Watch Out, Hollywood!: More Confessions of a So-called Middle Child

by Maria T. Lennon

  “Exactly.” Erica gives him a high five.

  “They call her the scorpion,” he whispers so loudly they can hear him down the hall.

  “If it wasn’t for Lillian”— they point to her—“she’d still just be Marta the Farta.”

  TRUE FACT: I’m officially the worst human being here.

  “Quiet.” Mr. L’s face goes red. He is pissed. “Leave Charlie alone.”

  “Leave her alone?” The third row laughs. “Not a problem.”

  “Oh, she’s gonna be alone, all right!”

  I look at Bobby, willing him to say something. To tell them to shut up. To tell them to get off my back. One word from him and they’d stop. But Bobby just pulls his hood over his head. I guess some things are just too hard to go against.

  I hear Babs’s voice in the background. “She’s kinda like the ugly dog at the pound no one wants, right?”

  I feel my entire body shrink. Then I freeze. I feel doomed. Jai’s words no longer help. Calling Dr. Scales! Calling Dr. Scales! The ship—my ship, me—we’re all sinking. And just when I think I can’t move because of the humiliation, I hear Bobby’s voice echoing through my brain.

  “Says the girl who’d jump off a cliff if Lillian told her to. Who are you to talk? Who are any of you to talk?”

  The room fills with a heavy quiet, like the one you feel inside when you know you’re wrong. I look at Bobby’s beautiful profile. He looks back at me and winks. The hood goes back up.

  He’s on my side still.

  Pickler Calling

  At lunchtime, I’m summoned to Pickler’s office—which, for once, is a good thing. See, Mr. L locked up his classroom today because he had to leave, so I had no place to eat lunch but the bathroom. Yeah, that’s right, the bathroom.

  The door’s open. “Come in.” He points to the chair. He has a big drop of yogurt on his upper lip. “So.” He leans back in his chair, stretches his arms over his head, totally not aware of the mess on his face. “You have any news for me?”

  “Nope.”

  He cocks his head to the side. “Nothing about Marta Urloff dropping out of the team, pulling out of the JOs because she has to act in some dead-end TV show?”

  “You heard.”

  Pickler hits the desk so hard, he hurts his hand. “She’s got it in her head that she can train on set and become so rich and famous that they’ll beg her to go to the Olympics.” Pickler blinks like he’s going crazy. “Is she nuts? Has someone taken hold of her brain?”

  Yes. Lillian. Lillian has taken hold of her brain. The conversation loops in my head, but this time I see what she’s doing.

  TRUE FACT: Lillian is way smarter than I am.

  Lillian: “What if I was to tell you that you’d pull out of the JOs all by yourself?”

  Marta: “I’d tell you that you’re insane.”

  I look at Pickler. “Lillian. Lillian’s behind it.”

  “Lillian?”

  “Lillian told Marta she’d pull out of the JOs all by herself. Marta never believed her, of course. Who would? I mean, Marta wanted the JOs more than anything in the world.”

  “And you”—he glares—“got me to pay for them. Now I’m out three grand.”

  “But here she is pulling out of the JOs all by herself. Lillian did it. She wants to be captain.”

  “Well, Marta’s a fool.” Pickler picks up the phone. “She’s out. Lillian’s in.” He shoos me out of his office. “I’m done with her.”

  But I can’t be. “Let me try one more time, please.”

  Pickler puts the phone down. “I need an answer by the end of today.”

  I walk across the upper yard. It feels like a hostile place now. I know where to find her—at the cool table, next to Lillian and Erica, the two girls whose entire reason for being is to make Marta fail. Talk about dream stealers. When they see me coming, they all stop talking. They turn and stare. The scorpion jokes start coming, but by now they’ve lost their sting.

  “Marta?” I call her name. “Can I have a word, please?”

  She doesn’t even turn around.

  There is no noise except my heart pounding. “In private, please.”

  Marta stuffs her lunch back into the brown bag. It’s the exact same lunch she’s always eaten, which makes me think that her aunt isn’t even making lunch for her. A criminal offense, in the Book of Charlie.

  “Get lost.” Erica shoos me away like a dirty fly.

  Lillian pops blueberries into her mouth. She’s taunting me.

  “Marta, who told you about the audition?”

  “My friends.” Lillian and Erica throw her high fives.

  “You ever ask yourself why all of a sudden they’re such good friends?”

  “Please, not this again.” Lillian stands up. But I’m not afraid of Lillian. What else can she do to me that she hasn’t already done? I’m an untouchable, remember?

  Erica comes at me. Now, Erica . . . Erica I’m afraid of. I start backing away. But then, out of the blue I hear my favorite voice of all.

  “Erica, back off.” Bobby comes walking over.

  I wait until he’s close enough to pull her off in case she lunges at me.

  “What have they wanted all along?” I try to get closer so Marta sees just how sure of this I am. Lillian looks like she’s gonna stab me with her plastic fork. I continue, my voice even stronger than before. “They wanted you off the team. And now you’re off the team.” For the first time, she turns around.

  “It’s temporary. And I chose it,” Marta replies. “So technically they didn’t get anything they wanted.”

  I try again. “Remember when she said that you’d pull out of the JOs on your own?”

  Marta’s eyes narrow. She’s thinking back. “Yeah.” She nods. “That was weird, right?”

  “No, what’s weird is—she was right. She called it.” I am sweating hard and my mouth is as dry as a dead man’s, but this is it, one last try. “You’re out of the JOs. You, Marta, pulled out on your own. Don’t you get it?”

  “Go away. Just go.” Lillian glances over at Marta, and for the first time, Marta looks confused. I can see it in her eyes. Doubt. Yes, Marta! Yes! She’s getting it.

  “Don’t you see this was her plan all along? Lillian’s captain now—Pickler just told me.” There’s a flash in her eyes when she hears the news. I think I may be getting through to her. But then, dang it, the bell rings, and Lillian snaps up Marta’s arm and whispers in her ear. I keep at it. “Just tell Pickler today that you’re still on the team and you’re going, all right? That’s all I want.”

  They huddle together, Lillian and Erica whispering into both of her ears until they’ve filled them up with their lies. And then, to make matters worse, I hear someone sing Katy Perry. Katy Perry makes me want to punch walls.

  The three of them get up and start walking toward class. I’m left standing in the rapidly deserted upper yard watching Marta walk away. I catch Bobby just before he starts up the stairs. “Bobby!”

  “Your girlfriend’s calling,” Skip teases.

  “Give it a rest, Skip.” Bobby shoves his hands into his pockets, pulls up his hood, and drops his head. “What’s up, Cooper?”

  I take his wrists and pull him away from his idiot friends. We reach the bottom of the stairs, and I whisper in his ear, “We have to get her off that show.”

  Bobby rolls his eyes. “Enough, Coop. Maybe they’re right and you’re wrong—ever thought of that?” The bell rings and Bobby goes running off to class.

  Yeah, I thought about it. But I know better.

  Can I Really Be That Wrong?

  “I must be missing something,” I say to Pen after school. “They keep saying these JOs don’t matter, but I’ve never seen Lillian, Erica, and Lola practice so hard in my life. That’s all they do.” I take a deep breath and pull my hair up into a bun. “But not when Marta’s around. When she’s at school, they don’t go near the gym.” I toss a ball at the wall.

  “You think they’re pl
aying her?” Pen asks.

  “Yeah.” From the bottom of my heart. They’re scheming.

  “But wouldn’t she know everything about gymnastics?” Pen points out. “It’s her life.”

  “I’ve thought about that long and hard. Marta’s basically computer illiterate. She isn’t up on schedules or the fine details, the rules and regulations of that world. And her mother never trained in the US.”

  She points to my laptop. “You know what to do.”

  Up until now, I’ve avoided it because the world of gymnastics is convoluted and creepy. But this afternoon, I put a big cheese pizza in the oven for me alone and I go online to understand what Lillian and Erica were up to. It takes some time to navigate my way through the craziness of it all. But three hours later I crack it. “Bingo!” I feel weak in the knees, both sickened and thrilled at the same time. “So I’m not the meanest girl in the world after all,” I mumble as I read.

  Mom turns away from the stove. “What did you just say?”

  My eyes linger on the lines. “They’re not just shutting her out of the team. They’re ruining her life.”

  Mom gives me a blank stare. “Go on.”

  I read it aloud. “‘The JO meet this weekend is unique because it’s the last one of the season, and it’s a level-ten qualifying meet.’”

  “Translation please.” Mom’s suddenly serious.

  I hit my head against the table but I am smiling. “If she doesn’t go and qualify, she’ll miss the cut-off for the next Olympics, which means that instead of going in at sixteen, she has to go in at twenty. It’s a career ender.”

  TRUE FACT: Jai wasn’t kidding when he was talking about the ripples in the pond.

  Mom looks shocked. “And they know this?”

  “I’d bet my life on it.”

  Mom goes back to kneading the dough. “You have to tell her.”

  I could say the house was on fire and she’d accuse me of saying it to steal back the part. “She’ll never listen to me.”

  “She might listen to this.” Mom points to the screen. “If she doesn’t, then you’ve done all you can.”

  But no, I haven’t, I scream inside. Because it’s my fault. All of it. And if she loses out on the Olympics, it’s because of me, not them.

  I walk outside, kick some rocks. Then I go down to the fence and look over. Across the way, the green meadow with boulders and grass is calling my name. If only Bobby was there, throwing bottles against the rocks. I could definitely use some good bottle throwing about now.

  The Stalking of Marta the Farta

  The next day after school, I wait for her in the parking lot. Friday is the only day she takes the bus home. At 3:15, she walks past me.

  “Marta!” I call after her. She keeps walking like I don’t exist. I run after her and finally catch up. “I have to talk to you.”

  Her hair is so straight, it looks like a doll’s. She’s wearing a short leather jacket and boots. Rhinestones on both, of course. She stops abruptly, halfway down the road. “Oh, so now you want to be my friend?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Please.” She puts both her hands on her hips. “Everyone wants to be my friend now. And when the show airs, I will have so many ‘friends’ asking me for stuff, I won’t have any more stuff.”

  This is what fame does to you, people.

  She starts walking again.

  “Hey!” I scream. “I’m just gonna say one last thing, and then you’ll never hear from me again.”

  She stops. Turns. “I’m all ears.”

  “You know the JOs you’re missing this weekend happen to be the last of the level-ten nationals? Do you know what that means?” I pause, waiting for the word last to sink into her brain. But there’s no sign of it. “Marta, don’t you get it? If you miss this, you miss qualifying.”

  “You’re lying. It’s not the last.”

  I laugh. “Yes it is. And it’s not me who’s been lying to you. It’s them. They’ve been tricking you all along.”

  “So what if it is the last, who cares? Chad will work his magic, break the rules, and get me in,” she yells back at me like my words are pebbles being tossed at a window. They’re not getting in.

  “You,” I repeat loudly. “You care, Marta.” I implore, “You miss this, and you’ll miss out on the Olympics in four years. You’ll have to wait until you’re twenty, Marta! Twenty! You’ll be old. Done.” For a second, Marta’s face changes, like there’s doubt. So I go in for the kill. “Your mother’s dream, Marta. Gone.”

  A wicked grin like a mask appears. “TV, Charlie, that’s the new dream. My mom had a medal, but she ended up working in a bagel shop—you said it yourself.”

  Dang it, I did.

  “I’m living her dream, right now.” She tosses her head back. “On set I train with the best coach money can buy. If I want to go to the JOs, I’ll go. They can fix it. Everything can be fixed when you’ve got a hit show. Chad tells me every day. Hah!” she says like a crazy lady. “Gone are the days when I have to beg. Gone are the days when I have to plead. Now I have a driver, Charlie.” Her eyes are huge. “Do you realize that? My own driver. I have more money than I can balance in my checkbook. I never, ever have to ask anyone for anything again. Including you. Oh, by the way, Chad got me a work permit in an hour. I didn’t even have to go down there. And . . .” She glares at me. “We’re moving to Beverly Hills. So take that and suck on it.”

  Well, this went worse than I thought. It’s almost impossible to believe it’s the same girl who used to eat tuna in the bathroom. But you know what? If I look hard, I can still see her in there, the girl in the bathroom. So I try one last time. I yell down the street, “What’s gonna happen to you if the show gets canceled?”

  “Canceled, hah!” Marta skips off. Invincible. Untouchable. And I realize I can’t help her. Bobby’s right. It’s time to let go.

  What Goes Up Must Come Down

  On Monday, in preparation for the annual Thanksgiving trip to the Santa Barbara Mission, we’re in class talking about how the white man destroyed the Native Americans when Pickler comes barging in. “I’m going to need Lillian, Erica, and Lola, please.”

  Mr. L jumps up. He hates being interrupted by Pickler more than anything. “But, but . . .” He’s all flustered. “We’re in the middle of discussing white man’s genocide of the Native American.”

  Pickler shrugs. “It can wait. But the team photo cannot. The team must carry on!” Pickler sings. “And these girls will take us to the top. Isn’t that right, girls?”

  “Yeah!” They cheer for themselves. Typical. The new team. No Marta. Lillian is captain, Erica second-in-command, Lola third. They’ve never looked happier. They march out of the room like perfectly oiled wind-up dolls. “May I have a word with you outside, please?” Mr. L eyes Pickler.

  Pickler rolls his eyes. “Can’t it wait?”

  “No.” Mr. L opens the door. “Class, I’ll be gone for five minutes. Silent reading, please.”

  The moment the door shuts, I look at Bobby. “What’s that about?”

  Bobby looks over at Marta’s empty seat. “Mr. L’s got a soft spot for her.”

  I’m about to move in a little closer when jerk-to-the-stars Skip walks by and kicks my chair. “Yo, Charlie, your crazy animal-loving sister give up yet?” Turns out Lola’s dad is the one who’s building the animal-killing mansions on Stanley Hills Drive, and Skip likes her, so he’s going all macho. He kicks my chair again.

  “She’ll never give up.” I feel a strange surge of pride for my sister. “Especially when she’s protecting lives way more valuable than yours.”

  He’s about to kick it again when the door flies open and hits the wall. Mr. L storms in, fuming. “It seems the team will not wait for Marta.” He takes a deep breath, and his nostrils flare like a bull’s. “So where were we?”

  “The big and powerful taking advantage of the poor and weak?” I ask.

  He eyes the third row. “Yes, I’m afraid that’s ex
actly where we are.”

  Acceptance

  That afternoon, I find myself completely alone. After all, both Felix and Pen are popular—they have lots of stuff to do. And me, I literally have two friends in the world. And one of them lives in Mumbai. I peek out the window and see my father laughing with his workers. I see the workers laughing with each other. I dust off the blender, open the freezer, and rummage through it until I find what I need.

  One pint of vanilla ice cream.

  Frozen pineapple, mango, banana, and the magic ingredient, Cool Whip.

  I whip it all up, pour it into a tall glass, and Skype Jai. “Yo! Jai!” I can’t hide my happiness when I see him. “Where have you been?” And then I notice his surroundings. Instead of being surrounded by tons and tons of homeless people, he’s surrounded by the beach, by swaying palm trees and sand. I grab the screen. “What the heck? Where are you?”

  “Hello, Charlie!” All I see are teeth—that’s how much he’s smiling. “Forgive the tardy response, my kind friend, but we have moved the entire family.”

  Tall and skinny trees, swaying in the breeze, and sand so white I need my shades. “Where?”

  He shakes his head. “I am not at liberty to discuss.”

  I’m suddenly freezing cold. I know what he means, right off the bat. The Russians found him. They’ve been after him ever since he hacked into President Vladimir Putin’s personal computer and gave the information to the British secret service. “They found you?”

  “Damn that 60 Minutes!” Jai curses. “But my employers relocated us safely.” He points to the ocean. “Now the family is enjoying the time away from the city.” He’s trying to sound calm, but I know from experience that he’s not. Who can be calm when the Russian secret police are after you?

  “Why did you do it?”

  “I am sorry to admit, money, Charlie. I needed the money.” He looks down, then back at me. “Please don’t look at me that way. It was also for a good cause. The man is a real thief. But the money was an amount I could not in good conscience turn down.”