Molly in the Middle Page 4

  I lie on my bed and close my eyes. I’m not sure how long I stay there, but after several songs someone opens my door.

  “Hey,” I say even before I turn around to see who it is, “why don’t you knock?”

  I take my headphones out and find Eliza standing in my doorway.

  “I did knock, you loser. You didn’t hear me.”

  “Oh.” I sit up. “Sorry.”

  She looks terrible. Her black eyeliner is smeared, like maybe she’s been crying. But I haven’t seen Eliza cry since she was eight years old and Tommy Watson punched her in the nose for calling him a poopyhead.

  “Dad wants to know what you want on your pizza.” She crosses her arms in front of her.

  “We’re having pizza?”

  Eliza shrugs. “It would seem that way.”

  “Onions, green peppers, and pineapple.”

  Eliza’s lip curls. “That’s disgusting.”

  And then she leaves my room, slamming the door behind her.

  The light outside is fading, and the blue paint on my walls looks more like a sickly shade of gray. I love my room. It’s the one place in my house where I feel like I really belong. My parents let me redecorate for my eleventh birthday, and I chose a tropical theme. Pictures of beaches and palm trees line the walls, and my bedspread and pillows are covered with schools of colorful tropical fish. It’s usually so bright and happy, but tonight it just looks dull and murky, like the bottom of the deep, dark ocean.

  I lie in bed with my eyes closed until I hear the doorbell ring and Coco yells “Pizza!” at the top of her lungs. I drag myself downstairs because, despite the dingy tone of the night, I do love pizza.

  Dad places a pile of paper plates in the middle of the table. “Dig in.”

  Coco already has two slices of pepperoni in front of her. I find the onion, green pepper, and pineapple pie and slide a piece onto my plate. The cheese is extra thick and gooey, just the way I like it.

  “Where’s Eliza?” Dad asks as he pours himself a glass of ginger ale.

  I take a bite of pizza and shrug.

  “Can you please tell Eliza dinner is here?” Dad asks Coco.

  Coco wipes her greasy hands on a paper towel and yells, “ELIZA! Dinner’s here!”

  “I could have done that,” Dad says. “Please go upstairs and get her.”

  “Why do I have to go?” Coco whines. “Molly’s older.”

  Dad sighs, then looks at me. “Molly, can you please go get Eliza?”

  I’m not sure how me being older has anything to do with going upstairs, but I don’t argue with either of them. There’s been enough arguing in this house for one day.

  I knock on Eliza’s door.

  She opens it and glares at me. “What?”

  “Pizza is here,” I say.

  “Fine.” And then she closes the door in my face.

  I go back to the kitchen and sit down. “I told her.”

  “Is she coming?” Dad asks.

  “I guess so,” I say. Why does Dad care so much if Eliza eats with us? Most of the time she eats ramen noodles over the sink for dinner. Our family isn’t the type to sit down together for long meals.

  I’m on my second slice by the time Eliza gets to the table. “Where are the mozzarella sticks?”

  “Check the bag. It’s still on the counter,” Dad says.

  Eliza pulls a silver container out of the paper bag on the counter and brings it to the table. She pulls a mozzarella stick out and takes a bite but doesn’t offer one to anyone else.

  Dad pushes his plate away and clears his throat. “Girls, I need to talk to you about something.”

  I look at him, but Eliza and Coco keep eating.

  “Your mom went to stay with Aunt Kathy for a few days.”

  “Why?” Coco asks, a mouth full of pizza.

  “She just needed some time away,” Dad says.

  “Away from what?” Coco asks.

  “You, probably,” Eliza huffs.

  Dad shoots her a look. “She just needs some privacy to get some work done.”

  “But how can she have privacy if Aunt Kathy’s there?” Coco asks.

  “OMG, Coco,” Eliza says. “You are so dense.”

  “Eliza.” Dad glares at her. “Enough.”

  “When’s she coming back?” The pizza sits like a brick in my stomach.

  “In a few days,” Dad says. “Probably in a few days.”

  It’s not that strange for Mom to be gone. She’s hardly ever home in time for dinner, and she takes a lot of business trips. But it feels weird that she’s not working or traveling and is staying at Aunt Kathy’s. She and Dad must have had a major fight.

  “Whatever,” Eliza says. “I’m going to eat these in my room.” She takes the container of mozzarella sticks and stomps up the steps.

  “If Eliza doesn’t have to eat at the table,” Coco begins, “neither do I, right? I’m going to watch TV.”

  Dad shakes his head, but more to himself than to her. Coco takes another piece of pizza and brings her plate to the living room.

  “Take your time, Molly,” Dad says as he gets up from the table. “I have some work to catch up on.”

  “That’s okay,” I say. “I’m done anyway.” I push my half-eaten slice of pizza away from me. I’m just not hungry anymore.

  There’s a text from Mom waiting for me when I get back up to my room.

  Hi, Molly. I’m going to pick you up from school tomorrow. We can get ice cream.

  Ice cream? My mom doesn’t eat ice cream. And she never, ever picks me up from school.

  This can’t be good.

  chapter

  8

  I HIT SNOOZE SEVEN TIMES before getting out of bed the next day. I woke up so often in the middle of the night, I don’t have the energy to sneak back into Eliza’s room for more clothes today. I find a pair of ripped jeans in my closet that could look kinda cool (I ripped them when I fell off of my bike, but nobody has to know that) and a bright pink hoodie that Aunt Kathy got me for my birthday but I never wore before because it’s so . . . bright. It turns out bright pink looks great with rainbow hair, so I throw it on.

  Nobody says anything on the car ride to school. I did notice that Eliza’s skirt is shorter than usual, but Dad didn’t comment. I guess he feels like he can’t get anywhere without Mom backing him up, and he’s probably right.

  When I get to my locker, Robert is leaning against it.

  “Hey,” he says when he sees me. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  Robert Jackson is waiting for me?

  “Oh,” I say, which is the most brilliant thing I can come up with on such short notice.

  “Are you doing anything this weekend?” He raises his eyebrows.

  “Hmmm,” I say. I hope this makes it seem like I’m mentally going through my busy social calendar rather than buying time to think of something to say. “I’m not sure yet. Still firming up plans.”

  “That’s cool.” Robert leans against the locker next to mine. “I was hoping you might be able to help me with my hair.”

  It takes every ounce of energy I have to keep my feet on the floor. I want to jump up and down and scream YESSSSSSSSSS! as loud as I can. Instead, I nod, maybe a little too enthusiastically. “Sure, we can do that.”

  “Yeah?” Robert’s face brightens.

  “Yeah.” I can’t help but smile.

  “Sweet!” He pulls a pen out of his back pocket and grabs my hand.

  OMIGOSH, ROBERT JACKSON IS HOLDING MY HAND.

  Well, not holding it really. More like holding on to it, so he can write something on my palm.

  “This is my number. Text me when you know what time you’re free.”

  “I will.” My voice comes out like a squeak. I clear my throat.

  “Cool. It’s a date.” And then he runs off.

  It’s a date? Did I just make a date with Robert Jackson?

  My mind is whizzing so fast that I barely notice Christina and Nina running toward me. Nin
a grabs my hand.

  “OMG! Did Robert Jackson just give you his number?”

  “Uhhhh.” I stare at the numbers on my hand. “I think so.”

  “Nice,” Christina says. “Half the girls in this school would kill for those digits. I, of course, have them, but hardly anyone else does.”

  Nina gives me a wink. “He’s really cool, Molly.”

  “Hey,” Christina says, “why don’t you sit with us today at lunch?”

  First Robert gives me his number, and then Christina invites me to sit with her at lunch? I lean against my locker because I don’t trust my own legs to hold me up right now.

  “You totally should,” Nina says.

  “Great.” I smile. “Thanks.”

  The bell rings, and Christina and Nina take off down the hallway. I grab the books I need for first period and then pre-algebra and practically run to class. My feet don’t touch the ground the entire way.

  At lunchtime I walk toward the cafeteria (and past the library) with a bounce in my step. I open the door, and the noise nearly pushes me over. It’s been so long since I’ve been in a school cafeteria, I forgot how loud it can be. I also forgot how smelly it can be. Today’s scent is eau de refried beans. At least I hope that’s what I’m smelling.

  Nina sees me lingering in the doorway and waves me over. I hold tightly to my boring brown paper bag and force myself to put one foot in front of the other. My stomach feels like it’s trying to exit my body and take off without me, but I’m not sure if it’s nerves or excitement.

  “Hi, Molly.” Nina pats the chair next to hers. “You can sit here.”

  “Thanks.” I make my body as small as possible as I slide into the chair, careful not to take up too much space in a place I’m not yet sure I belong.

  “Molly, you know Devon and Izzy, right?” Nina points to the other two girls sitting at the table.

  Izzy tilts her head and squints at me. “What was your name again?”

  “Molly.” I’ve been going to school with Izzy since kindergarten.

  “Right.” Izzy smiles. “It’s really nice to meet you. I totally love your hair.”

  “And I loved that you sassed Littman yesterday,” Christina says.

  “You sassed Littman?” Izzy leans forward, anxious to hear more.

  “Not really.” I can feel my face heating up. “I mean, it wasn’t much.”

  “Yeah, it was,” Christina says. “She told her she would look good with rainbow hair.”

  “No way!” Izzy throws her head back and laughs. “You said that?”

  “She totally did,” Christina says.

  “That’s awesome,” Devon pipes in. “I wish I were there.”

  “So, what’s going on with you and Robert?” Christina is peeling an orange.

  “Not much,” I say. Truth is, I have no idea what’s going on between me and Robert.

  “Is something going on with you and Robert?” Devon’s eyes grow to three times their normal size.

  “He gave her his number this morning,” Christina tells her.

  “No. Way. Are you going to text him?” Now Devon leans forward in her chair.

  I look at the phone number written on my hand. “I guess so.”

  “You totally have to,” Nina says. “He’s so cute.”

  “So cute,” Devon agrees.

  They spend the next twenty minutes telling me how awesome Robert is, which I pretty much already know. But I really don’t care what they talk about. It’s so nice to eat lunch with somebody for a change, and by the time the bell rings, my insides feel all warm. I’m not sure if it’s the hot chocolate I drank, or if maybe, just maybe, I finally belong somewhere at this school.

  The gushy feeling doesn’t last for long. At dismissal I remember that Mom is picking me up for our ice-cream date. I go out the front door, and instead of turning right toward the buses, I turn left toward the parking lot.

  Robert is already there with a couple of other boys. They’re skateboarding up and down the ramps.

  I don’t want him to think I’m following him, so I pretend to be fascinated with a speck of dirt on my shoe.

  “Hey, Molly.” He skates up to me.

  “Oh, hi, Robert.” I look up at him like he’s the last person in the world I expected to see. Mom’s car pulls up to the curb.

  “Totally stoked about getting together this weekend.” He’s rocking back and forth on his skateboard. If I tried to do that, I’d fall flat on my face.

  “Oh, yeah, me too.” My heart is beating so fast that I start to feel dizzy.

  “Wanna try?” Robert jumps off his skateboard and flips it up so that he’s now holding it out to me.

  “Oh, I would but—” I watch my Mom’s car come to a stop. “My mom’s here.”

  “Cool,” Robert says. “Don’t forget to text me.”

  “Sure.”

  He hops on his skateboard and rides away. I open the passenger door of Mom’s car and slide in.

  “Friend of yours?” Mom motions toward Robert with her eyes.

  “Kind of,” I answer. I close my hand into a fist so she doesn’t see the writing on my palm.

  “Mmm-hmm.” Mom doesn’t say anything else, but she’s grinning. She probably thinks I like Robert, which obviously, I don’t. I’m just helping him with his hair. I mean, I guess I could like him, but we just started talking a day ago. Sheesh. Why do grown-ups always jump to conclusions?

  “What do you think about Clearville Creamery?” Mom pulls into their parking lot before I can even answer.

  I order a double scoop of vanilla with rainbow sprinkles, and Mom orders coffee. Not even coffee ice cream, but actual coffee. And she drinks it without cream or sugar. Ew.

  “Why don’t you eat ice cream?” I ask when we find a booth in the corner.

  “Sugar makes me feel sluggish. Coffee keeps me alert. And for my job I need to be alert.”

  I take small bites of my ice cream, making sure a few rainbow sprinkles make it into every spoonful. Mom just sips her coffee and watches me. I know she wants to ask me something because she’s leaning forward in her chair. That’s what she does when she wants to have a “serious” conversation. The last time she leaned forward in her chair, she told me that she didn’t care if C’s were average and that I should be pulling all A’s and B’s on my report card, even in pre-algebra. But I wasn’t in the mood for a serious conversation. I actually had a good day today, and I didn’t want her to ruin it. Because when it comes to Mom’s serious conversations, they’re never serious in a good way.

  “So, Molly . . .” Uh-oh. Here it comes. I lick every ounce of ice cream off my spoon so I don’t have to answer her. “I want to talk to you about something.”

  “Yeah?” I scrape the edges of the bowl, making loud scratchy noises.

  “I’m staying at Aunt Kathy’s for a while.” She leans back in her chair, but her gaze doesn’t leave me.

  “I know. Dad told us.” There’s no more ice cream left in my bowl; not even one rainbow sprinkle. I put my spoon inside my bowl with a loud clang.

  “I might be there for a few weeks.”

  “A few weeks? Dad said you’d be there for a few days.” I crumple my napkin up in a little ball.

  “I think some more time away would be best.”

  “Best for what?” I uncrumple my napkin and start ripping it into little pieces.

  “Best for me, actually.” Mom takes the napkin out of my hand. “You’re making a mess.”

  “Sorry.” I look down at my empty bowl.

  “I just want you to know that this has nothing to do with you.” Mom reaches across the table and puts her hand on my arm. Her red nail polish clashes with my pink hoodie. “Or your sisters.”

  “Okay.” I nod, pull my arm away, and lean back in the booth so that her hand falls to the table.

  “It’s just something I need to do for myself right now. You understand.” She’s not asking me if I understand. She’s telling me that I understand, even if I d
on’t. I don’t understand how staying at Aunt Kathy’s, away from her kids and husband, is best for her. But as with everyone else in our house, it’s pointless to argue. She’ll lawyer me right out of Clearville Creamery.

  “Anyway,” she continues, “we could meet for ice cream once a week. Won’t that be fun?” She claps her hands together like I’m three years old again.

  “Sure,” I say.

  “That’s my girl,” Mom says. “And try to help your dad out at home. Eliza and Coco can be a handful, and you know your father can’t get out of his own way.”

  I flinch like she punched me in the stomach. Yeah, I know Dad is a little bit airheaded. But I don’t need to hear it from her.

  “This sure was fun.” Mom stands up and puts her coat on. “Can’t wait to do it again.”

  Mom drives me home, and I wave to her as she pulls out of our driveway. Even with my new rainbow hair, colorful clothes, and popular friends, I feel more invisible than ever.

  chapter

  9

  COCO’S IN FRONT OF THE TV, and Eliza is in her room. At least I’m guessing she’s in there since music is blaring from behind the closed door.

  I head up to my own room so I can have some privacy. I close the door, throw my backpack onto the chair, and then sit on the edge of my bed. My hands start to sweat, so I quickly add Robert’s contact information into my phone before the ink rubs off my palm.

  I take a deep breath and press the text icon next to his name. I stare at my phone, hoping something adorable and charming will fly into my fingers. My mind is a complete blank, as if someone went into my head and erased the “vocabulary” part of my brain.

  Because I can’t think of anything else to write, I decide on the straightforward approach.

  Hi. It’s Molly. When do you want me to do your hair?

  Then I send it before I can change my mind. Two seconds later I feel like I’m going to throw up.

  Ugh! I throw myself back onto my bed. That was so lame! Hi. It’s Molly. He’s going to think I’m the biggest dork who ever—

  My phone buzzes and I shoot up.

  How bout Sat afternoon?

  Omigosh omigosh omigosh. My hands are shaking as I read his reply. His reply! He actually wrote back!