by Nancy N. Rue
Cassie glanced at Julia as if to make sure she was paying attention before she brought her face close to Sophie’s and said, “She’s not hiding out here at school anymore. I just saw her running across the parking lot.” Julia gasped, and Cassie’s eyes took on a shine. “Girl,” she said, “she’s out of here.”
Twelve
Did I just hear what I think I heard?” Fiona said.
Sophie turned from watching Julia and Cassie disappear into the classroom, Cassie still basking in Julia’s impressed gaze. “Did you think you heard that Willoughby just left school?” she said.
“Yeah.”
“Then you did.”
“Well, let’s go find her then,” Darbie said. “Why are we foostering about?”
“We definitely have to get to her before somebody from the school does.” Fiona glanced at her watch. “How far do you think she’ll get in forty-five minutes?”
“No,” Sophie said.
“No what?” Fiona said.
“No, we can’t just look for her ourselves. We have to tell an adult that she left school.”
Fiona grabbed Sophie’s arm and hauled her into the classroom. “You’ll get her in more trouble, and it won’t be just Campus Commission this time,” she said through her teeth.
“And her father—” Darbie said.
But Sophie pulled away. “She’s going to be in a worse kind of trouble if somebody doesn’t stop her right this minute. We have to tell somebody who can do that.”
With Fiona and Darbie still protesting behind her, Sophie went to Coach Yates, who had her whistle to her lips, ready to blow the class into silence. One look at Sophie’s face, and she had Sophie out in the hall.
The story came out easier than it had with Daddy, as Sophie raced to the part where Willoughby was seen running from the schoolyard. For a few seconds, Coach Yates closed her eyes.
“I’m not surprised,” she said. “I’ve been trying to get Willoughby to tell me this for weeks.”
Sophie wondered if Willoughby was the student Coach Yates had said she was concerned about, the one who was making her grumpy. She could almost see Willoughby flashing a too-cheerful smile the day Coach Yates took her aside. There was no way Willoughby was telling anybody, even her best friends.
“All right,” Coach Yates said. “I’ll get word to the office. You did the right thing, LaCroix. I said you were a good kid.” “You said Willoughby was a good kid too,” Sophie said.
“She is.” Coach Yates opened the door for Sophie. “That’s why we have to get her some help.”
Sophie tried to explain that to Maggie and Fiona and Darbie.
“Dr. Peter told us really helping is never against the rules,” she said, “even the rules we make up ourselves. Jesus would do this.”
“We’re not Jesus,” Fiona said stubbornly.
Darbie shook her head, scattering her bangs. “Jesus would go look for her.”
“So why can’t we look too?”
They stared at Maggie.
“Mags is right,” Sophie said. “We can still look for her. We just shouldn’t be the only ones.”
Fiona’s face unclouded slightly. “Where do we start?”
They mapped out a plan. As soon as the last bell rang, Sophie sprinted straight to the eighth-grade locker area. If anybody looked at her like she was an intruder, she didn’t notice. She had eyes only for Ginger and Victoria. She’d heard them say they wouldn’t hang out with Willoughby anymore, but she had to try everything.
The moment they appeared, Sophie was on them. “Did you talk to Willoughby today?” she said.
The two girls looked at each other and had one of those unspoken best-friends conversations with their eyes. Sophie was surprised to see that they didn’t seem to exactly agree.
“No,” Victoria said. “Look, Stephi—we haven’t talked to her in, like, a week, okay?” She gave her blonde-over-blonde hair a toss and swept away, and what seemed like half the boys in the eighth grade followed her.
Ginger didn’t. She spoke low and fast.
“Tell anybody I told you this, and I’ll ruin your dating life forever,” she said. “I talked to Willoughby. She was hysterical when she got Campus Commission for skipping, and I felt responsible because we showed her where to hide out when she wanted to cut class.” She raked a hand through her elfin-hair. “I guess we forgot to tell her how not to get caught. Anyway, she told me today she was going to some neighbor’s just to get her head straight. I told her to pack a couple of changes of clothes. Getting her head straight was going to take some time.”
“Ginger!” Victoria called from the lockers. Before Sophie could ask another question, Ginger was gone.
I don’t care about my “dating life” anyway, Sophie thought as she rushed off to tell her Corn Flakes. EWWW!
“Willoughby’s neighborhood is Kitty’s neighborhood,” Fiona said when Sophie told them.
“You don’t think she would try to hide out at Kitty’s?” Darbie said.
“No,” Fiona said. “But if we go there, we might see her.” Fiona called Boppa for a ride. Darbie went in search of the Lucky Charms, and Maggie phoned Kitty to tell her they were coming. Sophie prayed, and by the time they piled into the Expedition, she had a brilliant idea to share.
“Don’t you want to wait ’til we get there to tell us?” Fiona said, shifting her eyes significantly toward Boppa.
“No,” Sophie said, “’cause Boppa can help.”
Although Fiona looked ready to pull out Sophie’s nose hairs when they arrived at Kitty’s, Boppa was checked out on the plan, complete with Kitty’s phone number programmed into his cell phone.
“I’ll call the minute I see her,” he said, and he pulled off in the Expedition to patrol the streets for Willoughby.
The Charms set up for the kidnapping scene in Kitty’s front yard while the Flakes explained to Kitty why they were having a film rehearsal at the very moment that Willoughby was missing.
“She’s not going to let us find her,” Fiona said. “So we have to let her find us.”
Sophie gave a satisfied sigh. Fiona was finally getting it. Vincent yelled that he was ready with the camera, and everyone got into position. Kitty had the phone in her lap in the wheelchair.
“Action!” Vincent called out.
Al Capone/Jimmy and his right-hand man, Thug Nathan, barely had time to sneak up behind poor little sick Bitsy O’Banyon when the phone rang. Sophie leaped out of the bushes and leaned in as Kitty held the receiver away from her ear.
“She’s headed down Valmoore Drive,” Boppa said. “She hasn’t seen me yet. I’m keeping my distance. She’s right around the corner from you.”
“Now!” Sophie said between her teeth.
Vincent abandoned the camera. He, Jimmy, and Nathan tore off like a herd of giraffes. Maggie and Darbie helped Kitty out of the wheelchair so she could go inside with the phone. She’d watch for her cue with her mom through the window. Sophie saw Kitty clinging to her before they closed the drapes almost all the way.
Sophie’s job was to pray again: Please let this work. We’re really trying to play by your rules now.
“Here they come!” Fiona said from her stakeout by the mailbox. She ran back to the Corn Flakes just as the Lucky Charms rounded the corner. Jimmy had Willoughby over his shoulder, screaming like a whole litter of poodle puppies. Nathan was carrying a suitcase.
Does she believe everything those eighth graders tell her?
Sophie thought.
“Can you get this dame to shut up?” Jimmy/Al Capone said as he deposited Willoughby in front of Darbie and Fiona, the flapper girls. Sophie/Goodsy and Maggie/Loyal Sidekick Malloy stood apart and waited for their cue.
“Shut your cake hole and nobody’ll get hurt,” Fiona/Flapper Fran said to Willoughby.
“What are you doing?” Willoughby said. Her eyes were frantic as she looked over her shoulder and back at them, and then over her shoulder again.
“Making you look like som
ethin’, for one thing,” said Darbie/
Soozy Floozy. “Get that jacket off her. Where’s the fur coat?”
Fiona produced the oversize fake-fur coat Maggie’s mom had made.
Make the change fast, Sophie thought. It’s cold out here.
Willoughby was already shivering before Fiona and Darbie pulled her jean jacket off. When Nathan let out a long whistle at the sight of her black and blue arms, she began to shake like a wet dog.
“Let me go!” she screamed. “I don’t want to rehearse. I have to go!”
Somehow they got the fur coat on her, but not before Sophie saw there were new bruises that hadn’t been there the day before.
Hurry up, you guys, she wanted to call to the Capone gang.
Get her in the chair.
“We can’t let you go, see?” Jimmy/Capone said. “Because we gotta kidnap you.”
“I don’t have time!” Willoughby cried.
“Nobody has ‘time’ to be kidnapped, sister,” Fiona/Flapper Fran said. She nodded toward the chair. Willoughby followed with her eyes and screamed louder, “No! Let go of me!”
Jimmy/Capone and Thug Nathan looked like they wanted to let her go, especially when Willoughby began to kick. But Vincent helped them get her into Kitty’s wheelchair. Fiona and Darbie were ready with Kitty’s mother’s clothesline.
“Not too tight,” Jimmy said in his own voice as they wrapped the line around Willoughby and the chair. “Her arms—”
“My arms are fine!” Willoughby screamed. “Now would you just get me out of this thing—I can’t rehearse today!”
Sophie took her cue, only she didn’t go to Willoughby as Goodsy Malone. It was Sophie herself who knelt down in front of the wheelchair and took both of Willoughby’s hands.
Willoughby tried, but she couldn’t pull away.
“We’re not rehearsing,” Sophie said. “This is real life.”
“Your life,” Fiona put in.
“Please, Sophie,” Willoughby said. Her words were choking out in sobs. “You don’t understand—I have to get away!”
“We do understand,” Sophie said.
“We know about your dad,” Darbie said.
Willoughby froze. “What do you know? There’s nothing to know—” her voice broke. “He’s a good dad.”
“Even a good dad makes mistakes sometimes.”
Sophie had never been so happy to hear her father’s voice. When she saw Dr. Peter walking up with him, she knew it was more than Kitty and her mom making that phone call at the right time. This was a Jesus answer.
“Why don’t you all come inside for hot chocolate?” Mrs. Munford called from the porch. “You’ll catch your death of pneumonia out there.”
Nobody rolled their eyes. In fact, all the kids ran to her like lost-and-found four-year-olds. Except Sophie, who was wrapped around Daddy’s leg.
“Let’s talk, Willoughby,” Dr. Peter said when he had untied her.
Willoughby looked at Sophie, tears glistening on her cheeks as if they were freezing. “Why did you tell on my dad?” she said.
“Because she’s your friend,” Dr. Peter said before Sophie could get her mouth open. She made a note in her head to hug him for that later. “She knew you were hurting, and she wanted you to get help. That’s a holy thing.”
“But my dad’s gonna get in trouble!”
Who cares? Sophie wanted to shout at her. He’s mean to you. He SHOULD get in trouble! Why—
Daddy tightened his grip on Sophie’s shoulder. And then Sophie knew, and she empathized like no other. Mr. Wiley was Willoughby’s dad, no matter what. If Sophie hadn’t had her own dad holding her up at this very moment, she wasn’t sure she could even stand.
“Your dad’s a single parent,” Dr. Peter said to Willoughby. “That’s a big, scary job, and sometimes the stress gets to him, I’m sure. But there’s help for that, Willoughby, not trouble. You want things to be better with him?”
“They used to be!” Willoughby said. “He used to be a cool dad. Sometimes he still is—” She threw up her hands as if all the confusing thoughts were in them, and she couldn’t hold them any longer. Then she sank against Dr. Peter’s chest.
“It’s okay, little friend,” Dr. Peter said. “We’ll get that cool dad back again.”
Boppa took the rest of the kids to their houses. Sophie noticed that when they pulled away in the Expedition, Fiona was in the front seat talking away to him.
But in the truck with Daddy, Sophie had so many things she wanted to say, none of them would come out. When they pulled into the driveway at home, Daddy kept the engine running and the heater blasting.
“I’m proud of you, Baby Girl,” he said. Then he shook his head. “You’re not a baby girl anymore, though, that’s obvious. You’re growing up right before my eyes.”
It did come out then. “I’m not grown yet,” Sophie said.
“I thought I was, but I wasn’t—not like Lacie or you or Mama—or even Goodsy Malone—I tried to be, but I’m so confused about what ‘grown-up’ even is—and sometimes I don’t know which rules to follow—but I’m really trying to figure it out, Daddy—really.”
Daddy’s mouth was twitching, but in the light from the lamp in the yard, Sophie could see a wet shine in his eyes. “You know what a real grown-up is, Soph?” he said. Sophie shook her head.
“A grown-up is a person who knows what she can’t handle and turns it over to somebody who can—but she also knows what she knows and she doesn’t let anybody else take that away from her.” He reached a big hand over and squeezed her tiny shoulder. “I want you to teach our new baby girl that when she gets old enough.”
“For real?” Sophie said.
“Who could she want more for a friend than you?” Sophie could see him swallowing. “I sure want you for my friend.”
“Your friend?” Sophie said.
“I’m still your dad, Soph. I have to steer you right when you start flying off to places I don’t think you’re ready to go yet.” His face went soft. “But I also hope you can trust me as a friend when you’ve got trouble.”
It was Sophie’s turn to swallow. “But sometimes you don’t get it, Daddy,” she said.
“No, I don’t,” Daddy said. “And I’m going to work on that.
I think it’s time I let you fly just a little bit—” He put up his hand. “Not too far—just a little.”
Sophie felt her stomach start to untie, but still—“What does that mean?” she said.
“That means I bought myself a new laptop and a new desktop computer today.”
“Huh?” Sophie said. Talk about flying off into weird places—
“And that means my old laptop is in Lacie’s room at this moment as we speak, and my old desktop is on your desk.”
“Says you!” Sophie cried.
“Yeah, says me.” Daddy locked his fingers and stretched out his arms. “Incredible father that I am.” He grinned. “Now, there are going to be rules for the Internet—”
Sophie nodded happily. Rules were fine. In fact, rules were the cat’s pajamas.
She closed her eyes, and there were the kind eyes. And the best rules were right there in them.
Glossary
bee’s knees (beez kneez) the way someone from the 1920s said “that’s really cool”
bushwa (boosh-wah) complete nonsense
cat’s pajamas (cats puh-JAM-uhs) when something’s really impressive; you could also say it’s the “cat’s meow”
chemotherapy (key-mo-THER-a-pee) really strong chemicals that are used as a treatment for cancer
eejit (eeg-it) the way someone from Ireland might say “idiot”
empathize (EM-puh-thize) feeling for someone and putting yourself in their place, because you went through the same thing in the past
flappers (FLA-purs) girls from the 1920s who cut their hair short and wore really cool hats and short skirts (at least short for that time!); parents and other adults were shocked because they didn’t act like �
�proper young ladies”
Flitters (FLI-turs) a feeling you get when you’re really excited, like when your body gets all shaky because you’re waiting for something to happen
foostering about (foo-stur-ing a-bout) an Irish way of saying “stop wasting time”
gadzooks (ghad-zooks) an exclamation of surprise, especially when something is a little different from what you expected
giving cheek (ghiv-ing cheek) talking back to someone, or acting a little snotty
leukemia (loo-KEY-me-uh) a type of cancer; it attacks your healthy blood cells, especially in your bone marrow, so that you become very sick
make a bags of (mayk a bags of) do a poor job at, or screw things up
nontraditional (non-trah-dish-un-al) something that doesn’t follow the way you normally do things
pussyfoot around (pussy-foot uh-rownd) carefully avoiding something; talking about everything but the real issue when someone brings it up
rod (rhod) a slang term for a gun
says you (sez you) a statement of disbelief; telling someone that just because they said it doesn’t make it true
scintillating (SIN-tuh-late-ing) something that is really fun, interesting, and even exciting
sumptuous (SUMP-shoe-us) really impressive and over the top
sympathize (sim-pah-thize) feeling sad and concerned for someone when bad things happen
telly (tel-lee) a shortened word for television
up to ninety (up too nine-tea) so incredibly angry, your blood is almost ready to boil, and you’re ready to explode on someone
wretched (ret-chid) really upset and concerned about something or someone
Book 10 Bonus Chapter
One
Cynthia Cyber, Internet Investigator, leaned toward the computer screen, eyes nearly popping from her head. Could it be that a kid would actually be enough of a bully to print something like THAT for all the middle-school world to see? Impossible—and yet, there it was, a sentence that was already showing its ugly self on computers in bedrooms all over Poquoson, Virginia, and maybe even beyond. It was a sentence that could ravage the social life of its seventh-grade victim before she even checked her email.
