Page 59 of Cackle

“I was kidding about the well. Well, sort of. I don’t want you to think I’m being insensitive.”

She puts her hand on my hand. When she pulls it back, there’s a ring on my index finger. Silver with a rough pink stone.

“Look,” she says. “Something shiny.”

“Sophie! It’s so pretty!” I hold it up to the light.

“You like pink, yes?”

“I like pink.”

“Thought so,” she says. “It doesn’t really suit me.”

“Every color suits you,” I say.

She basks in the compliment. I decide one of the things I like most about Sophie is how much she enjoys a compliment. I wouldn’t think someone so beautiful would feed on compliments the way she does. It makes me feel less pathetic for my need, to know that someone could be so completely self-possessed and still savor validation.

“This muffin tastes bad,” she says, pushing her plate away. “What in this world is more disappointing than a bad muffin?”

“A lot, Sophie. A lot of things.”

She sulks, dramatically slouching in her seat.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “It’s very, very disappointing. You want some of my donut?”

“No, that’s all right. I wanted all of this,” she says, tapping the box, “but I think I wanted for the sake of wanting.”

“So you are human.”

“Bleh,” she says, sticking out her tongue. “Don’t insult me.”

“Hey!” I say. “I’m human.”

She retracts her tongue and sits up. “Are you?”

“Last I checked.”

“Mm. Would you like to swim?”

“Yes! Yeah, that’ll be fun.”

“You can change upstairs in your room. I’ll meet you down here.”

“Are you going to swim?”

She shakes her head no.

“Why not?”

“I don’t care for it,” she says, sighing. “Not at all.”

“Okay. You know, we could always get you a blow-up raft. They make fun ones now. Shaped like swans. And unicorns!”

She cringes. “I hate unicorns.”

“What do you mean, you hate unicorns?”

“Another time,” she says. “You go change. I’ll make us lemonade and meet you on the steps.”