SOPHIE
I spread twelve lined index cards across my bedroom rug until they look like an oversized game of solitaire.
"Card four is too polite," River announces from my desk chair. He is wearing his reading glasses down on his nose and holding a wooden backscratcher like a gavel. "You sound like you're thanking the school board for giving you permission to breathe oxygen. We are not thanking them. We are handing them their failures in bullet points."
"She has to sound reasonable, River," Avery says from the foot of my bed, clicking a yellow highlighter with rhythmic precision. "If she sounds too aggressive, the board tunes her out and labels her emotional. If she sounds too timid, they smile, nod, and bury the addendum in committee until graduation."
"Hence," River says, tapping the back
