Free Queen Sophie Hartley by Stephanie Greene

I’d like to see.”

Chapter Eight
    â€œBad news,” said Heather. She slid into the seat next to Sophie and looked at her mournfully.
    â€œWhat?” Sophie said.
    â€œDestiny Fabrey is catching up to you. We were both just promoted to the gold reading group, and you weren’t.” Heather’s mouth turned down. “That means she gets two more points.”
    â€œOh, no,” said Sophie, feeling her heart give a great leap into the air and fly joyously around.
    â€œThat’s not all,” said Heather solemnly as
she opened her notebook. “You lost a point this morning for peanut butter.”
    â€œI thought you loved peanut butter,” said Sophie.
    â€œNot when it’s on people’s clothes,” said Heather. She looked meaningfully at a spot in the middle of Sophie’s chest. Sophie looked down. A generous dollop of peanut butter was smudged around a button on her shirt.
    â€œOh, no,” Sophie said again.
    Heather was busy making checks in her notebook and disapproving
tsk-tsk
noises with her tongue. When she finally looked back up, Sophie could tell the verdict wasn’t good.
    â€œI didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to get your hopes up. Sometimes these things don’t stick.” Heather could have been talking Russian for all Sophie understood. “You moved up to five at the end of school yesterday when you got a ninety-five on the spelling test.” She heaved a mighty sigh. “You were actually my best friend for the entire night until this morning.”
    â€œI was?” said Sophie. She immediately thought how glad she was she hadn’t known.
She doubted whether she would have been able to sleep.
    â€œNow, I’m sad to say, it’s even.” Sophie didn’t think Heather sounded sad; she sounded glad. “Destiny had two, and now she has four,” she said. “And because of the peanut butter problem you’re back down to four, too. Whoever gets another point first gets to be my best friend.”
    â€œEither that,” said Sophie, “or whoever loses a point first, doesn’t.”
    Â 
    Dr. Holt wasn’t at all interested in seeing how much Sophie’s curtsy had improved.
    â€œNo more dilly-dallying,” she said irritably when Sophie offered to show her. “Too many more nights like the one I had last night and I’m not going to live long enough see this garden finished. Let’s get going.”
    Sophie’s feelings were a little hurt, but she dutifully picked up a pot of purple flowers and carried it onto the last empty spot in the flower bed. Then she picked up a pot of blue flowers and put it next to it.
    â€œWhat do you think you’re doing?” snapped Dr. Holt. “Purple doesn’t go next to blue.”
    â€œI think it looks pretty,” said Sophie.
    â€œThen you must be colorblind. It looks terrible.”
    Sophie took a deep breath. “Different people have different opinions,” she said.
    â€œNot when they’re working in my garden,” said Dr. Holt. “I’m the boss here.”
    Sophie put down the trowel. She was tired of arguing with Dr. Holt; there was no way she was ever going to win. Dr. Holt blamed her grouchiness on how sick she was when what she really was, was rude. Dr. Holt was a bully, Sophie decided. And Sophie was sick of it.
    She suddenly knew what dignified meant, too; it meant acting calm, even when what you wanted to do was stamp your feet and yell.
    Sophie stood up, brushed off her knees, and went and stood in front of Dr. Holt’s chair.
    â€œWell, what are you waiting for?” said Dr. Holt.
    Sophie put her left foot on the grass behind her and held out her imaginary silk gown.
With her chin in the air and her back straight, she slowly and graciously lowered her body until she felt the tip of the grass scratch against her knee. One quick nod to Dr. Holt, and she rose to her feet