All right, highs and lows,” Daddy said that night at the dinner table.
Sophie stuck her hand in the air before her older sister, Lacie, could start. At thirteen, Lacie could talk longer with her “lows” than their five-year-old brother, Zeke, could when he said the blessing.
“You don’t have to raise your hand, Soph,” Lacie said. “You’re not in school.”
“It’s even Saturday,” Zeke said. “You don’t gotta do school stuff on Saturday.”
Mama touched Zeke lightly on his just-like-Daddy’s ski slope of a nose. “You don’t HAVE to.”
“That’s what I said,” Zeke said. Zeke’s dark brown eyes — also like Daddy’s — blinked. Except for his cut-witha-weed-eater dark hair, he looked like Daddy in every way. So did Lacie for that matter. Only Sophie looked like Mama — all but Mama’s highlighted hair.
“So what’s your high, Soph?” Daddy said. He had invented the high/low thing at the dinner table so everybody could tell the best thing and the worst thing that happened to them that day.
“I want to tell my low first,” Sophie said. “They’re having a sixth-grade graduation dance for our end-of-the-year treat.”
“Why is that a low, Sophie?” Mama said.
“Because it doesn’t sound like that much fun — only it’s also my high.”
“You’re going to have to explain that one,” Daddy said.
“We could be here for days,” Lacie muttered into her sloppy joe.
“We all decided — you know, Fiona and Maggie and Kitty and Darbie.”
“The usual suspects.” The laugh lines around Daddy’s eyes crunched together.
“We all decided to get really dressed up.”
“I love that!” Mama said. “Just do the girl thing — THAT sounds like fun.”
Mama was chattering faster than Kitty, and Sophie had a feeling it was to keep Daddy from making some Dad-comment, like, “Your high is a dress?” He had come a long way since he and Mama and Sophie had been working with Dr. Peter, the Christian therapist, but sometimes he still didn’t have a clue as far as Sophie was concerned.
Lacie dragged her napkin across her mouth, smearing a frown onto it. “I don’t mean to take away from Sophie’s high, but I’m going to need a new dress for my party too.”
Daddy looked at Mama. “How much is this going to cost?”
“Not as much as you think. I’m going to make both of them, girls.”
“Mo-om!” Lacie said.
But Sophie leaned forward, dipping the front of her tank top into the pool of ketchup next to her fries. “Do we get to pick out our own fabric?”
“And the pattern,” Mama said. “Don’t worry, Lacie, I won’t make it look like I made it.”
“No offense, Mom, but — ”
“Wait,” Daddy said. He looked at Lacie, eyes twinkling. “Is this your low?”
“It is now!”
While Lacie wailed about how the dress she really wanted was at Rave, and that since they had made the whole family change churches and took her away from all her friends at the old one, the least they could do was get her the dress she wanted —
Agent Shadow stood before the piles of fabric, rich with colors and textures — purple velvets, red silks, blue rhinestones that sparkled in the light. She had to remind herself, as she draped a filmy length of pink chiffon around her shoulders, that this was all in the line of duty.
“I personally washed that, so it isn’t dirty,” Lacie said. She snatched away the spoon Sophie was gazing into. “What are you looking at?”
The next day at Sunday school, while Fiona and Sophie were waiting for Darbie to come, Fiona said, “I’m supposed to go shopping with Miss Odetta Clide today.” She rolled her eyes. “She is SO the worst nanny we’ve had yet.”
“You’re getting your dress for the dance already?” Sophie said. “That’s cool!”
“I don’t think so,” Fiona said. “She’ll make me get a dress from the Dark Ages — or worse.”
“Is she still being super strict?” Sophie said.
“Strict? She’s a prison guard! She actually made me go back and brush my teeth again this morning because she could still smell sausage on my breath.” Fiona edged closer to Sophie and huffed out some air. “Can you smell it?”
“No.”
“Boppa says she’s giving us more structure and that we need that.” Fiona sighed, the wayward piece of hair flopping across her eye. “Who would have thought my own grandfather would succumb to her?”
Sophie wanted to ask her what “succumb” meant, but Darbie had just walked in, and Sophie waved her over.
“Did you talk to your aunt about your dress?” Fiona said, instead of hello.
Darbie sniffed. “Did you have sausage for breakfast?” Then she grinned, showing the crooked teeth Sophie thought were kind of charming. “Aunt Emily nearly went off her nut, she was so excited. You’d think I was going to be married.”
“NO,” Fiona said. “Remember — no boys.”
“No need to be reminding me.” Darbie linked pinkies with both of them.
Between Sunday school and church, as the three of them dodged the crowd in the hallway to meet Sophie’s family in the sanctuary, a familiar figure was suddenly beside them, barely taller than most of the sixth graders, except for Sophie, of course. Dr. Peter’s eyes sparkled down at her through his glasses. His hair was Sunday-morning gelled, but the curls were popping out anyway. To Sophie, he was the best part about going to the new church.
“How are the Corn Flakes this morning?” he said.
“We’re astonishingly good, Dr. P,” Fiona said. Ever since she’d started going to church with Sophie back in March, Sophie had noticed that Fiona had tried every Sunday to use a new word for him. He usually seemed impressed.
“Good one, Fiona,” he said. “And how’s this wee lass?”
Darbie grinned again. Sophie knew she had taken to him right away, which was good, since she was going to see him every week to help her deal with things like her mom and dad’s deaths. Sophie used to see Dr. Peter every week too. Now she only went once a month for a “check-in,” and she missed their weekly chats on his window seat.
“Still only three Flakes?” Dr. Peter said.
“Yes,” Fiona said cheerfully. “Maggie and her mom go to a different church. And Kitty’s parents don’t even believe in church.”
“And what are you going to do about it?” Dr. Peter said.
“Keep praying for Kitty,” they all said together.
Sophie felt a little twinge somewhere. I haven’t exactly been praying that much lately, she thought. She shut her eyes and tried to get Jesus into view.
Hello, she thought to him. Um, I’m sorry — it’s not that I don’t love you. I just haven’t had anything to ask you in a while.
Yikes. What if God made something bad happen so she would pay more attention? Did it work that way? Was she going to be snatched from — from what?
From her post at the Secret Agency? Agent Shadow straightened her slim shoulders. NO, that couldn’t happen. She would have to double her efforts to stay in contact with Headquarters.The Big Headquarters. In the sky. Especially with some unknown mission looming on the horizon.
“Sophie-Lophie-Loodle?”
Sophie shuddered back to Dr. Peter, who was peering at her as if he knew exactly where she’d been. He always used his nickname for her when he was calling her back.
“Did I miss something?” she said.
“Dr. Peter’s Bible study starts Tuesday after school,” Fiona said. “I can come if Miss Odetta Clide thinks I’ve gotten my room organized enough. Isn’t there some kind of child labor law about that?”
“Maybe you can ask your parents about that,” Dr. Peter said.
“Like I ever see them,” Fiona said.
Sophie always felt bad for Fiona about how too busy her mom and dad always were — but right now she was smiling inside. She had been waiting for what seemed like a whole millennium for Dr. Peter to start the Bible study group. He was the one who had taught her how to read Bible stories, and doing that had helped her solve some formidable problems. That was another Fiona word.
“It’s going to be just class!” That was a Darbie word — and it meant “very cool,” only it sounded much more mature than plain cool.
That night when Sophie wiggled herself under her fluffy purple bedspread, she immediately closed her eyes and imagined Jesus, just the way Dr. Peter had taught her. She could almost see Jesus’ kind eyes and his strong hands and she could ask him any question. The answers usually came later.
I’m really going to try to talk to you more, Sophie prayed when she got him in her mind. Even if I don’t actually have a question, which isn’t so often because every time I think I have everything figured out — I SO don’t! But I’m here, and if there’s anything you want me to learn right now, please show me.
She sighed as her thoughts grew fuzzy around the edges. I don’t guess you would want to hear about the perfect dress, would you? Gold satin with diamonds around the neck. Not real diamonds, of course.
When Sophie met the Corn Flakes at their usual spot on the corner of the playground the next morning, Kitty started whining before Sophie could even get her backpack off.
“She’s at it again,” Darbie said. She and Fiona exchanged Kitty’s-getting-on-my-nerves looks.
“What’s wrong?” Sophie said.
“Her mom is making her wear one of her sisters’ hand-me-down dresses to the dance,” Maggie said.
“All those dresses are lame!” Kitty said. Her voice was getting up into only-dogs-can-hear territory. “All stupid ruffles and big old bows.”
“That could be your cover though,” Sophie said. “Who would think you were a secret agent dressed in some fluffy yellow thing?”
“I’ll look like a canary!”
“Of course,” Sophie said. “That’s your new mission name. Canary.”
“What’s mine?” Maggie said. She was never the best at thinking up names.
“All three of you could have bird code names,” Fiona said.
“I’m Heron,” Darbie said. “Long legs and all that.”
“I like Flamingo better,” Sophie said.
“I’m not gonna be a buzzard,” Maggie said with a voice-thud.
“No way,” Fiona said. “You’re more like an owl.” Maggie blinked.
“See what I mean?” Fiona said.
“Can I be Canary Louisa or something pretty like that?” Kitty said.
“That’s too much for us to be saying to each other.” Fiona said.
“But you can call yourself that,” Sophie said quickly. She’d already heard enough whining and the bell hadn’t even rung yet.
“What are you up to, Maggie?” Darbie said.
Sophie looked at Maggie, who was cocking her head with one eye closed, her lips bunched up into a pointy knot.
“I’m seeing what it feels like to be an owl,” Maggie said.
Sophie giggled. Maggie hardly ever did the pretending thing unless somebody else did it first. She’s a Corn Flake to the core now, she thought.
“You’ll never get off the ground, Owl,” Darbie said.
“WHOOO!” Maggie hooted.
She stretched her arms out and pulled her head down into her shoulders and made three leaps. Kitty squealed and clapped her hands.
“Again, again!” Darbie called out to Maggie.
Maggie looked back at them over her shoulder, still flapping her wings, and gave a wise wink. Fiona collapsed against Sophie, and they pounded on each other between guffaws.
“Go on then!” Darbie cried. “Fly!”
Maggie let out one more resounding “WHOOOO!” and thundered toward the middle of the playground, arms going so hard Sophie thought for a second she might take flight.
“It’s a bird!” a male voice shouted.
“It’s a plane!” another one yelled.
“It’s SUPER BLIMP!” was the final cry.
On the other side of Maggie, the three Fruit Loops — Tod, Eddie, and Colton — fell into a heap, all puffing out their cheeks and poking out their stomachs.
Sophie watched as Maggie deflated like a leftover party balloon.