Sophie Foster's Diary [COMPLETE]

September 15, 2017

"Tomorrow," said the nasal voice of Mr. Sweeny, "we will go to the Natural History Museum in Balboa Park. For the whole day, we will see dinosaurs and memorize facts. It's fun, yes?" 

All  he got was a room full of groans. I was among them. 

But Mr. Sweeny gave his class an oily smile. "I knew you'd be excited. Better than a pop quiz, hm?" 

That shut us up. 

"Don't forget a lunch," he said before sweeping out of the class.

As his twelfth-grade packed up for the end of the day, I shoved my earbuds in. It would mute the loud thoughts swarming in my head. At least this time, they weren't centered on me. I would do anything to be a normal high school kid, not The Girl Who Skipped A Gazillion Grades. That's probably why I groaned, as I would actually prefer to have a pop quiz.

I shuffled out at the back of the class, so no one could push me like they did last week, on the first day. But of course, that Garwin Chang just had to insult me—again. "Hey, superfreak. Didn't think you'd want to miss a pop quiz," he sneered at me as he shoved me into the teacher's desk and strolled out. 

That hit home. He didn't know. He didn't know I could read minds. That I was not a normal person, not only because I had skipped several grades. As I rubbed the bruise on my hip, I frowned, aware that it was not the only thing that hurt.

I headed outside, for the public bus. My parent were still worried for me—"Sophie, you're only twelve!"—but they were soon calmed when Mr. Forkle had told them that he came home from a gardening class every day at about the same time. And, as planned, there he was. Sittin in the back row, right column, the window seat. As I stepped in, he waved me over. I sighed as I made my way to him. I would smell like feet before long. 

"Glad we're taking the bus," he told me as he attempted to make small-talk. I was still listening to my music, no matter how rude that was. It was years since he'd saved me from my allergic reaction, and even longer since he called 9-1-1 for me when I hit my head when I was five. He continued, "The smoke outside is so thick, you can barely see three feet ahead of you,"

I nodded unconsciously. 

"Sophie?" he asked a few minutes later. 

"Hmm?" I looked at him briefly.

"How are your headaches?" 

I groaned in my head. "They're fine," 

He glanced at me curiously. "You look pained."

That was true. A family with six children had just entered the bus, and the children's squeals and screams on the outside were nothing compared to their mental voices. I resisted the urge to cover my ears, although that never did anything to block the noise. Instead I turned up the volume on my iPod. 

"SOPHIE?" Mr. Forkle almost yelled, maybe because the children were now screeching, or because he'd seen me turn up my volume. 

"Yes?" 

"YOU DIDN'T ANSWER MY QUESTION."

"I'm fine," I insisted.

he looked at me dubiously. But before he could say anything else, I heard the driver announce our stop and I said a hurried goodbye and fled. 

Inside the house, I turned down the volume of my songs as not to damage my ears, then immediately turned it back up. Amy was screaming in the backyard. She had dropped her doll, Bun-Bun, out her window and it had fallen into a mud puddle outside. Now she was screaming at our dad to get it out, clean it, and give it back to her within five minutes.