Debbie Schrack - Saving Sophie

SAVING SOPHIE

Copyright 2022 by Debbie Schrack

ISBN: 978-1-955784-87-0

Fire & Ice Young Adult Books

An Imprint of Melange Books, LLC

White Bear Lake, MN 55110

www.fireandiceya.com

Smashwords Edition

Names, characters, and incidents depicted in this book are products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

Published in the United States of America.

Cover Design by Ashley Redbird Designs

You ever heard of the monkey mind? I learned about it in my Advanced Psych class last year. Its the deepest, most primal part of the brain, and it dwells on fear. I assume its a leftover from our caveman days when we were as much prey as predators. Nowadays, we dont have to worry about being eaten by a saber-toothed tiger. But our monkey minds are still there. Racing around like monkeys in a cage.

If you know me at all, youll know that I never do anything halfway. So its not a shock that I dont have the same boring monkeys in my head that everyone else does. Nope, not me. I have full-grown chimpanzees. Obnoxious, bug-eating, skank-eyed chimpanzees. Every night, they swing from vines and poke each other with sticks. The only method Ive found that gets them to sleep is to shoot them with imaginary tranquilizer darts. That hasnt been working out so well lately.

Thanks to the chimps, Im ten minutes late climbing into the passenger seat of our Toyota RAV this morning. Moms tapping her fingers on the steering wheel, and as I buckle my seatbelt she throws me one of her Youre late again looks. I ignore her and prop my head against the window so I can get in fifteen minutes of Zs before school. But Mom clears her throat as soon as we back down the driveway. Which means she wants to have a conversation. We rarely have them anymore, but I know the signs. Two sentences in, she drops the news that shes going to visit my brother Josh in prison on Thanksgiving Day (which is only a week away) and get thisshe expects me to tag along. Which means Im screwed. Chimps or no chimps, I will never be able to sleep again.

Gabe, did you hear a word I said? Mom darts a glance at me.

Im still trying to wrap my head around the fact that she thinks its okay to blow off my favorite holidaya whole day that glorifies foodto hang out with inmate number 2143, currently incarcerated at Willowbend Correctional Center in Loserville, West Virginia. Has there ever been a lamer name for a prison? To be honest, I would rather be attacked by rabid raccoons. Or get karate chopped in the balls.

Yeah, I heard you. Complete snark, but Im in no mood to play along with what has to be the absolute worst idea in the world.

I was hoping for some kind of response, she says, ignoring the snark.

I thought we were going to Gran and Gramps for Thanksgiving. Deflect. Thats always a good strategy.

Visiting hours are ten to twelve. Well go to Gran and Gramps afterward.

Nuts. Mom has all the answers. Which is the opposite of me. Im like Jeopardy!, nothing but questions. I constantly play the What if? game in my head. What if Josh had driven straight home that night instead of stopping in a bar? What if, after stopping at said bar, he went back to his apartment to sleep it off and driven home in the morning? What if I was an only child?

After Josh went to prison, I did a little research. There are over two million men incarcerated in prisons across the United States. If only a quarter of them have brothers (Im just guessing hereit might be a low estimate), that means there could be five hundred thousand people in the same sinking life raft as me right now.

Then why does it feel like Im the only one?

I think Ill pass, I say.

Oops. Maybe I shouldnt have said that out loud.

A couple of years ago, when Josh was home on break from college, we watched The Exorcist on Pay-Per-View. Scariest movie of all time. Theres a girl in the story whos possessed by the devil. Thats who Mom reminds me of now as she turns to look at me. She has the same demonic gleam in her eyes like she would just love to rip out my guts and eat them raw. I turn away from her and

Mom, watch out!

Out of pure instinct, I fling my arm across her chest. She plows on the brakes and we narrowly miss rear-ending a minivan thats stopped at a light in front of us. We gulp in some deep breaths. Mom white-knuckles the steering wheel. The light turns green.

After a second, we drive on. I scrunch myself against the car door and stare out at the mountains. Most days, they give me a sense of calm. Not today. My hands cant stop shaking. And my feet keep tapping out a four-four rhythm. Youd think Id consumed three Red Bulls for breakfast, then snorted some cocaine and ate a pound of sugar.

Mom clears her throat again. I feel her gaze on me. I keep mine fixed on the road. One of us has to.

Hes your brother, she says. He needs you right now. He needs us.

I dont want to see him, I say. Not after what he did.

You know perfectly well it was an accident, she snaps.

No one goes to prison for an accident, I snap back.

I saw this movie a while ago. A girl and her mom were in a car harshing on each other. And the girl just opened the car door and jumped out. I thought that was the sickest thing Id ever seen. I mean, Id never have the courage, but I completely understand why she did it. Theres nothing worse than being trapped in a car with an angry mother.

It wasnt his fault, Mom says.

How many times have I heard that in the last six months? Its like her mantra.

Mom, he drove a car when he was shit-faced. People died. And what about

The words get caught in my throat.

It hurts to think about her, much less say her name out loud. Sophie. The only person in the other car who survived. Ive spent so many nights wondering about her while the chimps race go-carts around my head. Who does she live with now? Did she get adopted? Does she have survivors guilt? Can she even make it through an hour without thinking about her family and what Josh did to them?

What about what? Mom asks. She makes a right-hand turn onto Daffodil Street. My school is only a mile away, but it might as well be on another planet. And watch your language.

Whatever, I mutter. Its my go-to phrase to end conversations. And this one really needs to end.

Mom takes a long, shaky breath, like shes about to lose it. Youre going with me to visit Josh and thats final. If I hear another word about it there will be consequences.

She says it slowly, each word a drop in an ocean of words: There. Will. Be. Consequences.

That little bomb detonates the conversation. A frosty breeze wafts over from Moms side of the car. I close my eyes and pretend to sleep, even though Im so wired its possible I might spontaneously eject out of the RAV. Five minutes later, we drive up to the front door of Edison High School.