Revived

forty-five

In Audrey’s skinny jeans and a deep purple top, I walk through the doors of Alameda South High School feeling giddy and jittery at the same time. Everyone eyeballs the new girl but, thanks to the tour after registration, I don’t have to embarrass myself by asking anyone for directions.

A shorter girl with long blond hair and green eyes not quite as lovely as Mason’s smiles at me from her locker, which is next to mine. A pit forms in my stomach as I think of meeting Audrey for the first time. But instead of turning away, I force myself to smile back before going to work on my combination.

“First day?” the girl says, striking up conversation. I look at her.

“Yep,” I say. “We just moved here.”

“I’m Elsie Phillips,” she says, smiling again. “I moved here from Portland in August.”

“Nice to meet a fellow transplant,” I say. “I moved from Omaha. I miss it, but what can you do?”

“I hear you,” Elsie says, tossing her bag in her locker. “I pine for Portland.”

I laugh a little and so does she, but then there’s an awkward pause in the conversation when it seems like neither of us knows what to say. Again, I think of Audrey. We never struggled. Then again, Megan and I didn’t say five words to each other the first time we met.

“Well, I guess I’ll head to class,” Elsie says. “You know where you’re going?”

I screw up my face in concentration and look around a bit. Then I point to the left. “I think I’m headed that way.”

“Don’t worry, it’s an easy layout. The kids are pretty cool. You’ll do great.”

“Thanks,” I say. We turn away from each other, and then I hear her voice call me back.

“Hey, what did you say your name was?” she asks. My stomach rolls. The FDA made me change it, and not just the last name this time, in case they kill the program and this is my permanent home. They claimed Daisy was too distinctive.

This is the first time I’m saying my new name aloud.

“Oh, sorry,” I say casually. “I don’t think I did. My name is Sophie. Sophie Weller.”

Mason had suggested Sophie because it was his mother’s first name. And I didn’t know until last week, but Weller is his real surname.

“Nice to meet you, Sophie.”

Elsie turns and leaves, and I can’t help but notice as I walk to first period that I don’t mind being Sophie Weller. It doesn’t feel like an act. I straighten up and walk a little taller in my brand-new patent flats, hoping that someday soon, the pull of Omaha won’t feel so unbearably strong, and that I’ll feel like Sophie Weller all the way.