I reached down and snatched my dress off the bed. Of course I was still a virgin. “You know what, Sophie? That’s really none of your business.”
“Oh, I know.” Sophie rolled back down, stood up, and walked over to look at my shot glass collection. “God, Mom would be horrified, wouldn’t she?” She picked up a shot glass Dad had bought me from Wellesley when we had gone to visit the campus last fall. It said GO BLUE on the front. “Where’s Pitt?” she asked finally, turning around.
“What?”
She pointed to the shot glass collection. “The one from Wellesley is front and center, and it looks like you have one from every other place in the country, but nothing from Pitt. Don’t you think it’s weird that you don’t have a shot glass from the school you’re going to?”
I shrugged. “It’s there. I think it’s toward the back.”
Sophie set the shot glass back in its place. “What’s your major going to be there, anyway?”
“Political science,” I said. “I’m doing the whole prelaw thing.”
Sophie stared at me. “Prelaw?” she repeated. “As in becoming a lawyer? Like Dad?”
I nodded, pushing down another flutter of annoyance. “What’s wrong with being a lawyer?”
“Nothing’s wrong with it.” Sophie sat back down on my bed. “I mean, if that’s what you want to do.” She looked at me. “Is that what you want to do?”
“Of course it’s what I want to do.” I picked up a folded T-shirt, shook it loose, and then began folding it again.
“Why? Because Dad’s a lawyer?”
I gave her a look. “Don’t be annoying, Sophie. Why would Dad being a lawyer have anything to do with what I want to do with my life? I do have my own brain, you know.”
“You think so well on your feet, Julia, which is exactly the kind of trait you need to become a good trial lawyer.” Dad had said that to me in ninth grade, solidifying my decision once and for all.
Sophie sidestepped my question by asking another one. “Okay then, why do you want to be a lawyer?”
“Because I think it’s interesting, okay? And I like it.”
“What’s interesting about it?”
I sighed exasperatedly. “Everything’s interesting about it. It’s…the law. You know. You get to uphold our constitution every day, protect people’s rights. See that the accused get a fair and honest trial. It’s a noble profession, Sophie. Maybe one of the noblest. ”
“Since when have you been interested in being noble?” Sophie drew her head back as if she had just tasted something bitter.
I put a hand on my hip. “Why do you always have to be so critical?”
“I’m not being critical,” Sophie said. “I’m just trying to understand. What is it about being an attorney that excites you, Julia? What gets your blood pumping? Helping people? Is that it? Or do you have some kind of burning desire to keep law and order in Silver Springs? I mean, what is it?”
Excites me? Was she kidding? This wasn’t about being excited. It was about getting things accomplished. Creating a career that would lead to bigger and better things. Assistant district attorney maybe, or even the district attorney, if I created a sharp enough record. Maybe even a judgeship somewhere in the future. “You know what?” I said. “You’re being a real jerk.”
Sophie looked away. “Well, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be. I just never would’ve thought you’d go that route. You were always so creative, Julia.”
“Creative?” I repeated. “I don’t have a creative bone in my body!”
“You do too!” Sophie insisted. “What about all those adorable little fruit people you used to draw when you were little? Remember? Mr. and Mrs. Apple? The Twin Bing Cherries? With their tiny striped arms and legs. Mr. Lima Bean even had a little fedora. They were so cute!”
I cocked my head. “Sophie, I was like six when I did that stuff. It was doodling. You can’t make a career out of doodling.” I tossed my head. “I’m getting a chance to see things up close up this summer too. Dad got me an internship at the DA’s office.”
“So you’re gonna tail the district attorney around all summer?”
I shrugged. “Probably not the district attorney himself. But definitely the assistant DAs. Dad said I’ll probably be able to sit in on a few trials too.”
Sophie got up from the bed and went over to my shot-glass collection again. “Well, I hope you have fun,” she said, picking up the Harvard glass. “That’s what it’s all about, Julia.”
Fun. This was only one of a gazillion things that separated my sister and me. She insisted that life was meant to be lived in some weird, constant state of amusement, even if it meant not making enough money to pay for heat in the winter or falling behind on her rent. It was probably the reason why she was leaving a steady, good-paying job at the nursing home to go open a bakery. Fun was for weekends, I wanted to tell her now. Fun was for later. After the hard work. “I’ll have fun. I always have fun.”
“I don’t know about that,” Sophie said. “It seems to me you haven’t—”