Bubbles Read online

  “Isn’t being negative a bad thing?” My voice was much squeakier than normal.

  She smiled. “You’d think so, but not in the medical world. That just means that you don’t have any of the ailments we would be checking for.”

  She scribbled something down on a notepad and handed it to Mom.

  “This is the number of my friend Dr. Carter. He’s a child and adolescent therapist in Logan Square. I think he may be able to provide more appropriate services for this type of situation.”

  A therapist? I looked at Mom, but it was almost like her eyes were trying to avoid mine. Weren’t therapists for people with, like, serious problems? Kaya went to one because of how she was so scared of so many things. I think the therapist helped her, but still. Couldn’t I just go to the school guidance counselor? That would be sorta like the same thing, wouldn’t it? Just less … therapist-ish.

  “You think that would help Sophie?” Mom asked.

  “I do,” said Dr. Peterson.

  Didn’t anyone want to know if Sophie thought it would help Sophie?

  I stood up and stretched a little to help them remember I was still there. It was the worst thing ever when adults acted like you didn’t exist, especially when they were talking about you.

  “I see a bubble right now, in case anyone’s interested,” I said. That got their attention pretty quick. And I wasn’t making it up. While Dr. Peterson had been talking, the bubble slowly formed over her head. Then the words came, one at a time.

  “Oh?” Dr. Peterson looked worried. I’d be worried, too, if there was a bubble over my head that said what hers did. “And what does it say?”

  I tried to make eye contact with Mom again. Back when she wasn’t so sad all the time, when we were the Adventurous Girls and did everything there was to do and had all the adventures we could, we could also read each other’s minds. Well, it was more like she could read mine. She always knew what I was thinking. So if I was shooting her this same look back then, she’d know right away that I was trying to ask whether or not I should tell the truth, because if I did, this could get really awkward really fast. She’d flash me some kind of look back, either her yes-do-it look or her maybe-not-the-best-idea face, and then I’d know and I’d do what she said and it would be the right thing to do because one thing about Mom was that she was always, always right.

  Always.

  But not anymore, because her face didn’t even understand that my face was asking a question. I was on my own.

  They both looked at me, waiting. My face felt hot and I wondered if it was possible to choke on your own dry tongue. How could I tell the doctor that her bubble said, It’ll never work? And how could I tell Mom that I’d basically dragged her here for no reason? She could have been off finding a new job that made her happy or a new boyfriend or something, but instead she was stuck here with me. For nothing.

  Some doctor Dr. Peterson was. She didn’t know what to do for me and she didn’t really truly think what she was suggesting would work, either. I would’ve been better off with an ancient Egyptian.

  At the same time, it was probably hard not really knowing what to do for someone who came to you with a huge problem, especially when the person came to you because you were supposed to be the one who would know what to do.

  Maybe I could prove her wrong, show her that it would work and that she was actually a pretty good doctor who did have good ideas.

  “So you really, really think a therapist is the best idea?” I asked. “Like not even the school guidance counselor or something?”

  “Guidance counselors are wonderful,” Dr. Peterson said, “but they’re responsible for so much. Therapists are able to really focus in on you and your individual needs. You can form a substantial relationship that can last well beyond middle school.”

  She thought I was going to need a therapist well beyond middle school? How messed up did she think I was?

  But I wanted to help make her feel better, so instead of asking Do you think I’m crazy? like I wanted to, I told her, “By the way, your bubble says I always give the right advice.”

  Dr. Peterson made a strange face. Mom stared at me like there was a unicorn horn growing out of my forehead.

  “Okay then,” Mom said. “We’ll think about the therapist.”

  I waited for her to make some kind of Mom face at me that showed she recognized what I had done, making Dr. Peterson feel better like that. Or a Mom face that said, “Don’t worry, you’re not crazy.” Either would have been okay, but neither one showed up.

  Mom’s reassuring smile from earlier wasn’t a fact. It was just a false alarm. I closed my eyes and put my chin in my hands. Israel became a state in 1948, I told myself. But even that didn’t make me feel better.

  7

  TRY-ATHLON

  Therapy. When we got home Mom said it was up to me to decide, but the word kept following me around at school the next day like Clark followed Lewis around. (A lot of people think Lewis and Clark were even-steven on their expedition, but Lewis was actually the one in charge.) I tried to push it out of my mind, but it seemed impossible. Finally, when I went over to hang out with Rafael and Kaya at Rafael’s apartment after school so we could figure out our risk project, it gave me a break.

  Going to Rafael’s place always felt like I was showing up in the middle of a party. There was stuff everywhere, and usually fun music was blasting from somewhere in the apartment. Plus, Rafael’s kinda reminded me of my dad, which was the coolest thing ever since I’d never even met the guy. I didn’t know how you could be reminded of someone you’d never met, but I liked it a lot.

  It probably had to do with all the posters covering the walls of his room. Rafael’s family was from Argentina, like my dad, and his room was decked out from top to bottom with pictures, postcards, and a giant map so big that it took up an entire wall from the floor to the ceiling. His relatives sent him stuff like that all the time. It was like, Hey, Rafael, come visit us. Hint, hint.

  I wished someone would send me hints like that, would want me to come visit somewhere cool.

  It would be extra great if that someone were my dad, but I wasn’t counting on it.

  My mom studied in Argentina when she was in college, and she always told people that she got the very best souvenir possible from that trip: me. I think it would have been nice if she also could have gotten some souvenir information about my dad. Like his name, maybe. Or his favorite color, or what he puts on his pancakes—something. But I guess they didn’t sell that kind of knowledge at the markets or gift shops.

  I eyeballed Rafael’s poster of Mount Fitz Roy, this super famous mountain on the border of Argentina and Chile that was first climbed in 1952 by a French and an Italian explorer looking for new adventures. Maybe I would go there someday and my dad would be there, too, and we could go for pancakes (would he like chocolate chip banana, like me, or blueberry, like Mom?) and tell each other everything about ourselves. Maybe he could marry Mom so she wouldn’t have to be sad about Pratik anymore. Maybe I could set that up, and then Mom wouldn’t even remember that the Pratik thing and the other thing were my fault.

  “You okay?” Rafael hurled a cheese ball at my face. It bounced off my nose and landed on his furry red rug. He flung another one my way and I let it fall into my lap. Mom and I used to do goofy things like throwing cheese balls into each other’s mouths all the time. I used to be a pro.

  “Whatcha thinking about in there?” he asked.

  Mom, Dad, Pratik, bubbles, mountains, school, life, pancakes, cheese balls. But I didn’t say any of that. Instead, I just shrugged.

  Rafael raised his eyebrows. “Hey, remember how you rescued that bracelet at school yesterday? That was a good time.”

  I giggled. It was so annoying how Rafael always made me giggle when I just wanted to be crabby.

  And, okay, fine, maybe it was also a little not-annoying at the same time. Maybe it was kinda interesting. Maybe I kinda wanted to make him giggle, too, like more than u
sual, even if I couldn’t exactly explain why.

  “We should reenact it for Kaya,” he said.

  “Kaya was there!”

  “I was definitely there,” she agreed.

  Rafael groaned. “Work with me, people. Sophie, we are doing it again. Right here, right now. It was awesome and you know it.”

  I giggled again and he pointed to the top bunk of the bunk beds he shared with his little brother. They didn’t go up that high, but Rafael twisted his face into a dramatic OMG! kind of expression, like the top bunk was basically in the sky.

  “Oh no! I lost my precious bracelet! What ever will I do?”

  I couldn’t help it—I full-on grinned, but only for a minute. There was no use fighting Rafael when he was this determined. Plus, it might be weirdly interesting to be that close to him again. My mind drifted to that interesting Rafael-y smell. I didn’t know why. I also needed to quit staring at him like any second a bubble was going to pop up that said I think you smell interesting in a good way, too, Sophie. Let’s run away together to a land filled with rainbows and puppy dogs and endless chocolate-chip banana pancakes.

  I tried my hardest to push all that out of my mind. I stood up, took a deep breath, and felt his hands around my waist. My heart got a little thumpy like it had the first time, which was weird because I wasn’t going very far off the ground this time.

  Rafael lifted me up and I reached for the imaginary bracelet.

  “Victory!” Rafael yelled. Kaya laughed and cheered. I sighed and tried to smile. Yeah, this was maybe a little fun, but we should probably be figuring out our risk project instead of doing stuff like this. And I didn’t really like doing stuff like this anymore, anyway.

  I tried to look at Kaya, but something was in my way. Something white and poofy and bubbly, just hanging out next to me, right above Rafael’s head. Another one? Now? Why? I sucked in a big breath and grabbed Rafael’s shoulders as hard as I could to keep myself from falling. And then I read it.

  Please don’t let me mess this up, it said. I bit my lip and stared at it. What didn’t he want to mess up? Lifting me? Making me laugh?

  “I want to come down,” I said. My whole body felt hot, like I was going to melt any second unless someone got me to the ground, fast.

  Why did he care so much about not messing anything up, anyway? It was almost like he cared in a different-than-best-friend kind of way.

  It was almost like … I don’t know, like he liked me or something. Like, liked me.

  Rafael finished lowering me, and I sat down on the floor and took a breath. My skin was this really light brown color, but I still got super red sometimes and people could totally tell. Right now, my face felt like it was even redder than the carpet, and the carpet was brighter than a whole carton of strawberries.

  “Next order of business,” Rafael said, like there was a checklist of things we needed to do this afternoon and lifting me up was number one. He popped a couple cheese balls in his mouth. Instead of chewing, he moved one to the inside of each cheek. He looked like a chipmunk, which he happened to know I thought was one of the cutest animals on the planet.

  Interesting.

  “Our risk project,” Kaya finished for him. “Our risk project is the next order of business.” They gave each other a look and nodded, and then they looked at me. “Rafael and I talked,” Kaya said, “and we had an idea.”

  “Uh, okay?”

  My red face had calmed down, but my heartbeat sure hadn’t. Why did I get the feeling I wasn’t going to like what she was about to say?

  Kaya twirled a big chunk of her hair around her fingers. If I was nervous to hear what she was going to say and she was nervous to say it, it definitely couldn’t be good.

  “Tell me,” I said.

  But she didn’t. She just twirled her hair some more and stared at the floor.

  “Uh ay-aff-a-on,” Rafael said through his chipmunk cheeks.

  I looked at Kaya for translation.

  “A triathlon,” she whispered.

  “No, really,” I said. “It’s okay, tell me. What’s your idea?”

  Rafael chewed a little and swallowed the cheese balls. “A triathlon,” he repeated. Then he popped five more into his mouth.

  I laughed, not sure which was funnier: his super chipmunk-y chipmunk face or the idea.

  “That makes no sense. You,” I pointed to Rafael, “never learned to ride a bike. And you,” I pointed to Kaya, “are scared of a lot of things, especially water and swimming. And me…” I stopped. I didn’t want to talk about me.

  “We know those things aren’t easy for us,” Kaya said. “That’s why it’s a risk.”

  I looked back and forth at both of their faces. Their faces looked back at me.

  “You guys are serious about this?”

  They nodded, and my whole mouth went dry. I didn’t know what to say. A long time ago, I would’ve loved to do a triathlon. Mom used to do them all the time, and I would always go watch, and sometimes she’d let me run the last part with her. I wasn’t actually that good at sporty things—my feet always went all goofy when I tried to run—but the old me wouldn’t have cared. She would’ve tried all the sporty things anyway, and if she fell over and broke a bone or ten, she wouldn’t care, because she’d be happy to have had the adventure and the fun.

  I wasn’t like that anymore, though. I just didn’t want to be.

  “Or,” I said, “we could do something else.”

  “Like?” Kaya asked.

  Crud.

  I glanced at the almost-empty bowl of cheese balls. “Want me to go get more snacks?”

  They both shook their heads, so I tried changing the subject again. “How about that weather? It’s very … weather-y today, don’t you think?”

  “Sophie Elizabeth Mulvaney,” Rafael said.

  I had no idea how he could go from funny chipmunk guy to serious I’m-gonna-use-your-whole-name guy in two seconds, but he was pretty talented. And pretty cute. And seriously, what was wrong with my brain? He was not cute! He was Rafael!

  “Listen.” He leaned in a little closer to me, and my stomach did a weird, bouncy, floppy thing. It was probably just reminding me that it hadn’t actually gotten any cheese balls. “We read about this kids’ race that’s happening in April at Bridgemont Beach. You don’t have to go, like, crazy marathon-y distances. There’s only a small chance it will kill us.”

  Kaya elbowed him hard in the guts.

  “Sorry. I mean, the chance that it will kill us is not overly large.”

  Kaya rolled her eyes, but she smiled, too, even though a part of her probably was worried that the triathlon would kill her. After all, swimming in a big, deep lake was pretty serious business—especially if you were totally afraid to do it.

  “You used to live for stuff like this,” Rafael told me. “Remember? You used to love trying new things and having adventures. Like rescuing bracelets. You wouldn’t have thought twice about that. And don’t get me wrong, we totally like the amazingness that is Sophie the Regular—we like you however you are—but we had a meeting and we decided that we also really miss Sophie the Adventurous Girl.”

  Kaya nodded along, and I looked from her to Rafael and back. I didn’t know whether to be offended they thought I was so regular now or excited that they thought I used to be so cool. Either way, they were right about one thing—I was different. And maybe a tiny part of me missed Sophie the Adventurous Girl, too, even though she did a lot of bad things.

  “We’d be there with you every step of the way,” Kaya said. She twirled her hair around her fingers again, and a bubble popped up over her head.

  I can do it, but only with Sophie’s help, it said.

  I twisted my hands together in my lap and picked off some nail polish that’d been on there for way too long. Because Kaya was afraid of so many things it was a pretty huge deal that she was willing to do this.

  And Rafael. He wasn’t scared, but he probably didn’t want everybody knowing he’d never lear
ned to ride a bike. That could be a pretty embarrassing thing to admit at school. And even when he acted all goofy and pretended nothing embarrassed him, I knew, deep down, that things probably did.

  But they both were cool with doing this race because they thought it might make me happy, somehow. They were doing this for me. The least I could do for them was agree to do it.

  I swallowed hard. “Okay,” I said, even though I ran with the speed of a dead snail and the coordination of a spider with eight left feet.

  “Okay?” Rafael’s face lit up like I’d agreed to do his homework for a month.

  “Yeah, okay.” I bit my lip. Could we actually pull this off? But their faces were hopeful. They really wanted me to do this. And I really wanted them to be happy.

  “Three best friends each doing a race with three parts,” I said. “It is kinda perfect for us.”

  They both grinned.

  “It’s going to be great,” I said, trying to hide my shaky hands and gulpy throat.

  And I wasn’t even lying that much. It would be great. It had to be.

  8

  ROCKS

  The good news was that now my mind had something else to think about besides the bubbles and the possible therapist.

  The bad news was that I’d agreed to do a triathlon, and now I felt like throwing up.

  I was worried about a lot of things. Mom’s reaction. My eight left feet. All the practicing we’d have to do when none of us really knew what we were doing. But for some reason, my thoughts kept going to Kaya. I was worried about Kaya being worried, even though Kaya’s fears were actually what made the three of us friends in the first place.

  In second grade, I was best friends with Mom, Kaya was best friends with the teacher, and Rafael was best friends with himself. We barely looked at each other until a field trip to the rock store.

  The thing about rock stores is that they’re not very exciting unless you’re really into rocks. We were learning about them in science, so I guess we were into them, but we kind of had to be into them or else. But the place was boring. It didn’t have a rock amusement park or a rock playground or anything to do except look at rocks and not buy them unless you were Viv Carlson and your mom had given you like a zillion dollars and you could walk around in the same glamorous rock necklaces the teachers wore and make everyone else feel like a loser.