Our weekly phone dates after Praise and Prayer aren’t cutting it for me. I need to talk to Mom. I call on the way back from dinner, strategically avoiding FaceTime.
“Kit girl. I was just praying for you. How are you? Have you been … mentally healthy?”
Not that subject. “Kind of the same. I’m fine though.” Good thing she can’t see my face.
“Have you found anyone you can talk?—”
Nope, nope, nope. “Hey, Mom? Sophie’s mad at me about something.”
After a beat, “Do you know what about?”
I’m afraid it’s the same thing as last year—jealousy. But I can’t say that. What if I’m wrong? “She snapped at me out of the blue.”
“Oh, honey, I’m sorry. College is weird. You bond so fast that you have bigger fights sooner.”
Checks out.
“I ended up spending time with mostly guys my first year because the girls wereso … dramatic,” she says. “They wouldn’t use their words.”
Mom’s standard phrase for lack of communication. I miss her.
“I’m sure you had little patience for that,” I say.
“Mm-hm.” I can almost see Mom’s eyelids fluttering on the other side of the call.
Just be honest. It’s Mom. “I’m … nervous that last year is going to happen all over again. The awful friend stuff.”
“I hope not, sweetie. But God provides in every way. If these aren’t the friends God has for you, he’ll bring along others. You can trust him.”
Right. I can trust you with this.
“The quick bonding happens with boys too, by the way,” she says. “I’d say more so.”
“I can see that.” Two nights ago Levi told me I’m special, that the time he has talking to me is never enough. Swoon, double swoon. But also, not good. I wish I could talk to Mom about it. Not telling a living soul has me bursting, but no one understands what I face. Anyone would just tell me to push through or give him up. So why bother asking?
“Oh?” She feigns innocence. “Have you been getting to know Levi better?”
“Yes.”
“Does he love the Lord?”
She doesn’t ask whether he goes to church or calls himself a Christian. Aiden taught me that those mean nothing on their own.
“He really does. He’s a good guy, Mom, but we’re just friends.”
“I see.” From her voice I can tell sheactually does.
“Sophie, wait. Is there something I can do to … be a better friend to you?”Drop the silent treatment, lady!I can’t have her bitterness hanging over me like a dark cloud. I have enough of those, thank you very much.
Sophie’s barely said a thing to me for two days, so I’ve been waiting in the lounge to catch her since Praise and Prayer. It’s Sunday night and past time to use my words. I’ll be pushy if I need to so we can start next week fresh. Mia probably knows something, but I should do my own dirty work. Gossip is the worst.
Stopping in the doorway of the suite, Sophie turns to me exasperated—ugh, rude again—but comes to plop down on the lounge sofa with pursed lips.
I feel for Sophie. Being ignored by a guy you like feels awful. I’ve got a lifetime o’ knowledge—She’s the Man!—being invisible. I didn’t get asked to a single dance before my senior year of high school. In fact, in sixth grade, I had a giant crush on this boy, Luke Buyers. I stood in the dark, echoey gym as the first slow song started at the Valentine’s dance—“Thinking Out Loud” by Ed Sheeran. My friends paired off with their guys, and Luke walked straight toward me. I was so nervous I did a frantic 180, ran to the bathroom, and hid. Monday morning, I found out he hadn’t been walking toward me at all—he was headed for my friend behind me. That was fun.
Anyway, I know what it’s like, far better than Sophie probably does. And I didn’t do anything to deserve her wrath.
She tilts her head back. “You know … Leo?” She catches some hair to twirl but drops it. “I just thought maybe I could … turn his head. He’s cute and funny and … and I’m nobody to him.”
