Page 13 of Soul of Shadow
“I brought a second sandwich.” Charlie pulled another cling-wrapped bundle from her lunch bag and waved it in the air. She did this every day, and Lou always pretended to be surprised.
Lou clapped. “How fortuitous!”
Abigail shot her a look over her plastic box of crudités. “Do you even know what that means?”
“Of course I do.” Lou started unwrapping her sandwich. “Just because I don’t spend every night with my nose buried in a thesaurus the way you do—”
“It’s not athesaurus,” Abigail snapped. “It’s theTop 3500 High-Frequency Words for SAT, and I only look at it twice a week, not every night.”
“Is it tough to see from up there?” Lou asked. “On your high horse, I mean.”
“Listen,” Abigail said. “Back in New York—”
Charlie and Lou groaned in tandem.
Abigail had moved to Silver Shores during their freshman year, just three months after Sophie died. Coming from New York City, she was furious that her parents had dragged her to, quote, “one of those cold, hairy armpits of America.” She loudly repeated that sentence to anyone who would listen on her first day at Silver Shores High School, a first impression that didn’t win her many friends. When it came time for lunch that day, Abigail sat alone in the very back corner of the cafeteria.
Charlie would love to say that it had been her who suggested they keep Abigail company. But as usual, the decision wasn’t hers; it was Lou’s.
“Let’s sit next to the new girl,” said Lou, jutting her chin out at the back corner as she balanced the two sandwiches and an extra-large serving of sweet potato fries Charlie had gotten her on her tray. Lou was constantly, unfathomably hungry.
Charlie looked at the girl’s shoulders, hunched dismally downward as she stared out the window, a curtain of braids falling over one side of her face. “Really?”
“Sure,” said Lou. “Why not? Things are getting dull around here. We might as well add a third to our group.”
“What group?” Charlie asked. “It’s just you and me.”
In the three months since Sophie’s death, Lou had gently prodded at her best friend many times, trying to get her to branch out. She’d invited other girls to join in on their hangs, girls who had been peripheral friends over the years, girls they’d invited to birthday parties or sat near on field trips, but with whom they never spent any time one-on-one. Charlie knew that Lou was only trying to widen their social circle, to distract her best friend from her grief. But it didn’t feel that way to Charlie. It felt like they were hosting tryouts. Inviting girls to audition for the role of Replacement Sophie. And Charlie couldn’t stomach it. She withdrew further into herself with every new girl who stepped into her living room.
Eventually, Lou stopped inviting other girls to hang out with them altogether.
But that afternoon was different. There was a certain gleam in Lou’s eyes, a determination.
“Why her?” Charlie asked.
“She seems cool,” said Lou. “When’s the last time someone moved here from New York City? I’ll tell you when:never.” She pointed to the new girl’s table, and Charlie could tell shewas gearing up for one of her soapbox speeches. “Right now, people are intimidated by her. She’s new, she’s hot, she has a pierced nose, and she’s one of approximately ten people in this school whose skin isn’t the color of Santa Claus’s ass crack. Soon enough, people will get over their intimidation and realize exactlyhowcool she is. If we want to befriend her, we need to strikenow.”
Charlie hesitated, chewing her bottom lip. Lou was right; itwouldbe fun to befriend someone who hadn’t lived on the same block as her their whole life. Still…
Lou leveled Charlie with a serious look. “It’s time, Charles,” she said. Then, before Charlie could argue, Lou started over toward Abigail’s table.
Looking back, Charlie was ashamed at how reluctant she had been to befriend Abigail. At the time, she had chalked it up to how unpleasant Abigail had acted that day, lashing out at nearly everyone in their class, standing with her nose firmly pointed upward, braided hair dangling regally down her back, the picture of a chic, cosmopolitan city girl forced to endure a small-minded small town. But even then, Charlie knew that wasn’t who Abigail really was. She was alone in a new place—a town that was not only completely different than where she had grown up, but where almost no one looked like she did. Where she was one of the only Black faces in an endless stream of white. She missed her old school, her old friends, her old life. She wasn’t stuck-up; she was afraid.
No, Charlie knew that her reluctance had nothing to do with her first impression of Abigail. It had nothing to do withanythingrelated to Abigail. She could have been the sweetest, most angelic person Charlie had ever met, and she still wouldhave felt the same way. Because it wasn’t that Abigail was Abigail; it was that she wasn’t Sophie.
Though almost two years had passed since that day, very little had changed about Abigail. “Back in New York,” she was saying as they continued across the school’s front lawn, “kids start studying SAT vocab in seventh grade. You spread out your flashcards, and—”
“I’m done with this conversation,” said Lou. “Charles, you know that one vanishing-sandwich trick? The one you did last week at Big Betty’s Café?”
“Of course,” Charlie said.
“Great.” Lou reached out and patted Abigail’s shoulder. “Now, can you do it with Abigail’s voice?”
“Hey!” Abigail pushed Lou’s hand away. “I take great offense to that. I wouldn’t…” Her voice trailed off. “Oh.”
“Oh, what?” Charlie looked between Lou and Abigail, who had both turned in their chairs to look at something behind her. Their eyes were wide. Charlie started to turn around. “What are you looking a—”
And came face-to-face with Elias.
