Molly in the Middle

by Ronni Arno

  “So what’s the deal?” Christina’s still leaning against the locker next to mine, arms crossed in front of her.

  I shrug. “No deal.”

  Christina looks at me like she’s waiting for me to say something else, but I really don’t know what to say.

  “Hmmm.” Christina tilts her head like she’s trying to solve for X in algebra. “Come on, Nina, we’ve got to get to class.”

  “Later,” Nina says as she follows Christina down the hallway.

  “Bye,” I say, although by the time the word comes out, they’re out of earshot.

  When I arrive at language arts class, it’s pretty apparent that Christina and Nina aren’t the only ones who notice my hair.

  “Ms. Mahoney, is that you?” Mrs. Littman squints her eyes in my general direction.

  “Ummm.” I look around to be sure I’m the only Ms. Mahoney in the room. “Yes, it’s me.”

  She purses her lips and shakes her head as she checks off the attendance sheet. At least she doesn’t say anything else about my new look. I take my seat as the chatter buzzes around me.

  “Settle down, settle down.” Mrs. Littman takes her glasses off and places them gently on the corner of her desk. “Now please turn to page thirty-two of your workbook. Today we’ll be working on—”

  The classroom door flies open, and Robert Jackson bolts in.

  “Sorry I’m late, Mrs. Littman.” Robert closes the door behind him. “You’ll never guess what happened to me on the way to school today.”

  “Your late pass, Mr. Jackson?” Mrs. Littman holds out her hand.

  Robert dumps everything he’s carrying—his backpack, lunch, jacket, and, for some reason that only he understands, an enormous plastic tarantula—onto the ground. He fishes around in the pocket of his jeans until he pulls out a crumpled blue slip, which he hands to Mrs. Littman.

  “That’s the second time this month.” Mrs. Littman lets out a little tsk-tsk sound as she reopens her attendance book.

  “At least I’m consistent.” As usual, he’s smiling. Robert Jackson is always smiling. He has super-white teeth.

  “Yes, you are.” Mrs. Littman sighs. “Please take your seat.”

  Robert grabs his belongings off the floor and heads to his seat, which happens to be right behind mine. He puts his jacket on the back of his chair, places the plastic tarantula on the corner of his desk, and rummages through his backpack for at least a minute before he finds his workbook, which is missing the cover page.

  “Whoa,” Robert says, tapping me on the shoulder with his pencil. I turn around.

  “What’dya do to your hair?”

  I’m pretty sure, based on the amount of heat I feel in my cheeks, that my face is on fire. Robert Jackson is notorious for thinking out loud. If it’s in his head, it’s out his mouth. I’ve always admired that about him—from afar. Although Robert has a lot to say, he’s never actually said anything to me.

  “Mr. Jackson,” Mrs. Littman snarls, “it’s bad enough that you’re late, but you don’t need to disrupt Ms. Mahoney. Now please turn to page thirty-two and pay attention to the lesson.”

  “But I just wanted to know what—”

  “Page thirty-two, Mr. Jackson. Now.”

  I sink a little lower in my chair. Of course I wanted to be noticed. I mean, that’s why I colored my hair and wore different clothes. But I didn’t plan for people asking me about it. I certainly didn’t plan for Robert Jackson to ask me about it. Robert is probably the most popular boy in school. He’s funny and cute and the best soccer player in the entire seventh grade. In all the years we’ve been in class together, we haven’t said one word to each other.

  Until today.

  Mrs. Littman is going on and on about sentence structure, but I can’t focus on anything she says. Instead, I twirl a chunk of purple hair around my fingers and stare down at my workbook until all the words blur together into a black-and-white blob. Robert Jackson noticed me. Robert Jackson talked to me. Robert Jackson is poking me with his pencil again.

  I turn around, and he mouths something I can’t understand. I glance back at Mrs. Littman. Luckily, she’s writing something on the whiteboard, her back turned to us.

  “I can’t hear you,” I whisper to Robert.

  Robert leans forward, his elbows resting on the edge of his desk. “I said, it would be great if—”

  “Mr. Jackson and Ms. Mahoney!” Mrs. Littman’s voice echoes off of the walls. I snap my head around and turn in my seat so I’m facing forward.

  “If I have to remind you again, Mr. Jackson, you can do all the talking you’d like in the principal’s office.” And then she glares at me. “It seems that hair color has done something to your brain, Ms. Mahoney.”

  A cold sweat breaks out on my neck. I’ve never gotten yelled at by a teacher before. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do, so I just stare at my hands, which are folded neatly on my desk.

  Someone snickers to my left. Christina. I steal a glance behind me to see a smug look on her face, and I’m sure she’s feeling reassured that the only thing different about me is my hair. I’m still a nobody who doesn’t deserve to be in her atmosphere.

  Anger bubbles in my stomach, and before I realize what I’m doing, words pour out of my mouth.

  “You’d look good with rainbow hair, Mrs. Littman.”

  The entire class is still. I’m not sure if anyone is even breathing.

  “What did you say?” Mrs. Littman looks confused, like she must have heard me wrong. I know I shouldn’t say anything. Maybe it’s not too late to take it back, to apologize, or to deny I even said it in the first place.

  But then everyone in this class will go back to forgetting about me. They’ll just think I’m some loser with weird hair.

  I swallow the fear that’s formed a ball in my throat. It hurts going down, but I have no other choice. I can’t turn back now. “I said that you’d look good with rainbow hair.”

  The class erupts in laughter, but Mrs. Littman clearly doesn’t see the humor.

  “Ms. Mahoney.” She’s standing so close to me now that I can smell the laundry detergent on her clothes. “Since this is your first offense, I will let it slide. I won’t be so kind next time.”

  I nod and hope that my quivering chin lets her know that I didn’t really mean it. Mrs. Littman isn’t a bad teacher, and besides the fact that she’s totally boring, I’ve never had anything against her. Mrs. Littman raises her eyebrows, threatening me to say something else, but I don’t. I just slide lower in my chair and wait for her to resume her lesson. I barely move for the rest of the class, too terrified that she’ll make good on her promise about the “next time” I get in trouble.

  I’m so tense that the sound of the bell actually makes me jump in my seat. There’s another tap on my shoulder, which I pretend not to notice. What in the wild world would I say to Robert Jackson that could possibly be coherent and charming? And even though class is technically over, I’m still in Mrs. Littman’s room.

  Tap. Tap. Tap. “Hey,” he says. “Molly, right?”

  He knows my name?

  I turn around slowly as I slide my workbook into my backpack.

  “Your hair. It’s totally rad.” He leans back in his chair and taps his pencil on his desk, an adorable grin on his face.

  “Thanks.” I grab my backpack and practically sprint to the door. I won’t be able to relax until I’m out of this classroom.

  Robert catches up to me in the hallway, running his hands through his shaggy blond hair. “Maybe you could do mine?”

  “Uhhh, okay.” I try not to smile, but I can’t help it. Robert Jackson is swoonworthy.

  “Sweet!” He fist bumps the air. “And how about what you said to Mrs. Littman?”

  My stomach drops. “I know. It just sort of came out and—”

  “It was epic.” He’s beaming, looking at me like I just canceled school for the rest of the month.

  Just as I’m about to answer, a couple of other boys fr
om the class come by and pat me on the shoulder.

  “Nice comeback,” one of them says.

  “Cool hair,” adds the other.

  Robert fist bumps them both.

  “I gotta get to class,” Robert says. “But let’s stay in touch about the hair, okay?”

  And then he’s gone.

  I’m left standing alone in the hallway, replaying the last hour in my mind.

  Is it possible that rainbow hair and an off-the-cuff comment to a teacher could completely change my life? There’s one thing I know for sure: this day is off to a memorable start.

  chapter

  6

  I SPEND MY LUNCH PERIOD in the library. Ever since I started middle school and Kellan started homeschooling, there hasn’t been anyone to spend lunch with. Sometimes we hung out with Nina, but that was before she became BFFs with Christina.

  We’re not supposed to have our phones at school, but I take a peek at mine as I pull my PB&J sandwich out of my backpack. There’s a text from Kellan.

  How’s the hair?

  I look around to be sure the librarian isn’t looking, then I snap a selfie and send it to him. My phone vibrates a few seconds later.

  WOW! U look AMAZING. Come over after school so I can see it 4 real.

  I can’t help but laugh out loud, even as I swallow the lump that has made itself at home in my throat. I miss Kellan. I miss having a best friend at school. I look around at the other kids eating lunch in the library. There are only a handful of us, and it’s the same kids every day. Maybe we can get together and form a little club: Losers Without Lives. But most of them have their heads buried in books, like they’re happy for some peace and quiet.

  I roll my eyes at myself. Snap out of it, Molly! If Kellan doesn’t feel sorry for himself, then I certainly shouldn’t feel sorry for myself. He’s the one with the real problems, and he never complains or feels bad about his situation. Sometimes I wish I could be more like Kellan.

  I guess the novelty of my new ’do and my sassy remarks has worn off, because nobody else says anything to me about it for the rest of the day. I’m climbing the steps to my bus when someone yells my name. I whip my head around to find Robert running toward me. The kids behind me are pushing and shoving, so I have no choice but to move forward. The bus doors swoosh shut, and the driver tells us to find a seat. I slide into an empty seat and peer out the window. Robert points to his hair with a questioning grin on his face. I smile, and my head gives a slight nod. He gives me a thumbs-up before running off.

  Does this really mean what I think it means? Robert Jackson wants me to help him look . . . like me? This is something that would have seemed impossible just yesterday.

  I run from my bus stop to my house, grab my bike, and pedal as fast as I can to Kellan’s. I can’t wait to tell him about my day.

  • • •

  “It looks even better in person,” he says as he opens the door. “Turn around.”

  I spin in circles on his front porch. If I go fast enough, maybe the colors will whirl together like a rainbow tornado.

  “Amazing.” He looks like he’s never seen me before. “It just brightens up your whole face.”

  “It’s been a crazy day,” I tell him. “Want to go for a training walk and I’ll tell you about it?”

  Kellan’s smile disappears for a fraction of a second. If I didn’t know him so well, I wouldn’t have even noticed.

  “Hang on,” he says. “Let me just tell my mom.”

  I step into the entryway as he shuffles down the hallway, slower than usual, and makes his way around the corner. He’s talking to his mom in a low voice, and I can’t hear what they’re saying. He comes back into the hallway, his mother following behind him.

  “Hi, Molly,” she says. “I just wanted to let you know—” She stops talking when she looks up at me, her mouth still hanging open.

  “Hi, Mrs. Bingham.” I can’t seem to look her in the eye, so I focus on my shoelaces.

  “Doesn’t her hair look great, Mom?” Kellan asks.

  Mrs. Bingham tilts her head. “It’s very colorful.”

  “Thank you,” I say, because I’m not sure what else to say. I wonder if she meant that as a compliment.

  “Come on, Mols,” Kellan says. “Let’s get that walk in.”

  “Just one minute,” Mrs. Bingham says. “Molly, Kellan hasn’t been feeling well today, so be sure he takes it easy, okay?”

  “Mom.” Kellan rolls his eyes. “I’m fine.”

  “Maybe you can take the wheelchair. It will be good practice for—”

  “Mom.” Kellan grits his teeth. “I’m fine.”

  Mrs. Bingham nods her head once. “Just take it slow.”

  “We will.” This time I look right into her eyes, so she knows she can count on me.

  I can tell Kellan is struggling even before we get out of his driveway. Not only is he moving slowly, but his fists are clenched, which always means he’s not feeling well.

  I stop walking and gently grab his arm. “We don’t have to do this today, you know.”

  “Why not? Aren’t you up for it?” Kellan gives me a lopsided smile.

  “Your mom said you’re not feeling well.”

  “Yeah, well, my mom also said that chocolate chip cookies are toxic, so obviously, she can’t be trusted.” He chuckles. “And anyway, the walk is less than a month away. I’ve got a lot of training to do.”

  “Okay.” I start walking again. “But we can go back for the wheelchair.”

  “I’m fine.” He looks at me and raises his eyebrows. “Promise me you won’t turn into my mom.”

  “Scout’s honor.” I hold up three fingers, hoping that’s the right symbol. Brownies was a long time ago.

  “If she thinks I’m feeling bad, she won’t ever let me go back to school.”

  “Have you been talking more about it?”

  “Are you kidding? I only bring it up every single day.”

  “Don’t worry,” I say. “Your charm will wear her down eventually.”

  “That’s what I’m counting on,” Kellan says.

  “So I think the name of our team should be the Chocolate Chip Cookies,” I say.

  “That’s perfect!” Kellan nods.

  “Great! I’ll design the shirt for us.” I clap my hands with excitement.

  “Cool! But first you have to fill me in on all the gossip of the day.” Kellan elbows me in the side. “I can’t wait to hear.”

  I spend the next fifteen minutes blabbing about everyone’s reactions to my new look—my parents, Christina, Nina, Mrs. Littman, and, of course, Robert Jackson.

  “Robert Jackson wants to have rainbow hair, huh?” Kellan nods his head. “I could totally see that.”

  “Yeah, but he wants me to help him,” I say. “How crazy is that?”

  “That’s wild,” Kellan says. “Are you going to?”

  I shrug. “Who knows. He could forget all about it by tomorrow.”

  We reach the bench, and Kellan winces as he lowers himself onto it. I slide in next to him. I want to ask him how he’s feeling, but I won’t. It would just annoy him.

  We sit in silence for a little while, until Kellan looks up at me, all serious-like.

  “I have something really important to ask you,” he says.

  My stomach twists, and I nod. “Of course.”

  He looks at me for a couple seconds longer. “Do you have any cookies on you? My mom’s killing me with this diet of hers.”

  He laughs and laughs, and I hit him lightly on the shoulder.

  “You scared me for a minute.” My heart rate slows down to normal speed.

  “I know. I’m sorry. But I’m totally serious.” His eyebrows furrow. “I really need a cookie.”

  “Come on.” I stand up and offer him my hand. “Let’s get you a cookie.”

  “You’re a lifesaver, you know that. Team Chocolate Chip Cookies to the rescue.” Kellan takes my hand, and I pull him up. He’s tired. I can tell by his slumped
shoulders and slow pace.

  “Today was a long day,” I say as I link my arm in his. “I might need some help. How about if you pull me along?”

  “Sure thing, Lazypants,” Kellan says. I let him lean on me, holding his arm up with my elbow. He knows I’m helping him, and I know I’m helping him, but we don’t say a word about it.

  chapter

  7

  I HEAR THE YELLING COMING from upstairs even before I walk in the front door.

  Mom and Dad are at it again. I tiptoe into the house and try to make my way to my room before anyone sees me, but Coco turns around just as I’m heading up the stairs. I’m surprised she was able to peel herself away from the TV long enough to even notice.

  “Don’t go into Mom and Dad’s room. They’re having a discussion.” She puts air quotes around the word “discussion.”

  “Yeah, I can hear that.”

  Coco turns back toward the television, her hand reaching into a bag of greasy potato chips.

  I try not to listen to the words coming from my parents’ bedroom, but even with their door closed, it’s kind of hard to ignore that level of noise.

  “Maybe if you didn’t bury yourself in work all the time, you’d be able to help around here,” Dad says.

  “The reason I work all the time is so we can afford your nice car and your expensive golf vacations,” Mom counters in her lawyer voice. I grimace. Once she brings out the lawyer voice, Dad is doomed.

  “I haven’t been on a golf vacation in months,” Dad says.

  “That’s only because you hurt your back,” Mom says. “Don’t act like you’re sacrificing for your family.”

  “What would you know about sacrificing for your family?” Dad’s voice is high-pitched. “You haven’t cared about this family in years. All you care about is making partner.”

  “Well, at least I’d be a partner in something.”

  I stick my fingers in my ears as I practically run to my room. Once I’m there, I close the door, grab my iPod, and put my headphones in. I find the most upbeat music on my playlist and turn the volume up as high as it will go. I’ll probably break my eardrums, but on the bright side, I won’t be able to hear my parents fight anymore.