Molly in the Middle

by Ronni Arno

  For Josh . . . a supportive husband, an incredible father, and the most attentive proofreader I know.

  chapter

  1

  IT’S A NORMAL WEDNESDAY MORNING, and I do what I always do on normal Wednesday mornings. I sit at the kitchen table eating my Rice Krispies. Not on the couch while watching TV, like Coco does. Not standing at the counter while texting, like Eliza does. But at the table. Where one is supposed to eat one’s breakfast.

  As I bring the spoon up to my mouth, I listen for the snap-crackle-pop of my cereal. I’ve been eating Rice Krispies for breakfast every day since I had teeth, and the familiar sounds prepare me for my daily routine.

  Dad is muttering something to the coffeepot while Mom is stuffing papers into her briefcase. It’s an average, everyday, run-of-the-mill Wednesday.

  “Darn it,” Eliza screams, jumping back from the kitchen counter, where she pushes her cereal bowl away from her.

  “No need to yell, Eliza,” Mom says, barely looking up from her briefcase.

  “Well, what do you expect? I spilled milk all over my shirt.” Eliza unrolls half of the paper towels on the roll hanging from the wall and wipes furiously at her stomach. “Oh, forget it.” She throws the paper towels down. “I’m going to have to change.”

  “You’d better hurry up,” Dad says. “We have to leave in five minutes.”

  “Five minutes?” Coco squeals. “My show won’t be over by then.”

  “Sorry, kiddo,” Dad says. “School trumps television.”

  “But I’ll miss the best part.” Coco slams her small fist down in her lap.

  “You’ll survive,” Dad says.

  “I can’t believe this,” Eliza says as she storms up the steps. “How am I going to get ready all over again in five minutes?”

  Dad gives Mom “the look.” They’ve been working on it since Eliza was my age. I think they’ve perfected it in the last four years.

  “You’ll have to deal with her,” Mom hisses to Dad. “I’m late.”

  I finish my cereal, rinse my bowl, and put it neatly in the dishwasher.

  “Let’s go, kids,” Dad calls as he pours his coffee into a to-go mug.

  “Five more minutes?” Coco pleads.

  “Now.” Dad grabs his keys off the kitchen table, then stands at the bottom of the steps. “Eliza, we’re leaving!”

  “I’m not ready!” Eliza calls from upstairs. I hear the eye roll in her voice.

  Dad looks at Mom again, but she just shrugs.

  I take my backpack off the hook and sling it onto my shoulder. I’m the first one ready, as usual. Coco clicks the television off, but she leaves her cereal bowl in the middle of the floor. No wonder we’re running low on bowls. I’ll bet she has a collection under the couch. For such a little kid, she sure makes a huge mess.

  Finally, Eliza comes down the steps. I do a double take when I see her. I shake my head. This isn’t going to be good.

  “Eliza,” Dad snaps. “What do you think you’re wearing?”

  “What?” Eliza looks down at herself.

  “You’re wearing a . . . a . . . a nightie.” Dad turns to yell for Mom. “Karen! Karen! Look what your daughter is wearing.”

  Mom joins us at the bottom of the steps.

  “Eliza, you can’t wear that to school.” Mom uses her lawyer voice. The one you can’t argue with.

  “Why not?” Apparently, Eliza didn’t get the memo about not arguing with Mom’s lawyer voice.

  “First of all”—Mom’s tone remains calm—“it’s against the dress code and they’ll make you change.”

  “And second of all?” Eliza’s hands are on her hips.

  “Second of all,” Mom begins, “if you walk out of the house like that, I’ll ground you until you’re thirty-two.”

  Eliza turns on her (very high) heels and stomps back up the steps, muttering about the absolute unfairness of life.

  “That’s how you have to deal with her,” Mom tells Dad. She gives Coco and me a quick hug, grabs her briefcase, and bolts out the door.

  She doesn’t hug Dad.

  Dad looks at his watch and sighs. It’s nice that they drive us to school in the mornings since the bus comes so early, but sometimes I think getting up before the sun and taking the bus would just be easier. I take the bus in the afternoon because my parents are working, and it’s not bad. It’s more peaceful than being home sometimes.

  I know Eliza will take forever to change, so I figure I’ll clean up the mess that Coco left in the living room. I hang my backpack up, then head to the couch to deal with Coco’s latest disaster. I grab her bowl (which is on its side, with white milk dribbling out onto the burgundy area rug), spoon, juice cup, and crumpled-up napkin (at least she used a napkin) and bring it all into the kitchen.

  “I’ll meet you in the car,” Dad yells to all of us.

  I run the water in the kitchen sink until it’s hot. I soap up the sponge and take care of Coco’s sticky mess. It feels good to put my hands under the running water—it’s calming somehow. I close my eyes and let the water wash away the insanity that is my family’s routine in the morning.

  Every morning.

  Of every day of my life.

  For the past twelve years.

  When I feel Zen enough, I shut the water off and dry my hands. I take my backpack off the hook and look around the corner into the hallway. Nobody’s there.

  “Eliza?” I yell up the stairs.

  Nothing.

  They must have already gone to the car. I guess I didn’t hear them with the water running. A slight panic tugs at my stomach—I don’t want to be the reason we’re late. I run down the steps to the garage, and when I get there, I see it’s empty. Maybe the car’s outside.

  I bolt back up the steps and push open the front door. As soon as I open it, I see Dad’s car. It’s pulling out of our driveway, onto the street.

  My mouth opens, but no words come out. I just stand there, with my jaw practically touching the floor.

  They left without me.

  chapter

  2

  MY FEET ARE GLUED TO the floor. My brain isn’t quite comprehending what just happened.

  Did they leave me here on purpose? Did I not get to the car quickly enough? I can’t believe Dad would do that. I’m always the first one ready. We wait for Eliza every other day. He wouldn’t just leave me here as a punishment, especially since I’ve never been late before.

  The only other explanation is that they forgot me.

  But of course they wouldn’t forget me.

  When my mind finally starts working again, I realize I’m going to be late. And my class is taking a field trip to the planetarium today. I’ve been looking forward to it all week. I need a way to school, and I need it now.

  I slide my cell phone out of my backpack pocket and dial Dad’s number. It goes straight to voice mail. Dad never keeps his phone on. He still insists on using our house phone—the one with a cord—whenever he makes a call. I can’t call Eliza. Mom took her phone away for a week when she broke curfew. I dial Mom’s number next.

  “What’s up, Molly?” The road hums in the background.

  “Um.” I still haven’t completely processed what just happened. “Dad left without me.”

  There’s a pause. And then Mom says, “What do you mean he left without you?”

  “He said to meet him in the car, and when I got to the garage, they had already left.” I pace in the front entryway.

  “Oh, for crying out loud. And I assume his cell is off?”

  “The phone went right to voice mail.” I immediately regret calling her. Now she’s going to be even more upset with Dad than she usually is.

  “Great. Just great.” I can practically hear Mom’s bloo
d pressure rise through the phone. “I don’t have time to come back for you. I have to be in court this morning. Can you get another ride?”

  I stare down at my shoes. I open my mouth to say something about the field trip, but I close it again before any words come out. She’s already stressed, and I don’t want to cause her to blow a gasket. “Yeah, Mom. I’m sure I can. I’ll call a few friends.”

  “Good.” Mom’s tone radiates relief. “Call me if you have any problems.”

  I’m not sure what calling her will do. It’s not like she would miss work to help me, but I agree anyway.

  I hang up with her and call Kellan. He answers on the first ring.

  “Hey, Mols. Shouldn’t you be on your way to school?”

  I take a deep breath. “My dad left without me.”

  “What?” Kellan’s voice goes up an octave. “On purpose?”

  “I don’t know.” My voice is quieter than I expect.

  “Hang on. I’ll see if my mom can come get you.” I hear Kellan talking to his mom, and then he gets back on. “We’ll be there in five.”

  My shoulders relax. “Thanks, Kels.”

  The house phone rings just as I put my cell phone back in my backpack. I run down the hall to pick it up.

  “Hello?”

  “Molly!” Dad’s voice sounds frantic. “I’m so sorry. I’m on my way back to get you.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I say. “I called Kellan, and Mrs. Bingham is going to come get me.”

  “Oh, that’s good,” Dad says. “I don’t know what happened. We—we thought you were in the car. It wasn’t until after I dropped Eliza off and headed to the middle school that we realized you weren’t here.”

  “Oh,” I say. Because I’m not sure what else to say. They actually did forget me.

  “Really sorry, Molly.”

  “It’s okay,” I say. Even though it isn’t okay at all.

  “Thanks for being such a good sport,” Dad says.

  That’s me. A good sport.

  I hang up with Dad, grab my backpack, and wait on the front steps for Mrs. Bingham. They live only a few blocks away, so it isn’t long until their SUV pulls into the driveway.

  Kellan’s in the front seat, but he gets out as I walk toward the car. He’s moving slowly today, and his face flinches with every step he takes. He isn’t wearing his leg braces.

  “Kels,” I yell to him. “Stay there. I can sit in the back.”

  “No worries.” Kellan flashes me a smile. “You’ve had a rough morning.”

  But you’ve had a rough life, I think. I don’t say it out loud. He hates when people feel sorry for him.

  Instead of sitting in the front, I slide into the backseat next to him, my backpack on my lap. He smiles again, a crooked, grateful grin. We sat in the backseat together for years and years, until this year, when we were old enough to move up front. But it’s not the same when one of us is in the front and one in the back.

  “Thanks so much,” I say to both Mrs. Bingham and Kellan. “You guys are lifesavers.”

  “Anytime, Molly,” Mrs. Bingham says as she backs out of the driveway.

  “My dad called.” I look at Kellan. “He actually forgot me.”

  Kellan shakes his head. “He must have had a rough morning too.”

  “Just the usual. Eliza being Eliza. Coco being Coco.”

  Kellan nods. This is the beautiful thing about having the same best friend since preschool. I don’t need to explain my crazy family to him.

  “So what are you doing today?” I pull a piece of lint off my pants.

  “I’ve got physical therapy in an hour,” Kellan says. “And then Mom and I are going for a practice walk.”

  I snap my head up to look at him. “Without me?”

  “Don’t worry, Mols.” Kellan puts his hand on my shoulder. “It’s not like we won’t practice again later. I need all the help I can get.”

  “I can’t believe the walk is only a month away.”

  “I know. I think I’ll be ready.”

  “You will be.” I nod.

  “As long as you’re there to carry me if I can’t make it.”

  I hit Kellan on the shoulder. “Yeah, right.”

  “I’m serious.” Kellan’s clear blue eyes shine, which lets me know he’s not at all serious. “I expect you to carry me. On your back. For five miles.”

  “Forget it.” I laugh. “I’ll carry you mentally. How’s that?”

  “That’s good,” Kellan says, but his eyebrows are pinched together, so I know something’s on his mind.

  “But?” I ask.

  He looks up at me. “But there’s a possibility I may not be able to walk the whole way.”

  “That’s okay.” I give him my most reassuring smile. I’ve learned not to disagree with him when he says stuff like this, because he’s right. There is a possibility he won’t be able to walk the whole thing.

  Kellan looks down at his hands. “I may need your help—you know—to push the wheelchair.”

  “Of course I’ll help,” I say. Kellan hates thinking about using a wheelchair, so I know it took a lot of courage for him to even bring it up. “But only if you promise to let me do some wheelies.”

  Kellan smiles and holds out his hand for me to shake. “Deal!”

  We pull into Cherry Creek Middle School at exactly 8:12. I am officially twenty-two minutes late.

  “Have a good day, Mols.” Kellan gives me a fist bump. His eyes dart over to the school’s entrance, and for a second his smile droops.

  “You okay?” I ask, hand on the door handle.

  “What?” He looks back over to me. “Oh, yeah, fine. Just thinking how happy I am that I don’t have to be a part of the masses anymore.”

  “You’re totally lucky,” I say, and right now I mean it.

  “Yeah.” Kellan smiles back. “Totally.”

  I get out of the car and wave as Mrs. Bingham pulls away. Kellan is still staring out the window, watching me walk into school. He looks like a puppy dog that desperately wants to come out to play. I keep telling him he wouldn’t like it anyway. It’s not like it was in fifth grade, which was his last year in school. Middle school is way different. And not in a good way. There’s more drama, more homework, and more kids. Things were simpler in fifth grade. Better.

  Kellan didn’t even need leg braces then.

  I stop by the office for a late pass. Mrs. Clayton, the school secretary, looks up at me and squints her eyes.

  “What’s your name, hon?”

  “Molly Mahoney.”

  She looks at me as if she’s never seen me before.

  “Mrs. Littman’s seventh grade,” I remind her.

  “Oh no, hon.” Her polite smile fades fast. “The seventh grade just left for their field trip.” She grabs the attendance sheet from a binder and points at it. “They said everybody was present.”

  I just stand there with my mouth hanging open.

  “I’m really sorry, hon,” Mrs. Clayton says. “Maybe you can sit in on one of the sixth-grade classes today.”

  I can’t answer her because I can’t think.

  I can’t talk.

  I can’t move.

  I can’t believe my class left without me.

  Mrs. Clayton writes me a pass and tells me to go to Mr. Soto’s room. Mr. Soto was my sixth-grade teacher last year. I have to spend the entire day with sixth graders learning things I already learned.

  This is horrifying.

  I stop in the bathroom on my way to Mr. Soto’s and stand in front of the mirror. Maybe I turned invisible overnight.

  I move my face closer to the mirror until my nose practically touches it.

  There I am. Faded blue jeans, brown cardigan, white running shoes. My mousy brown hair hangs down like it usually does. I’m definitely not invisible. I look like everybody else.

  And then it hits me.

  I look like everybody else.

  No wonder nobody sees me. Nothing stands out about me at all.
I’m average. Ordinary. Humdrum.

  I stare at myself in the mirror, and suddenly, I know what to do.

  chapter

  3

  I RIDE MY BIKE OVER to Kellan’s after school. He opens the front door just as I’m gliding down the driveway, and as soon as I spot the look on his face, my smile is gone.

  Ugh. A total facepalm moment. How could I be so stupid?

  “New bike?” He looks like Dad looks when he’s on a diet and the rest of us are eating cookie-dough ice cream.

  “No.” I lean the bike against his garage. “It’s Eliza’s, but she said I could use it. She’s too cool for bikes now, I guess.”

  “When did Eliza ever ride a Trek FX? That’s like a five-hundred-dollar bike.” Kellan makes his way around the bicycle, bending down to push on the pedals.

  The pedals spin around and around. “She got it for her sixteenth birthday a few months ago. Mom and Dad thought it was because she was turning over a new leaf, getting into fitness and stuff, but really, Dave Delaney loved cycling, and she wanted to impress him.” Dave Delaney lasted a week, and so did Eliza’s bike.

  Kellan’s focus moves to the front wheel. He grimaces as he bends down, and every muscle in my body screams to stand behind him so that he doesn’t fall. But I ignore my instincts and force myself to stay where I am. He wouldn’t want me to baby him.

  “I’ve always wanted a bike with an aluminum frame.” Kellan holds on to the seat as he pushes himself up to standing. “How does she handle?”

  “Fine.” My weight shifts from one foot to the other. I scour my brain for other topics so we can change the subject. “Are you hungry?”

  Kellan shrugs. “Not really.”

  “But I brought chocolate chip cookies.” I dig into my backpack and pull out a Tupperware container.

  “Mmm-hmm.” But Kellan’s not paying attention to the cookies. He’s rambling on about mechanical disc brakes or botanical fish cakes or something like that.

  “They’re your favorite.” I shove the Tupperware in front of his face and lift the lid so he can smell the chocolaty goodness. This seems to do the trick. He grabs the container, and I follow him into the house.

  Mrs. Bingham is in the kitchen cutting fruit. She smiles when she sees me.