Page 1 of Trying Sophie

Prologue

18 Years Ago—Sophie

“Declan O’Shaughnessy, you were instructed to stick with your partner on this outing and you have disregarded that instruction.”

“But Mrs. Brennan—”

“No excuses, Declan. You were matched with Sophie and I don’t want to hear another word of it.”

I’d already explained to our teacher I’d be happier doing the assignment on my own, but she wouldn’t hear a word of it either. Instead she’d done the worst: she’d forced me to pair up with Declan for the scavenger hunt. Before today the girls at St. Andrew’s Primary School had ignored me but now they were paying attention. Too much attention, circling me like a pack of tiny, angry hyenas. Sometimes grown-ups could be so blind.

One of the things about going through life invisible was that people ignored you and that meant you saw and heard things. Things maybe they didn’t want you seeing and hearing. Which was how I’d learned what all the teachers really thought of Declan. He was what they called a “real looker.” And, when he grew up, they all said he was going to “make something of himself” because he had “natural charisma.” I didn’t fully understand what they meant, but I figured it had something to do with how his friends followed his every command and the way girls swooned when he was around. Girls including me.

Mrs. Brennan wrapped her arm around my shoulder and gently nudged me forward. I was nervous to face him since my frizzy hair was acting up and my loaner glasses gave me bug eyes. I dropped my chin to my chest and hoped my hair would cover my face so he wouldn’t see me blush. Eventually, I smiled shyly while inside I begged him to like me.

“This is Sophie’s first week at school and I want the class to make her welcome.”

“Aww, Mrs. Brennan,” Declan whined in a high-pitched tone that might have made my ears hurt if they weren’t already ringing with embarrassment. “I don’t want to make her welcome. My mam says she’s an uppity yank who only thinks she’s Irish. But she’s not really. She wasn’t even born here.” Declan stomped his foot and crossed his arms over his chest. “And, she smells like fish and chips,” he added with a definitive nod.

“Now Declan, you know Sophie’s mother was born right here in Ballycurra. That makes Sophie Irish too,” Mrs. Brennan informed the small tyrant. “Why, I even babysat her mam when she was a young lass like Sophie here. I assure you, the Fitzgeralds are as Irish as you and me.”

I kept the tight smile pasted on my face but inside I was crying. As the two argued back and forth, I knew there was no reasoning with Declan. He’d made up his mind about me and that was that.

“Her da’s not Irish, so if anything she’s only half Irish!” He looked over his shoulder to his friends who nodded in agreement and then turned back to us, a smug smile stretching his face.

Technically speaking, Declan wasn’t wrong which only made it that much worse.

When it looked like Mrs. Brennan wasn’t going to be able to rein him in, I realized I was going to have to stand on my own. Squaring my shoulders, I stared back at him, unblinking, showing him I would not be made to feel less than just because he didn’t like me. When he scowled, I stifled a laugh and his face turned red. He’d wanted people to laugh at me and the fact that I was laughing at him instead was not part of the plan. While he tried to appear intimidating, he actually looked silly, all puffed up like an indignant pigeon.

“Ugly, smelly, stupid girl!” he spat out.

And just like that my bravado fled. He could make fun of the way I looked and the way I smelled, but I’d never had anyone call me stupid before. The smile I’d forced onto my face a few minutes before faded. When my traitorous eyes pooled with tears, I cast them downward to stare at a pile of crimson and gold leaves that had fallen from the park’s trees and lay scattered along the walkway, fluttering in the wind. I self-consciously nudged the toe of my black oxfords through the pile at my feet, sending some of the leaves dancing in the early autumn breeze. Instead of blurting out what I really wanted to say—that of the two of us, he was the one who lacked intelligence—I held all of my hurt and anger inside and did my very best not to let Declan see me cry.

Unfortunately, my best effort wasn’t quite good enough.

“Ugh. Now she’s crying! I’m not going to partner with a crybaby American who smells like fried cod!” he declared before turning his back on me.

Mrs. Brennan rubbed my back a few times in a steady circular pattern, a small attempt to comfort me. But I’d had enough experience with schoolyard bullies to know her sympathy wouldn’t make me feel better about being the class freak. Being shy was one thing, but being ugly too gave them extra ammunition. To make me feel better about my lack of good looks, my Grandma Newport—my daddy’s mother—had once told me the story of the ugly duckling who grew up to be a beautiful swan. It didn’t seem likely we’d share the same fate.

I’d once overheard the mother of one my classmates say it was sad that my daddy, “the devilishly handsome Langston Newport,” and my mom, “his beautiful Irish bride” had produced such a homely creature. Instead of crying over something I couldn’t change, I’d focused my efforts on being smart instead. Smart people, I’d noticed, were respected despite their appearances. And so I became a book worm who lived a happy and exciting life in the pages of each new book I read.

But things went from bad to worse when my dad left my mom when his secret girlfriend became not-so-secret when the giant belly she sported couldn’t be ignored. At first everyone was focused on the bad thing my dad had done but soon people started talking about my mom and me. Before long I became the butt of many cruel jokes from classmates and local radio DJs alike. It got so bad my mom had to institute a “no radio in the house” policy when one of them asked whether I was even a Newport since I looked nothing like the rest of my beautiful family. I’d stayed home from school that day while my mom pulled out old photo albums that showed pictures of my dad as an awkward little boy who looked just like me.

I’d lived my whole life knowing my dad was handsome and my mom was beautiful and that we were rich, but it wasn’t until the last few months the pieces of the puzzle finally clicked. What I’d also recently come to realize was the Newports were local royalty, my grandfather being the owner of a pro basketball team with a winning record. My daddy was his heir apparent. If we’d simply been rich, no one would have cared about my parents’ divorce, but when you lived in the public eye, the public felt like they owned a piece of you.

And then people turned against my mom. If the jokes about me were bad, the things they said about her were even worse! Before the divorce, everyone loved my parents’ fairytale romance, but when daddy left us without a penny people started calling her “that grasping Irish pub girl.” And then they began saying my mom had taken a lover well before daddy hooked up with that cheerleader. No matter how you sliced it, according to gossip, both my parents were dirty cheats, but only one of them was tarred and feathered for it. At least that’s what I overheard my mom saying. I hadn’t actually seen any feathers.

This went on and on until one day a girl at my old school called me “that Irish slut’s daughter” and I snapped. When the lunch monitor finally pulled me off Katherine Winters, tears were streaming down my face, and a strand of her long, black hair was clenched in my hand. As I was carted off to the headmaster’s office, I overheard a teacher whisper something about my mom’s “mess with that doctor.”

See, teachers were gossips.

I’d ended up suspended for three days. When my mom came to pick me up, I asked her why people said she was a cheater too and her face turned bright red. Buckling me into my seat, she marched straight into my school, hands fisted at her sides. When she came back fifteen minutes later, she told me I was never going back to “that godforsaken place” that was filled with “white trash dressed up as American aristocracy.”

So you see, I understood school bullies. Declan’s treatment was nothing compared to what I’d already been through. And yet it seemed far worse too. Maybe it was because I felt more alone here than I had back home? Despite how bad things had been in Pittsburgh, I hadn’t wanted to move to Ireland. It wasn’t that I didn’t understand why leaving Pittsburgh was a good idea, but what I still couldn’t grasp was why my mom hadn’t come with me. Before dropping me off at the airport, she’d explained there were things—adult things—I couldn’t possibly understand that she needed to take care of before I could come back.

I’d been heartbroken to leave her behind, but I’d also hoped a new school where no one knew my daddy’s name would put an end to the teasing I’d endured since the scandal went public. One week in, though, and I could tell St. Andrew’s wasn’t going to be any better. These kids didn’t know anything about my family—my other family—but they’d found enough to tease me about without really knowing anything about me.

On this small island a million miles away from everything and everyone I’d ever known, I was just a weirdo kid who would never fit in. An outsider. Declan and his gang of hoodlums had made that clear.

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