“How old is not that old? What are we talking about? Fifty or sixty, or are you really into the daddies?”
“I’m not into daddies.”
“Fifty sure seems like a teacher daddy.”
“He’s not fifty,” Sophie protests, the pink flaming across the apples of her cheeks. I’ve never been much into teasing, but this is fun. “He’s a new teacher. Our age.”
This isn’t fun.
“I knew there was somebody. Doesn’t he like you back?” My slight teasing tone has vanished like the tea in her cup.
“I don’t know,” she says in a soft voice, and I immediately hate the guy. This teacher, who is our age and doesn’t like Sophie.
How could anyone not like Sophie? “Have you asked him?”
“What am I supposed to ask him? Do you like me?”
“What’s his name?”
“Martin McLeod. I probably shouldn’t had told you that.”
“You definitely shouldn’t have. But now I have that information, and I will use it as I see fit.”
“Please don’t use it at all,” Sophie begs. She begs like she actually thinks I’m going to go to this Martin idiot and tell him all her secrets.
I have no desire to go to this Martin person and tell him that Sophie likes him because I know right now this guy must be pretty amazing if Sophie isinterested.
Although why he doesn’t like her back is a mystery. There’s nothing about her not to like.
Where did that come from?
Sophie istoo—too nice, too sweet, too cute with her flannel pants with the martini glass graphics.
I can’t see her with a martini. Not even an espresso one.
Maybe a Cosmopolitan. I can see sweet Sophie drinking pink and sugary cocktails that my sister serves by the gallon at her new bar.
“I was thinking of asking him to the Sea Queen Ball,” Sophie continues in her soft voice, and something in my heart does not feel right. Inviting this Martin person to a dance, where she would be in a dress that would hug and contour and show parts of her body that I’ve never seen before, and I kind of want to.
Where didthatcome from?
“Why wouldn’t he askyouto the Sea Ball?” I manage to hide my disbelief because there has to be something wrong with Martin if he hasn’t asked Sophie to the dance, or dinner, or to be his lifelong companion.
Something seriously wrong.
“The Queen came up with the idea to have the women do the asking,” Sophie explains. But it doesn’t begin to explain what’s wrong with this Martin guy. “That was before she…”
My thoughts about debasing the poor teacher dude comes to a screeching halt. “Before she died,” I finish for Sophie.
I knew of Gunnar when he lost his mother, but we weren’t the friends we are now. And I’ve never brought up the subject because, basically, I’m too emotionally immature to discuss such serious matters.
According to Fenella.
I happen to think she’s right about that. Because I am emotionally immature.
“Do you want to be the Sea Queen?” I ask Sophie rather than leaving the moment poised on the Queen. “Whatever that entails. Something about water, I’d imagine.”
“No. No, no, not at all. My sister though—Daphne. She was the Sea Queen last year.”
