Sonya Sones - What My Mother Doesn’t Know

This book made available by the Internet Archive. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS My heartfelt thanks to the generous women in my writing groups, Ruth dornstein, Madeleine Comora, Ruth Feder, Feg Leavitt, Judith Facht, detsy Rosenthal, Hope Smith, Ann Wagner, and April Wayland, for all their terrific suggestions. A multitude ofthank-yous to my oldest and dearest friend, 3etsy Hochherg, for helping me to remember and to rediscover Boston. My deepest appreciation to my agent, Steven Malk, for pointing me towards the third act, and to my editor, David Gale, for trusting me to write it. And my undying gratitude to my own Mr Right-and-a-Half, Bennett Tramer, for giving me, among many other precious gifts, my children. For Ava and Jeremy-I know a// urkat my tMjOtkev doesfi/t hvout KllC^KlOMB Most people just call me Sophie (which is the name on my birth certificate), or 6of, or sometimes Sofa.

Zak and Danny think it's cute to call me Couch, as in: "HowVe 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. 3ut Dylan calls me Sapphire. He says it's because of my eyes. Sapphire. Sapphire.

I like whispering It to myself. His name for me. Sapphire. It's like the secret password to my heart. Sometimes I just know things. Like when Lou asked me to go on that walk down by the reservoir last year on the last day of eighth grade.

I knew he was going to say he wanted to break up with me. And I knew my heart would shatter when he did. \]uet know things. I can feel them coming. Like a couple of weeks ago when I went to the Labor Day party at Zak's. Something perfect was going to happen.

Ijust knewit. That was the night I met Dylan. tfO(0 (T (f 0PPk]O 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. 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 brothers lap. It was Dylan's lap, but even though he goes to my school I'd never seen him before. 3ut what really happened was that he blushed and said, "Hi. 3ut 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." After that we didn't say anything else but our bodies seemed to be carrying or\ a conversation of their own, leaning together into every curve of the road, sharing skin secrets. And just before we got to my house, I thought I felt him give my waist an almost sq^ueeze. Then the car rolled to a stop and I climbed out with my whole body buzzing. I said Qood 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 hie shoulder at me. When our eyes connected, this miracle smile lit up his face and I practically had a religious experience. 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 sc\ueeze. Dl5T^OCT0 W MftTH ClOSS All I have to do is close my eyes and I can feel his lips, the way they felt that very first time. I can feel the heat of them, parting just slightly, brushing across my cheek, moving closer and closer still to my mouth, till I can hardly breathe, hardly bear to wait for them to press onto mine. All I have to do is close my eyes. Smm Classes m D/wto We fall into step in the crowded hall without even glancing at each other, but his little finger finds mine, hooking us together, and all the clatter of the corridor fades away till the only sound I can hear Is the whispering of our fingers. Sitting alone with Dylan.

Bating my sandwich, but not tasting it. I'm only aware of the sparse in his eyes, the sun in his hair and the spot where his knee's touching mine. Then, over his shoulder, I see Rachel and Grace waving at me, grinning like pumpkins, holding up this little sign with "Remember us?" written on it. (k) m Slots' Smmt{ "Is he a good kisser?" Rachel asks, "Unbelievable," I say. And it's true. Dylan's kisses seem like something much betterXMar\ kissing.

It's like I can feel them with my whole body. That never used to happen when Lou kissed me. And he's the only other boy I've ever made out with. "Has he tried to get to second base?" Grace wants to know. ^ut the bell rings just In time. ve^ 5WC That September afternoon, when third grade had barely begun and we were just getting to know each other, we skipped through the first fallen leaves, weaving our way through the cluiet neighborhood to Sage Market for Haagen-Dazs bars.

That September afternoon, when we saw the four older girls pedaling towards us, we didn't expect them to stop or to leap off their bikes and suddenly surround us. 3ut they did. /(9 And we had no idea that the biggest one, Mary 3eth Sutler, who had these glinting slits for eyes, would ask Kachel what church she belonged to. That September afternoon, after Rachel mumbled, "Saint James's," we didn't know that Mary ^eth would ask Grace the same o\ueetion, or that Grace would screak out, "North-Prospect. And it's none of your business." 3ut she did. And when Mary 3eth asked me the creation and I said I didn't qo to church because I was Jewish, I didn't think she'd start shouting at Rachel and Grace, "Don't you know you aren't supposed to play with anyone who doesn't go to church?" while her friends qlared and tightened their circle around us.

That September afternoon, when Rachel kicked Mary 3eth in the shin and the three of us crashed through the cage of bikes, racing off together across the nearest lawn, scrambling through the hedge and into the alley, not stopping till we were locked safely behind the heavy oak of Rachel's front door, we didn't know that we'd just become best friends. 3ut we had. /2 In fourth grade, when Rachel had to put her dog to sleep, we held a funeral for him like the one Grace had seen in Chinatown in San Francisco. We marched down the middle of Meadow Way, Rachel holding up a photo of VJaqgy, Grace pounding solemnly on her snare drum, me blasting out "The Dead Dog 3lues" on my clarinet. In sixth qrade, when Grace's parents got divorced during spring break, we had a sleepover that lasted three nights. We painted Grace's nails Revenge Red, covered her with henna tattoos, watched a Saved by the 3e\\ marathon, and obliterated six pounds of Oreo cookies.

Last June, when Lou dumped me for that awful Alison Creely, Rachel and Grace helped me make a voodoo doll that looked almost as stupid as him. We poked it with a hundred pins and wrote him a letter which Included all the swear words we had ever heard, as well as a few that we just made up. 3ut we didn't mail it. We burned it in the fireplace instead, along with the voodoo doll. Then they dragged me off to see a movie. r4 He is eo homely, so downright ugly that none of the girls even think about him.

He's too lowly, too pitiful to even bother making fun of. So something must be very wrong with me, because I want to kiss him. I want to kiss him real bad, 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. I want to kiss away those circles under his eyes that make him look like he's never slept a second in his life. seem like they re just aching to hold on to someone. I wish I could let them hold on to me.