Page 40 of Trying Sophie

“Declan had the biggest crush on you, Sophie,” she said.

What the what?

No he hadn’t. He’d hated me and he’d gotten everyone else to hate me too. A crush? Far from it.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No lass,” my grandpa responded, “she’s not. Now sit down and listen up. I think it’s time you learned some things.”

Automatically, I dropped back into my chair.

“How do you know?” I whispered, the wind having gone out of my sails.

“Everyone knew,” my grandma answered sympathetically.

“But how?”

“Oh Sophie,” she said. “The lad was your shadow. Why do you think he was always hanging around? You ignored him, and when you weren’t, you were scowling at him. He was just trying to get your attention.”

“Well, he got it,” I huffed.

“You’re not still angry with him?” he inquired as follow up.

“No,” I sighed. “I told him all was forgiven.”

“Did you now? And how’d he take that?” he asked with a glint of mischief in his eyes.

I thought back over the last few weeks, from when he’d greeted me at the airport and pulled me into those pictures with his fans, to his confession that he thought I was someone worth knowing and the flirty banter that had been building between us, up until the other day when he’d gotten angry at Cian. But most of all, I thought about my attraction to him from the very first moment I’d laid eyes on him. Attraction I knew he shared.

“He told me he’d been in awe of me,” I whispered. “That he’d only teased me so I’d pay attention to him.”

“Well, there you go then,” my grandma responded, standing, as if the subject was closed. As if things were that simple. “Eat up, you’re nothing but skin and bones,” she added, putting another roll on my bread plate.

But things weren’t that simple, were they? Not all of his taunts had been good-natured. Some—like when he’d insulted both my mom and my dad the day of the disastrous scavenger hunt—had been downright mean. That didn’t jibe with a kid who liked me. I sifted through my memory bank to other times he’d teased me, scrutinizing them for motive and intent.

There was the time he’d pulled my ponytail during the middle of class so hard I’d yelped out loud, sounding like a wounded cat. He’d been moved to the desk directly behind me after Mrs. Brennan said he couldn’t sit by the window anymore. My ponytail was so long back then it had snaked down my back and if I wasn’t careful to pull it over my shoulder when I sat, it would sometimes rest on the desktop behind me. But that morning I’d been late for class and had flung my body into my chair as the bell rang without giving extra care to where my hair, backpack, and lunch bag had landed. Later, I’d felt a gentle tug on my hair. At first I ignored it, but when it happened again I turned in my seat and scowled at Declan, my long locks slipping from between his fingers. When he lifted his eyes from my hair, he’d looked shocked at having been caught and then … I could see it so clearly now … his face turned bright red—almost purple with embarrassment—before he tamped it down and scowled back. I remembered whispering at him to leave me alone before turning around. That’s when I’d felt him actually pull my hair. Hard. Which is when I’d screamed and we’d both been sent to Father Dennehy’s office.

And then there was the time he’d walked up to me at Easter mass, a bouquet of daffodils in his hand. He’d been about to say something when I interrupted, not wanting to face another insult. I’d often heard my Grandfather Newport say a good offense was the best defense and I’d decided if I went on the attack, I’d finally get the better of him.

“What do you want?” I’d demanded.

He’d shuffled in place and glowered. “These aren’t for you,” he declared then, shoving the flowers behind his back.

“Good,” I’d shouted back. “The only thing I want from you, Declan O’Shaughnessy, is to leave me alone.”

He’d glared for a few seconds longer and then trudged away. When he’d made it about ten feet, he stomped back and yelled, “No one’s ever going to give you flowers because you stink like fish!”

“Well, you’re a turd!” I’d hollered back before Mrs. Brennan had run over to separate us.

And then one evening, a couple of weeks before I moved back to the U.S., I’d heard something pinging against the glass of my bedroom window. At first I didn’t think anything of it since rain had been falling nonstop for three days. But then I realized the sound was different from the steady plop, plop, plop of water against the building. Setting my text book on the table next to me, I walked over to investigate. Pulling the curtain aside, I saw the rain had finally stopped but couldn’t determine what had made the noise. I was about to step away when a sharp thud sounded next to my window, catching my attention. Pulling open the sash and leaning out, I saw Declan standing below, bathed in a pool of light from the street lamp just outside my window.

“What do you want?” I’d whisper-yelled down to him.

“Hey Fish and Chips,” he’d called up with that confident smirk he still wore today. “Want to come down and go exploring?”

I’d been shocked he wanted to hang out with me, but after two long years of his taunts I’d also become distrustful.

“Why would I want to hang out with you?” I shot back.

Only now did I remember how he’d shrugged and shuffled his foot in the pebbles of the car park. I’d seen him deploy that shrug a few times lately and was starting to think he did it when he was uncomfortable but trying not to show it. But back then? I’d taken it as indifference.

“Go away!” I’d hollered down and slammed my window shut.

On and on the memories came … and then shifted. As my grandparents sat next to me silently eating their soup, I flashed back through all the times I’d assumed Declan was being an awful turd … but now—with time, distance, and new information—things appeared much different.

He hadn’t hated me. He’d played with my hair, brought me flowers, and stood outside in the rain wanting me to come outside and be with him.

“Oh my god,” I whispered. “I’ve had it all wrong. All this time, so very wrong”

Across the table, my gramps chuckle. “Yeah, lass. I’d say you have.”

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