Sophie’s head is buried in her locker when I pass her in the hallway on Wednesday morning.
“Lost something?” I ask.
Her head knocks into the roof of the locker with a loud bang. “Ow.”
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
She pulls her head out. “I was looking for a book. It’s missing and I don’t remember where I put it. But it’s not in here.”
“I can keep my eyes open for it.”
“Thanks. Are you going to class?”
“Yeah. We can walk together?”
“Okay, sure.”
I feel eyes on us as we head for chem. She’s the only kid in the entire school who talks to me. I wonder if she would talk to me if she wasn’t my tutor. Probably not. I can’t imagine my life without her being in it.
Sophie eyes everyone and turns to me. I expect her to say something, but she doesn’t. I want to talk to her, I just don’t know about what.
“There’s art class today,” she says.
“Yep. Best time of the day.”
“Really? Not lunch?”
I shrug. “I can go hours without food, but I can’t go hours without sketching.”
She smiles. “It’s great that you found something you love. I’m not really good at anything.”
We enter the class and sit at our lab table.
“Of course you’re good at something,” I say as I take out my school things. “You’re a genius.”
“Thanks. Is that what you want to do when you’re older? Draw?”
I nod. “You?”
“I’d like to do something in the medical field. Like a PA or nurse. Or if not, I’ll probably be a teacher.”
I smile. “That’s really cool. So you want to help people.”
“Yeah.”
I turn to my backpack, then face her. “Can I show you something?”
She nods for me to go ahead.
I hesitate. “I’ve never shown it to anyone, not even my dad, and I used to be so close to him.”
Her face registers curiosity, a bit of confusion, and some sympathy. She must sense the way I’m talking about Dad—like I miss him. But she doesn’t ask questions or pry. I do want to tell her about my father. Just not yet.
“Are you sure you want to show it to me?” she asks.
My hands reach into my backpack and pull out my sketchpad. I take a moment to prepare myself because this is so personal. So not like me. But I want to share it with her.
After yanking it out of my backpack, I place it on the table. Sophie eyes it with furrowed brows. Then her gaze springs to mine. “Your sketchbook?”
