Sprinkles and Secrets (9 page)

Dennis comes over and sits down.

“Think we got an A?” he asks.

“I hope so. Otherwise, you're in trouble.”

He laughs. “Me? Why is it my fault? Wait, if we get an A, is that my fault too?”

“Absolutely not.”

“You are funny, Sophie Wright. I wish you were a boy.”

I start to ask why, but then I think of him eating alone.

“Do you always eat by yourself at lunch?” I ask.

He looks down. Oh no. I've embarrassed him. I
instantly feel bad and wish I could take it back.

“Yeah. Most of the time.”

“Ever since you've been in middle school?”

He looks back at me. “No. See, last year me and Hikaru were friends. Did you know him? He was cool. But over the summer, his family moved.”

Now I get it. First he lost Michael. Then he lost Hikaru. He's lost two good friends the past two years. That's tough.

Mr. Leonard steps up to our desk. “Nice work, Sophie and Dennis. You did do your share, correct, Mr. Holt?”

I jump in before Dennis has a chance to talk. “We both did the work. He did as much as I did. Maybe even more.”

“I'm glad to hear it.”

He puts the paper on our desk. We got an A minus.

“I should be partners with you more often,” Dennis says. “I've never gotten anything higher than a B in this class.”

I grab the paper and start flipping through it, reading Mr. Leonard's comments.

“Oh, before I forget,” Dennis says, “I brought you something.”

I look up. He reaches into his binder and pulls out a movie. “I thought you might want to watch this. It's really good. You can watch it for research, you know? Since you want to be an actress.”

I take the movie and read the title on the case:
Bridge to Terabithia.

“Isn't there a book with that title?” I ask.

“Yeah. I'm reading it right now. My mom bought the movie the other day, because it was on the five-dollar rack. She asked me if I wanted to watch it with her, so I did, and while we were watching it I thought,
I bet Sophie would like this movie.”

I smile. “Well, it's better than a bird's foot, that's for sure. Thanks, Dennis. I'm curious to see if I'll like it as much as you think I'll like it.”

“You will,” he says confidently. “You'll like Jess and Leslie, I know you will.”

“Okay, kids,” Mr. Leonard says. “Get to work on those paragraphs. Or I'm calling your parents and telling them no pumpkin pie or chocolate cream for you. Only mincemeat!”

The whole crowd groans. Dennis leans in and whispers, “I like mincemeat.”

I shake my head. Oh, Dennis.

I sneak my dream notebook out of my binder and quickly write down another dream.

Dream #6 –
I dream that Dennis will make
new friends. Besides me.
Yes, this is me actually admitting
I'm Dennis Holt's friend.

I think of Dennis as I stare at the table of pies at my aunt Georgina's house. There's the traditional pumpkin and mincemeat, both of which my grandma loves. I stare at the mincemeat and wonder if Dennis was joking about liking it. It looks pretty disgusting. Do I dare try it? No. Maybe next year. Or maybe never. Mom brought an apple pie, because that's Dad's favorite. And then for the kids, there's chocolate cream and banana cream.

Some of the adults are going back for seconds on the turkey and side dishes. But not the kids. We're
ready for dessert. There are seven of us, five boys and two girls. All of the boys are in front of me, getting their pieces of pie so they can finish eating and get the annual football game started in the backyard. My uncle Pete, who's athletic and played football in college, is standing in front of me, trying to keep the boys from rushing the pies and tackling them to the ground.

“Uncle Pete, how long do we have to let our food digest before we can start the game?” Hayden asks him.

“Probably an hour.” He turns to me. “You want to join us this year, Sophie?”

Before I can answer, Hayden jumps in. “She's too much of a girl. A girl who's gonna be in a commercial and wants to make sure she doesn't mess up her hair.” He puts one hand on his hip and the other hand next to his head where he pretends to fluff up his buzz cut. I give him a nice, girlie shove.

“A commercial?” Pete asks. “Really?”

“Uh, well, no.” I glare at Hayden. “I just have an audition on Monday. I'm sure there will be a ton of people there and I won't get it.”

“Oh, come on!” he says. “Think positively. You've got to believe it to achieve it!”

Yeah, that's Uncle Pete for you. He's the training manager at a car dealership in town and he's always telling the salesmen that the key to selling cars is to visualize the sales and all this other hocus-pocus stuff.

“Well, I did that for the baking contest and it didn't exactly work out too well for me,” I say. “Besides, I'm not sure I want to do commercials anyway. I mean, maybe I should wait. Hold out for a spot on a television show, you know?”

“Don't ever pass up an opportunity, Sophie,” he says as he helps Hayden dish up a big piece of chocolate cream pie and put it on his plate. “You never know when another one will come along again. Because many times, they never do. Trust me. If you have a good opportunity, you have to go for it. Or, I promise, you'll regret it later.”

Geez, has he been hiding in our closets, listening to my mom?

Oh yeah, that's right. They're brother and sister. Same gene pool and all of that. No wonder.

Chapter 15

I
n the car on the way home, Hayden is talking and talking and
talking
about how much fun the football game was. Dad, Uncle Pete, and Uncle Ben played too, and Hayden ended up on Dad's team. Dad let him play quarterback for part of the game. Hayden has never been offered that position before this year. And one of his passes led to a touchdown, which Hayden cannot shut up about.

I turn and look out the window. We're at a stoplight next to the library, which is completely dark, since it's a holiday. I think of Isabel and all the time she spends at the library, looking at books and dreaming of the places she wants to travel.

Isabel understands dreams. I know that. So why am I having such a hard time telling her? Why can't I tell her about this fantastic opportunity that's been handed to me like a pretty platter of cupcakes—even though it may be for her main competitor?

All my life, I've gone after what I've wanted. That's what I do. When I wanted a dog, I looked and looked until I found one that wouldn't make my mom itch and sneeze. If I hadn't done that, where would we be now? Daisy is what inspired Mom to start her business. The Pampered Pooch wouldn't exist, and our lives would be totally different now. All because I wanted something and did my best to make it happen.

But this time, something is holding me back.

Hayden taps my arm. I turn and look at him. He's holding a wishbone. “Make a wish.”

“Where'd you get that?” I ask him.

“The chocolate cream pie,” he says, his voice full
of sarcasm. “Where do you think I got it? I stole it from the turkey. So go on. Make a wish.”

I close my eyes. I start to wish for myself, but it's all so messy, I don't even know where to start. So I wish for the boy who's been on my mind since yesterday. His life is a little less complicated than mine at the moment.
I wish Dennis would make a new friend.

“When I say three,” Hayden says, “start pulling. One, two, three.”

When we start pulling, the bone breaks in my favor.

“No fair,” Hayden says. “I want a do-over.”

“Don't be a sore loser. Besides, you don't need anything anyway, Little Brother Man. You got
Star Wars,
you got a touchdown, what else do you need?”

“What I need is my very own spaceship.”

“Well, you know what Uncle Pete says: You've got to believe it to achieve it.”

“What's that mean, Sophie?”

I think for a minute. “I'm pretty sure it means no one can really give you what you want except yourself.”

I can't sleep. We came home and played Monopoly together. Dad has no mercy when we play that game. He won again, just like the last twenty-six times we've played. After that, I went to bed and read for a while. When I closed the book, I felt tired. And I wanted to get a good night's sleep, because Mom and I are going shopping tomorrow. I love shopping on the day after Thanksgiving—it's one of my favorite days of the year.

But every time I close my eyes, thoughts of cupcakes and brownies swirl around in my brain. I want to stop thinking about it! How come my brain doesn't have an on/off switch?

At midnight, I get up to see if a glass of milk will do the trick. And a cookie. We didn't eat anything after Thanksgiving dinner because everyone was so stuffed, but now, I'm kind of hungry.

I reach into the cookie jar and pull out one of Mom's homemade monster cookies, Hayden's favorite. They're made with peanut butter, oatmeal, chocolate chips, and M&M's. Mmmm, so good. As I'm pouring myself a glass of milk, I hear someone behind me.

“Can't sleep?” Dad asks.

I turn and look at him. “No, I'm sleepwalking. I'm dreaming about eating a cookie with milk. And about some guy who looks like a pirate standing in the kitchen talking to me, wearing an old green robe that looks like it's been around since 1970.”

“Ah, okay,” he says. “I thought you might be worried about Monday.”

I take a bite of my cookie. “I don't know what you're talking about. What's to worry about?”

He takes a seat on the stool next to the counter. “Have you told her yet?”

“No.”

“When are you going to do that?”

I grab my glass of milk and take a seat next to him. “I don't know. Probably next week sometime. Hopefully.”

He picks up the glass of milk and takes a drink. “It'll be okay. You'll see.”

My eyes drift from his face to the green robe he's wearing. There are stains on the shoulders. “What are those?” I ask him, pointing.

He follows my finger. “Those are the places where you and your brother spit up on me.”

“Gross! Dad, get yourself a new robe, would ya?”

He pulls me in and kisses my forehead. “No way. It's one of the few reminders I have of when you were cute and cuddly. You'd cry and your mom would nudge me to say that it was my turn. So I'd get up, go to your crib, bring you down here, and give you a bottle. Then I'd rock you, burp you, you'd spit up on me, and then you'd fall asleep.”

I give him a funny look. “They do make these things called burp rags, you know.”

“I know, but sometimes, I'd forget to have one with me or you'd miss or—”

“Okay, okay! I can't believe we're sitting here talking about spit-up.”

He rubs my hair and stands up. “I think you're the one who started it.”

I look at him, my pirate of a dad in an old, ugly robe, and I can't help it. I love the guy so much. I stand and give him a big hug. We stand there for a long time, rocking back and forth the tiniest little bit.

I yawn and pull away. “Okay. I think I can sleep now. Thanks, Dad.”

“Anytime, sweetheart. You want me to burp you too?”

I laugh. “Nah, I'm good, thanks.”

Before I go, I look at him for a second. For some reason, I don't tell him very often, but right now, it feels like I should. “I love you, Dad. You know that, right?”

He nods. “It's always nice to hear it, though. I love you too. Sleep tight, Sophie.”

When I get back to my room, I pull out my notebook.

Dream #7 –
I dream of good sleep, sweet dreams,
and a good deal on a lathrole
tomorrow morning.

Chapter 16