Free Confessions of a So-called Middle Child by Maria T. Lennon Page A

“Well, all you can do is your best. You train, sleep, think positive thoughts—”
    Trixie’s little angel eyes suddenly got bigger and bluer. “There’s also sabotage; they do it all the time in sports, you know.”
    â€œYeah.” Babs grinned from ear to ear. “Sabotage.”
    My ears perked right up at that word. I’d always loved that word, sabotage .
    Trixie pointed at Babs and laughed. “Oh, my God, you should so totally see your face right now. I was kidding, Babs. Kidding.”
    Babs pretended to laugh. “You’re funny, Trix.”
    Yeah, real funny. I wondered how far Babs would go to help her. I was beginning to feel more sorry for Babs than I did for Marta.
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    TRUE FACT: Followers are more dangerous than leaders. Just look at the dude who killed the Beatle.

Come Out, Come Out, Wherever You Are
    Since I’d become the younger, prettier version of Mother Teresa of Calcutta, my parents were being so much nicer to me. It almost seemed a little fake, like they wanted to bask in the glow, if you get my gist, but we can’t all be deep.
    â€œYou ready?” Dad asked me.
    â€œBorn ready.” I got up, licked the maple syrup off my hands.
    I couldn’t wait—it was just the two of us. Mom had taken Pen and Felix to Malibu. It was just me and Dad.
    I followed him over to his desk in the living room and put my chin on his shoulder while he studied the plans he’d made of the property, based on the original drawings of the mansion built in 1915. Watching them come to life reminded me that my dad was actually pretty cool, despite the Teva rock-climbing sandals he paired with socks and shorts when it got warm. Talk about a fashion faux pas that, I don’t mind saying, strained the father-daughter bond in a dangerous way.
    â€œWe’ve already dug down eighteen feet over there by the house.” He pointed to a spot right near all the bulldozers. “Nothing.”
    My eyes flew over the map. “What if the tunnels are so deep, you can’t even hit them with a machine?”
    Dad considered, glancing at the plans, nodding like crazy. “A deep hole and a ladder that takes you into a low tunnel. Genius. ” Dad took a deep breath. “That could explain why we haven’t hit it yet. We’ve been looking for a concrete structure coming all the way up to the surface.”
    I picked up the tool belt he’d made just for me, and we walked out into the sunshine and the quiet street traffic. “Imagine if we can find them in time for our massive Halloween party.”
    Dad gave me one of those looks. “What massive Halloween party?”
    I grabbed his arm and screamed, “We live on the Houdini Estate, dude; of course we’re going to have a massive party, and I want to invite the whole class, even the total dorks—”
    Dad interrupted. “I was a total dork in middle school.”
    â€œExactly. I want it to be like a giant welcome-to-the-neighborhood party.”
    My dad slipped his arm over my shoulders. “So living here is a lot better than Malibu, huh?”
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    TRUE FACT: In Malibu you were considered dirt poor unless your last name was Spielberg. If you didn’t live in the Colony or at the very least on the water, popularity was a losing battle. If your dad redid old mansions wearing Tevas, it wasn’t even a battle.
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    I turned to look at the land behind me, at the trees, the rock walls, palm trees, and the natural springs that bubbled up from underground somewhere. I thought about the tunnels and the ghosts and the magic that were just waiting for me. This was where I belonged. “I love it.”
    â€œAnd the whole Marta thing at school.” He checked out the turquoise bead necklace I’d lifted from Mom’s jewelry box and wore like a badge. “How are you doing with that?”
    Over the mountain two red-tailed hawks began their dip-and-dive dance. I