Sophie's Smile: A Novel

Copyright © 2011 Sheena Harper

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

This book is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, places
, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover and artwork designed and illustrated by Sheena Harper.

ISBN: 1466266031

ISBN-13: 978-1466266032

To my loving and sweet Husband.

I will love you forever…

Part One

We awkwardly stride,

just
ready for Yesterday,

not
quite owning Now.

~
Kyle Harper, Never Ready

~ Sophie ~

1

Sigh…anxious excitement flooded through my veins as I prepared myself for this new beginning. It was September 11, 1997—the heat was dry and deprecating, the trees a dusty green, the hills lush with a blanket of weeds, and the sky clear as polished glass—my very first day at Sweetwater Middle School.

I was entering the seventh grade—a place feared by some, hated by most; here, the occupant was no longer a child untainted and pure, not yet a teen preparing for the future, but somewhere stuck in between (the dreaded onion in a turkey sandwich).
Excited for freedom and more independence.
Unsure and misplaced in this world filled with puzzles and mazes.
Insecure with wavering confidence, constantly testing and being tested.
And for the first time given a mirror to criticize, critique, and understand the person looking back.

If I was wiser, that fact should have made me wary. But I was young.
Naïve.

Last April, my family moved all but five miles from our previous house—quaint and fitting for a young family of three—so I could attend the prestigious Sweetwater School District. Education was everything in this upper-middle class community, consisting mainly of hard-working, first- and second-generation Asian-Americans. From a very early age, we tacitly understood that we must attend the best to become the best.

A few months ago, my naivety clouded my better sense of judgment into believing that I would have a fresh start.
A new school.
Have new friends. Be a new person, a better person.

The night before, I laid out my new clothes, shoes, and backpack neatly by the foot of my bed. I stepped back a moment to survey the parallel stacks and ensure I wasn’t forgetting anything—all was crisp and creased, still holding the shape of its original packaging, even after the rolled up papers, plastic shields, and silica packets were removed and discarded.
Excitement building.
I do not remember falling asleep, but it didn’t seem long before I lay here, awake in bed, sun creeping through the slits of the fabric-covered blinds, eyes gleaming wide and round, anxiously waiting for the alarm to buzz, signaling the start of a brand new life.

I jumped out of bed, washed my face, brushed my teeth and hair, changed into my new set of clothes, and took a few minutes to compose myself before heading downstairs. Examining myself in front of the full-length closet mirror, I saw a cute girl full of possibilities—her body small and frail, her face young and innocent.

I forced myself to relax, focusing on my breath—my shoulders lifted as I gulped in as much air as my lungs could hold and then slowly exhaled, releasing all the anxiety and tension. That helped a little. Knots were forming in my stomach as butterflies started to invade, filling the empty space.

Submitting to the butterflies, I gave up and ran down the stairs. Poured myself a bowl of crunchy O’s with skim milk and scarfed it down, as if trying to douse them into submission with each bite. It seemed to knock them down a bit.

“Okay, I’m ready to go to school!” I exclaimed as I hurriedly put on my stark white sneakers, grabbed my backpack, and headed for the garage.

My dad grinned as he held up his hand, “Whoa, hold on there, Princess.”

I halted and turned toward him, hands on my hips, confused. “What?”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

I contemplated in silence—I was clothed, fed, and had my backpack hooked contently over my left shoulder. What else was there—“
Ummm
?” With a pleading expression, I looked up at my dad for a clue.

My dad let out a laugh and just shook his head. “You have to wait for your mom to get ready so she could drive you to school.”

“Oh yea,” I answered, feeling dejected.

Now I glanced at the clock; I was about half an hour early. I came over to sit next to my dad on the couch, trying to focus on the morning news. They always looked too happy, too energetic, and much too perfect. There never seemed to be a strand of hair out of place.

I contemplated this until my mom finally came down to join us. My feet and hands twisting, restlessly waiting for my mom to finish her second cup of coffee—
one is good but two is better
, she always told me. I often fidgeted, much to my mom’s angst. I shrugged. Shrugging was my natural reflex in uncomfortable situations.

Finally, my mom was ready. My excitement was slightly unsettling…I had never been more excited for the first day of school than I was today. I hoped I wasn’t jinxing myself.

In the car, I fiddled with the radio trying to find the perfect song to fit my mood. I gave up and settled for the KISS station. I didn’t understand why there was so much talking and not enough singing on the morning radio. Before I actually heard a complete song, we arrived.

We lived so close to the school I probably could have walked, but the idea of walking never crossed my parents’ minds. I wasn’t exactly thrilled about the proposition, either—sweating is very unbecoming and I detested the fact that I got my dad’s genes in that area—so it was never brought up.

A heavy sigh escaped from my chapped lips as I tried to compose myself before exiting my mom’s Lexus. A Lexus might seem excessive to some, but to those attending Sweetwater Middle School it was an average and ordinary family car.

I turned to give my mom a hug and a kiss goodbye and noticed that her eyes were already misting with emotion. Oh geez, she was about to start crying.

“Mom, please,” I said as I rolled my eyes, slightly irritated.

“Sorry, it’s just you’re growing up so fast.” She sighed.

I gave up; after all, it is a Mother’s right to fuss over her child.

“I know.” I kissed her on the cheek one more time and got out of the car.

2

Gasp.
Unable to move, I took in…everything. The size of the school was larger than I imagined. There were thousands of kids scurrying every which way, meeting up with friends whom they haven’t seen since June, some whom they haven’t seen since yesterday, and others just searching for the location of their first period. Luckily, I scoped out the locations of my classes a day in advance so I wouldn’t have to use the map.

Maps were a clear giveaway, signaling to everyone that you were either a 6th grader or new to the school. I didn’t want to be singled out just yet.

The eighth graders were also easy to spot. They were the ones who wore smug faces; they were either excited to rule the school, or couldn’t care less about anyone and anything. They also looked more mature. After all, they had the entire summer for puberty to hit—generating a type of complex as they got used to their newfound bodies—and had two years to secure their place amongst their peers.

“
Buzzz
…” I jumped. I panicked.
Am I late for my first class?
I started running before stopping to think. By the time I realized it was only the warning bell, I already stood out. A few people turned my way and snickered. My cover had been blown.
I’m a newbie, and everybody knows it.
I hung my head as I slowed somewhat, but still kept a fast pace toward my class. My cheeks flushed. I wanted to get inside as soon as possible to shield myself from utter embarrassment.

A handful of kids were already in my first period class, excitedly waiting to see if any of their friends or crushes would join. I zeroed in on the back corner desk and took it. I wanted to get a grip on my new surroundings before others became aware of my presence. I could feel the curiosity directed my way as I sat down. I took out my notebook and pencil and began idly doodling to pass the time until class started. The room began to fill up and after ten minutes went by, the official bell rang. There were a few stragglers, but the teacher did not seem to mind. I guessed they were more lenient, being the first day and all.

As the day went on, my excitement dwindled and sadness crept in. I found myself hanging my head a little lower, slumping in my chair a little further, and being quiet as a mouse.

Nothing will change
, I thought glumly.
I will not be a different person at this school, but much the same. I’ll be lonely and alone.

I didn’t know what I expected. I was never able to draw a crowd. Popularity was never my specialty. Everyone already seemed to belong to a clique, and it appeared by their turned backs and tightly closed groups they were not looking for new recruits. Everyone seemed to know everybody already. Nobody seemed to care about who I was.

3

Days passed.
Weeks.
Then months went by without much change. I was still alone and forgotten…that was, until today.

Mrs. Whittle had a spunky personality that fit her fiery red hair and grayish-blue eyes. Her outfits popped with color, fabric breathable and light, like a wandering gypsy roaming the streets of Italy. She was in her early forties, married,
no
children unless you count her two German Shepherds, and she absolutely
loved
history. When she was in the seventh grade she probably had no problem making friends, which was why she was clueless as to the impact her little stunt was going to have on me.