Sophie's Different (James Madison Series Book 3) Read online

  Sophie's Different

  James Madison Series Book 3

  Patrick Hodges

  Copyright (C) 2016 Patrick Hodges

  Layout design and Copyright (C) 2016 by Creativia

  Published 2016 by Creativia

  Cover art by Glenda Rankin

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. 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 the author's permission.

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Author's Note

  Acknowledgements

  Wow. Has it been three books already?

  The last two years have been a complete blur, honestly. In January 2014, a nostalgic fantasy about my middle-school days became, nearly a year later, the story known as Joshua's Island. And now it has over one hundred positive reviews on Amazon. If that doesn't give you perspective, then I don't know what does.

  When I hit the “Upload” button on Amazon for the first time, I had no idea what my journey would be like. It's been a truly magnificent ride, and not because of the acclaim and the awards – though those are pretty gnarly, let me tell you – it's because of the amazingly talented, supportive people that I've met, become acquainted with, and been influenced by in that short time.

  I must start once again by mentioning my maternal grandmother, Florence Delvalle, whose vivacity and indomitable spirit carried her through ninety-six years on this planet. One of my biggest regrets is that she didn't live to see any part of this journey come to fruition.

  To my beautiful wife, Vaneza, who has the patience of a saint, allowing me to spend countless, thankless hours in front of my laptop while she vacuumed around me and soothed my frazzled nerves when I needed it the most.

  To my parents, Bob and Karen Hodges, the greatest, most supportive Mom and Dad a chronic underachiever like me could ever ask for. Words cannot express how much I appreciate your support each and every single day.

  To Glenda Rankin, who once again amazed me with your wonderful artistry. Three times now, you've taken an image in my head and brought it to brilliant, vibrant life with nothing but your amazing skill. Plus, you are a great lady, and it's been a pleasure working with you.

  To Young Adult Author Rendezvous, the greatest collection of indie authors anywhere, without whose immeasurable support, advice and acumen I wouldn't be half the writer I was when I hit that darned “Upload” button for the first time. I would love to individually thank each of you, and the many, many of my beta-readers who call YAAR home, but you know who you are, and you know what you all mean to me. There's nothing as comforting as being surrounded by like-minded, talented individuals who want the exact same thing as you.

  And lastly, thanks to you, for allowing me to share my story with you.

  Prologue

  ~THREE YEARS AGO~

  SOPHIE

  I scanned the bus, looking for Kelsey as soon as I stepped on. When I finally located her, I knew something was very, very wrong.

  She was sitting all the way in the back, which I'd never seen her do. And she was crying, which was something else I'd never seen her do. Well, actually, this was the second time.

  My mind raced. I thought of Kelsey Callahan as a good friend, even though she was three years older than me. I'd gotten to know her pretty well over the last couple of months, as she would always talk to me and my sister Kirsten, who was in the sixth grade, as we rode the bus to and from school. She was one of the toughest people I'd ever met, and it took a lot to make her cry.

  She took a big hit, as did I, a few weeks ago. I remembered the day she told me she was interested in a boy named Ethan Zimmer, a new classmate she knew nothing about. She asked me to find out what I could about him by getting to know his little brother Logan, who just happened to be in my Math class.

  It wasn't easy getting to know Logan. Fifth-grade boys were normally not all that talkative around girls; they usually chose to swap booger or fart jokes in between games of kickball on the playground. Logan was different. It was such a strange sight: a ten-year-old boy with spiky hair, wearing black jeans and a Van Halen T-shirt, sitting on the bleachers on the corner of the playground, drawing in his sketchbook. Almost every day at recess, there he was.

  The first couple of times I spoke to him, I couldn't get more than a “hi” out of him, and it was so uncomfortable and awkward, I ended up walking away. Eventually, though, he did let me sit next to him, and not long after, he started talking. When he looked me in the eyes for the first time, I could see how sad he was, deep down. He was hurting, big time.

  I tried to get to know him, but I wasn't really able to get any information out of him that Kelsey would've found useful. I talked, he responded, and he drew. And that was it. Eventually, we became friends. The whole situation was really weird, and a lot of my classmates made fun of us for it, but I didn't care. The only person's opinion that mattered to me was my best friend Marissa, who I'd known forever.

  Two and a half weeks ago, though, Logan was pulled out of school, and I had no idea why. That is, until Kelsey told me. She'd really fallen hard for Ethan. I could tell she was leaving a few details out, but she told me enough for me to understand. Ethan and Logan, it turned out, were not their real names. They were hiding from some bad people who wanted to find them because their dad was about to testify in court against the man who killed their mother. And now that the trial was over, the government had taken them away to start a new life somewhere else.

  Knowing the truth about Logan didn't make it hurt any less, though. I'd had a lot of friends over the last few years: some I stayed close to, some just drifted away. But I'd never had a friend, a close friend, just … leave.

  At first I was angry at him for lying to me. I knew he was in a terrible situation. He'd just lost his mom. He'd probably been forbidden to talk about what was going on with his family. But still … how could he not tell ME about all that? I was his friend! I spent hours on the bleachers with him! He could have trusted me …

  Why didn't you trust me, Logan?

  For the last two weeks, Kelsey and I sat close to each other every day on the bus. She explained what had happened at the dance that ended with police crawling all over the school and one of her best friends being taken to the hospital in an ambulance. After a while, I realized none o
f Logan's situation was his fault. He was only doing what he'd been told to do. The anger I felt was gone now, replaced by sadness. It made my heart ache that I never got to tell Logan what a good friend he was, and it hurt even worse when I realized I'd probably never get that chance. Ever.

  Kelsey and I cried a lot that day. It was the first time I'd ever seen her cry. Today was the second.

  Sitting down next to her, I gently asked, “Kelsey, what's wrong?”

  She turned to look at me. Her chestnut-colored hair was a mess, and there were tear stains streaking down her freckly face. “I saw Mark today.”

  I gasped. Mark was Ethan's real name. What? He came back?! I thought he was gone! I wonder if … “Was Logan …?”

  She shook her head. “No, just Mark. My dad brought him to school so he could say goodbye to me.”

  “How … how was he?”

  She sniffed. “He was … amazing. He told me he loved me.”

  My eyes widened. “Wow,” is all I could say.

  She faced me full-on. “He tried to tell me once before, but I wouldn't let him.” I could see more tears trying to claw their way to the surface.

  “Why not?”

  She looked around the bus, making sure the rest of the passengers weren't eavesdropping before turning to face me again. “I was … afraid, Soph. I didn't want to admit that I felt the same way, because I knew he was going to leave.” She lowered her head. “But I do love him. I love him so much. I didn't realize just how much until I saw him standing there, waiting for me.” She sighed heavily. “And now he's gone. I'll probably never see him again.”

  Oh, my God. Poor Kelsey. One of the most awesome people I know, and her heart is totally broken now. Ethan's gone. So is Logan. Maybe forever. And just like that, I could feel a tear forming at the corner of my own eye. “Did he … say anything about Logan?”

  She nodded, reaching down and unzipping the backpack at her feet, pulling out a medium-sized book with a black cover and handing it to me. I recognized it instantly: Logan's sketchbook. My breath caught in my throat. “Mark gave me this. I promised I'd give it to you.”

  I took the sketchbook, utterly shocked that Logan had given it to me. Then I looked up at Kelsey's face, and she was crying again. I placed the sketchbook on the seat next to me, leaned over and hugged her, which she returned. I felt her tears on the back of my neck. I didn't even care if the other kids were watching.

  * * *

  I walked home very slowly, almost zombie-like, ignoring the heavy wind that had picked up in the last few minutes. I shuffled along, my eyes transfixed on the sketchbook in my hands. I turned to the first page, which featured a selection of small doodles. The second page bore a picture of a very pretty older woman with straight, shoulder-length hair that I guessed was Logan's mother. And on the third page was a drawing of … me. There I was, with my blonde ponytail and my wire-framed glasses, staring up at me from the paper. My breath started to quicken.

  I flipped through the rest of the pages, finding drawing after drawing of my face. Some were big, some were small. He'd used regular pencils, colored pencils, pastels, even fine-tip markers, but they were all undoubtedly of me. My heart fluttered with each image I saw. They were beautiful, not sloppy and messy like most kids' art projects. Logan had real talent, and I was holding a month's worth of drawings in my hands, nearly all of which were of my face. I did, however, notice that one page had been torn out. He'd obviously kept one for himself.

  My concentration was broken when two boys on bikes whizzed by me on both sides, making me jump and causing me to drop the sketchbook. I looked up, and I saw their faces curl into childish smiles as they rode away. Idiots.

  As I picked up the sketchbook, a white envelope fell out of it. I made a grab for it as it fell, but the wind stole it away and sent it tumbling down the street. It was a letter. From Logan. And it was blowing away.

  No …

  Frantically, I gave chase, but the letter was already twenty yards ahead of me. It blew down the street, farther and farther, faster than I could run. I felt my heart desperately beating inside my chest. Logan's last words to me. And maybe now I'd never get to read them.

  I frantically pursued the letter, which danced and fluttered just out of my reach like it was being pulled on an invisible string. Just then, I heard the sound of another bicycle, and a boy about my height with short blonde hair zipped by me. Pedaling hard, he pulled ahead of where the letter momentarily lay on the asphalt. In one motion, he leapt off his bike and put his sneaker down on it, preventing it from escaping once again.

  Breathlessly, I ran up to the boy, who had picked up the envelope and was looking at it. I recognized him immediately: Ayden Saunders. We'd had several classes together since we started elementary school, and we'd spoken a few times, but I didn't really know him that well. He was nice, but not much of a talker. Much like Logan, in that 'quiet-but-friendly' kind of way, now that I think about it.

  He glanced up, and our gaze met. “Hey, Sophie.”

  “Hey, Ayden,” I replied, still gasping for air.

  Using his hand, he wiped away some of the dirt from his shoeprint off the envelope. Looking down at it, I could see my name written in large letters across the front. He gently held it out to me. “I guess this is yours.”

  I nodded, taking it from him. “Thank you,” I said, surprised that a boy could be so cooperative. Most boys my age wouldn't have resisted the opportunity to play some stupid game of keep-away or something.

  “No prob.” Picking up his bike, he quickly climbed back on. “See ya,” And then, without another word, he pedaled off.

  I watched him go for a few seconds, and then, just to be on the safe side, I shoved both envelope and sketchbook into my backpack. No way was I losing it again.

  Twenty minutes later, I found myself sitting on the edge of my bed, staring at the envelope in my hands. All I could hear, apart from my ragged breathing, was the sound of the wind blowing branches of the blue palo verde tree in our backyard against my window pane. My mind was swirling even faster than the wind.

  You were the first boy I ever got to know, Logan. I don't care that you lied about who you were, you were my friend. I miss you. I miss your goofy smile. I miss your stupid spiky hair, which I never told you looked ridiculous because I didn't want you to get mad at me. I miss walking out on the playground and seeing you on the bleachers, drawing in your sketchbook.

  This sketchbook right here, lying on the bed next to me. Your gift to me.

  I don't want to open this. This is your goodbye. Once I read it, then it becomes real. Then I'll know you're really gone. And it'll hurt. A lot.

  But I can't NOT open it either. I have to know what you've said to me.

  I tore open the envelope and removed its contents, using both hands to gently unfold the letter. Bracing myself, I began to read.

  Sophie,

  I just found out my brother gets to go back to say goodbye to Kelsey. I tried real hard to get them to take me along too, but they said no. So I only have half an hour to write this note. By the time you read this, I'll probably be like a million miles away.

  I've spent the last few weeks stuck in this stupid, boring house with nothing to do but think. I've thought about what I would say to you if I got the chance. There's so much I want to say, but you know how bad I suck at words. I've never been good at talking. That's why I draw. I'm better with pictures. I hope you like the ones I drew of you.

  I don't know why you decided to talk to me. Girls never talk to me. And I don't talk to them, because all the ones I've ever known are know-it-alls. I was surprised you're not like them.

  You're really nice, Sophie. You made me happy when I thought I'd always be sad. You made me laugh again. You made me enjoy drawing again, and I just couldn't stop drawing pictures of you. My Pop says you're my “muse.” I don't know what that is, but it sounds cool.

  I'm sorry my life is so messed up that I have to say goodbye like this and not to your face. I jus
t want to say thank you. For all you did for me. You're the awesomest girl I've ever met.

  I wish we could do it all over again. I'd talk more. Be a real friend for you. I think you would've liked me if we'd gotten that chance.

  Only a few minutes left. Dang it.

  I'll always remember you, Sophie. You're not like other girls. You're friends with who you want to be, and you don't care what other people think. That's a good thing. I'll miss you very much.

  You're different. Promise me you'll stay different, okay?

  Your friend,

  Logan

  I read the note again and then again, my guts tightening with each read. By the third time, I was in tears. I couldn't stop them. I let the letter drop to the floor and I fell onto my pillow, trying to muffle the sounds of my crying.

  As I wept, I heard someone enter my room and sit down on the bed next to me. I knew who it was, so I didn't even open my eyes. I felt a hand gently stroke my hair, a few strands of which had come loose from my ponytail. A soft voice whispered, “Sophie?”

  I looked up to see Eve's face, framed by her straight, silky, raven-black hair. She was sixteen, the most amazing person I'd ever known, and the best big sister anyone could have. She was always there for me when I needed her. She and her boyfriend Joshua had been together since eighth grade, and they loved each other as much now as they did back then. It practically radiated from her.

  Sniffling, I sat up and pushed myself into her arms, which she lovingly folded around me, continuing to stroke my hair as I sobbed on her shoulder. She gently rocked me back and forth while whispering in my ear, “Shhh, it's okay,” until my tears finally stopped.

  Finally, we released each other, and she handed me a Kleenex from the box on my nightstand. I took it gratefully and blew my nose, tossing the tissue into a nearby wastebasket. I looked at Eve's face, and she was smiling. “Feel better now?” she asked, caressing my tear-stained cheek.

  “A little bit,” I said.

  “You want to talk about it?”

  I thought for a moment, and then shook my head. “Not right now. I promise I will later, though.”