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So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen.
For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.
---2 Corinthians 4:18
First we'll go to the cheerleaders' booth,' said Sophie LaCroix's best friend,
Fiona Bunting. The breeze loosened a strand of her golden-brown hair,
and she tucked it behind her ear. 'They've got corn dogs. And then we'll
hit the Film Club---they're selling flan over there. And then we can stop
off at the Round Table booth for kabobs---'
Sophie squinted at Fiona from behind her glasses while Fiona sucked
in a breath. She hadn't taken one for a while.
'We're supposed to be filming the
booths.' Sophie nodded at the video
camera in their friend Darbie O'Grady's
hand. 'Not pigging out at them.'
Fiona grabbed a handful of candy
corn from the chorus booth. 'Who
says we can't film and eat at the same
time?'
Darbie O'Grady grinned, dark eyes dancing beneath her fringe of
reddish bangs. 'You're foostering about,' she said. Although Darbie
had lived in the United States long enough for her Irish accent to
fade some, she still used her Northern Ireland expressions. So did
Sophie.
'I guess I don't blame you for foostering,' Sophie said.
'Documentaries are boring.'
'It's all about facts,' Fiona said, her mouth stuffed.
'Facts aren't very creative.' Sophie pushed her glasses upward
on her nose. 'I wish we were working on a real movie again.'
'Uh-oh,' Darbie said to Fiona. 'She's got that look in her eye.'
'You know it,' Fiona said. Her own gray eyes were shining.
Sophie didn't need to see her own brown ones to know what
'look' they meant. She could feel it from the inside: that dreamy
thing that happened when her mind started to wrap itself around
a new character. If she still had her long hair, she would this very
minute pull a strand of it under her nose like a mustache. That
always helped her sort her thoughts. But it was impossible now that
her hair was two inches high in fuzziness---although it was long
compared to two months ago when she'd first shaved it off.
Sophie ran her hand over her fuzzy head. Closing her eyes, she saw
herself as the tall, statuesque (that was one of Fiona's many impressive
words) Liberty Lawhead, swinging her briefcase as she marched briskly
up the courthouse steps, heels clicking on the marble---
'Hel-lo-o, So-o-phie.' Darbie tugged playfully at Sophie's earlobe.
'Miss Imes will eat the heads off us if we don't get this film done for
Film Club.'
'Then we'll tell her how we really want to do movies,' Fiona
said. 'Corn Flakes Production--style.'
Sophie nodded as she followed Fiona and Darbie and the smell
of corn dogs across the field to the cheerleaders' booth. There
Willoughby Wiley was practically doing a handspring waiting for
them. 'The Corn Flakes' was what the four of them, plus Maggie
LaQuita and Kitty Munford, had called themselves ever since the
Corn Pops, the popular girls in sixth grade last year, had told them
they were 'flakes.'
That means we aren't afraid to be just who we are, the Corn
Flakes had decided. So it only made sense that the movies they
created from their amazingly intense daydreams were called Corn
Flakes Productions.
But making a documentary about Great Marsh Middle School's
Fall Festival for the new Film Club wasn't anything like making
their own 'flicks,' as Darbie called them. Sophie sighed as she
caught up to Darbie, who was already setting up the shot, and
Fiona, who was already munching on a corn dog.
Willoughby's short mane of wavy, almost-dark hair trembled
as she let out a shriek that always sounded to Sophie like a poodle
yipping.
'Where have ya'll been?' Willoughby said. 'I've been waiting all
day!' She waved her arms in what Sophie figured was a new cheerleading
routine. She'd been to enough Corn Flake sleepovers to know
Willoughby did cheers in her sleep.
'Be still, Willoughby,' Darbie said. 'Sophie has to interview you.'
As Darbie started filming, Willoughby snatched up a corn dog in
each hand and shook them like pom-poms. Two other cheerleaders
posed beside her.
'What's the cheerleading booth up to?' Sophie said.
'We're selling corn dogs!' they all shouted together.
'Why?' Sophie said.
'Because they're good!' Willoughby said.
'No, eejit,' Darbie said---using her Irish word for 'idiot.'
'What are you going to use the money for?'
It's a good thing Mr. Stires has editing equipment back at school,
Sophie thought. 'To go to cheerleading camp this summer!' they
all screamed.
'Thanks, girls,' Fiona said, voice dry. 'We'll call you if we can
use you.'
'Okay!' the squad cried out.
Willoughby's going to be great in our Liberty Lawhead film,
Sophie thought. She can lead the crowds of protesters in yelling . . .
while the majestic Liberty Lawhead goes into battle for people
whose rights are being tromped on. That was what made her a
civil rights leader---
'Beam yourself back down, Soph,' Fiona said. 'Let's hit the
Film Club booth before all Senora's flan is gone.'
Sophie pulled herself out of the 1960s, where she'd spent a
lot of dream-time ever since they'd started studying the Civil
Rights Movement in English/history block. When she got to the
booth, Fiona was drooling over Senora LaQuita's shiny squares
of sweet flan.
'I save you some, Fiona,' the senora said. Maggie's mom was from
Cuba, and Sophie loved her special way of speaking English.
Fiona pulled the plastic spoon out between her lips and closed her
eyes. 'It is muy bueno,' she said.
'That means 'very good,'' Maggie informed them. Maggie's words
always fell like thuds, as if each one were a fact you couldn't argue
with. With her steady dark eyes and solid squareness, the Corn Flakes
usually didn't argue with her.
Right now Maggie nodded toward the camera, her black bob
splashing against her cheeks. 'Are you going to interview me?' she
said. 'I wish Kitty was here. She's better at this than me.'
Kitty was the sixth Corn Flake, and Maggie's best friend. She
had leukemia and was in the hospital in another town getting
more chemotherapy, which, among other hard things, made her hair
fall out. Sophie had shaved her head at the beginning of middle
school so Kitty wouldn't be the only bald girl.
'I'm rolling,' Darbie said.
'Tell us what the Film Club's up to here at the festival, Mags,'
Sophie said.
Maggie looked stiffly into the camera. 'We're selling flan.'
'What's flan?' Sophie said.
'It's like pudding.'
There was a long pause. Fiona poked Sophie in the side.
'Have you sold a lot to make money for Film Club supplies?'
Sophie said.
'We did,' Maggie frowned, 'until Colton Messik told everybody
it was phlegm, not flan.'
'What's 'phlegm'?' Sophie whispered to Fiona.