“What?” Pound Patrollers now seemed to be a months-old embarrassment. Maggie shook her head. “Fine, but what are you doing in here?”
Her mother patted the bed and looked around, as though the answer were hidden in one of the Monet posters dotting the walls or in the notes and textbooks still scattered at the foot of the bed. She stood up and flapped her hand once in front of her face, dismissing her presence as anything abnormal.
“I was just bringing your clean clothes up.” She gestured toward the floor, where Maggie’s pajama bottoms, socks, underwear, and T-shirts were strewn about, like her dirty clothes usually were before making it to the wash. “And I just got suddenly tired, so I lay down for a bit. That’s all.” She kissed the top of Maggie’s head before gathering the clothes and quickly refolding them into a neat pile on top of the dresser.
“So, I’m going to go start dinner. I’ll see you in a bit.” And she hurried out of the room before Maggie could remind her that it was eight thirty and they’d eaten three hours before.
After Maggie watched her mother go in and out of the kitchen and then into the bathroom, she picked up the fallen moose from the floor. Her father had given one to her and one to Summer during their last family vacation to New Hampshire, where there’d seemed to be more yellow signs warning of moose crossing than actual moose. They’d never spotted one, but her father had slowed down for every rock and shrub, just in case.
Maggie rested the moose next to her pillow, cleared her textbooks, notes, and laptop from the bed, and changed into her pajamas. Too tired to update her completed assignments on the Master Multitasker spreadsheet and too mortified to finish off the Twix she’d opened earlier, she crawled into bed and turned off the light.
When her head landed on something hard, she turned the light back on and reached under the pillow.
Her mother’s leather photo album.
Maggie leaned against the wall and brought the album to her lap. She hadn’t let anyone take her picture in months, but these photos were from the year before. She turned the pages slowly, examining each as though it contained clues. In them, she wore a size twelve instead of a size eighteen, Summer turned cartwheels in their old backyard, her mother baked cookies, and her father posed proudly next to his company truck.
She paused at her father’s picture. She’d forgotten that smile. He’d worked for the same landscaper for years, and had gotten the truck right after his boss had promised him eventual partnership. They’d all piled in and he’d driven them past the yards of the company’s biggest clients, promising to one day buy them their very own house with their very own perfect lawn.
The layoff came unexpectedly two months later. Budget cuts, his boss had said.
Maggie sighed, closed the album, and exchanged it for her laptop on the floor. Settling back against the wall, she brought the stuffed New Hampshire moose next to her and opened the laptop.
When the Master Multitasker glowed in front of her, she clicked on “Miscellaneous” and added a new item above the original three.
#1: FIND DAD A JOB.
She couldn’t wait to check it off.
9.
“All righty, girly girls. Softball’s the name of the game today and if anyone gives me any lip-glossed lip about cramps, bloating, or PMS-related physically impairing moodiness, it’s laps around the track for the next six weeks!” Ms. Pinkerton veiled into her new megaphone.
Maggie and Aimee looked at each other and rolled their eyes as several girls around them covered their ears and winced.
“I didn’t think anything could be more annoying than the whistle,” Aimee whispered.
“Ooh, ooh, Ms. Pinkerton!” Genevieve Snodgrass waved one French manicured hand in the air. “I’d love to be a captain!”
Ms. Pinkerton snorted into the megaphone.
“Nobody wants a whiner for a captain, missy! Now get in line with everyone else!”
Maggie would rather play softball than run around the track any day, but the game definitely had its own low points, some of which occurred well before the first pitch. Two years ago, she was considered an average softball player—not good, but good enough to get picked by the captains somewhere in the middle of the team-forming process. She could usually hit two out of three pitches—not far, but usually far enough to get to first base. But these days she just couldn’t move her legs fast enough to beat the ball to the first baseman’s glove. So while her hits were still decent, they were about as effective as a strikeout or an easily caught fly ball, making her a less-than-desired teammate.
Genevieve Snodgrass could barely wrap her fingers around the bat because of her perfectly done nails, but she could at least shuffle down the baseline on tiptoes faster than Maggie could sprint.
“Anabel and Julia, you’re up!”
Maggie bit her lip, disappointed. For some reason, she still had faith that adults, especially teachers, believed in equal opportunities. If Julia and Anabel were already captains of something on a daily basis and enjoying all the emotional and social benefits, couldn’t this opportunity be shared with non-Water Wings?
Anabel and Julia stepped away from the line and turned to face them. Maggie unconsciously crossed her arms over her stomach upon being confronted with two sets of toned arms, flat tummies, and defined quadriceps. They stood with their hands on their hips, legs shoulder-width apart, and identical green bubbles growing from their perfect, pink-frosted lips.
“Remember!” Ms. Pinkerton bellowed. “It’s not rocket science, and it’s not a stinkin’ popularity contest! You want runners and hitters if you want to win, and if you don’t want to win, go home and stop wasting my time!” She stepped to the side but kept the megaphone raised and her forefinger curled around the small black button, ready to fire.
Anabel snapped her gum. “Mandy,” she called to the tallest, fastest runner in the class.
“Becca,” Julia called out to the second tallest, fastest runner in the class.
Mandy and Becca stepped behind their captains, exchanging energetic high fives.
“Aimee,” Anabel announced next.
Maggie patted her friend on the back as she jogged over to her new team. Aimee was always one of the first five chosen, and Maggie couldn’t wait for the day that she graduated to captain, because surely she’d pick Maggie somewhat sooner than anyone else would.
And so it went, name after name until the only two remaining were Maggie and Gretchen, a pale, pint-size girl with arms as thick and strong as cooked spaghetti noodles and eyeglasses as thick and strong as the tree trunk they both tried to hide behind. They were probably equally athletic, but Gretchen had at least the chance of being successfully whisked away and carried by the wind to first base, should she hit the ball.
Maggie closed her eyes momentarily, prepared to be the last one chosen—again. What was so wrong with assigning teams before class? Or dividing up alphabetically?
The girls were quiet, waiting for Julia to make her final selection.
“Julia!” Ms. Pinkerton megaphoned when Julia remained silent and turned to face the rest of her teammates.
She jumped. “What?” she snapped accidentally before turning back around and facing in the direction of the remaining girls. “Maggie,” she called, and glanced at Ms. Pinkerton. “Sorry I thought she knew.”
Being picked last meant that her name usually wasn’t even called, because it was just automatically assumed that she would join whichever team hadn’t just chosen, so that it wasn’t even Maggie the individual being picked last, but some nameless, useless player. But she hadn’t been picked last this time, and she wondered why Julia thought she’d know to join her team.
Too happy to worry about it, Maggie smiled in spite of herself and waved in consolation to Gretchen before walking over to her new team.
As Gretchen began the lonely walk across the patch of dirt separating her from the rest of the girls, Maggie saw Julia’s mouth drop open.
“But, Ms. Pinkerton, I didn’t see
anyone else standing there!”
“What’re you complaining about, Swanson?” Ms. Pinkerton shouted into the megaphone, even though she’d already rejoined the group.
“Gretchen! I didn’t see Gretchen standing there!”
“So what? You have your team, Richards has hers. Let’s play ball!”
“No, but Ms. Pinkerton, I absolutely would’ve picked Gretchen over Maggie if I’d seen her!”
“Were you sleeping?”
“No!” Julia shook her head.
“Sun in your eyes? Shiny, green bubbles cloud your vision?”
“No, Ms. Pinkerton. I just don’t think I saw her past Maggie, is all!” Julia declared.
Maggie heard Aimee gasp from her place in the crowd. The rest of the girls grew suddenly quiet and though Maggie looked down at her sneakers, she felt the eyes of the less considerate girls turn slightly to see her reaction. Her smile had disappeared and she searched her brain (unsuccessfully) for some way to joke about the situation.
After seven seconds that felt like seven hours standing naked in the middle of a New Year’s Eve Times Square with her image plastered on electronic billboards for all to see, Maggie was finally released by Ms. Pinkerton clearing her throat into the megaphone.
“These are the teams. Bats are to your left, gloves are to your right, Richards is in the field, and, Swanson, ready your hitters!”
“Sorry Maggie,” Julia mumbled, not meeting Maggie’s eyes or pausing for a response before hurrying toward the bats.
No one was looking, but Maggie shrugged anyway, because she thought she deserved to have a reaction. As her team lined up behind home plate and the other team scrambled across the diamond and outfield, Maggie squeezed into the dugout and crossed her fingers for a long three outs.
10.
“Two more to go!” Maggie called to Aimee, who cut through the pool water with unhurried, smooth strokes and a smile every time she turned her face for air.
Aimee gave a quick thumbs-up before pushing against the wall and turning upside down and around underwater.
While she made her way to the other side, Maggie bent over to roll up her pant legs. There was no way she’d actually go swimming, but afternoon sunlight streamed through the glass ceiling, music played from the overhead speakers, and all she needed was a fruity drink with a little umbrella to convince her she was on a tropical vacation and not just at the school pool. Dangling her legs in the water just might be reason enough to write a postcard home.
She frowned when her right pant leg stopped midcalf. Rather than grab the material with both hands and force it over her flesh, she quickly lowered both cuffs to just above her ankles, sank quickly to the ground, and patted the water with her bare feet, as though that was what she’d intended all along.
Aimee’s blue-cap-covered head broke the water’s surface, sending cool droplets flying through the air and onto Maggie’s arms. Maggie happily showed her the stopwatch that announced a five-second improvement from the day before.
Aimee slapped the water and laughed before throwing her cap and goggles out of the pool and dunking back her long blond hair.
“Your turn!” She reached up and grabbed Maggie’s foot.
Maggie pulled back. “Oops, I just happened to forget my swimsuit at home. Again.”
Aimee rolled her eyes and spun around in the water. “Mags, we’re the only ones here.”
“No, we’re not.”
“Yes, we are. The after-school elementary kids are gone, water polo practice is over, and the dive team is at an away meet. It’s just us!”
Maggie shook her head and nodded toward the opposite end of the pool.
“Aqua Adam? That silly excuse for a lifeguard? He hasn’t looked up from his BMX magazine in twenty minutes! Aimee exclaimed. “You could leap from the diving board onto his lap and he wouldn’t raise an eyebrow, let alone a whistle.”
“First of all, I couldn’t leap if I wanted to. The best I can do on my own is hop. Second of all, even if some magical, unexplained physics phenomenon happened to occur at the exact moment I left the diving board to send me flying into his lap, the poor boy wouldn’t raise an eyebrow because of sudden paralysis!”
Aimee rolled her eyes and held out one hand. “Give me the stopwatch.”
“You’ll get it wet.”
“It’s water-resistant,” Aimee said, hand still extended.
“I’m not getting in the pool—”
“I know you’re not getting in the pool, just give it to me, please.”
Maggie bit her lip and rested the stopwatch in Aimee’s hand.
“Thank you. Now, on the count of three, name three things that happened this week that made you feel as cool and carefree as you’d feel in this pool. If you can’t name three things in less than sixty seconds, you’ll swim with me tomorrow afternoon.”
“And if I can?”
“I’ll buy a beach chair with a built-in cup holder for you to sit in while I practice.”
“Aimee, what on earth are you trying—”
“One!”
“This is really very silly—”
“Two!”
“What is this going to—”
“Three! Go!”
As Aimee clicked the stopwatch, Maggie leaned back on her hands and tried to recall good things of the past week. She wouldn’t have humored anyone else, but Maggie knew Aimee had a point and she’d let her make it. Still, the simple sound of the stopwatch clicking start made her heartbeat quicken and her palms moisten. Whatever the point was, it’d better be good.
“Well,” she began, raising one hand for emphasis, “I talked to Peter the other day—”
“When he found your book in his locker?” Aimee asked quickly, not looking up from the stopwatch.
“Yes.”
“Were you more embarrassed than happy?”
“Yes.”
“Doesn’t count.”
“Okay, well, I was happy when the social studies test was over on Monday.” Maggie knew it was a lame thing to be happy about, but she’d studied all weekend for it.
“Happy, or relieved?”
“Both?” Maggie asked, raising her eyebrows.
Aimee rolled her eyes. “Fine, that’s one. Next?”
Maggie looked up to the glass roof of the natatorium. The sky was beginning to darken, just like her brain, apparently, when she tried to search it for happy moments of the past week. Much to her embarrassment, she kept picturing the Snickers under her bed or the double-chocolate Betty Crocker brownies her mom had made the night before, and she couldn’t tell Aimee that, even though the chocolate had still been soft and warm when she’d smuggled two extra brownies into her room after dinner. The only other thing she could think of was Pound Patrollers, an experience so mortifying that she’d vowed not to tell anyone—not even Aimee—and to pretend like it never happened. She wished there was more to remember, like that she’d gotten asked to the movies or bought a cute dress that actually fit her or lost ten pounds. Or twenty pounds. Or thirty.
“Ten!” Aimee announced.
“Okay, well.” Maggie shook her head. There had to be something else. Two out of three wouldn’t be so bad.
“Five!”
Hadn’t anyone said anything nice to her? Given her a compliment? Hadn’t she managed to come out of her head and stomach long enough to feel good about something she’d said or done? Had there been no A plusses to be proud of this week?
“Time!” Aimee smiled and tossed the stopwatch back to Maggie before raising herself out of the pool.
“Don’t worry, I’ll call you in the morning to remind you about your swimsuit,” Aimee said triumphantly, grabbing a towel and ignoring Maggie’s protests as they headed toward the locker room.
11.
“I’m staying after school tomorrow,” Maggie announced brightly, passing Summer the bowl of peas and carrots.
Summer passed the bowl to their mother, who passed it to their father. Maggie watched this excha
nge and waited for someone to acknowledge her comment, but no one even looked up.
Maggie tapped her knife on the Tupperware salad bowl. “Hello?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.
Her father lowered his head closer to his plate and shoveled food into his mouth.
“What’s that, honey?” her mother finally asked.
“I’m staying after school,” Maggie repeated with a sigh, “tomorrow.”
“Well, that’s nice,” her mother said without meeting Maggie’s eyes.
That’s nice? Her mother was the biggest encourager of extracurricular activities, always asking when something would meet, how often, who was in charge, who were the members, when could she come to watch, and not out of parental nosiness, but of sincere interest.
“What is it?” Summer asked brightly.
Maggie flashed a grateful smile. “It’s a new thing I’m thinking of trying,” she said casually, hoping to fuel further questions. She was so nervous about getting in the pool that she normally wouldn’t have even considered mentioning it, but everyone had been so tense lately that she thought her news might make for good distraction.
“That’s wonderful, sweetie.” Her mother smiled briefly at her before returning her eyes to her plate.
Maggie bit her lip. Looked from her mother to her father. Something was up.
“It’s not just any old thing, either,” she tried one more time. “It’s not even academic.” That should get them, if nothing else.
“Is it a club? Or an after-school job?” Summer’s voice was unnaturally loud as she tried to snap their parents out of silence.
Her father reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out the television remote. The house was so small that the living room television could be turned on from just about anywhere, and before Maggie could say anything else, Alex Trebek joined them for dinner.
Maggie finished her meatloaf and peas and carrots in silence, annoyed at her family’s apathy, but not angry. Something was going on that she didn’t know about. She cleared her plate with Summer finishing close behind, put both plates in the dishwasher, and retreated to the safety of her room.
The Melting of Maggie Bean Page 4
