Better Than Revenge (Special Edition)

Chapter 3: Sophia

Chapter 3

Sophia

I put my phone on airplane mode and threw it across the room after hanging up, as if that would erase the conversation I'd just had, torn between a smug smile and a frown. A smile for having successfully humiliated Christian Ryder on a show that usually lauded him for his existence; a frown for having had to endure that conversation with him. The result was probably frightening.

The frown overpowered the smile in the end. Not even Christian's awkward spluttering before the break could change that. The feeling I had in the pit of my stomach resembled food poisoning, or, I don't know, kidney stones. Whatever it was, it made me sprint to the bathroom just in case I threw up.

Why did it have to be him?

"Sophia," my mom called out from the living room a few minutes later.

I kept quiet, my face hovering over the toilet as I took in a deep breath. I was fine. It was over. I couldn't keep letting him get to me like this.

"Sophia, you have a phone call." The sound of my mom's approaching footsteps made me pop my head up. Although the wave of nausea hadn't gone away, I didn't want her to answer the phone. What if they somehow tracked down our home phone number, and it was Christian on the other line again?

I scrambled off of the floor and made my way to the living room. "Don't answer it." I slid into the room, using my socks as makeshift skates on the dark, hardwood floors. I held up my hands to halt my confused mother. "Please don't answer it. Wait, who is it?"

"It's your school." She raised both eyebrows at me. "Still want me to let the call go?"

Okay, time to reconvene. "No! No, give me the phone, please."

She shot me a knowing look and handed me the phone before returning to her native habitat for the next two months: the couch. She was an elementary school teacher and was lucky enough to not have to work over the summer for supplementary income, thanks to my dad's career as a software developer. Sure, she had lesson plans she was constantly working on, but she liked to work on those from the comfort of our couch while watching the latest drama on This Is Us.

"Hello?"

"Sophia? This is Moira. I tried calling your cell, but it went straight to voicemail."

Moira Franklin, also known as my favorite teacher from the summer acting program I'd attended in New York right after graduating from high school. Although, that didn't offer me any insight as to why she was calling me on a Wednesday night. I was already set to return to New York for my second summer session in a week before starting college in the fall.

Whatever it was that she had to say was important enough to merit a late-night phone call to Nowheresville, Indiana, though, so I was all ears.

"Oh, uh, my phone is temporarily out of commission, sorry," I said, which wasn't technically a lie, although I wasn't willing to go into any more detail than that. "What's up?"

Was that an inappropriate way to greet a teacher? By the way my mom was looking at me, I had a feeling it was, but Moira wasn't your average teacher.

"Well, I have some very, very, very exciting news for you. I suggest sitting down for this. Hold onto something, too, if you can. But not too tightly, or your mom will think you're having contractions."

"What?"

"Is that not the right phrase to use in a situation like this? I'm not sure right now. I've had a few glasses of wine. Okay, I've had a bottle. But that's not why I'm calling."