CHAPTER TWO

REFLECTIONS

Jack and I met in fourth grade. Our friendship had an odd start. He ruined my art project. Unintentionally, of course. This was Jack, after all. Even at the age of nine, I hadn't been inclined like to most of the people I met. But Jack had seemed so genuinely horrified at the huge smear of yellow paint on my completely useless art project that I'd decided he was all right. We had been friends ever since. We'd been opposites even then. He was clumsy and accident prone, but people liked him. He exuded a certain air of general good humor that I suspected he'd been been born with. I suspected this because no matter how I might try, I didn't have it. I'd never ruined an art project by accident (on purpose was another matter). I was quiet and reserved most of the time, except for the occasional episode. I'd put it this way. Our teacher had come up with the genius invention of the "Thinking Bench". The purpose was that one was supposed to think about their wrongdoing while sitting on it. Sitting on the bench was assigned after one broke a rule, with a length of time deemed appropriate for whatever misdeed the Thinker had done. Jack spent approximately five minutes daily throughout the year on the Thinking Bench for offences such as talking in class and extending recess. I was almost never on the Thinking Bench, but when I was I would spend the afternoon on it, for such crimes as giving Nick Richardson a bloody nose (even mentioning Nick Richardson was disgusting. After all, our battle had gone far beyond fourth grade. Besides, our fourth grade rivalry hadn't been malicious, and now it unquestionably was), telling the teacher that she must think we were as unintelligent as she was if she was still assigning us the same homework, and refusing to work with kids I didn't like. Stuck up was a favorite phrase used in describing me.

Jack was a trust fund child, like me. Unlike me, Jack took it completely for granted. All through elementary and high school he'd slacked off from work, yet always managed to scrape by with decent grades just the same and inexplicably get into Brown. When we were twenty-five, he'd decided to drop it all and become an artist. This struck me as irresponsible, but I had to admit that however Jack screwed up, there would always be people behind him to pick up the pieces.

I heard in England they called advice columnists agony aunts. Agony aunt. I would like to congratulate the British on their sharp observation. Any visit to or talk with my aunt was full of agony. Sharp, acute agony. It was time for me to explain the truth about me, Emily, and Aunt Harriet. To be honest, I lied when I said it was complicated. Complicated can mean almost anything you want it to. And the truth in the situation of Emily and I is simple. Painful, but simple. I was twelve and Emily three when my mother was diagnosed with cancer. Emily didn't really understand the weight of it at the time. Nobody had ever died in her life yet, not even a pet. Both my sets of grandparents had gone by then, so I unfortunately did. My mother died a year later. To be honest, I didn't really know how to handle it, and my father wasn't exactly a help. I'd always dismissed Emily as an annoying pest befoe that point, and I think here was the point when we became close. My father certainly wasn't paying us much attention. I think here is the point where the few who know this story expect my father to kill himself. And as far as I'm concerned, he may as well have. This was the note we found.

Dear Andrew and Emily,

I'm sorry.

Love,

Dad

That was it. Just gone. Some people tried to file a Missing Persons report, which was ridiculous. Even at thirteen, I knew it was ridiculous. Missing Persons was for criminals or those who had been kidnapped. This wasn't A Wrinkle in Time. He wanted to be gone. We were to live with Aunt Harriet. I'd have to finish later. Nobody likes someone who just comes out with sob stories. I didn't want pity. I began to work.

When I finally walked home, I realized I was scheduled to meet my aunt for dinner. Great. Visits with my aunt were unfortunately unavoiable.

FIVE YEARS AGO

I'd turned to see Nora and Bob Harkins coming through the door flanked by none other than Sophie herself. Aunt Harriet looked like Sophie was something extremely distasteful planted to ruin her house. It was true, Sophie had on faded jeans and a shirt that said "Pictures of Perfection Make Me Sick and Wicked." Since Aunt Harriet attempted to be a picture of perfection, I could see how she might not like Sophie right from the start. If Sophie's shirt made Aunt Harriet think, Sophie might make Aunt Harriet think. Sophie and Aunt Harriet, instant antogonists.

"I'm Sophie Brown. I'm a friend of Nora's." Sophie put out her hand. Aunt Harriet didn't take it.

"Sophia has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?" Aunt Harriet said airily.

"I said my name was Sophie." Sophie looked baffled.

"Sit down, Sophia." Aunt Harriet commanded. I resisted the urge to bury my head in my hands. It was going to be a long night. Sophie plunked herself down in the nearest chair. It was time for the interrogation.

"Sophia, what school did you go to?" Aunt Harriet inquired.

"Riverbrook Union High." Sophie had looked Aunt Harriet straight in the eye.

"Interesting name." Aunt Harriet sneered.

"Not so much for a public school." Sophie replied shortly.

"You went to public school?" Aunt Harriet looked horrified.

"From Kindergarten to graduation." Sophie shrugged.

"Play an instrument?" Aunt Harriet huffed.

"Piano. For about a nanoseecond in first grade."

"You'll play for us. People just have to keep their talents upkept, don't they?" It wasn't a question.

"That's very true, Ms. Yates. Unfortunately, I have no talent to be maintained." Sophie challenged.

"You'll be playing at eight-thirty." Aunt Harriet dismissed.

"Well, if you like Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and Chopsticks, then you're in for a great night." Sophie warned.

"I'm sure you're incredible." I said. Suddenly all

eyes were on me.

"I appreciate the false flattery, Andrew, but since you've never heard me play that makes you well meaning but useless. Don't take it personally. Well meaning but useless is a compliment by my standards." Sophie said.

"Should I be complimented or insulted?" I asked.

"Oh, both. Backhanded compliments are sometimes better. Unless it's just a veiled insult."

"In which case?" I asked.

"You're back where you started." Sophie raised an eyebrow.

"You certainly seem to be opinionated." Aunt Harriet huffed.

"Thank you. I could tell you my idea for a new system of government but I'm afraid we don't have time." Sophie's tone was a mixture of bite and sweetness. It was clear she knew she hadn't been complimented, but she tempered it with enough kindness that she almost seemed genuinely unaffected.

"We certainly don't." Aunt Harriet sighed.

"Exactly. Besides, who wants to talk about politics at dinner?" Sophie shrugged.

"Mrs. Yates has several very interesting opinions which are worthy to be heard over dinner or any time. She believes---" Bob Harkins began.

"Hush, Harkins." Aunt Harriet commanded. I attempted to hide a snicker.

"I don't accept coughing at my dinner table, Andrew. You are usually so reserved." Leave it to Aunt Harriet to point out my obvious change in front of Sophie.

"I apologize." I attempted. Sophie smiled and winked at me.