaving too.”

  “Make sure you clean up after your party,” one of them said. “By eleven. Dad gets off at midnight,” the other one said.

  “I know, I know,” Willoughby said.

  Hands-in-the-Hair waved his cell phone at her as the two of them went out the front door.

  “I know!” Willoughby said. She rolled her eyes at Sophie.

  “They’re way worse than anybody’s parents.”

  Then why are they leaving? Sophie thought. Her stomach was knotted up tight enough to hold a yacht in place. It was the first time she’d ever been alone in somebody else’s house without an adult there. Not being in that situation was one of the things she’d written on her rules list that very day in Bible study.

  I don’t think Jesus would like this, she thought. Much less Mama and Daddy.

  But before she could mention that to Willoughby, the doorbell rang. Willoughby yelped, and the house was suddenly full of eighth-grade girls.

  Sophie recognized some of them from the lunch table the day before, but there were at least ten more besides them. All of them looked like they shopped, had their hair cut and colored, and took modeling classes at the same place. Sophie felt more flat-chested and less Goodsy Malone—confident by the second.

  Until Victoria parted the crowd and made a beeline for her. “Stephi!” she said.

  “It’s actually Sophie,” Sophie said.

  “I know, but I like calling you Stephi. You remind me of my cousin Stephanie—you both look adorable in glasses. Come on, I want Ginger to give you a manicure. She’s amazing. Have you ever had one?”

  “No,” Sophie said as she trailed her to Willoughby’s family room. Wait ’til she sees I don’t even have any nails.

  But Ginger, who had a full manicure set spread out on the coffee table, didn’t even blink when she saw Sophie’s gnawedoff absence of fingernails.

  “I’m going to put fake nails on you,” she said. “They’ll be fabulous.”

  Next to Sophie on the couch, somebody else was getting a pedicure, and on the floor, three girls were pulling DVDs out of their purses. Sophie started to relax. This really wasn’t that much different from the Corn Flake sleepovers—

  Until a DVD was popped into the player, and a big R appeared on the TV screen.

  Sophie tried not to let her eyes pop out. She’d never seen an R-rated movie in her life. That too had been on her rule list.

  Victoria swept into the room holding a Diet Dr. Pepper in one hand and positioning the fingers of the other one like she was holding a telephone. “Willoughby!” she called out. “Where’s your cell phone?”

  Where’s yours? Sophie thought as Willoughby tucked her little pink phone into Victoria’s hand.

  “I get it after you,” Ginger said to Victoria. She pressed a shiny squared-off nail onto Sophie’s finger and held it up to survey it, frowning. “Too big. You’re so petite.” She pulled it off. “Parents are so clueless.”

  “Why are they clueless this time?” said Giving-a-Pedicure.

  “I told them that Round Table making us have a talk with Coach Nanini wasn’t a punishment,” Ginger said, “but do they get that? No. They took my cell phone for three days.”

  “Call Child Protective Services,” Getting-a-Pedicure said. Sophie looked at her quickly to make sure she was kidding.

  “Here,” Victoria said, tossing the phone to Ginger. “I’ll finish Stephi’s nails.”

  “Did you get him?” Ginger said as she poked out a number.

  “I had to leave him a text message,” Victoria said. “These are darling on you, Stephi.” She wiggled her eyebrows up at Ginger. “He’ll be here.”

  He? Sophie thought. Here?

  “Okay, listen to this.” A willowy girl curled up in Willoughby’s father’s recliner and held up a magazine. “Here’s a quiz: ‘Are You a Boy Magnet?’ ”

  “Who in here needs to take that quiz?” Victoria said. “We all have boyfriends.” She looked at Sophie, who was trying to will herself to disappear under the sofa. “Do you?”

  “Uh, no,” Sophie said.

  “Why not?” said Giving-a-Pedicure. “You’re too cute to be single.”

  “It’s because seventh-grade boys are still such babies,” Ginger said. She tossed the phone back to Victoria and took over the last of Sophie’s press-on manicure. “You need an eighth-grade boy, Sophia.”

  Sophie didn’t even attempt to correct her. She knew nothing would come out but a squeak. An eighth-grade boy? EWW!

  “We’ll get you any guy you want,” Ginger said to her. “As long as he isn’t already taken.”

  “What about Scottie Fischer?” Getting-a-Pedicure said. Ginger studied Sophie. “They would be cute together. Want us to fix you up?”

  Yes—to a balloon—and fly me out of here! That definitely sounded better than all of this right now. Sophie almost melted into a relief-puddle when the doorbell rang. Ginger dashed for the door with Getting-a-Pedicure behind her, gauze still stuffed between her toes.

  But when Sophie saw half the Great Marsh Middle School boys’ basketball team stream into the family room, she ran like a rabbit to the kitchen in search of Willoughby—who was nowhere to be found.

  Sophie launched herself at a cooler full of sodas just for something to do while she thought about how she was going to escape. She hadn’t put the rule about not hanging out with boys without any adults present on her list. It hadn’t even come up in her life yet.

  Ginger came in then, draped around a tall boy who looked like he shaved already. Sophie wriggled past them with a Sprite and darted for the stairs to the second floor.

  “What’s that little seventh grader doing here?” she heard the boy say.

  “Shut up. She’s valuable,” Ginger said.

  I’m valuable? Sophie thought. What—like a bank account or something?

  Suddenly, she didn’t feel like a Boy Magnet with a cute little figure and fabulous fake nails. Parking the Sprite on the steps, she headed for Willoughby’s room, where she knew there was a house phone. The only thing to do right now was call Fiona and find out what to do. Gadzooks.

  “Bunting residence,” said the voice on the other end. Sophie held back a groan. It was Miss Odetta.

  “May I speak with Fiona?” she said.

  Something beeped in her ear, and for a minute, Sophie thought Miss Odetta had hung up.

  “Is this Sophie?” Miss Odetta said, in that voice she used when somebody was about to get a demerit.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Sophie said. “May I speak with Fiona?”

  There was another beep. “What is wrong with this phone?” Miss Odetta said. “This thing does everything but the dishes, and I don’t know what any of it means—”

  “May I please speak to Fiona?” Sophie’s voice threatened to squeak out of hearing range.

  “She’s over at Darbie’s house,” Miss Odetta said. “Why aren’t you there?”

  Sophie thanked her and hung up before Miss Odetta could give her a demerit for not being with Fiona.

  I deserve one! Sophie thought. What am I doing here?

  In the distance, another phone rang.

  Probably a bunch of high school boys calling on the cell phone to say they’re coming over, too, Sophie thought. I have to get out of here.

  For a crazy moment, she looked at Willoughby’s bedroom window. She could always climb out of it and run to Kitty’s house, which was only a block away.

  But Kitty was probably at Darbie’s house too, along with everyone else Sophie felt safe with.

  The only thing to do now was call home and ask Daddy to come get her. And then she’d have to tell him why—

  “Oh, no!” someo
ne screamed from downstairs. Sophie would have recognized that poodle-yelp anywhere. “That was my dad! He got off early!”

  Then there was another poodle-cry—a frightened one.

  Eight

  In a matter of minutes, Willoughby’s house was empty of eighth graders, without even a trace of a press-on nail left behind. Willoughby leaned against the front door and whimpered, “Sophie, please—you have to help me clean up before my father gets home.”

  Sophie was about to say, I thought he didn’t care if you had a party, but Willoughby burst into tears.

  “What do you want me to do?” Sophie said.

  “Make it look like nobody was here but you and me. You take the family room. I have to call my brother.”

  “Okay, but I don’t get it—”

  “Sophie please—hurry!”

  The fear in Willoughby’s voice sent Sophie charging into the family room, where she clanked soda cans into a garbage bag and sprayed air freshener over the nail glue smell. She was dumping the trash bag into the outside can when she heard a car pull into the driveway. The thought of jumping the fence and running crossed her mind, but Willoughby stuck her head out the back door and said, “He’s here!” It sounded like the poodle was drawing her final breath.

  The front door opened as Willoughby motioned for Sophie to sit on one of the snack bar stools while she herself stuck her head in the refrigerator.

  “I wish Matt would hurry up with the milk,” she said into its depths. “I’m dying for a milk shake.”

  “Matt went out?” said a deep voice from the doorway.

  Sophie flinched, nearly falling off the stool. She’d heard Willoughby’s father talk before, but she’d never noticed him growling like a German shepherd. The way he took inventory of the kitchen with his eyes made Sophie wish she had jumped the fence after all, and taken Willoughby with her.

  “I just went out to get some milk,” said another voice. One of the twins appeared in the doorway with two gallon jugs and a grin—a very shaky grin.

  “How long were you gone?” Mr. Wiley snarled at him.

  Two hours! Sophie thought.