Chapter 3
THREE
Maybe I was rude.
No, I know I was rude.
People are rude to me, all the time. Maybe it rubbed off?
Sophie spent the two weeks before pushing herself out of her comfort zone. She abandoned the cocoon of her trusty Civic and walked three-quarters of a mile to escape the borders of campus and “hung around” Ramsey Court and Mila’s Taqueria.
She’d never eaten so many tacos in her life. They were delicious.
Which was good, since she went there every day, eyes roving when they weren’t downcast or closed in cheesy-chipotle-induced bliss.
Antonia was a pretty town, especially since October tried to have one last fling with summer before frosty November rolled around.
The sun shone persistently and sunsets were long and bright, bathing the town in picturesque orange and pink hues.
Halloween decorations went up all over the dorms and the town itself, including an unsettling number of guillotines and headless dolls in frilly dresses.
Thank God she found a mention of it in the local papers that were always free to browse while you waited for your order at Mila’s.
Antonia was first founded in 1793. 1600 acres were procured for French aristocrats escaping the horror of the French Revolution.
It was rumored that Marie Antoinette herself would join various French nobles at French Azilum, land purchased by sympathetic Philadelphians.
Unfortunately, she never arrived on these shores, having faced the guillotine only days before the ship departed France.
In the 1800s, an additional ten miles was purchased by the town of Antonia.
Today, most of the land is used for farming and the Antonia College Campus.
Every year, both Independence Day and Bastille Day are celebrated by residents.
Halloween celebrations often include references to the French queen’s tragic fate.
“Order for Sophie?”
Sophie tossed the newspaper down. She paid the last of her cash to the girl with the sweet smile at the counter.
Her eyes lingered on the “Help Wanted” sign taped to the register.
Hey, the food was good, the people were pretty nice, and she still didn’t have a job.
She took a photo of the notice with her phone.
Walking away, she heard the girl remark, “Wow. All she needs is the powdered wig. And no head.”
The boy working the fryer giggled nonstop.
Sophie realized she hated tacos.
And she still didn’t have a job or a job lead.
And she was broke.
And maybe she was broken.
The sunset seemed to burn her skin instead of warm it. She’d tried to push herself from her comfort zone for the merest chance of making a friend. That had burned her, too. She couldn’t wait to get back to her room.
“Time to practice.”
ON OCTOBER 31ST, SOPHIE pulled out her orchestra black, which was different from her standard, everyday black.
This dress had a wide, flowing, layered handkerchief skirt that allowed her to hold her cello comfortably between her knees.
The sleeves were tightly tapered. When her mother picked it out for her, she’d been dubious.
When she put it on, she had to admit that just for a second— the princess was back.
No Snow White here, no, this was some night queen, perhaps part of a dark fairytale where the princess has dark, bottomless eyes and a small, knowing smile that never reaches them.
Words like bewitching and enchanting came to mind, straight off of the YA fantasy novels she still loved to read, with their normal-girl heroines secretly belonging to races of elves and fairies.
“Okay. Come on.” Sophie slid the dress on and felt the sheer, silky fabric coat her senses as it seduced her skin. “It’s Halloween. The one night of the year when I look like I’m ‘supposed to.’ Tonight, let’s pretend I’m the one with the superpowers.”
A smudge of cherry-black lipstick. Mascara that she never used. One side of her hair was pulled back in a silver clip that accentuated her high cheekbones.
Yes, she looked like someone’s princess, all right.
Suddenly, the prince had dark blue eyes and curling black bangs on skin that was as milky as hers.
The campus clock tower struck six. With a gasp, she grabbed her black ballet flats and her music folder. This princess can’t be late for the ball, not when she’s also the entertainment.
“THAT WAS INCREDIBLE!”
“You were effing awesome!” Brooke Mendenhall high-fived her.
Jonas pumped his fist at her and made a war-whooping noise that Sophie took as a form of congratulation.
“You shone like a diamond! I told you!” Professor Grigoryan, who had donned a wizard's cap and long midnight blue robes over his black suit, wrung her hand. “You stole the show. That cadenza!”
“I — I wasn’t trying to steal anything. When I saw Fiona’s string broke, I just... I don’t know. I improvised as best I could.”
“You helped. You stepped in. The orchestra is a team, you know. This is your sport. The violins think they are the quarterbacks, but...” he winked, “sometimes the cellos are the ones who score the touchdowns!”
Sophie nodded, feeling the happiest she could ever remember feeling in the last two months. No, maybe the last two years.
“Go eat mini candy bars and drink the horrible orange punch!” His smile faltered suddenly. “We have a very safe campus, but I know you’re new this year. Did you come alone?”
“Yeah, but I’m in Pettiford. It’s not far.”
He still looked hesitant. “Yes, yes, but The Friars’ Society and the Abbe Society will make sure anyone who wants an escort home gets one. You will walk home with someone, yes?”
This guy is so nice.
Which means my father and mother would tell me not to trust him. Well, he didn’t offer to walk me home or try to get me to get a ride in his car, or something creepy. “Thanks, I promise I’ll ask for a buddy if I want one.”
With a sweep of his cloaked arm, he bowed to her and moved away, waving at a few other faculty advisors who were in attendance.
“You want a coke?”
Sophie jumped and turned. A guy was standing behind her, holding out an unopened can of soda. “Oh. Thanks.”
“I’m Rick.”
“Hi, Rick. I’m Sophie.”
“I know. Um. I don’t like classical music.”
“Oh?” Well, that’s awkward....
“But you guys blew me away. I didn’t know the cello could sound like that! How long have you been playing?”
“Since I was seven,” Sophie answered, and for a few minutes, thoughts about the princess escaping back to her tower and thoughts about a certain pale prince completely vanished.
“I’M IN THE FRIARS’ Society. I can walk you if you want. We usually pair up. If you want to wait, I can get one of the Abbe girls to come with us?”
“Thanks, Rick. I’m fine. I’m from Philly. I used to ride the subways alone a lot later than this.” Okay, so it wasn’t technically a lie. She just hadn’t done it often.
“Rick! You can go! Professor Van Dyke wants to stay until the end to lock up!”
“Okay!” Rick waved and called back to the group of men and women standing by the exit door. “I’m off-campus, but I parked my car in the Student Services lot. Pettiford is on the way if you want company?”
Sophie hesitated. She’d had a surprisingly relaxed and fun evening. She loved to play and she loved hearing Grigoryan play. Half of the kids in the hall were decked out in Halloween costumes or some sort of black, either as a nod to the holiday or their position in the chamber group.
Rick had talked to her off and on for about an hour. They mostly talked about music, which was the one area she was comfortable talking about to begin with.
What the heck? A five-minute walk was no big deal. “Company’s good.”
“DO YOU WANNA HANG OUT sometime?” Rick asked in a rush.
Did she? The conversation didn’t exactly flow, but it didn’t grind to a halt. As long as they talked about music or their favorite candy bars, they’d be fine. “S-sure.”
“Cool! Wow. Tomorrow night?”
“Yeah. Okay.” What was happening? Was this thing called crazy college life actually going to work out for her?
“Sweet! I’ll meet you in front of Pettiford and we can get dinner?”
Her cheeks lifted in a genuine grin. “Sounds good.”
There was a sudden awkward pause. “Um. Good night?” Rick leaned forward hesitantly, clearly to the side of her face.
Sophie felt something inside of her melt. Oh my gosh. That’s so old-fashioned. So sweet! The guy that kisses your cheek has to be decent, even if we don’t have much in common. Yet.
No one, aside from her family members, had ever kissed her cheek, or her lips for that matter. She giggled a little and leaned forward as well, cheek turning shyly to meet his lips as an inner chant of “Don’t make a big deal, don’t screw this up” began inside her head.
Instead of his lips, the coarse fabric of his sweatshirt cuff swiped her cheek. “Hey!”
“Sorry. I have a talc allergy. Talc is in a lot of make-up. I found out the hard way.” Rick swiped again, frowning. “Boy, that stuff is really painted on good! Is it the kind that only comes off with special gel?”
“Wh-what?” Sophie backed away, hand to her face.
A look of horrified realization crossed Rick’s face. “Wait! Is that your actual skin?”
Sophie’s brain couldn’t even form words. She just stared, eyes suddenly filling, making the handsome, sandy-haired boy before her blur.
“Oh. Oh, my God. I’m so sorry! I’m such a jerk. I’m sorry. It’s just—well, it’s Halloween, right? I didn’t know.”
Taking a steadying breath, Sophie nodded, trying to force the smile back on her face.
Okay. So, this was good, right? Progress?
Growth? Open communication. He made a mistake and he apologized.
He sounds as miserable and mortified as me.
See? Something in common. “No, it’s cool. Actually, a lot of people have said—”
Rick backed up, something different in the set of his features now. Cautious. “Is it contagious? Like, I heard people with leprosy can have that dead white skin. I didn’t know lepers were so beautiful, but I do know it’s contagious. Right?”
“I don’t know. I don’t have it. I’m not contagious. I’m also not interested in dinner anymore. I lost my appetite.” She spun on her heel and ditched inside Pettiford before Rick could stammer out his next mortified apology.
Sophie ran up the steps, heedless of her fancy dress and the cello banging against her hip as she held in her sobs.
The dam burst as her door clicked shut beside her, the princess back in her tower once more. “I can’t do this. I can’t do this anymore.”
She thought she couldn’t be broken anymore, but you can always step on the pieces and grind them into powder.
Powder. White. Like her skin. She’d tried foundation in darker shades when she was eleven and twelve and didn’t work.
She used a whole tube to do her hands, face, arms, and neck.
It wiped off on her clothes and bedding, leaving tan stains everywhere.
Besides, it was too expensive for a kid to buy a tube of Max Factor every few days.
Sophie stopped sobbing and started packing.
She could wear the mask every day. She could stay cold and alone. She could keep everyone away.
No, her mistake was thinking that she could find friends here.
Thoughts of Jesse’s face, the same color as hers, his smile, and the easy way they laughed suddenly brought forth a fresh burst of pain and the tears that came with it.
Trying had been too painful. Getting glimpses of that “normal” life was too painful, knowing it would only stay a glimpse, never a full picture. A picture she’d never be in.
Sophie set the alarm on her phone for four AM.
She was getting out of here first thing in the morning, without saying goodbye or seeing anyone.
She wasn’t stupid enough to drive home starting now, just about midnight on Halloween.
Once adrenaline and anxiety passed, she’d crash and sleep like the dead.
As she put the phone on the desk, plugged in to charge, she looked at the lock screen photo.
Her parents, embracing, smiling, holding her high school graduation cap between them.
She could have called them right now, woken them up, and they’d have come to get her.
They’d have talked to her all night long, kept her awake while driving.
“No.” She let the phone drop. She wasn’t going to call them until she was almost home, maybe not until she was looking for a parking place outside of their apartment building.
Calling them to say she was coming home meant she’d failed.
She wanted to put off hearing the disappointment in their voices for as long as possible.