Chapter One

Sophie moves into her dorm as a freshman in college.

    The sun has no shame.  It always shines, even when no one notices it.  It forces its way into the room through the blinds, making shadows like the bars of a cage dart across Sophie’s face.
    Her new roommate is laying on the bed watching “V For Vendetta” on a laptop when she enters the dorm.  She looks up and sees Sophie with all her luggage.  She snaps the computer shut, tosses her burgundy hair and hops up from the bed.  As she approaches, Sophie notices her freckled nose, and how her ruby-brown eyes match her hair perfectly.
    “I’m Tammy,” she reaches out to shake Sophie’s hand, “I’ve been here since last weekend. I was wondering if you’d ever show.”
    Classes start Monday.
    “Really? I didn’t know people would be here so early.”
    “Here, let me help you,” she takes one of the suitcases from the floor and drags it onto her bed. “S**t, that’s heavy.”
    “Sorry. That bag has a lot of equipment I need. Try that one.”
    “Alright.” Tammy kneels down and unzips it.  She removes each item individually and admires it for a second.  Sophie turns back to the suitcase she’s unloading.
    After a somewhat awkward silence, Tammy murmurs, “Sophie, this is like, thousands of dollars worth of designer clothes…”
    She shrugs. “My dad does well.”
    “What does he do?”
    “He’s a lawyer. Well, now he’s an associate at his law firm.”
    “Is he one of those really famous lawyers that always wins?”
    “Well, I guess. Let’s just say he’s got a lot of enemies in jails around the world.”  Tammy chuckles at this and Sophie flashes a grin.
    “Is that your mother?” Tammy asks about the picture she putting on her nightstand.
    “Yeah.”
    “She’s really pretty. And you have the same eyes!”
    “Yeah, but I look more like my dad. Hey, could you hand me the other picture?” Sophie points to a frame laying on her bed.  It’s a picture of her and Brianna embracing one another from last summer.
    “Sure,” she looks at it and passes it across the bed, “Who’s that?”
    “My little sister.”
    “Why’s she in the wheelchair?”
    “She has cerebral palsy.”
    “Aw, that sucks. Are you close with her?”
    “Very.”
    “So what’s your major?” Tammy changes the subject.
    “Undecided. Yours?”
    “Political Science. I’m kind of like a hippie. But with more style!”  Tammy unzips the suitcase she left on her bed.  “Wow, you weren’t kidding. There is a lot of STUFF in here!” She holds up a sewing machine that she removed from the suitcase.  The one that Sophie earlier claimed to contain “equipment”.
    “Careful.”
    “You sew?”
    “Yeah.” Tammy begins taking out all the fabric and thread Sophie had folded neatly under the sewing machine. “This is so cool.”
    Sophie points to another bag, “That one is full of clothes I’ve made, if you’re interested.”
    She is.
    “Sophie,” Tammy whispers, “These are absolutely incredible. You MADE these?”
     “That one was an old T-shirt of my dad’s.”
    She looks at the dress she’s holding carefully.
    “Wow.” She nods toward Sophie, “Did you make what you’re wearing now?”
    She laughs. “Me? No! This one is courtesy of Ralph Lauren.”
    “Oh really? It’s kind of plain.”  She holds up another dress, “I’d rather wear this.”
    “Go ahead. I’d love for someone to wear my clothes. See if it fits.”
    “Seriously? Thank you!” Tammy runs into the bathroom.  Through the door, she shouts, “Don’t you ever wear your own stuff?”
    “Never.”
    “Why not? It’s so good!”
    Although Tammy is in the bathroom and can’t see her, Sophie shrugs in response.


September 1, 2007

    I moved into my new home today. Well, I’m not sure it’s home yet. But so far I really love my new roommate, Tammy. She’s not home right now. She went to buy some textbooks.
    When I first got here, Tammy said she’s already been here for a week! She seems so comfortable with herself and her surroundings. I don’t really know if that’s because she really is or not though. But she isn’t nervous about getting lost the first day of classes like I am. I wish I could have come a week early, to get settled in and meet other students, but I couldn’t. Dad was at a business trip this week and someone had to stay home to watch Brianna.
    Soon, he says he’s going to find a nanny for her. Someone who will live in the house and help take care of her. I don’t understand why he couldn’t do that before. We had the money, and it really would have made life better for me. Even though I love Brianna and she means the world to me. She’s the most important person in the world. I love her more than anyone ever. But I just had to make a lot of sacrifices for her.
    Speaking of, before Tammy asked me about Brianna, and I told her she has CP. She responded so normally. Most people freak out: “Oh my god! That’s awful!” or “That’s so sad.” or “That sounds bad. What is it?” or “I’m so sorry to hear that. Is it fatal?”
I don’t like it when people ask me what it is because I don’t really know what it is. That is, I simply can’t explain it. And if they just hear the actual scientific summary, it won’t do Brianna justice. Because she is just more. I like to describe her as a person, by saying what she likes to play with, or what music she likes, or what’s her favorite color, or something like that. I don’t think it’s right for her to be defined by CP.
    Anyway, so I really appreciated Tammy’s response. And Tammy also has great style. This kind of edgy, girly, rocker chick combo. I could never pull off a style like that. I wish I could.
    And she tried on one of my dresses! It was amazing. The one I used my old bed sheets to make. I sometimes wish I had the guts to wear a homemade dress in public. But she looked perfect. Just the way I’d imagined my dress should look on someone. I would just look silly in it


    “Hey Sophie!”
    Sophie jumps.
    “Sorry to scare you. What are you writing?”
    “Just a diary kind of thing.”
    “Oh,” Tammy swings a bag full of heavy textbooks onto her bed, “I got a million and one compliments on your dress!”
    “You did?” Sophie beams.
    Tammy nods. “I was wondering if maybe I could try on your other dresses. They are all really gorgeous.”
    “Yeah, sure. I make them all in the same size – to fit me. So since that one fits you great, they all should.”
    “So can I wear them like – anytime? I mean since you don’t wear them at all.”
    “I would really love that. You can always borrow the clothes I do wear too,” Sophie smiles.
    “Nah,” Tammy says as she ruffles through Sophie’s other homemade clothes, “Designer clothes – not my thing. I’d just look silly in them.”


    It’s 10 A.M. by the time Tammy wakes up to find Sophie typing away at her desk.
“Are you insane? It’s Sunday morning.”
    “I had to finish a book report for my literature class.”
    “God. Classes haven’t even started yet! It’s due the first day?”
    “Well no, not till next week.”
    “So why the hell are you doing it now?” the floor creaks as Tammy stands up and stretches.
    “Well,” Sophie pauses, “I don’t know. I just am.”
    Tammy grunts. “Did you have breakfast yet?”
    “Nah.”
    “Well then I bet your book report sucks! How can you think on an empty stomach?”
    “It doesn’t suck.”
    “Chill. I was just messing with you. You have another week to fix it anyway.”
    Tammy pulls on a sweatshirt, “Let’s go down to the dining hall.”


September 2, 2007

    I’ve been working on this paper since 7 A.M. and it’s only 8:30 now. I wanted to take a break though. I hate writing papers. I don’t mind writing these entries, because they matter. And I don’t mind reading books, because they matter. Well, the ones that matter to me. But, in my opinion, a research paper about how a book reflects and impacts the culture of a time period is completely worthless, because no one reads it except my teacher. Some people do write non-fiction stuff, but people read it because they find it interesting. I don’t think anyone should have to ever read or write anything that doesn’t matter to them. If I read a book I don’t like, I never call it bad, because it must have mattered to the author. No one forced them to write about it. It’s something they thought was worth writing and reading. And I bet to someone somewhere, it is worth reading.
    My paper right now is about “The Catcher In The Rye” by J.D. Salinger. It is a great book. It’s about a boy who doesn’t quite fit in. It’s funny because I’ve always fit in my entire life, but I always felt like I shouldn’t.  I always thought my friends were going to discover any minute that I’m a fraud, and that I am not really as cool as they are and then I would be one of the unpopular kids again.
    I wonder sometimes if they all feel that way. If they are all frauds, you know? Like Tammy is real. If she were at my high school, I bet she wouldn’t be very cool. But really, I think Tammy is the coolest girl I’ve ever met.


    Tammy looks forward with bright eyes as she takes vivacious steps next to Sophie, who watches her feet and looks up every so often as if to make sure she isn’t headed off a cliff. “I know my way around campus pretty well now, so I’ll give you a tour after breakfast. It’ll help you not get lost tomorrow,” Tammy is saying.
    “Actually, I really want to go down to Greek Street today. Could you show me how to get there?”
    Tammy stops abruptly.
    “No way.”
    “What?”
    “You just don’t strike me as a sorority girl type.”
    “My mom is like famous. She was the President of Delta Pi her senior year.”
    “I see.”  Tammy fails to conceal her cynicism.
    “Not everyone in a sorority is a walking stereotype.”
    “No, no one is a walking stereotype,” Tammy replies, “But most sorority girls are trying to be.”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “I just think—” Tammy begins, “Never mind.  You never asked for my opinion.  Let’s get some breakfast.”  She starts walking again at the same pace as before.
    “I want to know what you think now,” Sophie says adamantly.
    “I’m sorry. I just don’t understand the purpose of a sorority. It’s like an organized clique. I think it’s all so superficial.”
    Sophie stays quiet a moment.  “But why would I want to be stereotypical?”
    “I don’t know. You tell me. This is it,” Tammy opens the door and mimes as though she is removing a top hat, bows her head, and holds the door for Sophie.
    “Age before beauty, Madame.”  Tammy teases.
    And Sophie laughs. Genuinely.
    Abruptly, she claps her hand over her own mouth, as though she is worried that, like sunshine through closed blinds, some light could slip through her fingers.

Author's Note

I switched the perspective and tense on this several times. I apologize for any inconsistencies.