Mary Anne in the Middle

by Ann M. Martin

  “Jessi, come on, don’t be so stubborn,” I pleaded.

  “I’m not being stubborn! I’m the one who should have been told. But she’s shut me out of this. Before that call, the last time she’d even mentioned it to me was back in November, when she went to look at the school. Since that weekend, the subject has been closed tight. I’m the one who’s been left out. She should call me.”

  I could see her point.

  The question was, would Mallory see it?

  * * *

  “Prepare yourself,” Mallory warned me as we approached the elementary school that Monday. As usual, we were meeting her brothers and sisters. “They’re crazed. Totally insane.”

  “Because you’re leaving?”

  “Yup. I can’t believe they’re having so much trouble with this. I thought they’d adjust over the weekend, but they’ve only gotten worse.”

  “Mallory, you’re their sister!” I cried. “Didn’t you expect them to be upset?”

  “I guess I didn’t.”

  “You know, Mallory,” I said. “You think too little of yourself. Didn’t you realize people would care that you’re leaving?”

  She looked away from me. “Not this much,” she said.

  We reached the school as the kids were pouring out of the building. “Oh, are you still here?” Margo greeted Mallory icily.

  “Ha-ha,” Mallory muttered.

  “Mallory, I have a question,” Vanessa said. “Can I have your bike?”

  “No.”

  “Well, why not? You won’t be using it.”

  “I’ll want it when I come home.”

  “That’s so selfish! You won’t even be using it but you won’t let me have it.”

  “You can use it but you can’t have it,” Mallory allowed.

  “That’s not the same.”

  The triplets walked farther ahead than usual and acted as if we weren’t there at all — as if Mallory were already gone.

  Claire did just the opposite. She held tightly to Mallory’s hand. She gazed up at her sister, as if unable to take her eyes away from her. “Claire, watch where you’re walking,” Mallory scolded mildly when Claire tripped and fell against her sister.

  “I’m sorry,” Claire said, but still she could only gaze at Mallory.

  “I wonder if Mom and Dad will have another kid after you’re gone,” Nicky mused. “You know, to replace you.”

  “I doubt it, Nicky,” Mallory replied. “I think eight kids is enough.”

  “Yeah, but we only have seven now,” he replied.

  I cringed. Poor Mallory. “No, there are still eight of you,” I said. “There’ll always be eight.”

  “I don’t know,” Nicky said, shaking his head.

  “Claire,” Mallory complained as her sister stumbled again.

  “I can’t help it,” Claire said. “I just love you.”

  It was sweet. And sad. “Well, I love you too,” Mallory said. “But look where you’re going, please.”

  Once we were inside the house and had made snacks, I suggested working on the holiday project.

  I unloaded the supplies I’d brought with me: Styrofoam balls, straight pins, glue, ribbon, directions for Christmas balls decorated with sequins. It’s very easy. You just stick the straight pins through the sequins and attach them to the ball until it is completely covered. Then you tie the ribbon around the middle. You can place stickers here and there too. In the book they’d looked sparkly and beautiful. (Of course, I’d probably have to help Claire use the pins, but I thought the rest could handle it.)

  The kids seemed to like the idea. Pretty soon they were all gathered around the table covering Styrofoam balls with sequins. I noticed that Margo was using only red sequins, carefully picking them out of the multicolored assortment I’d spread on the table. “The red looks pretty,” I commented.

  “I’m making a heart,” she said. “This is my heart, and guess who I am?”

  “Who?” Mallory asked.

  “I’m Mallory — Mallory, sticking pins into my heart.”

  Ouch!

  “I would never stick pins into your heart!” Mallory cried.

  “That’s what you’re doing by going away,” Margo said dramatically. She threw her half-finished ornament across the table and left the room.

  Mallory looked at me. Her pained expression asked, What am I going to do?

  I honestly didn’t know. Her best friend wasn’t speaking to her. And her brothers and sisters were driving her crazy.

  She’d solved one problem — and it had caused another.

  Mallory was greeted at the door of the Barrett-DeWitt house by eight-year-old Buddy Barrett. “Hi, Mallory,” he said, opening the door wide. “Are you really leaving?”

  Stunned, Mallory stepped inside and stared at Buddy. “How did you know th —” She cut herself off when she spotted Jessi standing behind him. Of course, that explained how he knew.

  “Don’t leave, Mallory!” pleaded five-year-old Suzi Barrett. Her round tummy peeked out in the space between her Barbie T-shirt and her jeans.

  Mallory gazed over her head at Jessi. “Thanks loads,” she said.

  “Oh, I forgot, this is top secret,” Jessi replied snippily. “Only Mary Anne is supposed to know.”

  Mallory just glared at her.

  Jessi returned the look. She couldn’t believe Mallory was simply planning to disappear from Stoneybrook without telling the kids she baby-sat for. How could she do that? Didn’t she think they had feelings? (I know all this because Mal and Jessi each phoned me after the job to tell me about it.)

  Mrs. DeWitt came into the room with the two-year-olds, Marnie and Ryan, toddling alongside her. A strand of her chestnut hair fell into her face. Her orange silk shirt was half tucked into her black slacks. “Hi, girls,” she greeted Jessi and Mal. “Franklin and I will be at Bellair’s looking for some new furniture,” she said. “I’ll leave my cell phone on so you can reach us. The number is on the fridge.”

  “Thanks,” Mallory said. Every time Mrs. DeWitt remembers to leave a number where she can be reached, we really appreciate it. Mrs. DeWitt hasn’t always been the most organized person. When we first began sitting for her, she’d often run out and forget to say where she was going.

  Now, since gaining four additional kids in her remarriage, she occasionally seems more rattled and doesn’t always wear such gorgeous clothing or look so model-perfect, but she’s somehow more organized too.

  “I was thinking we could make decorations for Kwanzaa,” Jessi said, “so I brought some supplies.”

  Lindsey, who is eight, had come in from the kitchen. “We learned about Kwanzaa in school,” she said. “It comes in December — it’s the celebration of African-American pride and unity. It’s also a harvest celebration.”

  “That’s right,” Jessi said. “It’s a little like Thanksgiving because it’s celebrated with a big meal.”

  “It’s like Hanukkah too,” Mallory put in, “because one more candle in a candelabra is lit each night. But each candle symbolizes something different.”

  Jessi shot Mallory a sidelong glance. She remembered how Mal had celebrated Kwanzaa with the Ramseys the year before. The memory made something inside her tighten with sadness.

  “Yeah,” she said, looking away from Mallory. “The candelabra is called a kinara. I brought some clay and I thought we could make kinaras with it. We can’t really burn candles in them, but they’ll be nice decorations.” She went on to tell the kids how they could help redecorate Stoneybrook Manor.

  The kids were very enthusiastic. They ran into the kitchen. “Do we have to make a kinara?” asked six-year-old Taylor, who’d joined them.

  “Not if you don’t want to,” Jessi said. “You can make something else if you like.”

  “I want to make a snowman. Can I?” asked four-year-old Madeleine.

  “Sure, everyone likes a snowman in winter,” Mallory replied.

  “The project is Kwanzaa,” Jessi barked at her.

/>   “You just said Taylor could make something else,” Mallory pointed out.

  “Something else for Kwanzaa,” Jessi shot back. “Not a snowman.”

  “Oh, get over it, Jessi,” Mallory said. “She’s four, okay!”

  “I brought the clay,” Jessi said. “I’ll be the one to say how she can use it.”

  Mallory rolled her eyes. “I don’t believe you!” she cried.

  “She could make a basket of fruit and vegetables or something else that has to do with Kwanzaa. You could have at least checked with me before giving permission to make a snowman!” Jessi said, her voice rising. It suddenly seemed to Jessi that Mallory had no regard for what anyone else wanted. Had she always been this self-centered? Jessi hadn’t noticed the trait before. But maybe it had been there all along.

  “I don’t have to make a snowman,” Madeleine offered diplomatically. “Fruit is fine.”

  “It’s okay,” Jessi told her. “Make what you like. I just think Mallory should have asked me first.”

  * * *

  The moment Mallory returned home, she phoned me. “Why did you do that to me?” she exploded the moment I picked up. “You know Jessi and I aren’t speaking! Why did you put us together?”

  “I thought it would give you a chance to talk,” I explained.

  There was a pause on the line, as if something had interrupted our phone connection.

  “That’s our call-waiting,” I said. “Hold on. Let me see who it is and I’ll come right back to you.”

  “Mary Anne. It’s Jessi. What was the big idea?”

  “I guess it didn’t go too well,” I observed.

  “Didn’t go too well! It was horrible!”

  “I’m sorry. What went wrong?”

  “Mallory acted like a little creep. First she got mad just because I’d told the kids she was leaving. Then she acted like she was in charge and I was just there to assist her. I don’t know who she thinks she is these days.”

  Suddenly I remembered that I’d left Mallory hanging on the other line. “Hold on a minute,” I said to Jessi. I clicked back to Mallory. “Sorry I made you wait,” I apologized. “Listen, I’ll take this call and call you back when —”

  Mallory’s voice overlapped mine. “You wouldn’t believe Jessi. She came in with a plan to make Kwanzaa stuff, which was fine, but she could have checked with me. What if I’d come in with supplies to make something else? She’s acting as if I’m gone already.”

  “She didn’t know she would be sitting with you,” I put in.

  “That makes it even worse. She didn’t care about what anyone else wanted to do. She’s turning into a totally selfish individual.”

  “I have someone on hold,” I told Mallory. “Let me tell her I’ll call her back and then get back to you. Hang on.” I clicked the phone once again. “Hi, Jessi, I’m going to have to —”

  Jessi didn’t wait to hear my words. “You know what the problem is,” she began. “Mallory has become a totally selfish individual. I can’t believe we were ever friends.”

  “Oh, you can forget that,” Mallory told me with a dismissive wave of the hand. It was Wednesday afternoon. She and I were cleaning up the kitchen after the Pike kids had eaten their snacks. Mallory pulled open the refrigerator door, then stood in front of it as if she had forgotten why she opened it. “There’s no way I’m going. I’m sure she doesn’t even want me there,” she added after a minute’s thought.

  I crumpled paper plates into the garbage. “You were invited,” I pointed out.

  “That was before.”

  I’d just reminded Mallory that this Saturday Jessi’s friends from Dance NY would be visiting for a sleepover and that the BSC members were also invited.

  The front doorbell rang. I knew who it was because I’d asked Stacey to “drop by” to help me with this. I had expected Mallory to say she wasn’t going, and I thought it would be the worst thing for her to do.

  “Doorbell!” Margo called from the living room where she was playing with Claire and Nicky.

  “I’ll get it,” I told Mallory. I let Stacey in and walked with her back to the kitchen. “Are you ready for the big sleepover on Friday?” Stacey asked, getting right to the point.

  “That’s what this is about,” Mallory said.

  So much for making it look casual.

  “Well, yeah,” Stacey admitted. “You’re going, aren’t you?”

  “No,” Mallory replied firmly.

  “You have to,” Stacey insisted. “Do you think you’ve done anything wrong?”

  Mallory shook her head. “Definitely not.”

  “Then why hide?”

  “I’m not hiding! Jessi’s being a creep and I don’t want to deal with her. Why should I?”

  “Because you two are best friends,” I said. “You have to talk about this!”

  “What do you care if we stay friends or not?” Mallory said hotly.

  My first reaction was to say, You’re right. I don’t care. It would have been a whole lot easier than being stuck in the middle.

  But I couldn’t not care. Jessi and Mal are my friends, and they’re wonderful people.

  “She cares because she cares,” Stacey said for me. “We all care about you guys. You’re going away soon. This isn’t the time for you and Jessi to be fighting.”

  “I don’t like it,” Mallory admitted. “That’s how it’s turned out, though. And there’s nothing I can do about it.”

  “Yes there is. Talk to Jessi,” Stacey said.

  Mallory folded her arms stubbornly. “She won’t talk to me.”

  I had to go into the living room to negotiate a dispute. When I returned to the kitchen Stacey looked at me with a helpless expression. “I give up,” she said. “She’s made up her mind.” Stacey rezipped her jacket and headed for the door.

  “You can’t leave yet!” I protested. We hadn’t convinced Mallory to go. Stacey was deserting me.

  “You’re not going to change her mind,” Stacey said. “You might as well give up. See you at the meeting later.”

  I walked Stacey to the front door then returned to Mallory. Her mouth was set in a grim, determined line. She did look pretty unbendable.

  I couldn’t accept it, though.

  “If you go to the party, Jessi might talk to you,” I said. “By showing up, you’ll prove you’re willing to try.”

  Mallory’s face softened a little. “Do you really think so?”

  “Yes,” I said, forcing myself to sound more certain than I felt. “Absolutely.”

  “All right,” she agreed softly.

  * * *

  “What are you doing here?” That’s how Jessi greeted Mallory and me on Saturday when we arrived together at her house.

  Mallory turned to leave, but I held her arm. “Isn’t tonight the sleepover?” I asked. For the last few days Jessi and Mallory’s friendship had stayed in deep freeze. They’d gone for two whole meetings without speaking. I hoped tonight would make the difference.

  “I don’t mean you, Mary Anne. I mean her,” Jessi replied.

  “I thought everyone in the BSC was invited,” I said pointedly.

  “Forget it,” Mallory muttered, breaking loose from my grip.

  “You’re right,” Jessi said quickly. “Come on in, Mallory.”

  Mallory shot me an unhappy look, but I nodded toward the door. “Come on,” I said.

  Reluctantly, Mallory headed inside.

  As I passed Jessi on my way in, I hesitated. “Please be nice to her. She’s really upset,” I whispered.

  Jessi glanced at Mallory and grunted at me in reply. Oh, well. At least they were together and would be all night. That was a start. We put down our sleeping bags and looked into the living room.

  Kristy, Stacey, and Abby were already sitting there talking to two of Jessi’s friends from Dance NY. From their slim, athletic builds, I could tell they were dancers.

  “Mary Anne, meet Tanisha and Maritza Cruz,” Jessi said. Abby, Kristy, and Stacey had al
ready met Tanisha during a summer trip to London, where Dance NY had performed. Mallory had met both girls in New York. But I had only heard about them.

  “Hi, Mary Anne,” they greeted me in unison.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Mallory, hi,” Maritza said, noticing Mal, who’d been hanging back behind me. “How have you been?”

  Warmed by Maritza’s friendliness, Mallory walked all the way into the room. “All right.”

  “I heard you’re going away to school,” Tanisha added. “Very cool.”

  Mallory’s eyes widened in surprise. I understood her confusion. These were Jessi’s friends. Mallory hadn’t expected them to be supportive of her decision.

  “I bet living away from home will be freaky at first,” Maritza said, “but I suppose you’ll adjust.”

  Jessi coughed and shot Maritza a warning look that I thought said, Could you please be quiet?

  Tanisha jumped in. “I take the subway to Manhattan every day now that I’m a full-time member of the dance company. But traveling is a pain and I wish I could live at the school.”

  “Yes, but your situation isn’t the same as Mallory’s,” Jessi said. Her tone was sweet but there was iciness just beneath it. “Tanisha, you have friends at school so of course you want to live there. Mallory is leaving all her friends — and the people who thought they were her friends.”

  She didn’t say, People like me. She didn’t have to.

  “Oh, you can make friends wherever you go,” Tanisha replied. “Look how fast you became friends with Maritza and me when you came to New York.”

  “Yeah, good friends,” Maritza added.

  “Celeste too,” Tanisha said. “By the way, Jessi. She says she’s sorry she couldn’t come. She had some family thing this weekend.”

  Jessi nodded and changed the subject to Celeste, another of her Dance NY friends. I was sure she didn’t want to hear any more about Mallory’s making wonderful new friends.

  While Jessi spoke to Tanisha, Mallory sat on the couch beside Maritza. The doorbell rang, and I answered it, letting Claudia in. “How’s it going?” she asked. “Between Jessi and Mallory, I mean.”