Molly in the Middle

by Ronni Arno

  “Hiya, Molly.” She holds out a bowl of sliced peaches. “Want some?”

  “Molly brought cookies.” Kellan holds up the Tupperware container. “Before you lecture me about too much sugar, we need to carbo load for our practice walk.”

  “At least have some green tea with those cookies.” Mrs. Bingham puts a kettle of water on the stove. “Want some, Molly?”

  “Sure,” I say.

  “You don’t have to, Mols,” Kellan whispers. “Mom’s on a health kick.”

  “I actually like green tea,” I whisper back. Kellan makes a face like he just sucked on a lemon dipped in hot sauce.

  “Some studies have shown that green tea helps people with muscular dystrophy,” Kellan tells me. “So guess who has to drink green tea until it comes out of his ears?”

  I giggle, picturing green tea leaking out of Kellan’s ears.

  “She’s also making me eat lots of plants.” Kellan pops a cookie into his mouth, and as he chews, his eyes light up. “Chocolate is from the cocoa bean, right? That makes it a plant. Chocolate is healthy!”

  “In that case, I’ll have one.” I grab a cookie out of the container and take a bite. We sip our green tea and chew our cookies in completely nonawkward silence. That’s how it is when you’ve been best friends forever.

  “All righty.” Kellan wipes his face with a napkin. “Ready to roll?”

  “Yep.” I take our tea mugs over to the sink. Mrs. Bingham frowns when she sees Kellan’s mostly untouched mug.

  “Mom”—Kellan lifts himself out of his chair—“we’re going out for a practice walk.”

  “Okay, have fun. I’ll warm up your tea when you get back.”

  Walking with Kellan isn’t like regular walking. We have to go slowly, and sometimes we even stop to rest. I don’t mind, though, because we always have a lot to talk about. And today we have something pretty important to discuss.

  “Your class left without you?” Kellan says, after I tell him how I had to spend the day in the sixth-grade classroom.

  “Can you believe it?”

  “What about Nina Chang? Didn’t she tell the teacher you weren’t there?”

  I look down at my feet. “Nina and I aren’t close anymore.”

  “What happened? I thought you two were pretty tight.”

  “We were. And then—I don’t know. We weren’t. She started hanging out with Christina.”

  “Ugh,” Kellan yells. “Not Christina!”

  “Yeah.” I nod. “I don’t get it either. I told you, middle school is weird.”

  “You weren’t kidding.” Kellan shakes his head. “Doesn’t Nina remember that time Christina poured a whole container of salt into her water bottle during PE?”

  I shrug.

  “Or that time she taped toilet paper to the back of Nina’s boots so Nina had a trail of TP following her all day?”

  I wince at that memory. Nina cried in the bathroom for at least half an hour.

  “Makes no sense,” Kellan says, more to himself than to me.

  “I wish you were still there.” And the minute the words spill out of my mouth, I want to scoop them up, put them back in, and swallow them down.

  Kellan nods. “Yeah, maybe soon.”

  “Really?” I practically jump out of my sneakers.

  “My mom says physical therapy’s been going really well. And I haven’t been as tired lately. So, yeah, maybe.”

  “That would be awesome.” I kick a pebble off of the sidewalk. “You know, when you’re ready.”

  We walk in silence for a little while, until Kellan points to our usual break spot: a bench underneath a willow tree on the edge of our neighborhood park. I look at my watch. We’ve been walking for nine minutes.

  It’s warm for the middle of April, but it’s cool and breezy under the tree. The air smells like spring—a combination of wet soil and blooming lilacs.

  “So I’m thinking about changing some things about myself,” I tell Kellan as we sit down.

  “You’re not going to get a tattoo, are you?” Kellan smiles, and I give him a nudge with my elbow.

  “I hadn’t thought about that, but it might help solve my problem.”

  “What problem?” Kellan squints at me.

  “The problem of being totally and completely invisible.” I stare down at the grass around my feet. It’s a brighter green than it was last week.

  “Is this because your parents forgot you this morning?”

  “And because my class forgot me this morning.”

  Kellan nods. “I get it.”

  “So maybe I need to do something different. You know, to stand out more.”

  Kellan looks at me for a few seconds. “You could dye your hair purple.”

  I tilt my head and try to picture what that would look like. It would probably get me noticed.

  “What is it that makes someone stand out, anyway?”

  “I know!” Kellan points a finger in the air. “You can borrow my leg braces.”

  I actually gasp, but then I exhale when Kellan starts laughing. “Relax, Mols. I’m just kidding. But these things do get you noticed.”

  It’s then that I realize Kellan and I have the exact opposite problem.

  “Does it bother you?” I ask. “When people stare?”

  He shrugs. “Not really. They’re just curious. I’d be curious too.”

  I bend down and pick a dandelion out of the grass. “You probably think I’m a loser for wanting more attention.”

  “No way, Mols.” Kellan shakes his head so hard that his hair falls into his eyes. “I would never think you’re a loser.”

  I look up, expecting to find him laughing, but his face is totally serious. My cheeks burn, and I nudge him with my elbow again.

  “I do think I could use a little makeover.”

  “Purple hair would be kind of cool.” Kellan stares at the top of my head. “Or maybe rainbow. Rainbow hair.”

  “I’m being serious,” I tell him.

  He smiles. “So am I!”

  “Really?”

  “Sure,” Kellan says. “Why not? If I saw somebody with rainbow hair, I’d definitely remember them. I’d notice if they were absent on field trip day.”

  I nod. Kellan may be onto something. A different hair color. It’s not too crazy, but it’s just crazy enough.

  We continue on our walk, talking about the very noticeable hair color I could have (glow-in-the-dark green makes the top five), and by the time we get back to Kellan’s house, we’ve walked for forty-three minutes, including three breaks of five minutes each. Beads of sweat cover the back of Kellan’s neck, and I can tell by the way he’s leaning against his front porch that he’s tired. He’ll never admit it, though.

  “I should go.” I point down the street, in the direction of my house. “My parents are probably home by now.”

  “Good luck with the new ’do,” Kellan says as I get on my bike. “Come over tomorrow after school and show me the new you.”

  I stop by CVS on my way home and scan the hundreds of products in the hair-care aisle. There are rows and rows of normal-looking hair colors, but I finally find what I’m looking for on the bottom shelf. I pick up a multicolor streaking kit and read the back of the box. It says it contains everything I need to have rainbow hair. The price tag says $10.99. I keep $20 in my backpack in case of emergencies. This is definitely an emergency.

  I purchase the kit, shove it into my backpack, and head for my house.

  Everybody’s home by the time I get there. Dad’s in the kitchen cooking dinner. Mom’s on her laptop at the dining room table. Coco is in front of the television. I don’t see Eliza, but there’s music blasting from her bedroom.

  I hang my backpack up on the hook. I notice it’s the only one there. Coco left hers on the floor, and Eliza stopped leaving her backpack downstairs months ago because she feels it’s an invasion of privacy.

  I walk into the kitchen, expecting Mom and Dad to run over to me, apologizing for what happened
this morning. They’ll probably give me a huge hug and maybe even a chocolate bar. They know how much I love chocolate bars.

  “Hi, Molly,” Dad says. “Would you mind grabbing the tomato sauce out of the fridge?”

  I open the refrigerator, pull the jar out, and hand it to Dad.

  “Thanks.” He’s humming while he throws pasta into a pot of boiling water.

  “Hello, Molly.” Mom walks into the kitchen and gives me a kiss on the top of my head. “Do you have homework?”

  “A little.”

  “Why don’t you start it now, before dinner?” She pours herself a glass of wine and goes back to the dining room table and her laptop.

  I can’t believe it. Nobody says anything. No apology, no hug, no chocolate bar.

  I grab my homework out of my backpack and pull the CVS bag out with it. I can’t help but wonder if rainbow hair will be enough.

  I stare at my homework—a math sheet full of word problems. I’ve never missed a homework assignment before. But where has that gotten me? Forgotten and forced to spend the day with sixth graders, that’s where. I shove the sheet back into my backpack and go up to my room, taking my rainbow-streaking hair kit with me.

  chapter

  4

  SINCE ELIZA HOGGED THE BATHROOM after dinner last night with her two-hour bubble bath, I get up extra early to do my hair this morning before school. I need to be sure I’m out of the bathroom before anyone is awake. The sun is barely up as I take the hair-streaking kit into the bathroom and lock the door. I open up the directions, put on the plastic gloves that are included, and get to work. As instructed, I divide my hair into sections and use a different bottle on each one. Then I repeat the process until my entire head is covered. I sit there and let the color soak in for thirty minutes. Good thing Eliza leaves magazines in the bathroom. I leaf through them until the “color development” time is up. The last step is to wash the color out, so I jump in the shower and watch rainbow streaks swirl down the drain.

  After I towel off my hair and blow it dry, I spend five minutes staring in the mirror. I hardly recognize myself. My hair is streaked with purple, green, yellow, blue, and red. My stomach does a little flip when I wonder what everyone will say when they see it.

  The house is still quiet when I leave the bathroom, so I tiptoe to my bedroom. I open my closet to get dressed, but none of my old clothes match my new hair. I open all of my drawers and rifle through every piece of clothing I own. Nothing seems to work. Compared to my hair, my clothes are dull and boring.

  The shower turns on in the bathroom next door, and I know Eliza will be in there for a while. I open my door and sprint down the hall toward her bedroom. I turn the doorknob slowly, look around to make sure nobody sees me, then push the door open just enough to squeeze through.

  Her room screams chaos.

  It’s not that it’s messy, like Coco’s. Eliza’s actually pretty organized. It’s just that there’s so much going on in one small space. Every inch of her walls is covered. There are posters of bands she likes, pictures of her friends, and even a big sign that says IF YOU CAN READ THIS, GET OUT OF MY ROOM! That one makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. She would probably kill me if she found me in here.

  I open her closet, which is packed with clothes. Some are hanging neatly on hangers, others are folded and kept in bins on the floor. I can’t wear something she wears often since she would definitely miss it, so I open the bins on the floor and look for something I haven’t seen recently.

  It turns out I have a lot to choose from. Eliza keeps every piece of clothing she’s ever owned. I even find stuff in my size buried in one of the bottom bins. I settle on a hot pink T-shirt and lime green leggings. I put all the bins back where they belong and close the closet door.

  I’m about to leave her room when I spot another bin on top of her desk. This one is smaller and clear, and it’s filled with makeup.

  I’ve never worn makeup before, but as I peer into the bin at all those tubes of lipstick, I decide that a little makeup might complete the look. And there’s no way she would notice if anything was missing. She’s got enough makeup in here for seventeen faces.

  I choose a light pink lip gloss and a tube of black mascara. Standing in front of Eliza’s makeup mirror, I brush my lips with the gloss and then squeeze them together like I’ve seen some girls do when they put on lipstick. My lips feel so sticky and weird that I’m tempted to wipe it off, but I don’t. I open the mascara, put my face as close to the mirror as I can, and swipe the inky gunk onto my eyelashes. This takes longer than expected, since I blink every time the mascara wand gets close to my eyes.

  I’m closing the tube when I realize that the shower is no longer on.

  Eliza will be out any minute.

  My first instinct is to hide in her closet, but there’s no room in there with all those bins. I contemplate sliding under the bed, but if I do that, I’ll never be ready in time. Eliza will stay in her room until it’s time to leave for school. I have to get out of here, and I have to do it now.

  I grab the clothes and makeup and open her bedroom door just enough to see the bathroom door. It’s still closed. I hold my breath, close her bedroom door, and sprint back into my room as fast as I can.

  Once I’m safe in my bedroom, I exhale. I move my desk chair and wedge the top of it underneath the doorknob so no one can come in. Our doors don’t have locks, and Coco has a habit of walking in without knocking.

  After I’m dressed in my new clothes, I look in the full-length mirror inside my closet door.

  “Wow,” I say out loud.

  I look different.

  I look cool.

  I look like someone who isn’t going to be forgotten.

  I’m about to head downstairs for breakfast when it hits me that I have no idea how my parents are going to react when they see me. Will they ground me? Make me change my clothes like they do to Eliza? Keep me home from school until the rainbow dye washes out? I take a deep breath and exhale all of my nervousness. If they do any of those things, at least they’re noticing me. And that’s what I’m going for after all.

  I take one last look in the mirror before turning on my heels, holding my head up high, and marching downstairs to face my family.

  When I reach the kitchen, I head straight to the cupboard to pull out my Rice Krispies, just like I do every other day. Everyone is where they always are at breakfast—Coco’s in front of the TV, Mom is getting ready for work, and Eliza’s still upstairs. The only person at the table is Dad, who is sipping coffee and reading the newspaper.

  I take my regular seat and begin to eat, glancing up from my bowl every few seconds to see if anybody has noticed my new look.

  After I’m halfway through my breakfast, I look up to find Dad staring at me. I swallow a spoonful of cereal and give him a weak smile.

  “What happened to your hair?” He takes a sip of coffee.

  “Oh. This?” My hand flies up to the top of my head. “I just thought I’d try something different.”

  Dad stares at me for a little while longer. “It’s cute.”

  It’s cute?

  Mom walks in just as I’m thinking of something to say. I had all sorts of awesome comebacks for what I thought he’d say, such as:

  It’s my hair. I can do what I want to it.

  Eliza colored her hair when she was my age.

  What’s the big deal? It’s just hair!

  But I have no responses for, It’s cute.

  “What the—” Mom stops in her tracks when she sees me. “What did you do to your hair?”

  Now, this is more like it.

  “What’s the big deal? It’s just hair.” I sit up taller in my seat.

  “Are you wearing makeup?” Mom walks toward me, squinting.

  “A little.”

  Here it comes.

  “Awww.” Mom pats me on the head. “I think it’s nice that you’re finally dressing up, Molly. It’s a cute look for you.”

 
“That’s what I said,” Dad chimes in.

  Seriously? This is the one thing in the entire world that they actually agree on?

  “You mean I’m not in trouble?”

  Mom chuckles. “Why would you be in trouble?”

  “I didn’t ask first,” I say.

  Mom shrugs. “That stuff washes out pretty quickly. It’s no big deal.”

  It’s no big deal.

  My stomach drops to my knees, and I can feel the Rice Krispies snap-crackle-popping all the way to my toes.

  Eliza stomps down the stairs in her too-short skirt, looks me up and down, and rolls her eyes. She then proceeds to the kitchen counter, where she pours Cocoa Puffs into a Ziploc bag. She doesn’t say anything—not about my hair and not about the clothes that she hopefully doesn’t recognize anymore; in fact, she doesn’t even look at me again.

  “Okay, kids.” Dad gets up from the table and puts his coffee mug in the sink. “Time to go.”

  Wait. What? I was so busy worrying about what my parents would say that I completely forgot that I actually have to go to school looking like this.

  Will my classmates think my look is no big deal? Will they think it’s cute?

  Will they even notice?

  chapter

  5

  JUST AS I DO EVERY day, I walk past kids in the hallway as I make my way toward my locker. Something’s different today, though.

  Some kids whisper and point. Some kids stare. People are actually looking at me, which has never, ever happened before ever in my life.

  I turn the combination on my locker and pull out my language arts notebook. Just as I’m about to close my locker, two figures appear on either side of me. I know who it is even before I look up. The overwhelming smell of perfume fills my lungs, and I have to stifle a cough.

  “Well,” Christina says, leaning against the locker next to mine, “what’s with the new look?”

  I turn around to find Nina on the other side of me, staring . . . and smiling. “I like it. Your hair is really cool.”

  “Oh.” I touch the tip of a green strand. “Thanks.”

  “And I love how it totally matches your outfit.” Nina’s eyes blink, making her silver sparkly eye shadow shimmer under the fluorescent light of the hallway.