Sophia's Story

One of the things that connects us together is our love for reading and writing. So here is the first part of my current story. It still needs a tad of work, and part of it isn't proof read yet (the end part), but I wanted to post it anyway.

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X plus two equals seven, so seven minus two equals five which equals X so…

“Sophia!” Mom calls up the stairs, “Time for dinner!”

“Alright!” I call back, “Just a sec!” I finish my math problem, writing “X=5” and I put my books back in my back pack.

I hate homework; it takes away from the time I could be spending outside, being free. When I am inside, I feel closed in. I feel most myself when I am with nature. I’ve tried to do my homework outside, but I was too easily distracted by the things around me to actually get anything done.

I love nature. I don’t know whether I am lucky to live in the country because of all the nature here, or if it is because I live in the country that I love nature so much.

I am Sophia Lexi and I am the average country teenager. I live in a big farm house on the edge of town with my mom, dad, five older brothers—Mark, Eli, Josh, James, and Kyle—and all the little animals that live in the wood in our back yard.

Mark is in college now, being 20 years old, but he is home on the weekends and our birthdays if he can make it. Eli and Josh are 19 years old and trying to figure out where they are going to go for college. They are working at McDonald’s right now trying to earn money. James is a junior and Kyle is a sophomore; I’m a freshman.

I’ve always had this special bond with Mark—the youngest-oldest sibling bond. I can tell him almost everything, and he does the same to me. I’ve always gotten along better with Mark than with any of my other brothers. I’m not saying that I don’t get along with them, but Mark and I kind of just “clicked.”

I run down stairs, take a few turns in the hallway, and find my family sitting at the table in the huge dining room, waiting for me. I sit down in my usual spot at the big oval shaped oak table, between Mark and Mom. She smiles at me, and I smile back. We hold hands around the table, forming a circle. Mark squeezes my hand, and I squeeze back. There is a lot of love in my family, and I am very happy that God put in it this one. I don’t know what I would do if I wasn’t.

Dad says grace, like he always does, thanking God for our family, love, friends, food, health, and faith. Then the chaos begins. My family hasn’t quite gotten the idea of passing all the food in the same direction, so you have to figure out how to pass the green beans to your left while passing the corn to your right. I guess that goes to show that boys just don’t get table manners. The chaos is soon over, and I still haven’t gotten the butter I’ve asked for.

“May I have the butter please?” I ask, but the boys are talking about last night’s football game and no one can hear me. I see that my attempts to get the butter are failing, and that the boys aren’t going to stop talking about the awesome win, so I get up and walk over to the other side of the table, grab the little plate with the stick of butter on it, and go back to my seat.

We all eat, and the boys are still talking about the game even after dinner is over. I take my plate and put it in the sink.

“I’m going up stairs to finish my homework,” I say to the room at large.

“Okay,” Mom says, “Just don’t stay up too late, alright?”

“Okay, I won’t,” I say, and I head back up the stairs to finish my dreaded math homework.

It’s almost June, and it’s getting warm out. It’s taunting me, with all the warm breezes and the singing birds. I haven’t been out this year as much as I would like, and I am getting depressed. I’m very tempted to take my homework outside, but it’s due tomorrow, and I won’t get anything done outside. I sit down at my desk, which is facing the only window in my small room. Unwillingly, I get my math books out and start the homework that I hate so much. Why can’t we learn this is school? Why do I have to do extra? I sigh, and the homework begins.

Done, yes! Finally, and it only took an hour to finish. I sit back in my chair, smiling. It’s still sunny out, and I only had math due tomorrow. A bike ride sounds good, and my best friend Hannah should be done by now. I head down stairs, smiling, and I can’t wait to get outside. I’m putting on my shoes when Mom sees me.

“Where are you going?” She asks, though I am pretty sure she already knows the answer.

“Outside,” I say, “I was going to go on a bike ride with Hannah.”

“Hannah is sick,” Mom says, “Her mother called to tell you, but you were busy with math. She thought it would cheer Hannah up if you went over and said hi.”

My smile fades. Sick people can’t go outside. I sigh. My best friend was sick, and I was sad that I couldn’t go outside. I should go make her feel better.

“Ok,” I say, a little saddened, “I’ll go say hi.”

“Don’t stay too late,” Mom says and she goes into the kitchen to do her nightly cleaning.

“I won’t,” I say as I finish tying my shoes. Even though it is June, it can get a little breezy, so I grab my spring jacket, just in case.

As soon as I walk out the door, all the sadness I had felt before at the fact that I wouldn’t be able to bike ride with my friend goes away. Just being out side on the front porch makes me feel better. Happy, I run to the barn to retrieve my bike. I set off, the wind blowing in my face. I take deep breaths, breathing in the fresh air.

When I finally make it to Hannah’s house (I have to admit, I took a few “detours”) I find Hannah’s Mom making her famous brownies. I walk into the kitchen to say hi, and to get a snitch of brownie batter.

“Hi Sophia,” She says, smiling at me, and then she turns back to her mixing. “Done with your math homework?” Hannah’s mom was almost like a second mother to me. She always makes sure I have my homework done, even if my own mother has already made sure. I treat her like a mother too; she has always been kind to be. Hannah’s home is like a second family to me.

“Yep,” I say, walking up next to her and reaching my finger towards the bowl full of the brownie mix. She swats my hand and smiles at me.

“Save it for latter,” she says, pouring the batter into a baking pan, “Hannah is up in her room. Why don’t you go and surprise her; I didn’t tell her you were coming.” I nod, and walk out of the kitchen. At the bottom of the stairs I stop. I tiptoe up, making sure I don’t make a sound. I make it to the top, and on my left is a door, covered in pink things. This is the door to Hannah’s room, and she loves the color pink. There are pink streamers, pictures with pink frames, plastic pink necklaces hanging on the doorknob, and my personal favorite: a picture of the two of us from when we were little, wearing the same pink outfit to school on the first day of kindergarten. I smile as I remember that happy memory. We planned it all in our little kindergarten minds, and I had thought myself pretty smart for thinking of the idea, though to this day Hannah still says it was all her doing.

I tiptoe to the door and try to figure out how I am going to open it without making the necklaces jingle. I try turning the doorknob slowly, but the necklaces clink together. I stop, listening to make sure Hannah didn’t notice. I decide that a dramatic door opening would be better, so I turn the doorknob, push open the door, and hop into the room, shouting “Ta-da!”

Hannah nearly jumps out of her bed, but she smiles as she sees me.

“You scared me half to death!” She says, breathing hard, but smiling all the same, “I thought maybe I heard the necklaces jingle, but figured it was just the cat.” Hannah’s cat, Boris, comes strutting in the room at the moment, hopping on the bed meowing for attention.

“Stupid cat,” Hannah says, “Why do they always sit at the end of the bed where you can’t reach them, and meow at you like it’s your fault?”

“I don’t know,” I say as I sit at the end of the bed and pet Boris, who purrs happily and begs for more attention.

“I’m so bored, being stuck in bed,” Hannah says, “I mean, why do I always get sick when it’s nice and sunny out? Most people get sick when it’s cold, so there isn’t anything to do anyway. But nope, not me, I’m just the oddball.” Hannah sighs, “I felt sick as soon as I got home. I think it was what I ate for lunch that made me sick.”

“What did you eat for lunch?” I ask.

“You know,” Hannah says, “I don’t really remember.” We laugh.

“Then how do you know that it is what you ate if you can’t even remember?” I ask, still laughing. Boris, not happy about all the noise or the fact that I stopped petting him, leaves.

“I don’t,” Hannah says, “I said I think it was what I ate, not I know it was what I ate.”

“Ah, I see,” I say, “So how do you feel now?”

“Better,” Hannah says, “Laughing always makes me feel better.”

“Good,” I say. Then the necklaces jingle and in comes her mom, holding a plate full of brownies. My mouth starts to water.

“The brownies are done” she says, placing the plate on the middle of the bed, “Just don’t eat too many.”

“We won’t,” I say, and she leaves, closing the door behind her. I take a bite of brownie, and I’m lost in a world of chocolate. The brownies were soft and moist: perfection.

“You’re mom,” I say through a mouthful of brownie, “Makes the best brownies.”

“I know, doesn’t she?” says Hannah, taking a bight of hers. We sit there and munch on brownies for a few minutes, not saying anything.

Boris comes back, obviously dying for attention. He struts in, acting as though he were the king of the house, and makes his way to the head of the bed and hops up. He looks at me with his big green eyes, and I can’t resist. I pet him, and he instantly goes into la-la land, purring like crazy and lying on his back so I can rub his belly.

“You need a cat,” Hannah tells me, taking her second brownie.

“I know, I tell my mom, but she doesn’t think so,” I say. I really did want a cat, or any animal for that matter. But Mom says no every time, so I stopped asking her. “Don’t make yourself sick on those brownies,” I say to Hannah.

“I’m already sick,” she says, “Brownies can’t hurt.” And she takes another huge bite. I laugh at Hannah’s silliness.

“They have milk, and that’s calcium, and eggs, that’s protein, and chocolate, which is supposed to be good for you. See? I have just proved that brownies are good for you.”

I laugh. It was so like Hannah to try and make brownies healthy. We sit on the bed, eating way too many brownies.

“You’ve got a point, I say, still giggling, “Plus they taste good, and I say that anything that tastes good is good for you. “

We laugh. I gaze down at the brownie plate and I find that there is only one left. They weren’t small brownies either.

“Holy cow!” I say, “We’ve eaten the whole plate! You’re mom isn’t going to be very happy.”

“Oh well,” Hannah says, and she takes the last brownie. I look down at my stomach, and sure enough, it’s a little farther outwards then it was when I came.

The sun was setting, with blues and reds, one of the prettiest I have seen in a very long while.

“Look,” I say to Hannah as I point out the window.

“Oh!” Hannah says in aw, “It’s gorgeous.” We sit there, watching the beautiful colors drift away into blackness.

“Well,” I say, breaking the silence, “it’s dark, so I’d better go.” I stand up, brushing brownie crumbs off my jeans.

“Do you have to?” Hannah asks, looking at me with her big sad eyes, frowning. “It’s so much more fun with you here.”

“I wish I could,” I say, “But Mom said not to stay too late.” I stand up, grabbing the plate that once held a batch full of brownies intending to take it down stairs.

“Oh, alright,” She says, “See you soon, then!”

“Yep,” I say, turning towards the door. I open it, the necklaces jingling, and I walk out. Before I close the door, I turn back and look at Hannah.

“I’ll try to come over tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” she says, looking a little happier.

“Bye,” I say, not really wanting to leave.

“Bye.” And I close the door.

I walk down the stairs, wondering what Hannah’s mom is going to say when I show her the empty plate. Hopefully she won’t be too mad. Maybe I can somehow sneak into the kitchen and just leave it on the counter without her noticing.

I peak around the corner to see if she is still there. She is, and she sees me.

“Leaving now, Sophia?”

“Yeah,“ I say, trying to hide the plate so she won’t notice. I fail in hiding it, and she of course notices it.

“What are you hiding?” She asks, though I am sure she already knows the answer.

I hold out the plate for her to see, not saying a word. I’m not making eye contact, afraid that she might yell at me.

“Oh, you two!” She says. She doesn’t sound mad, so I look up. She’s smiling at me, and I smile back, unable to help myself.

“You really think I’d yell at you for eating all the brownies?” She asks, taking the plate from my hand and placing it in the sink to get washed.

“Maybe,” I say in a quiet voice.

“You know I wouldn’t. It’s you who’s not going to feel well tomorrow, not me.”

“I won’t feel bad,” I say, “Hannah and I figured out that brownies are actually very good for you.”

“Oh really, how’s that?”

“They have milk, which is calcium. Eggs, that’s protein. And chocolate, which they say is good for you.”

“Ah, I see,” say Hannah’s mom, laughing, “Well, it’s dark, and your mom will be wondering where you are, so it’s probably best that you head on home. Just don’t tell her that I let you eat a plate of brownies, okay? She’d kill me if she found out.” She winks at me.

“Okay,” I say, winking back, “Thanks for having me over, and for the brownies, they were amazing!”

“Thanks for coming over and cheering Hannah up. She really hates being sick.”

“Yeah, me too. Well, I better get going. Bye!”

“Have a safe trip!” she calls to me as I walk towards the front door.

“I will,” I call back.

I head home, not taking any detours because it’s dark and the back roads don’t have any street lights.

“I’m home!” I call as I walk through the front door, kicking off my shoes without bothering to untie them.

“You’re late!” Mom’s voice calls from the kitchen.

I walk into the kitchen, finding Mom tidying things up before she goes to bed, like she always does.

With her, everything must be clean before she can rest. This means she makes sure that our rooms are clean and that the living room is dust free. It’s a good thing that Dad married a clean freak, otherwise he’d be drowning in his own filth.

Because, unlike my clean freak of a mom, Dad is the biggest slob on earth. He’s gotten better since he’s married and lived with Mom, but he still doesn’t like to clean.

She’s smiling, and I know she isn’t really mad at me. I walk towards her smiling as well. You can’t help but smile when you are around my mom. Her smile is contagious. It’s soft and friendly, and very welcoming. Maybe that’s why she has so many friends.

I lean my head on her shoulder, and she gives me a one arm hug.

“It’s about time you got into bed,” She says, giving me a squeeze, then letting go.

“Okay,” I say, “Night.”

“Night honey.”

I leave Mom to do the cleaning and head up stairs, thinking of how soft my bed is. The day had been great, but all I really wanted to do was sleep.

I crawl into my bed, smiling to myself, and I drift off.

This sun is shining in my face and I wake up. I look at the clock hanging on my wall and I moan. It’s 9 o’clock on a Saturday morning. I’m never able to sleep in on the weekends because the sun lights up my white room, making it impossible to sleep.

Deciding that it is pointless to try and sleep in the sun lit room, I get out of bed.

I stretch and yawn, whishing I was still in my nice warm bed fast asleep. Then I look outside and see the tree directly out my window. Its branches are full of birds merrily singing in the morning sun that just woke me up. I wonder why I wanted to sleep in when I could send the day with the birds.

I throw my bathrobe on and head down stairs. I smell eggs and sausage cooking on the stove, and my tummy grumbles. I walk into the kitchen, and sure enough, everyone is there helping make the Saturday morning breakfast. It is Brown Family Tradition that the whole family helps make breakfast on a Saturday morning, though it normally more like brunch.

The kitchen is full of people, but it isn’t chaotic. Everyone knows their part and what they have to do. Mom is mixing that homemade pancakes, Dad’s beating the eggs, Mark is frying the bacon, Eli is putting the bread into the toaster and Josh is buttering the toast as it pops up, James pouring milk into glasses for the eight of us, and Kyle is setting the table.

“Morning sleepy head,” mom says.

“Morning,” I say, rubbing my eyes.

“Hey Sophie,” Mark says. He’s always called me Sophie, not Sophia.

“Hey,” I say, “What do you need me to do?” I ask Mom. It looks like everything was taken care of, but I still wanted to help somehow.

“Um,” Mom says, glancing around, “You can make these pancakes while I go put a load of laundry in.” She walks towards me carrying the bowl of pancake batter and hands it to me.

“Okay,” I say, taking the huge bowl from her and walking towards the stove where Mark was standing. I set the bowl on the counter next to the stove top and went to find a frying pan to cook the pancakes on. I find on drying in the dish rack. I take it back to the stove and start cooking the pancakes, placing them on a plate that was on the counter when I was done.

I love Saturday mornings. The kitchen is filled with the smells of bacon and eggs and pancakes and toast, and there is laughter from Josh and Eli as they are trying to see how fast they could get there job done. Dad was beating the dozen eggs, whistling to himself like he always did. Mark was doing some sort of gig while cooking the bacon, and I laugh.

“What?” he asks as if he wasn’t doing something totally ridiculous.

“Nothing,” I say, figuring that there probably wasn’t a good reason that he was dancing around besides that fact that he loved bacon.

Pour, flip, plate. That’s how then morning went for me. By the time I got the last pancake poured into a circle, the first one was ready to flip. The frying pan was so long that it covered two burners, and if I did it right, I could manage to get eight pancakes on at a time. By the time I ran out of pancake batter, I was a master pancake flipper.

“Okay, pancakes are done,” I say as I take the plate and place it in the middle of the table. Kyle throws a towel on the huge pile to keep it warm. Dad takes my place at the stove and starts cooking the eggs.

More food eventually makes it way to the table, and then we can eat. By that time it’s 10 o’clock, and I’m starving. Mom comes back from doing laundry, smelling the air.

“I see my little chefs are almost done,” she says, “it’s so nice not having to cook by myself.” She smiles at us all, blowing a kiss to Dad since the kitchen is packed with people and she couldn’t exactly make her way towards him at the moment, and he blows one back.

Breakfast is finally ready and the table finally set; Kyle sometimes gets carried away with the very simple job of setting the table. We all sit down, and the smell of the pancakes makes me realize just how hungry I am.

Dad prays, and the food gets passed in every direction just like dinner. We eat and talk, laughing at the silly things we’ve done in the past, and planning what we will do tomorrow.

Pancakes for breakfast every Saturday gets tiring, but I love them all the same. It’s not the pancakes I look forward to every Saturday, it’s the time I get to spend with my family; the people I love most. Some families don’t even eat dinner together, and I’m glad my family makes time to be together. Sometimes I have to miss going to friends houses, or I’m late for parties because of our family breakfast, but I don’t mind. Some people tease me for it, but what does it matter what they think? I much rather spend a breakfast with my family and be late for a party than to miss my family the whole morning.

I finished eating and get up to put my plate in the sink, and wonder why we go through all the trouble and time to make all this food when we eat it so fast.

“Is it alright if I go to Hannah’s?” I ask mom, coming to stand behind her chair.

“Sure,” she says.”

“Thanks,” and I run up stairs to get dresses. Jeans and a light sweater ought to do for today. The sun was shining and there was a light cool breeze in the air. My idea of a perfect day.

I bike to Hannah’s house, and find her laying on the living room floor with school books all around her, still in her pajamas. She’s staring at a piece of

“So I take it you’re feeling better?” I say, letting myself into the house, kicking off my shoes at the door and going to lie on the floor next to Hannah.

“Yep,” she says, looking at me with a smile on her face. Then she turns back to her homework, muttering numbers under her breath has she tries to figure out a complicated algebra problem.

“Want some help?” I ask, looking at her confused face.

“Yes please!” She says, sounding very greatful. Hannah had never been good at math. We spend a good part of the morning working on her math homework, trying to go quickly so we would have more time to do other more interesting things than homework.

“Done!” she says an hour later, throwing down her pencil and looking relieved, “What now?”

“I was thinking that we could go on a bike ride, since we didn’t get to yesterday,” I say.

“Typical Sophia,” She laughs, “wanting to go on a bike ride. Just let me go get some decent clothes on,” and she runs up stairs to change out of her pajamas into something more suitable for bike riding. I wait down stairs in the living room, which looks like a messy library with all the books scattered across the floor. I sit myself on the sofa and wait for her to come down, which is taking a considerable amount of time considering she is just getting dressed.

After what seems like five very long minutes, she comes down.

“Ok, I’m ready,” she says in a cheery voice.

“Gosh, what took you so long?” I say in a sarcastic voice, then I smile, and this ruins the effect.

“Nothing,” she says, “Let’s go.” I heave myself off the sofa which seems to have sucked me into its soft cushions.

Finally we are out the door, riding our bikes in the warm sun shine. I feel full of energy and happier than I’ve been in months. The warmth of the sun pressing down on my face is the most wonderful feeling of summer. The wind blows the hair out of my face and I rush down the street, smiling and laughing. I don’t know why being outside make me fell so excited and full of energy, I just know what I love it.

Being cooped up inside all winter make me fell closed in; uneasy. When I am outside I feel free; like I can so anything in the world.

We bike around a few blocks, looking at the birds and talking to each other. I feel different somehow, but it isn’t because I’m outside. This is a new feeling, but I ignore it, because I don’t know what it is and I don’t seem to be any different. But the feeling grows stronger and stronger and I stop, trying to figure out what would make me feel this little feeling. Hannah skids to a halt besides me.

“What’s wrong?” she asks

“Something,” I say in a slow voice, “Something isn’t right.” I don’t know what is wrong, there just is. Something is different, and it’s bad. The feeling the I am feeling says so, I know it’s right, though I don’t know why I am putting my trust into a feeling I’ve never felt before.

“What do you mean?” Hannah asks, looking at me worried eyes

“I don’t really know,” I answer truthfully, “there’s just … something; something out of place.

And then it hit me. The feeling becomes clear, and I understand what I have to do.

“I’m sorry Hannah, but I have to go home now,” I say.

“Are you sure you’re feeling ok?” she asks, looking at me with a worried expression on her face.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” I say, “I just have to go home; something wrong,” and I turn my bike around and start peddling as fast as I can towards home.

“Wait for me!” Hannah yells after me, turning her bike around and peddling after me. I don’t look back, don’t slow down, I just go forward.

It starts to rain, hard. I’m soaked and I peddle fast into the oncoming rain, my hair sticking to my face.

I don’t know why I am feeling like this, I just now I have to get home; fast.

“I’ll call you later,” I yell, hoping that Hannah can hear me. I have to do this alone, and she seems to understand that from the tone in my voice.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

The sounds of her bike tired on the pavement fades away and she leaves me to face whatever might come alone.

I race home as fast as I can, hardly paying attention to where I am going; I’ve gone down this path many times before that I know it by heart. I’m soaked from the rain and my hair is sticking to my face, but I keep going. The feeling is growing stronger, and my urge to get home is driving my forward, telling my legs to peddle faster, though that was completely impossible.

Finally, I’m home. I’m breathing hard, and I’m scared. How did I know that something was wrong? I’ve never felt this way before, and I can’ really explain it; I just know that something is wrong

I walk up to the front door and slowly raise my hang to the doorknob. Did I want to go in? Did I want to know what I’d find inside? Fear gripped at my heart, and for a moment I was tempted to go back to Hannah’s house and wait. No, I came all this way, I need to stay. Something is wrong and I have to find out what it is, right now.

I take a deep breath and turn the doorknob. I walk into the hallway slowly, closing the door silently behind me. There is tension and anger in the air, and I second guess my choice. I must stay, I tell myself, kicking off my shoes and walking slowly into the living room.

I find Mom and Mark in the living room, which is normal, but this isn’t the same. Mom is glaring at Mark, and Mark looks upset.

“Sophia, just go to your room. Mark and I need to talk ... alone,” Mom tells me, anger on her face as she glares at Mark. I stare at him, wondering what in the world he did that was so bad that got Mom irritated like this. He looks at me with wide eyes, pleading me, without words, to understand . And as if he whispered in my ear, I know what he did.

Drugs.

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That's it. please leave comments. things I need to fix: the brownies cook really fast. I hope you enjoyed it.