Girl in the Middle

Chapter One

A simple, unfortunate misstep sparked a crazy chain of events. Why? Because I walked out of the house and left my lunch on the kitchen counter. Who knew ham and cheese on rye could have such dire consequences?

I even got up early to make the stupid sandwich. I put it in my small red and white lunchbox and threw in some of Mom’s dark chocolate squares as an extra treat for the first day of my sophomore year. But when I headed back to the kitchen to get my lunch, I got sidetracked by my little sister Sophie who was in the middle of a rant. She and Mom were dueling about her outfit—one not at all appropriate for a seventh grader, but then nobody asked me.

Sophie twirled her strawberry blond locks.Do you expect me to go to school looking like…Skye?

Thanks. I glanced down at my oversized black T-shirt with a silver tiger on the front. I happened to like the way it looked with my jeans and Chuck Taylors. Just because I’m not a pop princess doesn’t mean I don’t have style. Sophie, I can practically see your underwear, your skirt is so short.

Skye’s right, said Mom, who was just as scantily clad as Sophie.

Sophie’s eyes, beneath glittery pink eyeshadow, widened and she stuck her tongue out at me. I turned on my heel and walked out of the kitchen, sans lunch.

Mom, she has no clue, screamed Sophie. She has no idea what—

Blah, blah, blah. I tried to tune her out. My sister is over-the-top dramatic. Last year, she decided to go by her first and middle name, Sophie Blue, because it was posh. I think it had to do with her weirdo friends from her special magnet school for the arts. She doesn’t have to go to the public school with me and our older sister, Sarah Elizabeth, who is super beautiful and popular—and a senior. Both of my sisters are walking magazine ads. They have glowing blondish locks (a stark contrast to my dark brown, frizzy hair), tall and thin physiques, flawless skin, outgoing personalities—the list keeps going. I’m trapped between two perfect sisters. The short and ugly troll.

Anyway, because Sophie has school downtown and not in the burbs with me and Sarah Elizabeth, she gets chauffeured around by my mom like a rock star. Dad is always out of town for work and Sarah Elizabeth has her own car and a schedule that starts way too early for me. This leaves me riding the bus.

So after my early morning run-in with Sophie, I headed straight to the wallpapered foyer where my backpack and dreaded French horn case sat waiting for me.

I can still hear you, Sophie. I grabbed my stuff and slammed the door on my sister’s whining, just as she said, It’s Sophie-Blue—I dragged my thousand-pound horn case across the front lawn to the bus stop where Marcella and Kyler Cross, the dorky freshman twins from down the street, stood. They’d recently moved to the suburban neighborhood with its mix of newly renovated and gently aging houses. The twins told me they were from Ohio or Nebraska or something. If Sophie thought my style was bad, she would have loved Marcella’s.

Tragic. She had on a white jumper accented with splashes of neon colors. Who wears jumpers after the age of four?

I stood there and made small talk with the twins. It was unseasonably warm for September, not to mention the humidity hanging in the air. A drop of sweat trickled down my back, and I cringed at the thought of wet-armpit stains.

I glanced down the hill with high hopes of seeing the yellow bus, but the tree-lined street remained quiet except for the chipper singing of birds.

Kyler rambled about the new cold he had acquired and how he wasn’t particularly fond of the area. I rubbed my temple with my fingers. I mean, who really cares about his phlegm and dislike for Grand Rapids? I told him, as nicely as I could, to keep his distance because I didn’t want to get sick. I also told him he’d get used to Michigan.

He looked at me and wiped his nose on the back of his hand. Finally, and not a second too soon, I heard the engine of the school bus grumble up the hill. It almost drowned out Kyler’s snorting.

The bus door opened, and the twins hopped up the steps. I hoisted my horn case and trudged forward.

Then I heard it. It was faint at first, but it became clearer. The sound came from outside of the bus.

Skye! Skye! I heard someone yelling.

Whistles and other strange sounds echoed from the rear of the vehicle. I lowered my head to look out one of the windows.

Is that your mom? the yellow-toothed bus driver asked.

Oh my gosh, I said.

Your. Lunch. Skye! my mom yelled.

Just drive. NOW, I begged the bus driver.

My mom, in a flimsy hot pink robe and worn cowboy boots, bounded across the lawn with my lunchbox in her hand. As she ran, her robe came untied and revealed a barely-there tank top and shorts that were even shorter than Sophie’s skirt. She jumped and waved her arms like she was trying out for the cheer team. Her hair, loose and dark like mine, bounced on her shoulders. I’m not sure she was wearing a bra.

"Drive, please," I said.

The bus driver shut the door and put the gear in drive. I scooted down in a seat and put my horn case on my lap. I gripped the green vinyl seat and held my breath.

That’s one hot mother, a voice from the back said.

For sure, another said.

Oh, I know. I had her.

Whatever! No, you didn’t.

Hey, Luke Skywalker, were you adopted?

How’s the mom so hot and the daughter so ugly?

Marcella, who was sitting with her brother in the seat in front of me, popped her head up. Why do they call you that?

What? I asked.

Luke Skywalker. Why do they call you that?

Because my last name is Walker. Get it? Skye. Walker.

Marcella scrunched up her nose and shook her head. Shrugging, she stuffed part of a granola bar in her mouth.

"Have you been living in a hole for the past decade? Does Star Wars ring a bell? The movie? I get called Luke or Princess Leia just about on a daily basis."

Never seen it. We don’t watch television at my house, she said with her mouth still full.

Well, you’re about the only one on this planet who hasn’t heard of it. I’ve been traumatized my whole life having to live with the stupid name my mom swears didn’t have anything to do with Star Wars.

It’s true, Kyler said. We don’t watch TV. We’re not allowed. But I’ve heard of it before. Oh, and yeah, your mom really is, uh, hot, you know. He grinned.

Yes, I know. She’s hot. I get it. You can turn around now, thanks.

If I had sunk down any further on the seat, I would have been on the floor. I needed my best friend, an ally, on that bus, but of course he was nowhere to be found. In fact, he was still in California with his dad.

Here’s the low-down on my best friend, Goose. His real name is Matt Goosetree, but everyone calls him Goose. We’ve been friends since kindergarten, and we’ve been inseparable ever since. We even joined high school band together last year.

Goose itched to join because he wanted to play drums, and I only agreed because he convinced me we wouldn’t be stereotypical band geeks. We decided playing drums in band wasn’t so bad, because drums were rocker-cool. Only problem was, he got picked for drums and I got stuck with the French horn.

Goose’s grand plan did not work out so well for me.

The band director said I was a natural at the horn, a prodigy. Sure. I’m not stupid. He had six guys wanting to play drums, and no one to play the French horn. I got duped.

Sarah Elizabeth warned me not to do it. She told me it would be social suicide. I told her I had no social life to kill. But she was right. I get called band geek all of the time, when I’m not getting called Luke. But lately I’ve been contemplating band. I figure I can either remain a social pariah for the next three years, or I can ditch being the outcast and free myself once and for all.

Back to Goose. Like I said, the derp ditched me this summer to live with his dad, and I had to face band camp solo. That sucked.

While I marched under the beating sun in miserable humidity carrying not a flute, not even a clarinet, but a French horn, Goose was surfing the waves in California. I’m mad at him right now. I know it’s not his fault, but he didn’t even email me or text me like he promised. He was just so busy.

Busy doing what? While he was eating fish tacos on the beach, I was stuck in summer school and band camp.

The only highlight of the summer was my mini-vacation with my grandparents and making a connection with a sort-of popular girl, Lauren, in summer school. She even texted me a few times—more than my own best friend.

The last text I got from Goose was short and to the point. He mentioned that he’d miss the first day of school and would be home sometime that night. He didn’t even ask me to come along to the airport with his mom.

Whatever.

Chapter Two

Well, I survived the first day of my sophomore year. Alone. Without Goose. I spent the entire morning in the office trying to rearrange my schedule, with no luck. When I read Hooper for Honors World History on my printed schedule, I nearly flipped and headed right to the office to drop the class. I’d heard nightmares about the teacher. But apparently, I was stuck with the class since I didn’t have a good excuse to get out of it.

When I got home, I dashed upstairs to my room. I cranked up my iTunes and munched on some pickle-flavored chips. The whole time I kept an eye on my side window where Goose’s house sat in plain view across the street. When his mom’s car finally rolled into the driveway at 4:42, I waited exactly seven minutes to call him.

And then we had a major fight.

I told him it hurt my feelings that he didn’t ask me to come to the airport with his mom. He laughed and asked if I was PMSing. I said, I don’t know what’s in the water in L.A., but it turned you into a royal knob-head over the summer.

He hung up on me. I didn’t even get a chance to tell him about the tragedy at the bus stop with my mom.

The next morning, on my way out to wait for the bus, I noticed immediately—no Goose. Kyler and Marcella droned on about some new game they’d gotten, but I didn’t even act interested. I eyeballed Goose’s house. I kept expecting the door to open and my best friend to dart like mad to catch the bus, but he never did.

I climbed into the bus, and the guys in the back unleashed the harassment. They picked right back up where they left off yesterday. As soon as the bus pulled up to Highland Creek High School, I bolted off that nightmare wagon.

Apparently, I was still too slow because I felt someone right on my heels. It was none other than phlegmy Kyler. He practically pushed me down the stairs and onto the pavement without even a sorry. I lost my footing and got a face full of Zoë, the most popular girl of the entire sophomore class. I almost knocked her over with my horn case.

Sorry.

She flipped up her designer sunglasses with one finger and squinted at me. Watch it, tuba-girl. Pink gloss glinted on her full lips, and her flawless complexion made the huge zit on my chin pulse. She looked like she had come from a photo shoot, as usual.

Tuba-girl? That was a new one. I kicked the side of my horn case and scanned the crowd for a friendly face. No such luck. I was in a hostile band-nerd-bashing zone. The bus had dumped me into a crowd of populars. Two of Zoë’s clones strutted by and stared at me. One of them even stuck her finger in her mouth, like I made her want to throw up or something.

I pushed my glasses up and sprinted for the massive front door, then straight to the band room to drop off my popularity killer. Nobody was there, so I left and headed to first period with scary Mrs. Hooper. The old woman had a horrible reputation for being as mean as a bull. She kind of resembled one, too. Luckily, I survived my first class with her.

When I walked into second period French, I saw Lauren, the girl from summer school. She waved, and of course, like an idiot, I turned around and looked behind me. She laughed and motioned for me to come over. I took the empty seat beside her.

Love your outfit, she said.

I waited for a second and studied her expression. I didn’t detect malicious intent, so I said, Thanks.

Her thick brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she wore a long, flowing shirt-dress. Her legs poked out from under the desk. I decided she was actually pretty and not made-up like Zoë. In the social hierarchy at Highland Creek High School, Lauren was in close ranks with Zoë, but they weren’t exactly friends or anything.

What’s the matter? she asked.

I guess I had a stupid look on my face. Oh, nothing. I’m glad we have this class together.

She said, Okay.

I chewed a fingernail. Thanks for waving to me.

She curled her lip in a sort of smile and looked down at her spiral notebook.

The French teacher, Mr. Dubois, called us to attention to take the roll. His sharp nose and chiseled chin made him look almost like a statue. Not one word of English was spoken the entire class period, and my head swirled afterward. I’d gone all summer without a word of French.

After class, Lauren slipped out, and I walked to my locker alone, down the two-toned yellow and blue hallway. I noticed a giant wolf mascot splayed on the back wall—a new addition to spruce up the halls, no doubt. I slowly thumbed my combination. After a few tries, I poked my head into the depths of my locker, rummaging around for books and folders, while the people around me caught up on summer stuff.

That’s when I heard him shout my name. I almost didn’t recognize Goose when he came up to me. I squinted and then glanced at the poster-lined wall behind him. For a second, I thought the fluorescent lights were playing tricks with my eyes.

Hey, you’re not still mad at me, are you? he asked.

Oh my gosh, Goose. You’ve changed. Your hair.

You like it? My dad’s girlfriend is a stylist out in Hollywood. It’s the same cut that dude from the vampire movies has.

Yeah, I like it. It’s blonder. And you got new clothes. And a tan.

And I’ve been working out.

Well, you’re still skinny. And very tall.

He flexed his bicep and grinned like he was ten again.

I rolled my eyes.

Whatever. How was your summer? I have so much to tell you. I’m so mad at you for bailing on me and for hanging up on me, jerk. Oh, and why didn’t you ride the bus this morning?

My mom brought me.