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Most people just call me Sophie
(which is the name
on my birth certificate),
or Sof,
or sometimes Sofa.
Zak and Danny think it’s cute
to call me Couch,
as in:
“How’re your cushions doing today, Couch?”
Or sometimes they call me Syphilis,
which I don’t find one bit funny.
My parents usually call me
Sophie Dophie or Soso.
And Rachel and Grace call me Fifi,
or sometimes just Fee. |
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But Dylan calls me Sapphire.
He says it’s because of my eyes.
I love the way his voice sounds
when he says it.
Sapphire.
I like whispering it to myself.
His name for me.
Sapphire.
It’s like the secret password
to my heart. |
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After Zak’s party, Rachel’s big sister
came to drive a bunch of us home,
with her friend
and her friend’s younger brother. |
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I was the last one to get in the car
and it turned out
all the other laps were taken,
so I had to sit on
Rachel’s sister’s friend’s brother’s lap. |
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It was
Dylan’s lap,
but even though he goes to my school
I’d never seen him before. |
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And he had such smoldery dark eyes
that I felt like I’d been zapped
smack into the middle
of some R-rated movie
and everyone else in the car
was just going to fade away
and this guy and I
were going to start making out,
right then and there,
without ever having said
one word to each other. |
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But what really happened
was that he blushed and said,
“Hi. I’m Dylan.”
And I blushed back and said, “I’m Sophie.”
And he said, “Nice name.”
And I said, “Thanks.” |
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After that we didn’t say anything else
but our bodies seemed to be
carrying on a conversation of their own,
leaning together
into every curve of the road,
sharing skin secrets. |
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And just before we got to my house,
I thought I felt him
give my waist an almost squeeze. |
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Then the car rolled to a stop
and I climbed out
with my whole body buzzing. |
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I said good night,
headed up the front walk,
and when I heard the car pulling away,
I looked back over my shoulder
and saw Dylan looking over his shoulder
at me. |
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When our eyes connected,
this miracle smile lit up his face
and I practically had
a religious experience. |
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Then I went upstairs to bed
and tried to fall asleep,
but I felt permanently wide awake.
And I kept on seeing that smile of his
and feeling that almost squeeze. |
|
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He is so homely,
so downright ugly
that none of the girls
even think about him. |
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He’s too lowly,
too pitiful
to even bother
making fun of. |
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So something must be
very wrong with me,
because I want to kiss him.
I want to kiss him real bad, |
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even though his nose is crooked
and his ears are huge,
even though his hair’s a mess
and his lips are tight and scared. |
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I want to kiss away
those circles under his eyes
that make him look like
he’s never slept a second in his life. |
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has just bubbled up, burst ablaze,
and cremated me, |
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And those arms of his
seem like they’re just aching
to hold on to someone.
I wish I could let them hold on to me. |
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When no one was looking,
I’d walk up to him
and say, “Hey, Murph.
Would it be okay if I kissed you?” |
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And he’d look hurt
because he’d think I was joking
and he’d turn away
to hide his face, |
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but I’d touch his shoulder and
look at him with gentle misty movie eyes
and say, “Come on. I mean it.
I really want to.” |
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And he’d look dumbstruck,
and all the gray
would fade out of his eyes
and this light would come into them |
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and his lips would look like
they were getting ready to smile and then,
before I had a chance to change my mind,
I’d kiss him. |
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And he’d wrap his skinniness around me
and his arms would be shaking,
and suddenly I’d feel all this love,
all this need pouring into me |
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(Whoa.
I can’t believe
I’m having this fantasy about Murphy,
when I’m so totally in love with Dylan!) |
