Clover From Sofia The First Novels & Stories

when a voice I recognized, unfortunately, cut through the air. “Oh. My. Gosh. Riley?” I froze, Claire did too. We both turned slowly, like characters in a horror movie to see Sofia strutting toward us with a smile that screamed fake, sugary, and steeped heavily in gossip. Perfect. Just what I needed on such a peaceful day. “Wow, look at you!” Sofia chirped, stopping directly in front of us. “It’s been forever.” She was being sarcastic, I could tell. “Not long enough,” Claire muttered under her breath.

Pierre's usual gentle demeanor vanished and his face darkened as he spoke in a harsh tone. "I—" Calla started to explain. Pierre didn't even bother to listen. He turned and walked straight into the master bedroom. As soon as he entered the room, Pierre saw Fiona holding Clover, pacing back and forth. Clover was crying so hard her face was beet red, covered in snot and tears. It was a heartbreaking sight. Seeing this, Pierre frowned and stepped forward to take Clover from Fiona. "Give me the child." "Mr. Garland, we are trying to wean Clover!" Fiona couldn't help but say.

(SOFIA QUISPE’S POINT OF VIEW) "Drop the saws, Zilo! Tell the mechanicals to stand down before you tear the lungs out of this mountain!" Sofia’s voice tore through the screeching of grinding metal and the groaning of ancient timber. She stood at the edge of the decimated grove, her boots caked in a mixture of black mud and shimmering violet sap. She was leaning heavily on Nomo, her face a mask of exhaustion, yet her eyes burned with a clarity that silenced the nearby soldiers.

Clover was quite confused seeing some man who seemed gentle sitting in his space. His eyes brows as he walked forward. He stopped right behind Dylan and clenched his fist on the top rail. Chloe's eyes were up, and she was looking directly at Clover, who was still standing behind Dylan, doing absolutely nothing. When Clover noticed Chloe wasn't saying a word, he walked towards her and shifted his gaze to Dylan's powerful looking face. "Hold on a second" Clover muttered slowly raising his index finger to Dylan. "Isn't he the man you…" His voice trailed off, and he crouched his head low towards a very nervous looking Chloe.

Clara shoved harder, lungs burning, hair plastered to her forehead. “Russo doesn’t own you!” she shouted. For a split second, Sofia faltered. Then she laughed, sharp and bitter. “He doesn’t have to. I own myself.” She stepped onto the boat. Clara dove. Her fingers snagged Sofia’s coat. The world lurched. Sofia whipped around, eyes blazing, and slammed a fist into Clara’s shoulder. Pain shot through her arm, but Clara clung tighter. They crashed against the boat’s railing, tangled, the flash drive clutched in Sofia’s hand.

After mentally bolstering herself, Sofia quickly gathered her courage and approached Snow, calling out, "Hello, Madam!" Initially displeased when seeing Sofia kiss Kiran, Snow was taken aback when addressed as Madam. She quickly turned to Kiran. Kiran shrugged, smiling, "Sofia is from the Carter family; she wishes to become my apprentice." "From the Carter family?" Snow's expression grew wary, seemingly questioning why Kiran would agree. Kiran simply smiled peacefully, "I’ve decided to accept her as my disciple." Seeing that Kiran was serious, Snow didn't probe further. Instead, she smiled, removed a bracelet from her wrist, and handed it to Sofia, saying, "Study well in the future."

In her head, Clover thinks her problem is solved now: he can walk on his own to leave and since she saved him, she thought he’ll be grateful enough and spare her life—if he truly was part of the mafia. On the other hand, Uno is confused. For his safety, she says? Was she mocking him? Was she going rogue from her gang? Is it a trap? His untrusting attitude remains very skeptical of her and misunderstands her every word. “Won’t your boss be pissed off if you let me go?” he questions. This time, Clover was confused. “I think it’s best that you two don’t meet. After last night, well… I don’t think he’d be glad to meet you,” she shrugs, not minding her words.

"She loved you." "That's the same thing." --- The summer is warm. Sofia starts kindergarten — real school, with a uniform and a backpack and a lunchbox shaped like a strawberry. She doesn't cry on the first day. Celeste does. "She's fine," I say. "I know." "Then why are you crying?" "Because she's growing." "That's the same thing." --- The letters continue.

Shayla As I pulled up to the house Michael had described, I was surprised to see a small girl kneeling on the roof of a wrap-around porch, nailing down some shingles without batting an eyelash as four massive men were attaching railings to the steps or three-foot-tall walls to the porch posts. I climbed out of my car and asked the girl, “Are you Sophia O’Shea?” The girl didn’t stop or look down at me as she replied, “That’s me.”