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 Excerpted from What My Mother Doesn't Know by Sonya Sones All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
