Sophie's Smile: A Novel Read Online Free PDF Page B

dancing with Paul, and of course, Karen dancing with Conner. The boys didn’t look nearly as thrilled as the girls were, but that was to be expected.
    Most of the kids were uncomfortably, impatiently waiting for the song to end. There were a few more fast songs and a couple more slow songs. Then the dance was finally over.
    I never got asked to dance. No surprises there. I guess I could have tried asking …no…I couldn’t…what if they said no and laughed at me… anyway, the boys are supposed to ask the girls , aren’t they? I’d just have to wait. Yes, wait… but for how long?
     
     
    12
     
    In the months that passed, Karen and her friends eventually moved their evil attention to another poor and hapless target and I was given the restricted freedom of living out the rest of my teen youth unscathed. I felt sickened as I watched from afar: Karen and her crew sneered unabashedly and tormented their new pet.
    Stacy Ko seemed worse off than me. She had a round face and an upturned nose. She was a little slow in the brain and was always a full step behind the rest of us. But she seemed happy nonetheless; and, at least she was ambivalent to their open gibes and pig comments.
    “Oink, Oink,” Karen would squeal as they passed her at lunch. I winced. Oh, how I wished I had the strength to befriend Stacy, become a thick shield to protect her, and if I only had the compassion to learn who she really was. Instead, I was a coward. A coward relieved, for Karen was able to find someone else to torment.
    I later learned that Stacy had a mild case of autism and her interest in art was strong enough to send her to New York City with a full scholarship.
     
    As for Karen, well, she got her fair share of comeuppance. Her friends turned on her; she had a scarlet letter branded on her chest like Hester Prynne and was run out of town before she could be burned at the stake.
    I was not sure how it started, but petitions circulated with fifty to a hundred signatures from students who hated Karen Chu. Nasty lists were also created, such as the top ten reasons to hate Karen—number one being the hideous burn marks covering her body.
    I didn’t take part in any of it. It was immature and cruel. I couldn’t help feeling sorry for her in a way, but I also felt no real sympathy.
    When I heard her family had moved to another city and she was now being homeschooled, I was relieved. A part of me hoped that she was the reason for my depression and social shortcomings. That maybe I wasn’t the wilted sunflower after all. That maybe Karen was just the thorny rose pressed into my side for so long, keeping me down. That with her plucked out of the picture, I would be able to let go and free myself from the struggles of adolescence. And just be carelessly happy.
    The relief was short-lived.
     
     
    13
     
    As the years passed, not much changed; I was still the same shy, plain looking girl, with no boyfriend, who said little during lunch, and cried herself to sleep. I learned to feel nothing. To be numb.
    I was going through the motions of a teenager: laughing when a joke was made, crying when I saw someone in pain, angered when my mom provoked me, and saddened when hope felt lost. But below the surface, deep inside, I had no feeling.
    I always heard that teenagers felt too much. Felt everything hit them at once. That it would take years to decipher those feelings and separate them, to compartmentalize them, to control them. I wasn’t sure if this was just a false hypothesis, or if I was categorically unique.
    I lived in the comforts of my parents’ four-bedroom, three thousand square foot house, surrounded by my loving parents, attending one of the best public schools in Southern California, and heading toward a life full of wealth and success. I lived in a bubble where parents actually loved each other and their families, where wealth was an afterthought, crimes were unheard of, and drugs and alcohol stayed hidden underground. So, why am I not