“Have fun at school today, lamb chop,” her mother would say, straightening out Sophie’s blouse. And Sophie would wrinkle her cute button nose at her mother and tell her, “School is not for fun. It’s for learning.” But that Friday morning, instead of simply patting Sophie on the head and nodding, Sophie’s parents did something that surprised her. “Snickerdoodle,” Sophie’s father replied, “your mother and I have been thinking. Perhaps today you might try to make some friends.” Sophie tugged at the straps of her backpack. “No, thank you,” she said. “I don’t need friends.” “But, walnut,” Sophie’s mother said, taking hold of her hand as they crossed the street. “Don’t you even want one or two friends? All of the other children seem to have them.” “That’s true,” said Sophie’s father. Sophie scowled at her parents. She was not like other children. Sophie Simon was a genius. By the time Sophie Simon was two, she could recite the alphabet backwards and forwards.
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