From the Fan Fiction Unbound Archive,
posted by conTessaofthecastle:
The next morning dawned cool and cloudy. Astoria was quiet as they packed the remainder of their food and covered the campfire. Daphne tried to coax her into speaking while they walked away from camp, pointing out a red cardinal perched on a branch overhead. But Astoria shook her head silently.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” Daphne finally said, picking her way over a fallen branch. “Perhaps you shouldn’t have come with me.”
Astoria replied sharply, “Perhaps you shouldn’t doubt me.”
Soph.
Back in our room, Tess is intent on tapping out a text. While she does that, I google “discrimination in the armed forces” and find some articles. There are alarming statistics about how many women get assaulted. I knew there were problems, but I never really paid attention to it before now. I’m not going to say anything to Tess though, at least not yet.
When she finishes texting, I pick up the thread of our earlier conversation. “I’m sorry, Tess, about disrespecting the military. I had no idea… Well, I don’t know anyone who’s doing that.” I don’t know what else to say.
She sits up against the headboard of her bed and crosses her legs. She’s wearing purple fleece socks tonight. “It’s fine.” She looks a little confused and asks, “Do you really not know anyone who’s served in the military? Not your dad or your grandfather or an uncle?”
I explain that I don’t.
“Don’t you have any family traditions like with the king or something?”
“Well, yes, sort of. Not military, though. I’m supposed to make my debut next winter. Both of my parents expect me to do that, but I’m not going to.”
“What does that mean, ‘make your debut’? It sounds like something in a movie.”
“It means being presented as a debutante, at a ball, in a white gown, all made up with the hair and nails. I’m not doing it. My mother doesn’t understand why I hate the idea.”
“Wow!” She seems impressed. “A real ball, like the Disney movies? Did your mom do it?”
“Oh yes, of course. She did, and so did her mother and every woman on my father’s side. I don’t think it’s like your family’s tradition, Tess. We’re not serving a country or anything.”
“What’s so bad about it? When I was a kid I used to watch those movies and I always wanted to go to a ball with all the gowns and tiaras and chandeliers. It looked magical.” The dreamy expression on her face irritates me.
“It totally objectifies women! It’s like being presented as the prize pig of the county fair! And the crowd there, lily-white, über-rich, all social register. It’s totally elitist, very white privilege.” That snaps her out of her daydream. Her eyes focus on me. She picks up her water bottle and takes a sip, as if she’s trying to figure something out.
“I don’t think it sounds so terrible, Soph. You said earlier that you liked traditions. Your parents must think it’s important. Is it that different from taking your first communion?”
I don’t know how to explain this to her. If I told her about how it was something my family’s been doing for hundreds of years, let alone that people with titles will be there, she’d think I was crazy not to go. “Well, making your debut is not religious. And you have to be proposed and approved by a committee.”
“Hmm.” She giggles, a funny noise that at first makes me wonder if she’s making fun of me. But she’s not. “That sounds familiar to me.”
“Why?”
“Well, I’ll probably end up enlisting in the army when I finish high school, but I’m applying to West Point first. If I get in there, they’ll give me a free education, and then I’ll serve. They would even let me major in English, so I could become a better writer. But first I have to impress the admissions committee. My interview is in two weeks, and I’m pretty nervous.”
“West Point is the one near the City, right? It must be hard to get in.”
“Yes. The application process is long and pretty complicated. A candidate has to prove a whole bunch of things, like athletic ability and leadership. Plus, you have to be nominated by someone in the government. You need nominations from a congressman or a senator. Or,” she gives me a sad smile, “the vice president or president, if you’re lucky. Less than ten percent of the applicants become cadets. I’m really worried about the interview. My grades are pretty good, and I have some of the things they want for extracurriculars, but they ask all kinds of questions that I don’t have good answers to… I probably won’t get in.” She shrugs as if she doesn’t care, but her face is flushed and she hugs her chest to her knees.
Tess doesn’t look at all like my idea of a military cadet, but this gives me an idea. “Hey, maybe I could help, Tess. My friend Mibs, her uncle is the vice president. I could text her now, and I bet she would ask him to do it—”
Tess’s face stops me. Is she mad? I’m trying to be nice.
“You know the vice president?” she asks.
“Well, no, not personally,” I say, “but my friend Mibs does, and I’m sure I could get her to ask him to write you a letter.”
“Soph, I barely know you, let alone your friend or the vice president. Thanks, but I wrote to my congressman and our senators. If one of them comes through for me, that will be the best I can do.”
The expression on her face is skeptical, so I try again.
“Tess, I swear, the vice president is her uncle. He’s her mother’s brother. He got them into the White House to meet the president. If the vice president’s recommendation would help you get into West Point, why shouldn’t I ask her to call him for you? I can text her right now.” I pick up my phone and wait.
She looks at me like I’m an idiot, and I fume. But then she sighs and straightens her legs, flexes her feet, and points her toes. I’m not sure why, but I can’t stop watching her purple feet, flexing and pointing.
“Soph, it’s the military. If they let me into West Point and I actually manage to graduate, I’ll have a commission in the Army as a second lieutenant.”
I start to say I get it, but she interrupts me. Her expression is intense.
“That question I have to answer? For the admissions panel in a couple of weeks? That question is about leadership.” She leans over the side of the bed and rifles through her knapsack until she finds a crumpled piece of paper, which she reads. “Describe a recent incident where you took the lead.” She peers over the paper as if she just explained something very important. I don’t know what it is. She sighs, props her back against her headboard, pulls her knees up under her chin, and hugs them.
“If a war broke out, Soph, I would need to be a leader of my troops. They would depend on me to make the right calls. And if I didn’t make the right calls, those troops would obey me anyway. I have to know what I’m doing, and the Army has to know that I’m the right candidate for that kind of responsibility. The reason it’s so hard to get into West Point is because they are making sure they pick the right people to lead. It’s not about knowing the right politician. It’s not about being able to fake who you are. It means something to hold a command. If the wrong person holds it, soldiers die.”
Tess.
Even though both Soph and I seem to be trying, we don’t seem any closer to figuring each other out. I’m not sure why that’s bothering me so much, but it is. I still haven’t mentioned Chris to her. I go down to dinner a little early, leaving Soph texting someone on her phone. I want to ask one of the instructors if there is a computer I can use this week. Orly is in the lounge reading a book, and I’m about to go say hi when Chris comes up behind her and asks her questions, which seems weird, because they room together. I don’t understand why Orly is reading down here or why Chris followed her.
Chris asks, “What was it like growing up outside Atlanta, Orly?”
Without knowing why, I step back into the hall so they can’t see me. I should not be eavesdropping, I know that. But I can’t seem to turn away.
Orly is noncommittal. “Probably a lot like it was growing up in Dallas, Chris.” She’s clearly uncomfortable.
Chris is not letting up. “Are you from a suburb or a small town?”
Orly fidgets in her chair, but she answers, “A small town.”
Then I figure out exactly what Chris is doing. She’s conducting an interview, for her secret investigation. But Orly doesn’t know what’s going on. I’m about to go back in and interrupt when Professor Forsythe sweeps in from the hallway behind me and calls out to Orly. I cringe, hoping Professor Forsythe doesn’t realize what I was doing. I make a mental note to try to avoid Professor Forsythe.
“Chris, excuse us, I need to steal Orly away for a bit. We’re working on a revision before supper.”
Orly grabs her laptop and closes her book. She and Professor Forsythe walk down the hall to one of the empty conference rooms.
Chris eyes me sharply as I come tentatively into the lounge. “What was that?” she asks me. “Now they’re giving him private writing instruction?”
I want to tell her to stop this, now. Instead I shrug and turn away without answering.
The other girls file in for dinner. I turn to say hi to Gabriela and Yin, as Soph comes down the stairs with Clover. She’s practically bouncing on her feet as they laugh together. Janaye taps her shoulder at the bottom of the stairs to share something on her phone.
A few minutes later they open the dining room, and Professor Forsythe and Orly come back down the hallway talking to each other. Chris types something into her phone before sitting down.
I miss Joey.
* * *
From Soph Alcazar’s Writing Journal,
February 11, 2018
Again, I try to get where she comes from.
But when I can help, she tells me I’m dumb.