When I was nine years old I won the Acahela Summer Camp Spelling Bee. It had come down to a final round between me and Hannah Reed, who stumbled on the word “octopus.” I clutched my little plastic trophy on the bus ride home, wriggling with excitement at the thought of showing it to Sophie. Mom and Dad always made a fuss over my good grades, but getting Sophie’s approval was like hitting gold. Once, after I had shown her a perfect math test—complete with three gold stars—Sophie asked if she could hang it in her room. Seeing my paper there every time I came into her room afterward sent a swell of pride through me.
It was unseasonably cool that day in July. Leaves on the maple trees whipped to and fro under a sharp wind, and the sun peered out faintly behind a film of clouds. The air smelled like rain. I had just passed the kitchen window when I heard someone shouting. The window was cracked slightly and I stood under it, listening with my heart in my throat.
“They’ve been saying shit behind my back since the end of last year,” Sophie said. “They just haven’t been as vocal about it until now. Seriously, Mom, I don’t care. It doesn’t matter.”
“What kinds of things? About your weight?”
“Yes, about my weight!” Sophie exploded. “Like it’s a big deal that I put on twenty pounds!”
“Well, what are they saying exactly?” Mom asked.
“You want to know what they’ve been saying? When I got up from my lounge chair at the pool today, some asshole friend of Eddie’s made oinking noises. And when I walked over to the snack bar to get a soda, I heard Marissa Harrington call me a lard-ass under her breath. Okay? That’s the kind of shit I’m dealing with.”
“Sophie, please.” Mom was begging. “Don’t use that kind of language.”
“Jesus Christ,” Sophie yelled. “Me using bad language isn’t the point here, okay? You asked me what was wrong and I told you what was wrong.” I flinched as the sound of something being slammed filtered through the window. “I don’t know why I ever think I can talk to you about anything!”
I counted slowly to ten, then went inside.
Mom looked bewildered as I walked through the door. “Julia,” she said flatly.
“What’s wrong with Sophie?”
Mom blinked. “Oh, nothing. She’s having a rough day is all. She’ll be fine.” She glanced down at my trophy. “What’s that?”
I held it up. “I won the spelling bee at camp today.” Somehow, the news didn’t feel that exciting anymore.
But Mom squealed and clapped her hands and kissed me. She placed the trophy on the kitchen counter so she could admire it, and then said, “How about a snack?”
“No thanks.” I grabbed the trophy and began to climb the stairs.
Mom came after me. “Honey? Don’t bother Sophie right now, okay? She’s not feeling that great. You can show her your trophy later. Don’t bug her now.”
“I won’t bug her.” Insulted that Mom would even suggest such a thing, I sat in my room for a while, staring at the little prize in my hands.
Little drops of rain began to pelt my bedroom window. I put my trophy down and went over to the chair behind my desk. I drew a fat pear with arms, legs, a hat, and a skirt. Then I drew a pair of cherries, connected by a single stem, holding hands. All of them wore striped socks, bows in their hair, and had little red cheeks. I put my colored pencils down. Sophie had to see my trophy. She just had to. If anything could make her feel better right now, it would be this. I knew it.
I tapped very gently on her door. “Sophie?”
“Go away.”
I paused, pressing my forehead against the door, and squeezed the trophy in my hand. “Sophie, I just want to show…”