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

by Maria T. Lennon

  • Greta belting the security guy with her new LV bag.

  • Security taking said LV bag.

  It’s all anyone can talk about. But as soon as the bell rings, Mr. L claps loudly. “Settle down.” He wags his finger. “Let us not delight in someone’s fall.” He walks around his desk, about to start the Gratitude Prayer, when the door opens.

  The entire room gasps. It’s like seeing a ghost. Marta is standing in the middle of the doorway, looking like a zombie in her old pink velour outfit. Swollen eyes, so red and puffy you can barely see her eyeballs. Red nose. Chapped lips, pale skin, and knotted hair. The homeless Disney princess is back.

  “Hello, Marta.” Mr. L gets up and smiles. “Welcome back.”

  “I’m back temporarily.” She narrows her eyes and announces it to the room. “Ya get it? I said temporarily.”

  “Good to have you back,” Mr. L says carefully. “Temporarily.”

  The chatter begins.

  “Class, quiet!” Mr. L yells. He’s furious. “No more. Not a peep.”

  Marta picks up her roller backpack and drags it over as many toes as she can as she tries to cut through to her seat in the last row, next to Lillian. But before she can make it to the third row, I grab her arm and stop her. “Don’t. Please, Marta. Sit next to me.”

  She practically spits on me. “I have my seat,” she says, her eyes dead ahead on the empty seat next to Lillian. That’s when someone sticks out their foot and Marta falls flat on her face in the middle of the room.

  The whole class inhales. “Ohhhh!” But not a single person tries to help her. Marta looks at Lillian and Erica, but they just smack their gum and giggle like no one is lying on the floor in a puddle of shame, right in front of their faces.

  I try to help, but Mr. Judgmental Bobby Brown pushes me out of the way and lifts her up like she doesn’t weigh a thing. Marta doesn’t look at me, but at least she doesn’t punch me in the face. She takes her old seat next to me and slumps.

  Mr. L resumes class, but all I can think about is the broken girl next to me, and I feel horrible.

  QUESTION: Is it better to try and fail miserably than not try at all and never fail?

  At snack, I look for her everywhere and finally find her in my favorite stall in the upstairs girls’ bathroom. Her Crocs and socks give her away. “Marta?”

  No answer. “I know you’re in there.”

  “What do you want?”

  “They’re leaving in one hour for the JOs. I know we can get you on that flight if you just come out of the bathroom.” She’s quiet for a long time. “Marta?”

  “They gave it to you, didn’t they?” She sniffles and flushes the toilet.

  “Yeah, they did.” I brace myself against the sink. The door could fly open any second. “But here’s the thing, Marta—” I’m about to launch into the whole explanation of how I didn’t ask for it back. How I didn’t even want it . . . when I hear her say in a voice I barely recognize but remember deeply:

  “Take it.” Sniffle, sniffle, huge snot blow.

  Say what? I check out her feet just to make sure it’s really her. Yep, Crocs. She hasn’t moved. “What did you say?”

  “You heard me.”

  “You mean . . .” I tread carefully. “It’s okay with you if I take it?”

  “No!” she yells. “I mean I want you to take it.”

  My heart beats harder. It all depended on this moment. Until I knew Marta was okay with it, I would not allow myself to consider it. But there’s still one condition to my taking the job, and it’s not negotiable. “I’ll do it if you go to the JOs—”

  “No.” She cuts me off. “It’s too late for me.” The toilet flushes; she walks out. Her nose is so swollen it’s double the size. “Coach will never allow me back on the team, and he’s right.”

  “It’s not too late.” I tap my watch. But it would be soon. “Just go and apologize.” I push her toward the sink. She sees herself in the mirror and starts to cry.

  “All of you should hate me.” She snorts. “I deserve everything I get. I’m an idiot, a sucker, a blind fool. I was mean, horrible, and conceited.”

  Pen would say that about me on a good day. “Yeah, yeah, me too. But it is over, all right?” I open the door and push her out into the hallway. “Water under the bridge.” We walk all the way down the stairs. I’ve got my hand on her neck, pushing her forward. People are looking, but I don’t care. When we get near the multi-purpose room I see Bobby shooting baskets. He stops and gives me this horrible look. “What are you doing to her now?”

  I ignore him.

  “It’s a waste of time.” Marta wipes her nose on her sleeve. “He’ll never want me back.”

  From the corner of my eye I see Bobby dribbling toward us. I walk faster. I don’t have time to deal with him right now.

  “I’m such a total loser.” Marta keeps up with the self-pity.

  Before I can deliver a swift elbow to his face, Bobby pulls my hand off Marta. “What are you doing?”

  I push him away and keep going until I get to the doors. I’m afraid if I let go, she’s gonna go run and play in traffic or something dumb.

  Bobby’s back. “Let go of her, Coop.” He acts like he’s her bodyguard.

  I kick the door open with my foot. “Marta’s got a plane to catch, all right? So either get out of my way or hold the dang doors.”

  Bobby’s so surprised, he drops his ball and it rolls away.

  “Bobby.” I point to the doors.

  “Oh, okay, yeah, sure.” He pushes them open. I feel Marta freeze. They’re all there, the whole team getting ready for the biggest trip of their lives.

  “Go, Marta!” Bobby tries to high-five her. But the minute her eyes land on Coach, I can feel her whole body go dead. He’s in the middle of training the team. They’re on the bars, the beam, and the mats. They look like a well-oiled machine in their team uniforms, beautiful and strong. Complete. And for the first time I get it—I see it from Lillian’s perspective, even from Erica’s. Marta did not belong. Marta was not a team player. Marta was an individual. On her own she was great, but as a member of the team, all she did was make them look bad. And for a second I actually feel bad for them. With her in the game, Coach would never care about them.

  “Charlie, I’m scared.” Marta backs away, totally terrorized. “I can’t talk to him. No way. He’ll spit in my face. I’d spit in my face.”

  I don’t blame her. I’d be scared too. But this isn’t the time to back down. Her destiny is too great. I believed that, just as I believed mine was possibly even greater.

  Bobby pushes her forward. We hold the door open and keep Marta in the doorway until Coach sees her. And when he does, he stops yelling at the perfect trio of girls and walks over to her. Boy, does he look mad. Bobby and I make ourselves scarce.

  “What do you want?” Coach yells, and everything stops. Suddenly all eyes are on Marta.

  “Nothing.” Marta’s hands fly up. She turns to walk away.

  “What did you say?” Coach yells after her.

  She stops. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

  He rubs his giant belly. “Everyone is sorry. What does sorry mean? Without action, it means nothing.” He points to the back wall, lined with suitcases and backpacks. “We are leaving in less than one hour—leaving without you, Marta Urloff.”

  Marta begins to cry. I gotta tell you—seeing Marta cry is enough to make just about the toughest criminal break down. Her whole body shakes. Her entire face crumbles. Snot pours out like a geyser.

  It works like a charm on Coach. Within minutes, he throws his arms around her like a giant bear and goes off in a stream of Russian I’m not sure even Marta understands.

  Lillian, Erica, and Lola are watching from across the gym. Their mouths open, their bodies hunched. “Yeah, you lost,” I mouth into the air. I love it.

  Meanwhile Marta pulls out of his embrace. Her face is covered in snot and convoluted in tears. “I h
ave brought disgrace on you, on the country, and worst of all, on my mother’s name.” She bounces her head against his chest. “I was lured by Hollywood. I feel sick at my stupidity.”

  His huge hand rubs her back. “People fall for it all the time. Look at your friend there.” He points right at me.

  “Charlie. Of course Charlie falls for it.” She wipes her eyes. “But me, Marta Urloff?”

  “Nice, huh?” Bobby nudges me and laughs.

  But I know Marta. It means she loves me again.

  Coach pulls her away and looks into her eyes. “Never lose sight of the gold medal. You, Marta Urloff, daughter of the great Olga Cochenko, are the only one here who will go all the way.”

  The team’s faces drop.

  He raises her hand like a champion, even though right now she looks nothing like one. She looks horrible, but at least she looks like her old self. “This weekend you will come, you will qualify for the Elites, and you will blow the world of gymnastics away. This is only the beginning.”

  “You will not be disappointed.” She wipes her face.

  Coach picks up his clipboard. “Bus is leaving in twenty-five minutes for airport. I will talk to Pickler and call your aunt.” He shakes his head. “She is crazy, that lady.”

  And then suddenly Marta goes white. “But I don’t have my stuff. Coach. I can’t go. It will take too long for my aunt to get here—”

  He waves his hand high. “Lillian, Erica, and Lola,” he snaps at them. They glare from the beam. “You will share your luggage with Marta, won’t you?”

  They stare at him like he’s speaking Chinese. “What?” Lillian frowns.

  Erica puts both her hands to her ears. “Excuse me?”

  “Share luggage?” Lola says, horrified.

  “I said”—Coach’s voice gets louder, rougher—“your teammate needs to borrow some of your gear.” He zeroes in on Lillian. “As captain, you understand?”

  This is like watching the bad guy drop to his knees. Poetry.

  “You want me to share my clothes? With, with . . . Marta?” She can barely get the words out.

  “Yes,” he says. “I do. It’s only for a few days. I have her team leotard in my office. So it’s just clothes.”

  “Just clothes. Just my clothes.” Lillian bites her lip. She looks like she’s about to throw up.

  Erica watches the situation and sees her opportunity. She pushes Lillian aside and runs over. “I’ll share my clothes, Coach. Of course I’ll share my clothes.”

  Marta shakes her head. “What a bunch of phonies.”

  “No, no, I’m sharing my clothes. No one wants your clothes. They want mine.” Lillian pushes Erica aside. “I will share, Coach.”

  “My stuff will totally fit her.” Lola waves her hand high in the air.

  I hope Marta pees and farts in every last leotard she borrows. I touch Marta’s arm lightly. “Good luck.”

  Marta looks at me. It’s a while before she speaks. “Who would have thought we’d come so far so fast?”

  “It’s only November,” I say. “You’re heading to the JOs—”

  Marta cuts me off. “And you’re heading to Hollywood.”

  Bobby gives me a dirty look, shakes his head. “I told her it was lame to take your job—”

  “What’s lame is her not taking it.” Marta grabs both my shoulders in her usual manner and yells in my face. “If you don’t take it, I swear I’m coming after you. You hear me?”

  “Wait a sec—” Bobby’s face suddenly changes. “So you didn’t already take it?”

  “No, you jerk.” I hit him.

  “She said no until I said yes.” Marta grabs Bobby’s sleeve. “You’d better make her call Chad today. Make her take it.”

  “So on the bus, you hadn’t—” Bobby drops his head. “I feel like a real jerk.”

  “Yeah, well, you are.” I punch him on the arm.

  “Yo!” Lillian yells. “Marta, come on!”

  Marta turns and waves. “Take Hollywood by storm. I’m going for gold.” Marta runs over to a mat and starts stretching. She’s finally back where she belongs.

  As I watch her, I feel like a huge weight has been lifted from my shoulders.

  “I’m such a jerk,” Bobby says. “Don’t ever trust me again.”

  “I won’t.” I start walking away.

  “Hey.” Bobby runs after me. “So are you taking it?”

  “Maybe.”

  We’re about halfway up the stairs when Pen comes running past. She’s got her posters under her arms. She stops, out of breath. “Did you hear we won?”

  “Won what?” Bobby checks out her poster of a flattened owl. “That’s nasty.”

  “Tell me about it. They’re all over my room. Every time I open my eyes, I’m looking at roadkill.”

  “Not roadkill. Lives, Charlie. They’re lives.” The bell rings. Pen sees everyone beginning to scatter. “The city came back this morning and said the builders have to make a path behind those nasty capitalist eyesores so the animals can walk through. We won.”

  Yes! I can’t believe it. I throw her a high five. “You actually beat the Skips of this world?”

  Pen looks about as shocked as I do. “I couldn’t believe it either. It’s going into law the first of January. They’re going to have to clear the construction out of the corridor and move their dumb Bentleys so the animals have room to walk.”

  “This place is historic,” Bobby says, and I know he means it. “It should be protected.”

  “Just you wait. We’ve got some big things in the works.” Pen gets that look of total determination I know so well.

  TRUE FACT: My sister actually made a difference in the world.

  The team starts marching out of the MPR. All of them with their bags. Pen turns. “They’re leaving for the JOs now?” She looks sad.

  I point. “Keep looking.”

  Finally Marta comes out. She’s last, of course, has no bags, but with Coach’s arm around her she looks like a star. She waves at me and yells, “See you on TV!”

  When Pen sees Marta, her face explodes. “She’s going? You got her to go!”

  Bobby looks so proud.

  “Well done. I knew you could do it.” The second bell rings. “All right, people, I gotta go.” Pen runs off toward the high school, and Bobby and I walk up the next set of stairs.

  When we get to the top, I’m huffing and puffing. Kids are swarming, trying to push past us. But Bobby is calm and collected. He pulls open the door. We walk down the hallway toward class. We’re all alone. Just before we get to Mr. L’s door, Bobby stops and asks, “You ever been to the Country Store for ice cream after school?”

  Butterfly alert! They’re swarming all over me. The more he looks at me, the more my entire stomach feels like I’m about to launch down a Six Flags roller coaster. “Uh.” I swallow. “Nope.”

  “Would you like to?” He’s so close I can smell his breath. It’s like warm purple grapes. Yep, purple. “With me, maybe?”

  “Um, yeah, I’d—” And then out of the blue he leans in and kisses me ON THE LIPS!!!!

  TRUE FACT: I’ve practiced in the mirror, but don’t ever, and I mean ever, repeat that.

  My first kiss.

  Thank God no one was in the hallway.

  Thank the spirits above my lips were closed.

  Thank Krishna they were covered in my MAC Rock and Roll red that I’d blotted to give me that stained look that doesn’t wear off. But most of all, thank Buddha for Trident Spearmint gum.

  When he pulls back, he opens his eyes and looks right at me. “That was nice.”

  Nice? It was holy! Supernatural. Goose bumps fire up all over my skin. Sweat trickles down my back. My heart is beating so hard I feel like puking. “Yeah, not bad.” I run for the bathroom.

  “Yo!” Bobby yells after me. “So is it a date?”

  “I’ll see if I can fit you in.” I push open the bathroom door and collapse against the cold tile wall. The final bell rings. Who the heck ne
eds Hollywood? I just kissed Mr. Bobby Brown.

  Acknowledgments

  My lovely editor Alyson Day—you have been such a pleasure to work with. Thank you for your endless patience and your supremely upbeat personality, which makes the process of shredding a manuscript to pieces a little less painful. To Toni Markiet, for being so generous with her expert eye.

  To Tom Forget and Amy Ryan—what can I say? You two are the masters at getting Charlie and her vibe just right. You’re brilliant.

  To Renée Cafiero, copyeditor extraordinaire, thank you for making me look more literate than I am.

  And a special thanks to Olivia deLeon and Jenna Lisanti for doing so much to get Charlie into the hands of children and parents, teachers and librarians.

  Finally, to my agent, Victoria Sanders: you’re one of a kind. Thank you for coming to the rescue when I really need it.

  About the Author

  Maria T. Lennon is a graduate of the London School of Economics, a novelist, a screenwriter, and the author of Confessions of a So-called Middle Child. She lives in Los Angeles with her family. Charlie visits frequently. You can visit her online at www.confessionsofasocalledmiddlechild.com and Facebook.

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.

  Credits

  Cover art © 2014 by Brigette Barrager

  Cover design by Tom Forget

  Copyright

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

  Copyright © 2014 by Maria T. Lennon

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