Somewhere a Randy Newman Song Plays in the Distance

Sophie talks me into going home over the rooftops. I'm still torn about risking being seen doing this, but then again, I guess most people wouldn't watch a teenager jump from one building to the next or clamber up and down fire escapes and immediately conclude that I'm being possessed by a ghost that gives me mild-to-moderate super powers. So long as we don't do anything too crazy, I look like a teenager doing something risky and stupid, the way teenagers are expected to do.

Well, interesting teenagers, anyway.

Teenagers who would get recognized in a photo when they're standing right next to it.

I should really be worried about Sabrina. And I am! And it's not like I want our classmates to gossip about me. But as much as Sabrina insists I'm too worried about fitting in, there's a difference between fitting in and being totally invisible.

My shoe slips on the edge of a rooftop, jolting me out of my thoughts. Stomach doing a backflip up into my mouth, I throw my weight forward, stumbling safely away from the edge.

"Clark, pay attention!" Sophie scolds inside my head. "I don't want us both stuck haunting the dollar store, if you don't mind."

"Sorry," I say, trying to play it off. "I'll fall off a cooler roof, promise."

A second-hand burst of irritation warms my cheeks and the tips of my ears. "You're not still mooning over Sabrina, are you? That photograph doesn't even show anything bad."

"Did that matter back when you could still show up in photos?"

The urge to sigh passes over me, and I go ahead and oblige. Maybe it would make Sophie feel better, if not me. "I suppose not," she says. "People always like to talk, especially if you're strange or bad in any way. I'm not surprised Sabrina has some rumors going around about her."

"What do you do about them?" I descend a fire escape so we can jog the rest of the way home. As fun as it is to jump around on the rooftops, I'd rather not fall and break my neck because I was too lost in thought to gauge distance accurately.

"If you want my honest opinion," Sophie says, helping me run a bit faster, but not so much that it would draw attention, "I think it's best to ignore it."

I wish I were in a better mood, so I could enjoy the feeling of running like this. It's like walking when you're already on one of those moving sidewalks that airports have. "I can't just ignore it! I'm the one who invited Sabrina over, so this is partially my fault."

Sophie scoffs. "What makes you think Sabrina can't handle it herself? For better or worse, she's no shrinking violet."

"Easy for you to say," I mutter. When's the last time Sophie had to worry about her reputation? Besides, she doesn't like Sabrina, so why would she care about her getting bullied?

"I don't like Sabrina the slightest bit," Sophie says, echoing my thought with more emphasis than necessary. "But a lie is a lie. Other than her talking my ears off, she didn't do anything wrong. But that's how it is for girls," Sophie goes on. "It really doesn't matter what we do or don't do. Once they've made their mind up about you, it's curtains."

When we get home, Sophie leaves my body and heads inside to start rewinding the tape for the latest recording of Private Eye Poltergeist. Mr. Ramirez is leaning against the railing in front of his door, a cigar between his teeth. "Rough day? Didn't have a fight with your little girlfriend, I hope."

"No," I say, and I'm about to unlock my door, but pause. Mr. Ramirez is nosy and kind of annoying, but for today it might be nice to talk to someone about Sabrina who's more neutral. "Someone else might be fighting with her, though? I'm not sure what to do about it."

"Sometimes I wish I were young again," Mr. Ramirez says, tapping a long chunk of ash off the end of his cigar. "Then I remember having to go to school, and my arthritis and bald head don't seem too bad. Is she arguing with a friend? Because when a young girl has business with her friends, it's best to stay out of it. Politics looks civilized compared to all that."

I shake my head. "I don't really see her hanging out with anyone at school." Come to think of it, does Sabrina have any friends? I've never heard her mention anyone, or seen anyone approach her unless it was for class president stuff. When I first got here, I'd assumed she must be popular. But there isn't much evidence of that, is there?

"So she's the type that gets picked on," Mr. Ramirez says, and sighs. "That's something people don't grow out of when they stop being kids, sorry to say. But at least you can walk away or give them a piece of your mind, and not have to see the bastards all day."

"Back home," I say, "it's simpler. Some guy takes a swing at another guy, they meet up in the alley behind the grocery store and settle it, and that's it."

Mr. Ramirez laughs. "That's it, as far as you can see. Us fellas aren't any better than the girls, really. The scapegoat just has to wait and see. He can't say when it's settled."

I don't want Sabrina to be anyone's scapegoat all the way until we graduate. "I can't just let people say whatever they want about her."

"It's a predicament." Mr. Ramirez took another puff off his cigar. It didn't smell all that great, but after running and jumping all the way home, I probably didn't smell great, either. "And no one likes the teacher's pet. Ask me how I know."

I wouldn't have thought Mr. Ramirez to have been a teacher's pet as a kid, but then again, with the way he minded other people's business, it wasn't so far-fetched. "What did you do about it?"

"Oh, mostly I got a couple black eyes a month, and had to find ways to walk to and from school that kept me out of the way. There was one day," he says, "when an angel saved me, though."

"Oh?" I'm never sure when an older person is using a figure of speech or about to nag me about going to church.

Mr. Ramirez smiled. "I was in second grade, and the runt of the litter, if you know what I mean. I hadn't figured out yet that telling the teacher when someone was breaking the rules doesn't win you many friends."

"Ah. No, it doesn't." Even I had figured that out at that age. I'm not a total doormat, but I don't give people reasons to have a problem with me, either.

"Anyway, I was about to get my third black eye for that month, when an older girl from the junior high passed by and waded into the fray." Mr. Ramirez chuckles around the cigar. "Like a Valkyrie straight out of a Wagner opera. She didn't hesitate!"

That would be pretty amazing for a little kid to witness. "So she beat them up before they could do the same to you?"

"Damn near broke a boy's nose! Ran them off, then started fussing about how sore her mother would be over her acting unladylike and tearing her skirt." He shook his head fondly at the memory. "I can't recall what I ate for breakfast yesterday, but I can still see her curls sticking out every which way and the scuffs she'd got on her shoes. What a woman. Really made an impression on me, back when I was just little Lorenzo with an apple for the teacher and a split lip."

It's a cute story, I guess, but I'm not sure how it helps me. "So I'm supposed to hope for a savior to step in?" I don't think that's likely, at least not at this school.

"No, and you probably shouldn't go breaking any noses, either. More trouble than it's worth. That poor girl had to write so many lines on the blackboard it's a wonder the school didn't suffer a chalk shortage." Mr. Ramirez says, stubbing out the cigar on the metal railing. "Just be in her corner. Life's slings and arrows are a whole lot easier to bear when you know at least one person is on your side. Like Sophie was for me."

I blink in surprise. "Sophie?"

Mr. Ramirez nodded, more to himself than to me. "That was her name, that's right. Sophie. Odd girl, had one foot in fairyland most of the time, as I recall. But she was damned kind."

That description sounded hauntingly familiar, but it's not like there's only ever been one person in this city ever to have been named Sophie. "Did you stay in touch? Maybe I can hire her as a bodyguard."

That gets another chuckle out of Mr. Ramirez. "I'm sure she'd go for that. But no," he goes on, wistful. "No, after that year, I didn't see her again. Not sure what happened to her." He frowns, then straightens up. "Well, you're a good kid, sonny. I'm sure you'll do your best, yes? And keep out of trouble."

I take my opening to say goodbye and go inside. At least I have something to distract myself from thinking about the photo of me and Sabrina. I grab a microwave dinner from the freezer, glancing over at Sophie, who's completely absorbed in the anime playing on the TV. She hasn't noticed yet, but her curly hair is sticking out all over.