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Authors: Michael D. Beil
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The first chapter of an epic novel. A … well, go ahead—you choose an appropriate metaphor.
“What was
that
all about?” Margaret asks me as we’re putting books away in our shared locker.
I examine my nose in the mirror we have taped inside the locker door. “Hey, it’s looking better, don’t you think? You can hardly see the bruises.”
“Sophie Jeanette St. Pierre. Are you ignoring me?”
“What? Oh, you mean the thing with Livvy? No biggie. Just a little experiment.”
“Well, you’re lucky your little experiment didn’t just blow up in your face. Was the scientific method involved at all?”
“Sure. I had a hypothesis.”
“Which was?”
“That maybe Livvy’s not so bad.”
Leigh Ann, who’s down the hall at her own locker, hears me and slams her locker door shut. “Compared to
what
? A crocodile that eats its own babies? This is the same girl who totally stabbed us in the back on our last English project. And the girl who called us a bunch of losers, remember?”
“I didn’t say she’s a saint,” I say. “I just think there might be more to her than we think.”
“Yeah, well, I think there might be
less
,” Leigh Ann says with a snort.
“I have to hand it to you, Soph,” Margaret says. “You’re like the Gandhi of St. Veronica’s—a peacemaker. I’ll admit it—I couldn’t do what you did. No way.”
Leigh Ann’s curiosity gets the best of her. “So, did she say anything, you know, about us?”
I smile coyly. “You’re just dying to know, aren’t you? Well, the answer is no. Not a word. She was all business. I’d forgotten how smart she is. And she’s really pretty, too. You know, when she’s not scowling or being super-sarcastic.”
Leigh Ann scoffs. “In other words, about eight seconds a year.”
“I’m not surprised you think she’s pretty,” Margaret says. “Except for your noses, you two could almost pass for twins. You’re the same size, same cheekbones, same hair.”
“Our cheekbones? You’re crazy,” I say.
Leigh Ann nods. “ ’Fraid so, Soph. The other day, Livvy was walking down the hall away from me and I came
this
close to calling her Sophie.”
“
That
would have been good,” Margaret says.
“I know. My heart was pounding afterward,” Leigh Ann admits. “I even had a nightmare about it.”
Okay, let’s stop and think about this for a moment, shall we? My best friends are afraid of how Livvy would respond to being mistaken for me.
I think I’ve been insulted. Again.
Harrumph.
A visit with old friends, er, good friends who are old-ish
On Tuesday afternoon, we have a date with our old friends Malcolm Chance and Elizabeth Harriman at Elizabeth’s townhouse, which is just up the street from the school. These two have quite a history. Married. Divorced. And, thanks to the Red Blazer Girls and the search for a certain ring, reconnected many years later. Current relationship status: unknown—at least to us. (Yes, I’m aware that it’s a total cliché, but “It’s complicated” seems to sum it up.) Malcolm seems to be spending more and more time with his ex-wife, but he still has an apartment on the Upper West Side, near Columbia University, where he is a professor of archaeology.
We’re really hoping to pick Malcolm’s brain about the pictures in Father Julian’s shoe box, but first we need to spend some girls-only time with Elizabeth. So, after a pot of our favorite Flower Power tea, a plate or two of cookies (sadly, store-bought), and 237 questions (give or take a few) about our families, school, and every otheraspect of our lives, she leans back on the couch, satisfied.
“Okay, Malcolm. Your turn.”
Malcolm returns from the kitchen with a dish towel in his hands. “Are you quite certain, precious?” he asks with a wink in my direction, his eyes twinkling mischievously.
“Don’t you ‘precious’ me,” Elizabeth says. “I’m merely trying to stay abreast of our young friends’ busy lives.”
“Yes,
“What was
that
all about?” Margaret asks me as we’re putting books away in our shared locker.
I examine my nose in the mirror we have taped inside the locker door. “Hey, it’s looking better, don’t you think? You can hardly see the bruises.”
“Sophie Jeanette St. Pierre. Are you ignoring me?”
“What? Oh, you mean the thing with Livvy? No biggie. Just a little experiment.”
“Well, you’re lucky your little experiment didn’t just blow up in your face. Was the scientific method involved at all?”
“Sure. I had a hypothesis.”
“Which was?”
“That maybe Livvy’s not so bad.”
Leigh Ann, who’s down the hall at her own locker, hears me and slams her locker door shut. “Compared to
what
? A crocodile that eats its own babies? This is the same girl who totally stabbed us in the back on our last English project. And the girl who called us a bunch of losers, remember?”
“I didn’t say she’s a saint,” I say. “I just think there might be more to her than we think.”
“Yeah, well, I think there might be
less
,” Leigh Ann says with a snort.
“I have to hand it to you, Soph,” Margaret says. “You’re like the Gandhi of St. Veronica’s—a peacemaker. I’ll admit it—I couldn’t do what you did. No way.”
Leigh Ann’s curiosity gets the best of her. “So, did she say anything, you know, about us?”
I smile coyly. “You’re just dying to know, aren’t you? Well, the answer is no. Not a word. She was all business. I’d forgotten how smart she is. And she’s really pretty, too. You know, when she’s not scowling or being super-sarcastic.”
Leigh Ann scoffs. “In other words, about eight seconds a year.”
“I’m not surprised you think she’s pretty,” Margaret says. “Except for your noses, you two could almost pass for twins. You’re the same size, same cheekbones, same hair.”
“Our cheekbones? You’re crazy,” I say.
Leigh Ann nods. “ ’Fraid so, Soph. The other day, Livvy was walking down the hall away from me and I came
this
close to calling her Sophie.”
“
That
would have been good,” Margaret says.
“I know. My heart was pounding afterward,” Leigh Ann admits. “I even had a nightmare about it.”
Okay, let’s stop and think about this for a moment, shall we? My best friends are afraid of how Livvy would respond to being mistaken for me.
I think I’ve been insulted. Again.
Harrumph.
A visit with old friends, er, good friends who are old-ish
On Tuesday afternoon, we have a date with our old friends Malcolm Chance and Elizabeth Harriman at Elizabeth’s townhouse, which is just up the street from the school. These two have quite a history. Married. Divorced. And, thanks to the Red Blazer Girls and the search for a certain ring, reconnected many years later. Current relationship status: unknown—at least to us. (Yes, I’m aware that it’s a total cliché, but “It’s complicated” seems to sum it up.) Malcolm seems to be spending more and more time with his ex-wife, but he still has an apartment on the Upper West Side, near Columbia University, where he is a professor of archaeology.
We’re really hoping to pick Malcolm’s brain about the pictures in Father Julian’s shoe box, but first we need to spend some girls-only time with Elizabeth. So, after a pot of our favorite Flower Power tea, a plate or two of cookies (sadly, store-bought), and 237 questions (give or take a few) about our families, school, and every otheraspect of our lives, she leans back on the couch, satisfied.
“Okay, Malcolm. Your turn.”
Malcolm returns from the kitchen with a dish towel in his hands. “Are you quite certain, precious?” he asks with a wink in my direction, his eyes twinkling mischievously.
“Don’t you ‘precious’ me,” Elizabeth says. “I’m merely trying to stay abreast of our young friends’ busy lives.”
“Yes,
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