Sam and I looked at each other. Sam shrugged. "We could try knocking on all of them."
"Let's check the third floor first," I decided, hopping back into the elevator.
We did a repeat of the ride and entered the third floor courtyard, which was almost identical to the second. Three doors were unadorned. One held a handmade wooden sign hanging from the knob that said welcome. And a fifth one had a sparkly pink wreath on the door that could only be described as "totally cute."
Bingo.
Sam smirked beside me. "Ten bucks says I know where Sophia lives."
"You wouldn't rob your best friend that way," I told her, approaching the pink-adorned door. I knocked sharply, hoping she was home.
Luckily, footsteps on the other side indicated she was, and a moment later the door opened and Sophia stood there in a slightly faded, black Juicy Couture tracksuit. Her long blonde hair was pulled back into a low ponytail and a pair of oversized black sunglasses sat on her face. Despite the shades, I could see that the flawless skin, symmetrical features, and high cheekbones were the same as the ones we'd seen online.
"Can I help you?" she asked in a voice that was soft, sweet, and belonged in a Disney movie.
"Um, hi Sophia. I'm Hartley Featherstone from the Herbert Hoover High Homepage, and I was hoping we could talk to you for a few minutes." The words rushed from my mouth without a breath.
She frowned and her eyebrows disappeared beneath the top rim of her glasses. "What is the Hoover Homepage?"
"Uh, it's a newspaper." I hesitated to say school paper, thinking she might not take me seriously enough. "I'm writing an article about Gamer Con."
"We were there yesterday when Connor Simon…" Sam trailed off, seemingly not able to come up with a polite way of describing the scene.
Sophia choked back a soft sob, and I realized the sunglasses were probably not to shield her eyes from the glare inside her condo but to hide tears.
"We're so sorry for your loss," I told her, feeling suddenly extremely intrusive. "You were seeing him, right?"
She nodded. "Yeah," she said with a sniffle. "So, you're, like, with the media or something?"
"Right," I said, feeling like I was fudging the truth a little. Okay, yes, I was with the media. But I could tell by the way Sophia said the word that she was thinking of the Mercury News or the perky Diane Dancy from Channel Two.
I shot a glance Sam's way, but if my friend had any bones about lying to the beautiful woman in front of us, she didn't show it. She was craning her neck to get a look past Sophia into the apartment.
"Uh, do you think you're up to talking to us about Connor?" I asked.
She shrugged and did another loud sniffle. "I guess. Come on in."
She stepped aside, and we walked into a small foyer that led to a tidy living room to our right. The walls, carpet, and most of the furniture was all done in bright modern white that instantly made me worried I'd stain something. Clearly Sophia had no children. Or pets. Or love of fruit punch. A white stone coffee table sat in front of a plush white sofa with lots of fluffy furry pillows on it. The only pops of color in the room were a vase of pink daisies on the fireplace mantel and a pink and white zebra striped rug.
I glanced at the table as Sophia led the way into the room, and I spotted a brochure from the San Jose Community Arts Center.
Sophia must've noticed my gaze because she sat on the corner of a sofa and said, "I'm taking an acting class there."
"That sounds fun," I told her as Sam and I sat in a pair of white club chairs opposite the sofa. I almost hesitated, not sure what my jeans might have picked up riding a city bus on the way there. But it felt more awkward to stand, so I carefully moved aside a couple furry pillows and perched on the edge of a chair.
"I suppose some people act for fun, but this is for work," Sofia said, her soft, sweet voice taking on an edge. "I model, you know?"
Sam nodded. "We saw your Instagram," she confessed. "You have a lot of followers."
Sophia shrugged, but I could see a small smile of pride on her face. "I could have more. Anyway, my agent said the attention I was getting as Athena could open up some opportunities for me."
"So you were the model for Connor's game?" I asked, having had the same thought myself.
She nodded. "I was Connor's muse." She bit her lip and shook her head, as if suddenly remembering he was gone.
"Had you two been together long?" Sam asked, her voice laced with sympathy.
Sophia nodded. "Three years. We met when I was still in high school. He came to do a talk at an assembly about young people in business." She shook her head. "He was such a geek then."
I thought of the pictures I'd seen online of Simon. He'd seemed pretty cool to me, but maybe my standards were different than a model's.
"Anyway," she said, continuing, "I didn't start seeing Connor right away. I was a cheerleader back then." She gave me a knowing look like I should understand exactly what that meant.
Sadly, I did not. "So, cheer kept you too busy to date…?" I guessed.
She laughed, picking at her manicure. "Well, yeah, I guess. But I mean, Connor wasn't my type, you know? I mean, I usually dated guys who were, like, ripped. Into sports, you know, more like manly types?"
Sam nodded. "I feel ya. My boyfriend plays rugby."
"Right?" Sophia said. "So, like, yeah. I turned Connor down when he asked me out the first time. But, you know, he was cute. And persistent."
Not to mention owned his own successful business. I wondered what his net worth had been back then. Clearly more than a high school cheerleader. The cynic in me wondered if Sophia finally going out with Connor had been less about him wearing her down and more about her realizing he could be a millionaire before thirty.
"Things were good between you, then?" I asked.
"Of course," she said quickly. "Why wouldn't they be?"
"No reason," Sam covered for me. "I mean, it just must have been hard with both of your busy schedules. I imagine modeling takes up a lot of your time."
I shot her a thankful look. Nice save, Sam.
"It does," Sophia agreed, her expression softening again. "But we made the time for each other." She took in a deep, shuddering breath, the grief of losing him seeming to come in waves.
I was about to ask more about their relationship, but before I could, Sophia jumped suddenly to her feet, causing me to flinch. "Can I get you something to drink? Or eat? Some friends have already stopped by with food. I thought that was something only old people did—bring food when someone has passed away. Anyway, there's a ton, and I don't know what to do with it, and well…" She wrung her hands, and it appeared that her emotions were getting the best of her.
"I could use a bite," Sam piped up. She gave me a shrug, and I couldn't tell if she was truly hungry or wanted to appease our hostess.
Sophia looked relieved, as if grateful to be doing something. Or maybe she was trying to prolong the company. No one wanted to sit in their misery alone. "Come into the kitchen," she said, leading the way.
The kitchen was small but tricked out in lots of granite and stainless steel. A large peninsula jutted into the center, and four wooden stools sat around it. Sam and I sat on ones facing the shiny, new-looking appliances that I doubted got much use. Sophia opened her fridge and placed a tray of ready-made turkey and ham sandwiches, a quart of potato salad, a fruit basket, and a tin of brownies down in front of us. After grabbing some plates, utensils, and three bottles of sparkling water, she sat down on the other side of the counter, across from us.