Maddie in the Middle

by Julia Lawrinson

  I think about Samara. Things aren’t difficult with her. Samara makes me feel better about myself. Shouldn’t friends do that – make each other feel better, instead of uneasy and uncomfortable?

  Busy tonight, talk tomorrow, I message. It is only four words, but it is something. Then I shut down the tablet, in case Katy replies straightaway.

  I messaged, like Katy had asked. She’ll have nothing to be annoyed about.

  But in my secret heart I know that four words isn’t what Katy was asking for.

  ‘Oh, thank you,’ Samara says.

  We’d arranged to meet ten minutes before school started, near the senior school undercover area. I am there early, waiting, the containers resting on the wall. Katy is usually at school early, too: I am worried that she will come by and I’ll have to explain what I am doing. Which shouldn’t be a problem: I am helping Samara for a good cause, right? But Katy hadn’t responded to my talk tomorrow message straightaway, or at all. So I am relieved when Samara, Tom and Dayna arrive, exactly on time.

  I present Samara with the finished muffins. Samara opens the corner of a lid and inhales. ‘Mmm, delicious.’

  ‘Let me smell,’ Tom clamours.

  Samara passes the container to him, and then to Dayna.

  ‘Wow,’ says Tom.

  ‘Yum,’ says Dayna.

  ‘Can I have one?’ Tom asks.

  ‘We discussed this, didn’t we?’ Samara says, wagging her finger at him. Then she turns to me. ‘This is really good of you.’

  ‘No problem,’ I say. ‘Do you want me to sell some?’

  ‘No need,’ Samara says, handing the containers to Tom. ‘That’s Tom’s job.’

  ‘Can I have one if there’s any left over?’ Tom begs.

  ‘If you do your job, there won’t be any left over,’ Samara says. ‘Oh look, here’s Zac.’

  To my surprise, Zac is coming toward us with one of the boys he’d been with the day of the fight.

  ‘Hi,’ Zac says.

  ‘You are so sweet, helping us,’ Samara says.

  Zac turns his gaze from Samara to the ground. ‘S’okay,’ he says.

  Tom passes Zac one of the containers. Samara passes him an envelope with the word ‘Fundraising’ in neat black letters across the front.

  ‘Back here after school,’ Tom says. ‘Okay?’

  ‘Okay,’ Zac nods. He and the boy he is with slink off.

  ‘I’ll meet you back here, tomorrow,’ Samara says. ‘I’ll wash the containers, of course.’

  ‘Oh, that’s okay,’ I say.

  ‘It is the least I can do,’ Samara says.

  ‘Well, thanks,’ I say.

  At that moment, Katy enters the undercover area. She looks startled, then approaches us.

  ‘Hello,’ Katy says in a cautious voice, her eyes passing between Samara and me.

  ‘Hi Katy!’ Tom says. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Fine,’ Katy says. She nods at the container. ‘Muffins?’

  ‘Yes!’ says Tom. ‘We’re fundraising. For disadvantaged kids!’

  Katy raises her eyebrows. ‘Are you? That’s … that’s a good thing to do.’

  ‘Tom is very keen to help out,’ Samara says evenly.

  ‘Yeah!’ says Tom. ‘Do your best, help the rest!’

  Dayna smiles and repeats, ‘Do your best, help the rest!’

  Then they both shouted, ‘Put your spirit to the test!’

  They giggle. Katy delivers a tight smile.

  ‘I see why you were busy last night,’ Katy says to me.

  ‘Yes,’ I reply.

  ‘Right,’ Katy says. ‘Well, I’m going to class.’

  She walks quickly away.

  ‘Wait, I’ll come,’ I pick up my bag and follow Katy. ‘Bye,’ I call to Samara, Tom and Dayna.

  ‘Bye Maddie! Bye Katy!’ the younger children yell.

  Katy doesn’t say anything when I catch up with her. We hang up our bags, get out what we need, then stand at the door, facing each other.

  ‘You don’t approve?’ I ask.

  ‘I didn’t say that,’ Katy says.

  ‘It’s a good cause,’ I say. ‘Isn’t it?’

  ‘So it seems.’

  ‘You have your things,’ I say. ‘I can have mine, can’t I?’

  A bunch of boys barges past us into the class.

  ‘I thought we would be friends forever,’ Katy says. ‘The Rule of Two.’

  I stare. ‘But we are. I just made some muffins, that’s all.’

  Katy gives her head the slightest shake. ‘Is it?’ she says, and walks into class ahead of me, without looking back.

  At recess, Katy doesn’t come outside. Instead, she stays back, talking to Mrs L.

  At lunchtime, Katy sits with Erika, Lia and Bethany from the second year six class. Lia is a councillor too.

  I look around for Samara. Samara is waiting for Jordi, Elsa and Grace at the canteen queue. She sees me and waves, but doesn’t look back when all four girls head for the oval, followed by a few of the sporty boys from their class.

  ‘Do you want to sit with us?’ Brooke says, startling me. She is standing with Dan and Simone. The three of them are always together. Just like Katy and I used to be.

  ‘Sure,’ I say. I am grateful to have someone to sit with, someone to walk back to class with. I’ve never noticed how important those things are before.

  After lunch, we have our weekly creative writing topic drawn from the topic box.

  ‘Fruit,’ Mrs L reads out.

  ‘Oh,’ I say to Brooke. ‘That’s mine.’

  Brooke rolls her eyes and begins writing.

  In the quiet of the class, where the only sound is people tapping on keyboards or turning over their paper, I write:

  Once upon a time, there was a big bowl of fruit. For many years, there were only apples and oranges in the bowl. The apples were bright green and the oranges were bright orange.

  The apples and oranges were happy. They arranged themselves in a different way each week. One week they would be mixed up, green-orange-green-orange-green-orange. The next, the apples would go on one side of the bowl, the oranges on the other.

  One day, some pears turned up. Not only were they pale yellow, they weren’t round like the apples and oranges. They didn’t fit into the bowl as easily as the apples and oranges did. Either their stalks were stuck in the air, or else they were jammed against the other pieces of fruit.

  ‘You don’t belong here,’ said the oranges.

  ‘Yeah,’ said the apples.

  ‘But we’re fruit,’ said the pears. ‘You’re fruit. We’re all the same.’

  ‘No we’re not,’ yelled the oranges and apples.

  ‘That’s true,’ smiled the pears. ‘We’re much sweeter than either of you.’

  ‘We’re crunchier,’ said the apples.

  ‘We’re tangier,’ said the oranges.

  ‘Time’s up,’ Mrs L calls.

  There is a collective sigh. I shake out my aching hand. People giggle as they discuss what they’ve written with their neighbours.

  ‘Right,’ Mrs L calls over the ruckus. ‘Who would like to read?’

  ‘Maddie,’ calls out Brooke. ‘It was her topic.’

  People start good-naturedly teasing me about my topic, the way they do every week for whoever’s topic is picked.

  I stand up and read my piece. The class applauds.

  ‘It’s not finished,’ I say.

  ‘How is it going to end?’ Mrs L asks.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ I say. ‘Maybe the oranges and apples keep being mad? Maybe they ask a human to see which tastes best? Or maybe they end up as a fruit salad, all the same size?’

  ‘Don’t kill the fruit!’ yells Henry, the class clown.

  Everyone laughs.

  ‘Keep working on it,’ Mrs L says. ‘Anyone else want to share their piece?’

  ‘I will,’ Katy says, standing up. ‘It’s very short.’

  ‘Go ahead,’ says Mrs L.

 
Katy takes a breath, and reads:

  Some people think tomatoes are vegetables

  They’re not

  Some people think strawberries are fruit

  They’re not

  Sometimes the things you think are true

  Are not

  Like friendships

  Lasting forever

  ‘Free verse,’ Mrs L nods. ‘Will you work some more on it, or is it finished?’

  Katy rests her eyes briefly on me.

  ‘I’m really not sure yet,’ she says.

  I look down at my notebook: the lines blur and clear with each blink of my smarting eyes. What is Katy talking about, friendships not lasting forever? I haven’t stopped being friends with her. Sure, I’m friends with Samara, now, but it’s different. Why isn’t that obvious to Katy, seeing as she’s so smart? Anyway, why can’t I be friends with two people at the same time?

  But still, I feel bad. I feel bad that Katy feels bad. And I feel bad that it is true, I do want to be better friends with Samara than I am. But still. Feeling like that isn’t something I can change, any more than Katy can change wanting to get her music scholarship.

  When I get home, I turn on my tablet and see a one-line message from Katy.

  It’s nothing to do with pears.

  I frown at the message and type back:

  What’s nothing to do with pears?

  But Katy doesn’t answer.

  The next day, I guess Katy won’t sit with me again, and I am right. She sits with Lia and the others at recess, and again at lunchtime. Every time I look over at her, from where I am sitting with Brooke, Katy is deep in conversation, smiling and nodding at what they say. I know those girls talk about the books they read and fascinating things about science – we’ve sat near them plenty of times, and sometimes they ask Katy what she thinks about particular things. Even though I love reading, and I like science, I don’t know how to talk about the characters in novels the way they do or remember interesting facts about how many bacteria live in your stomach, or how much you would weigh on the moon. Katy does, though: maybe that’s why she wants to be with them. They are all much more interesting than me.

  At lunchtime Brooke has a special art class. She asks me to come, but I say I will be fine. I sit on the edge of the canteen, watching everyone else laughing, joking, talking to their friends. I take out my book and begin to read, trying to ignore the happy sounds. I look up from time to time to see if Katy is looking at me from the other side, but after they have finished their lunch, they all walk off toward the library.

  At the end of lunch, I see Samara walk back to the undercover area with Jordi, Elsa and Grace. I think miserably that Samara won’t notice me either, but at that moment, Samara looks over, puts her hand on Jordi’s arm and says something, then walks casually over to me.

  ‘I put your containers near your bag,’ she says.

  ‘Oh, thanks,’ I say.

  ‘Do you think,’ Samara says, ‘your dad could make some more? For tomorrow?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘I’ll ask.’

  ‘It would be great if he could,’ Samara smiles.

  ‘Or I could make them. I know how to, now.’

  ‘Could you?’ Samara says. ‘I bet they’d be just as good.’

  ‘Okay,’ I say.

  Samara pauses for a moment. ‘Do you want to come and hang out with us, tomorrow?’

  I feel a flush of happiness in my chest. ‘Would – does – will Jordi mind?’

  Samara doesn’t reply. ‘I’ll meet you in the morning, with the muffins? Same as yesterday?’

  ‘Sure,’ I smile. ‘That would be great.’

  Dad isn’t pleased about making muffins for the second time in a week.

  ‘Once or twice is fine,’ he says, putting the tray in the oven. ‘After that, no.’

  ‘But I’m helping,’ I say, stirring the frosting.

  ‘Even if you are helping, twice is enough,’ he says. ‘Other people can make muffins, you know.’

  ‘But it’s because they’re so good,’ I say.

  ‘They’re so good because the ingredients are expensive and they take time to make,’ he answers in a firm voice.

  ‘And because you are a genius of the humble muffin,’ I say, repeating something he had once said.

  ‘Well, that too, of course,’ he says. He waves a spatula at me. ‘But still, no more for a while, all right?’

  ‘What if I make them?’ I ask. ‘I’ll buy the ingredients with my pocket money.’

  I guess that this will not be the last time Samara will ask me.

  ‘No, Maddie.’

  ‘Please?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Pretty please?’ I deliver what I hope is my most charming smile. I know Dad tries extra hard, because of Mum not being around anymore, and I try not to take advantage of it. But I need this, for Samara.

  ‘Absolutely not.’ Then he adds, ‘At least, not on a regular basis.’

  I kiss Dad on the cheek. ‘You’re the best, Dad!’

  ‘You’re dripping frosting on the bench,’ he says gruffly.

  I settle back to my stirring. Now I’ve sorted out the muffin issue, I let myself think happily about Samara inviting me to hang out with Jordi, Elsa and Grace. I was happy with the invitation. What I don’t know is how I’ll feel, being around those girls. They have never been mean to me, or unpleasant, or rude. They don’t give any signs that they dislike me, or that they like me, for that matter. But they make me feel uncomfortable.

  Oh well, I think. I’m being the best me I can be. Maybe now I will feel a bit less awkward around them. Maybe now, things will be different.

  And then I have a prickling feeling: how will Katy feel, seeing me with those girls?

  I only have to wait until tomorrow to find out.

  When Samara sees the muffin containers, she says to Tom, ‘See? I told you she would.’

  Tom shrugs. ‘You were right, as always.’ Then he nods at me and says solemnly, ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I want one,’ Dayna moans. ‘I’m hungry.’

  ‘Sh,’ Samara says. She nods for me to pass the containers to Tom.

  ‘I can’t make any more though,’ I blurt.

  The look of disappointment on Samara’s face makes me feel panicky. Tom and Dayna’s eyes widen.

  ‘Why not?’ asks Tom. ‘Everybody loves them. I’m charging even more today.’

  ‘I know, they’re really good,’ I explain. ‘But even if I save up all my pocket money and make them myself, my dad doesn’t think we should be doing it all the time.’

  ‘What about once a week?’ asks Tom. ‘More demand, higher price,’ he says, looking to Samara for approval. But Samara only looks steadily at me.

  ‘Maybe,’ I say.

  Tom elbows Samara. ‘We can do other things,’ he says. ‘You know we can.’

  ‘Sh,’ Samara says, more harshly this time. She turns to me and says in an even voice, ‘Maddie, we don’t want you to think we’re not grateful, because we are. We’ll think of something, it’s fine.’

  I press my lips together for a moment.

  ‘I know,’ I say. ‘We could use the money you raise today, then we could buy more ingredients, then we could come and cook them at your house. How’s that?’

  I am pleased with myself for coming up with such a perfect solution. Dad will never know; Samara will get her muffins. But Samara shakes her head.

  ‘I’m afraid we can’t do that,’ she says, but doesn’t explain why not. ‘But Tom’s right. We will think of something.’

  ‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Well, if I can do anything to help, I will.’

  Samara and Tom brighten. Only Dayna continues to look miserable.

  ‘Do you mean it?’ Samara says.

  ‘Of course I do,’ I say. ‘That’s what friends are for.’

  Samara leans forward and gives me a quick hug.

  ‘Thank you,’ Samara says. ‘I’ll see you at recess.’

  It is strange,
standing with Jordi, Elsa and Grace at recess.

  Samara must have told them I’d be joining them, because none of them show the slightest surprise at my appearance. When I approach and stand awkwardly between Samara and Elsa, all they say is ‘hey’, and continue with their conversation. Only Samara smiles.

  When I’d wondered about what girls in that group talked about, I thought about it the way you contemplated what it would be like to be allowed into a chocolate factory, or to be famous, or to fly. It wasn’t something you seriously imagined happening. It was more like a daydreamy ‘what-if’ wondering.

  It feels different being with them to the daydream, that is for sure. The other kids all seem to glance at us when we come into the undercover area. Sporty boys who probably don’t know my name come and say hi, or call out as we go by. Of course, I know they aren’t saying hi to me specifically, but I get a warm feeling when they say it. A bunch of year four girls come up to Grace and tell her a joke, and elbow each other when she laughs.

  ‘See,’ one of them says. ‘She thought it was funny.’

  Even the duty teacher stops and says, ‘All in order, girls?’

  ‘Yes, Miss,’ Jordi says. ‘Always.’

  ‘That’s what I like to hear,’ the teacher says, then points at a boy who has dropped a crumpled paper bag. ‘You! Pick that up! Now!’

  I listen to the girls’ conversation. They seem to be talking about people I don’t know. I think I should try to say something, but every time I prepare something that fits, they move on to something else.

  ‘And what about her puppy, did you see that? So cute.’

  ‘Until it chewed her ballet shoes – the ones that cost like a hundred dollars or something,’ Elsa says.

  ‘But it was worth it for that post,’ Jordi says. ‘And oh my god, her brother’s one was so funny.’

  ‘He got in so much trouble, but it was so good.’

  ‘And did you hear about Iggy?’

  They talk on and on. They don’t include me. It is like I am eavesdropping, even though I am standing there with them. I try to keep track of what they are talking about for a while, then give up. Samara doesn’t say much, I notice, so I stop feeling worried about not saying anything. I hope I look relaxed, like Samara does, instead of nervous and weird, the way I feel.

  At one point, I look around, tired of trying to follow what the girls are talking about. I see Katy in the group with Lia. She is leaning in and talking, moving her hands as she speaks, as if she is explaining something. I have a pang of missing Katy. I never felt uncomfortable with Katy, not when we were friends. Katy always had an interesting story about something she’d read or heard, and she could make a story about the simplest things hilarious. Well, I always thought they were hilarious. Katy would start laughing and then I’d start laughing and we’d laugh even after we’d forgotten what was funny. And nothing needed to be funny for us to laugh.