Anything but Normal - Melody Carlson [18]
Sophie jerked awake and stared up at her mom. Did she know? Had she found the kit? Was Sophie’s nightmare about to turn into a waking reality?
Her mom smiled. “You must’ve been really tired. Did you know it’s ten minutes until eight?”
“No way!” Sophie looked at her clock. “I better get moving.” “I’ll go toast you a bagel and you can eat it on your way to school,” Mom called as she hurried away.
“Thanks, Mom.” Sophie threw back the covers. There, twisted in the sheets, was the stick from last night. The nasty, awful, horrible stick. What if Mom had seen it?
Sophie slipped the stick in the bag that was still concealing the test kit. When no one was around to see, she would dump the whole works in a restroom trash can at school—get rid of the evidence. What she would do after that . . . well, she was pretty much clueless.
She quickly dressed, grabbed up her homework things, then dashed downstairs. She snagged the bagel, thanked her mom, and hurried out the door. Maybe she should get up late every morning. It might make life easier if she didn’t have to look her mother in the eyes. As for her dad . . . well, he was fairly oblivious to anything that didn’t involve sports or tires.
As Sophie drove to school, she decided there was only one way she would be able to make it through this day, and that was to pretend that nothing whatsoever was wrong. She would pretend that she wasn’t freaking out or about to have a total nervous breakdown. And if Oscars could be given to teenage girls who were able to delude everyone—including best friends, parents, teachers, neighbors, maybe even God—she would do whatever it took to win one.
By the end of her day, she felt she had succeeded. Joking had always been her best defense against any form of discomfort. Whether it was a mean girl taking a poke at her weight, an idiot boy gaping at her bustline, or a thoughtless teacher making her out to be “teacher’s pet,” Sophie had learned early on to deflect these situations with humor and wit. She’d realized this was a skill that would carry her through almost anything. Almost. “Hey, Sophie, are you going to stick around for the yearbook meeting this afternoon?”
Sophie turned around to see Wes Andrews trailing her. She and Wes had been friends since middle school. They’d both been journalism nerds for years now. Last year they’d been on the newspaper staff as well as the yearbook committee.
Sophie frowned. “Maybe not.”
“Maybe not?” Wes looked shocked. “Why not?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know . . . I guess I’m not really into it.”
He came over and dramatically placed his hand on her forehead. “Are you sick or dying or something?”
She pushed his hand away and faked a laugh. “No. I just thought I’d take a break.”
“Take a break from yearbook during your senior year? Are you serious?”
Sophie blew air between her lips as she struggled to come up with an acceptable answer or a joke. But neither came.
“Come on, Sophie,” he urged. “We need you.”
“I don’t see why. I mean, if I’m not there, someone else can step in and—”
“No one can take your place, Sophie. You’re brilliant.”
She smiled. “Thanks, but if I’m not there, someone else can be brilliant.” She tweaked his nose. “Maybe even you.”
“This is so wrong.” Wes grabbed their journalism teacher before he went into the classroom. “Talk some sense into her, Mr. Young.”
“Huh?” Mr. Young adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses and turned to look at Sophie and Wes. “What’s up?”
“She’s abandoning the yearbook.”
Mr. Young frowned. “Is that true?”
Sophie just shrugged.
Mr. Young pressed his lips together, then slowly shook his head. “Sophie, Sophie, Sophie . . . have you thought this through carefully? Surely you realize that being on yearbook and the newspaper looks good on your college applications. And that your participation could possibly lead to a, well, some sort of scholarship.” He peered closely at her. “Are you willing to risk—” He was cut off by the bell. “Sorry, I have to go. But make sure you think this over carefully, Sophie.” Then he hurried into the classroom.
“So?” Wes’s