Sophie Foster's Diary [COMPLETE]

That night...

"So, Sophie," my father said, wrestling with Amy to get a piece of brocolli in her mouth. "I hear you for detention?"

"Oh," I said, picking at my meat loaf. "I did. It was... unprecedented."

My mother sighed happily. "Oh, what a big-kid word you said right there! Unprecedented!"

I sighed. "Mom, I learned the word 'supercalifragilisticexpialidocious' when I was two. 'Unprecedented' is no big deal,"

My mom stared at me. "Super what now?"

"Never mind." I picked at my food again.

"What's wrong, honey?" my father asked. "Did something happen at detention?"

"Oh!" my mother squealed, and my sister stared at her, puzzled. "She made a friend, I'm so proud!"

My father smiled encouragingly, clapping his hands, "That's great, Sophie!"

Then he added, "At detention?"

Then I proceeded to explain — again —  how Olivia was not a bad person and definitely not a boy.

My father sat back, pleased. "So what grade is she in? Two?"

"Six," I replied.

"Six!" My parents exclaimed at the same time.

"BUN-BUN EAT BROCOLIE!" Amy suddenly screamed in giddiness, and she had Bun-bun covered in mashed up brocolli.

My parents gasped, "Amy!"

I sighed, getting up from the table. I don't know why they want me to be in such a high grade. I hated it!

I probably shouldn't have said that I made a friend. Was Olivia even a friend?

I decided to go out on the porch for a little quiet time. I liked to read on my family's porch swing, and although it was winter I didn't mind.

Outside, I had just started reading a new chapter when a voice said, "Isn't it chilly out here?"

I groaned in my mind because it would be rude to do it aloud, much less to the man who may or may not have saved my life. But honestly, respecting him was getting hard.

"Hi," I said, looking up at him briefly.

"Sophie," he said, "are your headaches okay?"

I glanced at him. He was playing with his garden gnomes again. In the snow! Did that guy ever stop?

"I'm fine," I mumbled.

"That's good. Life is different now, isn't it?" He asked.

I started at him. What did he know?

Mr. Forkle smiled gently. "Well, Sophie," he said, "If you ever need help with your headaches, I'm here."

I gawked. There was no way I was visiting his house — it probably smelled like feet — and after all, how could he help?

"I know more than you can imagine," he winked at me before heading in his house.

A little more than surprised, I stared at the sunset, sure that I would never set foot in his house.

Ever.