Read an Excerpt
Nicknames
Most people just call me Sophie
(which is the name
on my birth certificate),
or Sof,
or sometimes Sofa.
Zak and Danny think it's cute
to call me Couch,
as in:
"How're your cushions doing today, Couch?"
Or sometimes they call me Syphilis,
which I don't find one bit funny.
My parents usually call me
Sophie Dophie or Soso.
And Rachel and Grace call me Fifi,
or sometimes just Fee.
But Dylan calls me Sapphire.
He says it's because of my eyes.
I love the way his voice sounds
when he says it.
Sapphire.
I like whispering it to myself.
His name for me.
Sapphire.
It's like the secret password
to my heart.
Sixth Sense
Sometimes I just know things.
Like when Lou asked me to go on that walk
down by the reservoir last year
on the last day of eighth grade.
I knew he was going to say
he wanted to break up with me.
And I knew my heart
would shatter
when he did.
I just know things.
I can feel them coming.
Like a couple of weeks ago
when I went to the Labor Day party at Zak's.
Something perfect was going to happen.
I just knew it.
That was the night I met Dylan.
How It Happened
After Zak's party,
Rachel's big sister
came to drive a bunch of us home,
with her friend
and her friend's younger brother.
I was the last one to get in the car
and it turned out
all the other laps were taken,
so I had to sit on
Rachel's sister's friend's brother's lap.
It was
Dylan's lap,
but even though he goes to my school
I'd never seen him before.
And he had such smoldery dark eyes
that I felt like I'd been zapped
smack into the middle
of some R-rated movie
and everyone else in the car
was just going to fade away
and this guy and I
were going to start making out,
right then and there,
without ever having said
one word to each other.
But what really happened
was that he blushed and said,
"Hi. I'm Dylan."
And I blushed back and said,
"I'm Sophie."
And he said, "Nice name."
And I said, "Thanks."
After that we didn't say anything else
but our bodies seemed to be
carrying on a conversation of their own,
leaning together
into every curve of the road,
sharing skin secrets.
And just before we got to my house,
I thought I felt him
give my waist an almost squeeze.
Then the car rolled to a stop
and I climbed out
with my whole body buzzing.
I said good night,
headed up the front walk,
and when I heard the car pulling away,
I looked back over my shoulder
and saw Dylan looking over his shoulder
at me.
When our eyes connected,
this miracle smile lit up his face
and I practically had
a religious experience.
Then I went upstairs to bed
and tried to fall asleep,
but I felt permanently wide awake.
And I kept on seeing that smile of his
and feeling that almost squeeze.
Distracted in Math Class
All I have to do
is close my eyes
and I can feel his lips,
the way they felt
that very first time.
I can feel the heat of them,
parting just slightly,
brushing across my cheek,
moving closer
and closer still
to my mouth,
till I can hardly breathe,
hardly bear to wait
for them to press onto mine.
All I have to do
is close my eyes.
Between Classes with Dylan
We fall into step
in the crowded hall
without even glancing
at each other,
but his little finger
finds mine,
hooking us
together,
and all the clatter
of the corridor fades away
till the only sound I can hear
is the whispering of our fingers.
In the Cafeteria
Sitting alone
with Dylan.
Eating my sandwich,
but not
tasting it.
I'm only aware of
the sparks in his eyes,
the sun in his hair
and the spot where his knee's
touching mine.
Then, over his shoulder,
I see Rachel and Grace waving at me,
grinning like pumpkins,
holding up this little sign
with "Remember us?" written on it.
In the Girls' Bathroom
"Is he a good kisser?"
Rachel asks.
"Unbelievable," I say.
And it's true.
Dylan's kisses
seem like something
much better than kissing.
It's like
I can feel them
with my whole body.
That never used to happen
when Lou kissed me.
And he's the only other boy
I've ever made out with.
"Has he tried to get to second base?"
Grace wants to know.
But the bell rings just in time.
It's Been Rachel, Grace and Me
Ever Since
That September afternoon,
when third grade had barely begun
and we were just getting
to know each other,
we skipped through
the first fallen leaves,
weaving our way through
the quiet neighborhood
to Sage Market for Häagen-Dazs bars.
That September afternoon,
when we saw the four older girls
pedaling towards us,
we didn't expect them to stop
or to leap off their bikes
and suddenly surround us.
But they did.
And we had no idea that the biggest one,
Mary Beth Butler,
who had these glinting slits for eyes,
would ask Rachel
what church she belonged to.
That September afternoon,
after Rachel mumbled, "Saint James's,"
we didn't know that Mary Beth
would ask Grace the same question,
or that Grace would squeak out,
"North-Prospect.
And it's none of your business."
But she did.
And when Mary Beth asked me the question
and I said I didn't go to church
because I was Jewish,
I didn't think she'd start shouting
at Rachel and Grace,
"Don't you know you aren't supposed
to play with anyone
who doesn't go to church?"
while her friends glared
and tightened their circle around us.
That September afternoon,
when Rachel kicked Mary Beth in the shin
and the three of us
crashed through the cage of bikes,
racing off together
across the nearest lawn,
scrambling through the hedge
and into the alley,
not stopping till we
were locked safely behind
the heavy oak of Rachel's front door,
we didn't know that we'd just become
best friends.
But we had.
Text copyright © 2001 by Sonya Sones
