Read Online The Life and Death of Sophie Stark by Anna North - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Anna North
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to college and found somebody to take care of who actually made her important, and she wasn’t going to let that go.
“He’s lucky to have you,” I said. “But maybe this time you need to step back, let him handle his shit himself.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, fuck you,” she said. “Don’t fucking condescend to me.”
She picked up her purse. “I’m going to tell your sister I tried to talk to you but you didn’t listen.”
“Tell her when?” I asked, but she turned and walked out the door.
. . .
W HAT C E C E SAID stuck with me, and I meant to tell Sophie about it, but the next time I saw her, she just wanted to make plans. There was a party at an off-campus house over by the cemetery, the last big party before Thanksgiving, and she thought if we could get some footage of Daniel there, the movie might be finished. I thought maybe I’d see Andrea there, and I was excited for her to see me again in my capacity as co-director. I told myself CeCe was just a jealous girlfriend; I told my sister nothing.
The house was tall and dark and falling apart. It was nice out, one of those warm fall nights that makes you sad because it might be the last one, and guys in suspenders were out on the front porch barbecuing corn.
“Watch out for the loose board,” one of them said as I tripped on it and fell into the kitchen.
Inside, people were floating in thick smoke like ghosts. I saw a pretty girl with hair down to her ass stirring wine on the stove. I saw a wedding cake with a fist-size hole punched in it. I saw a tray of brownies labeled “nuts” and a tray of brownies labeled “party.” I saw a bowl of water full of rose petals and a guy dip a cup in it and drink. I saw three girls wearing see-through white dresses like nuns from a cool religion. I saw their six nipples and I got embarrassed and turned away.
Sophie was already shooting. People were getting used to her—one guy waved at the camera, and another lifted his beer bottle like a toast, but mostly they just ignored us. I didn’t see anyone I knew. I was jealous of Sophie—she always had the camera to put between herself and other people, but I had to talk right to them out of myown stupid face. I found a punch bowl full of something and ladled it into a plastic cup. It tasted sweet and a little bit poisonous, and I drank it very fast.
I didn’t have all that much experience with alcohol. My only source of booze in high school had been the liquor cabinet at my friend Tyler’s house, but we were always scared to take too much in case his dad found out—Tyler had to go to the hospital sometimes for shadowy reasons, and once when we broke his bike doing gravel races, his dad yelled so hard he cried—so I’d never really been drunk before, but now I could feel whatever was in the punch slamming into my brain. My muscles relaxed. I felt like I was part of the party, like I belonged to it. I started to recognize people. A guy in my English class who had always seemed too cool for everything waved at me, and then I was standing with his friends and actually talking and laughing, although I couldn’t really hear anything they said. I could still see Sophie with the camera, but we were drifting farther apart, and then I couldn’t see her anymore, and I didn’t worry about it.
I was on my second or third drink when I felt a hand on my shoulder.
“Robbie,” said Andrea, “I’m so glad you’re here.”
Her cheeks were flushed; she had dark circles under her eyes. Her hair fell around her face all tangled and pretty. I wanted to stick my hand in it and pull her against me. I thought there probably was a kind of guy who would do that, and girls probably liked him. Instead I was the kind of guy who said, “It’s great to see you. You look great.”
She laughed, a sad laugh that made her seem older.
“I look like shit,” she said. “Will you come outside with me? I kind of need someone to talk to.”
“Of course,” I
“He’s lucky to have you,” I said. “But maybe this time you need to step back, let him handle his shit himself.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, fuck you,” she said. “Don’t fucking condescend to me.”
She picked up her purse. “I’m going to tell your sister I tried to talk to you but you didn’t listen.”
“Tell her when?” I asked, but she turned and walked out the door.
. . .
W HAT C E C E SAID stuck with me, and I meant to tell Sophie about it, but the next time I saw her, she just wanted to make plans. There was a party at an off-campus house over by the cemetery, the last big party before Thanksgiving, and she thought if we could get some footage of Daniel there, the movie might be finished. I thought maybe I’d see Andrea there, and I was excited for her to see me again in my capacity as co-director. I told myself CeCe was just a jealous girlfriend; I told my sister nothing.
The house was tall and dark and falling apart. It was nice out, one of those warm fall nights that makes you sad because it might be the last one, and guys in suspenders were out on the front porch barbecuing corn.
“Watch out for the loose board,” one of them said as I tripped on it and fell into the kitchen.
Inside, people were floating in thick smoke like ghosts. I saw a pretty girl with hair down to her ass stirring wine on the stove. I saw a wedding cake with a fist-size hole punched in it. I saw a tray of brownies labeled “nuts” and a tray of brownies labeled “party.” I saw a bowl of water full of rose petals and a guy dip a cup in it and drink. I saw three girls wearing see-through white dresses like nuns from a cool religion. I saw their six nipples and I got embarrassed and turned away.
Sophie was already shooting. People were getting used to her—one guy waved at the camera, and another lifted his beer bottle like a toast, but mostly they just ignored us. I didn’t see anyone I knew. I was jealous of Sophie—she always had the camera to put between herself and other people, but I had to talk right to them out of myown stupid face. I found a punch bowl full of something and ladled it into a plastic cup. It tasted sweet and a little bit poisonous, and I drank it very fast.
I didn’t have all that much experience with alcohol. My only source of booze in high school had been the liquor cabinet at my friend Tyler’s house, but we were always scared to take too much in case his dad found out—Tyler had to go to the hospital sometimes for shadowy reasons, and once when we broke his bike doing gravel races, his dad yelled so hard he cried—so I’d never really been drunk before, but now I could feel whatever was in the punch slamming into my brain. My muscles relaxed. I felt like I was part of the party, like I belonged to it. I started to recognize people. A guy in my English class who had always seemed too cool for everything waved at me, and then I was standing with his friends and actually talking and laughing, although I couldn’t really hear anything they said. I could still see Sophie with the camera, but we were drifting farther apart, and then I couldn’t see her anymore, and I didn’t worry about it.
I was on my second or third drink when I felt a hand on my shoulder.
“Robbie,” said Andrea, “I’m so glad you’re here.”
Her cheeks were flushed; she had dark circles under her eyes. Her hair fell around her face all tangled and pretty. I wanted to stick my hand in it and pull her against me. I thought there probably was a kind of guy who would do that, and girls probably liked him. Instead I was the kind of guy who said, “It’s great to see you. You look great.”
She laughed, a sad laugh that made her seem older.
“I look like shit,” she said. “Will you come outside with me? I kind of need someone to talk to.”
“Of course,” I
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