Molly in the Middle

by Ronni Arno

  I sink into my desk chair and cover my face with my hands. I am not making a difference in the lives of those living with muscular dystrophy. I am not making a difference in the life of Kellan.

  I am a terrible friend.

  “Molly?” Eliza’s knocking on my door, but before I can answer, she’s standing inside my room.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  I slam my laptop shut and stand up. “Nothing. Why?”

  “You don’t look good.”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  Eliza shrugs. “Well, since it’s my job to turn you into a glamour queen today, I have my work cut out for me. Come on. To the makeup mirror.”

  I follow her into her bedroom, and she has me sit down at her makeup table. She pulls out a big plastic case full of makeup, and I recognize it as the one I rummaged through when I was first creating my new look.

  She pulls a small brush out of the case and dips it into some purple powder. “Close your eyes.”

  I do as I’m told, and the brush tickles as it travels over my eyelid. I giggle.

  “Hold still,” Eliza demands.

  It takes her forever to finish, and when she does, I turn to look in the mirror.

  “No!” she screams. “Not yet! You can’t look until I do your hair.”

  Eliza moves on to my hair. She’s twisting and turning and pulling it in all kinds of directions. I bite my lip so I don’t say what I’m feeling, which is: Owww! I know she’s doing me a favor, so I just squeeze my eyes shut whenever she yanks too hard.

  “Okay.” Eliza takes a step back. “Go put your dress on and then you can look in the mirror.”

  I speed-walk to my room, trying not to move the upper part of my body in case the vibration messes up my hair. I unbutton my pajamas, throw them on the bed, and slip into my dress first, followed by the sweater. I carry the shoes, since I don’t want to have to wear them a minute longer than I have to.

  Eliza’s holding a silver necklace with matching earrings when I get back.

  “Turn around,” she says, and clasps the necklace behind me. She then hands me the earrings, which I put on myself.

  “Now you can look.” Eliza grabs my arm and pulls me toward her full-length mirror.

  I stare at the person looking back at me, and I’m almost positive she isn’t me.

  First of all, I look at least five years older. My hair is in a French braid and pinned at the top, the different colors swirling together like a prism. The dye has faded by now, but the pastel tints that are left look even better next to the silver shrug. I look like a girl in a fashion magazine, with bright pink lips and black-lined eyes. And of course the dress completes the look. I look incredible. I look like a model. But I don’t look like me.

  “So, what do you think?” Eliza asks, tucking a loose hair back into its clip.

  “It’s amazing,” I say. “How do you know how to do this?”

  “I’ve been practicing on myself for years,” she says. “Plus, I always do hair and makeup for my friends.”

  “You’re really good at it,” I say, still staring at the girl who is me but isn’t me in the mirror.

  Eliza grabs a pair of silver ballet flats out of her closet. “Throw these in your purse. They’re soft and you can roll them up so they fit in there.”

  “But I already have shoes.” I point to the high heels next to me.

  “I know, but trust me, if there’s any dancing or standing around, you’ll want to wear these instead. They’ll be much more comfortable. The heels are what you’ll wear to make an entrance, but then you can switch to the flats once your feet hurt.”

  “There’s so much I don’t know.” I sigh.

  My phone beeps at the exact same time Eliza’s does. We both reach for them and then sit side by side on her bed. It’s a text from Mom, to both of us.

  I’m sorry for leaving the other night. I’d like to try again. Are you up for another family meeting?

  I just stare at the text. Mom is apologizing? I’m not sure I remember that ever happening before.

  Eliza throws her phone on her bed. “She’s delusional if she thinks I’m going to go through that again.”

  “But she apologized,” I say, still staring at the text in disbelief.

  “So?” Eliza fixes her own lipstick in the mirror. “I haven’t heard from her in over a week. And didn’t you say she postponed your ice-cream date again last Tuesday? Too bad. It’s too little too late.”

  I get why Eliza’s upset, but I feel a glimmer of hope rise up inside of me like a firecracker in the sky—slow at first, then bursting wide open with light.

  “We should give her a chance,” I say.

  Eliza caps her lipstick and throws it back into her makeup bag.

  “Whatever,” she says. “I have more important things to think about.”

  I take that as permission to text Mom back.

  Okay. Let us know when.

  Her response comes immediately.

  I’ll text your father to confirm the day and time.

  Good. She’s going to text Dad. That means they’ll have to communicate. It’s a good sign.

  “All right!” Eliza shakes her head, like she’s trying to get Mom out of her thoughts. “It’s go time. You ready?”

  I nod, and she follows me downstairs, where Dad is waiting with a camera. Coco tells me I look like an evil princess (because I’m wearing black and I have bright lipstick on), and Dad takes a few pictures.

  My heart jumps inside my chest when the doorbell rings. I open it, and there stands Robert, in a black suit with a silver shirt and a black-and-silver-striped tie. But there’s something else that makes him look so different than he usually does. His hair is gelled back. It’s almost always flopping in his face.

  “Wow!” Robert’s eyes are wide. “You look awesome.”

  I’m glad I’m wearing so much makeup, because maybe he won’t be able to tell I’m blushing. “So do you.”

  “You ready?” He points to the limo. “Everyone else is already inside.”

  I wave to Dad, Eliza, and Coco, and follow Robert into the limo. I’ve never been in a limo before, and when I open the door, I gasp. It looks like a living room on wheels! There are seats shaped like couches, a television, a mini fridge, and lighting across the very long ceiling. I slip in behind Robert, careful not to smoosh my dress.

  “You look amazing,” Nina says, and everyone else in the car echoes her, even Christina.

  “Happy birthday,” I say. “This is so great.”

  “You haven’t seen anything yet,” Christina says.

  The limo backs out of our driveway, and the party begins.

  chapter

  28

  THE ENTIRE LIMO RIDE IS spent talking about where everyone got their dresses. Christina got hers at Bloomingdale’s. Taylor got hers at Nordstrom. Nina got hers at Macy’s. And Devon and Izzy went shopping together at the designer boutiques in the outlet mall. When it’s my turn, I tell everyone that I got this dress from my sister.

  “Like, you mean, she bought it for you?” Christina asks.

  “No,” I say. “It used to be hers.”

  “Are you serious?” Christina tilts her head to the side. “You didn’t even buy a new dress for the party?”

  “Was I supposed to?” I whisper.

  “No,” Nina chimes in, her voice louder and stronger than usual. “Your dress is perfect.”

  “Yeah, it’s fine for a hand-me-down,” Christina adds, giving Nina a nasty glare. She then turns around, presses the button to lower the divider, and talks to the driver. “Why are we slowing down?”

  “There’s a lot of traffic, miss,” he says.

  “Ugh. On a Saturday morning?” Christina says.

  “There’s a charity walk at the municipal field. That’s what the holdup is.”

  “A walk? For what?”

  “Um, the banner says muscular dystrophy,” the driver answers.

  “Well, that’s stupid!” Christ
ina turns around to face us now. “They’re having a walk for people who can’t actually walk!”

  The entire limo busts out laughing. It’s so loud that I flinch. I can’t believe Christina said that. I can’t believe everyone is laughing. Even Robert. But not Nina, I notice. She’s looking down at her hands.

  “Oh, good, we’re moving again.” Christina stretches her legs out. “We should be there any minute now. Can’t you just smell the mochaccinos?”

  The limo pulls up to the country club, and the driver comes around to open the door for us. And even though the sun feels good on my arms, I shiver, like I can’t get warm enough.

  Christina’s parents meet us outside the front entrance and usher us into a private room. This is the fanciest place I’ve ever been to. The chandeliers on the ceiling look like they’re made of diamonds, and even the waiters and waitresses are dressed up. Our circular table is decorated with candles, shiny plates, and sparkling cups. In the center of the table is a bouquet of flowers that is bigger than the hedges in front of my house.

  I sit between Robert and Nina, and the minute our butts hit the chairs, several waiters are at our table, pouring sparkling water, asking if we’d like anything else to drink, and making a huge fuss over everything we do. Soon other waiters and waitresses walk in with appetizers on trays, and before the meal is even served, our plates are loaded with food.

  “That was a lot of traffic down the street,” Christina’s dad says.

  “Yeah, it’s a walk for some disease,” Christina says. “But get this, it’s a disease where the people who have it can’t walk. So it’s pretty ridiculous if you ask me.”

  My hands curl into fists. “Actually,” I say, “it’s a walk to raise money for muscular dystrophy.”

  “Whatever. Who cares?” Christina glares at me.

  The blood pumps in my ears, and I stand up. “I care.”

  “What are you doing?” Robert whispers to me, but I ignore him.

  “Muscular dystrophy is a serious disease. And the walk raises awareness and money for research so they can one day find a cure.”

  “Seriously?” Christina raises her voice. “Way to kill the mood.”

  “I just want you to understand that it’s serious. And it’s important.” My voice is softer now.

  “Well, it’s not important to me, and it’s my party, so let’s all order mochaccinos!”

  The table cheers, and I sit back down.

  “What did you do that for?” Robert asks. “You’re acting all crazy.”

  There’s a tightness in my throat that’s making it hard to breathe. Robert doesn’t understand at all. “I can’t stay here,” I say.

  “What?” Robert’s voice has an edge I’ve never heard in it before. “The entire seventh grade would kill to be where you are right now.”

  “Maybe,” I say. “But this isn’t where I belong.”

  Robert rolls his eyes. “I give up.”

  “I need to get to Kellan’s walk. That’s where I should be right now.”

  “Kellan’s walking?” Nina asks.

  “Yes, and I signed up to be on his team, but then this party came up and I did this instead. But I shouldn’t be here. I should be there. With him.” Tears are burning my eyes, and I wipe them away with the back of my hand. I wonder if Eliza used waterproof makeup.

  “I have to go tell Christina.” I push my chair back and stand up. I walk to Christina’s chair and bend down to talk to her.

  “Christina, I’m really sorry,” I whisper. “I appreciate that you invited me, but I have to go.”

  “Are you kidding me right now?” Her tone is sharp, and I can understand why.

  “I’m sorry,” I say again. “And I’ll pay you for my food and everything.”

  “You’re leaving?” Christina is yelling now, and the entire table stares at us.

  “I have to. I promised a friend—”

  “Oh. My. God,” Christina says. “I can’t even believe I invited you. You were a total loser before I took pity on you, and you’re going to be a loser again. Go! I don’t want any losers at the biggest party in town.”

  I stand up and stagger out of the room. I must look like such an idiot in my too-high heels that I can barely walk in, but I don’t care. Beads of sweat sprout up on the back of my neck, and the sobs I’ve been trying to hold in come tumbling out. But I’m not crying about what Christina said. I’m crying because I’m afraid I missed the most important day in Kellan’s life.

  I’m just heading to the lobby when I realize someone’s following me.

  “Molly!” Nina’s running behind me, her purse dangling off of her shoulder.

  “Nina, I’m so sorry I ruined the party,” I say. “But I have to—”

  “I know.” Nina catches her breath. “You’re going to find Kellan. I’m going with you.”

  “What?” My breath catches in my throat.

  Nina nods. “I want to go with you. To the walk. I’ve always liked Kellan, and when I heard Christina talk like that, well . . .” Her voice trails off. “Do you even know how to get to where the walk is?”

  “Yeah, it’s right down the road,” I say. “But it started at ten o’clock.”

  Nina pulls her phone out of her purse. “It’s ten fifteen. Maybe we can still catch him.”

  We both run out the door, kick off our shoes, and take off as fast as we possibly can toward the municipal field.

  chapter

  29

  OUR FEET ARE SOAKED FROM running through the wet grass. Nina slips her shoes back on (her heels aren’t nearly as high as mine), and I put on the ballet flats that Eliza gave me.

  “This place is packed,” Nina says.

  Hundreds and hundreds of people have already started walking, everybody in blue Muscular Dystrophy Society shirts or team shirts, like the ones Kellan and I made. I don’t know how we’ll possibly find him in this crowd.

  “Follow me,” I say to Nina as I make my way to the edge of the pack. They’ll be walking, but we’ll be running. Hopefully, that will allow us to get a glimpse of the walkers and eventually find Kellan.

  Many of the participants give us confused looks as we run by. We’re definitely overdressed. My dress is sticking to my back, and my hair is falling out of its French braid. When I rub the sweat out of my eye, my hand comes back black. I can only imagine what my face must look like. Nina, on the other hand, is grace under pressure. Her hair hasn’t moved, and her lipstick is still perfect. Maybe she’s had more practice getting dressed up than I have.

  We’re almost at the middle of the pack when I spot Kellan. He’s with his mom, his dad, and Dylan, who are all decked out in Team Chocolate Chip Cookies shirts.

  “Kellan!” I scream, but between the music that’s blaring from nearby speakers and all the people talking, he doesn’t hear me.

  “Kellan!” I yell again, and Nina and I sprint to catch up with him.

  He does a double take when he sees us. And then he stops walking. He whispers something to his mom, who whispers back to him.

  Oh no. Mrs. Bingham knows. She knows what a terrible person I am. I feel like I shrink at least a foot as Nina and I make our way over to them.

  “What are you guys doing here?” Kellan is standing with his arms crossed, with his parents on one side of him and Dylan on the other.

  “We’ve come to walk.” I hope and pray that he can forgive me. I cross my fingers for extra luck.

  “Sorry.” Kellan turns away from me. “Dylan took your place.”

  I look at Dylan wearing the T-shirt I designed for us, and I feel a twinge of jealousy.

  It never occurred to me—until right this very second—that maybe while I was replacing Kellan as my best friend, he was replacing me as well.

  “I’m sorry,” I blurt out. “I don’t blame you for being mad.”

  Mrs. Bingham puts her hand on Kellan’s shoulder. “How about if we meet you up ahead?”

  Kellan nods, and Mr. and Mrs. Bingham continue walking with th
e crowd. Dylan looks confused, like he doesn’t know where to go, so he just stays put.

  Kellan still doesn’t say anything to me, which means he may be willing to listen. I take this as an invitation to keep going.

  “I’ve been a terrible friend.”

  Kellan snorts.

  “The worst friend ever,” I continue. “I know. I see that now. I’m sorry it took me so long to really figure it out. But you are my best friend, Kellan. And there’s nowhere I’d rather be right now than here. So even if you kick me off of Team Chocolate Chip Cookies, I’m still walking.”

  “You know, Molly,” Kellan says softly, “you were the only person I truly trusted, and when you bailed on me . . .”

  “I know.” My eyes fill with tears. “I know, and I’m so sorry. I—”

  “No.” Kellan puts his hand up. “Let me finish. I needed you. But maybe that was the problem. I hid behind you, and I hid behind this stupid disease of mine. I used both of you to justify to myself that I was fine. But you know what? I wasn’t fine. I’m not fine.”

  Kellan adjusts his weight from one leg brace to the other and keeps talking. “I got a raw deal. And maybe you got a raw deal too. You wanted to be more special, and I wanted to be less special.”

  The tears that filled my eyes a few minutes ago are now pouring down my cheeks. I want to hug him and apologize again and again, but he’s still talking.

  “We are who we are, I guess. When I stopped talking to you, I started talking to my mom. I mean really talking. And I learned how to talk to other kids too. I even met a few today with muscular dystrophy, just like me. That’s something I never would have done if you had been here with me. So it occurred to me—maybe that’s why you made other friends at school: because I wasn’t there with you. Maybe you weren’t only my crutch, but I was yours too.”

  Now I’m full-out ugly crying. Even waterproof mascara doesn’t stand a chance against the deluge of tears gushing out of my eyes. The truth is, he’s right. It was always the two of us, until all of a sudden it wasn’t. And when we no longer had each other, we had to find others to lean on—or maybe we had to learn to lean on ourselves.