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

her she knew me. Trixie would then have all the ammo she’d need to make my life miserable when the time came. Sadly, the time always came.
    We walked up a steep bend and then veered off to the right. A car came speeding past. “Watch it!” Trix threw her hand in front of me and pushed me off the street. “They’re maniacs around here.”
    The thought of getting hit by a car came as a welcome relief.
    â€œRoxy told me they actually tried to put that girl”—Trix stopped—“what was her name?”
    â€œNo idea,” I said.
    She kept walking. “I’ll find out. Anyway, they wanted to put her in some kind of mental facility, but they couldn’t, so they kicked her whole family out of the school district. Can you imagine getting kicked out because you have a crazy sister?”
    I thought of Penelope and how much she hated me for it. “No, I can’t.”
    Trixie cocked her head and gave me one of those sideways looks. “You know what I think?”
    Uh-oh. Here it comes.
    â€œShe’s kind of a coward.”
    â€œCoward?” I jumped at the word. I was many things but not, I repeat, not a coward.
    â€œMy sources said she would have totally gotten away with it if she hadn’t tried to stop the kindergartners from eating it. Seriously?” Trixie looked at me like she knew it was me. “I mean, really! Follow through; if you’re gonna do something, at least follow through!” She pointed to a huge, towering block of white capitalism and announced, “This is me.”
    I melted. “You?” I stared at it like it was a castle in the desert. “Lucky you.”
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    SPOILER ALERT: Her name wasn’t Trixie for nothing—that girl was born with tricks up her sleeve. But then again, so was I.
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    Her housekeeper answered the door, and—wait for it—we rode up in an elevator, yep, you read it right, Chica, elevator . It opened onto a room of cream carpets, cream sofas, and curtains. I was practically speechless. There were huge paintings with splotches of bright color and a single family photo of three, just three .
    â€œMy parents are both shrinks.” She pointed to a series of super serious double doors. “They work in there.” She paused heavily. “They live to help people.”
    The house was so dang silent. “Are they there now?”
    â€œYep. But they have a separate entrance.” Trixie shrugged. “And it’s soundproof. See?” She screamed at the top of her lungs and no one noticed at all. Not even the housekeeper came to check on us.
    It was grand! No one cared—imagine that?
    She took my hand, and we ran to her palatial room. My mouth fell open. My God, was life unfair. Her closet, her clothes, her king-size bed! I mean, kill me now. A pop star could live here. She threw her stuff on the floor. “Just drop your things here,” she told me, and I did. Within minutes the uniformed housekeeper came in with a tray of cookies and milk just for us. It was so quiet in here; the truly peaceful life of an only child. If I lived in this perfect room, I could be the next president of the United States or Russia if I so desired. Or a top model.
    Trix plopped onto the bed. “So tell me, what are your talents, Charlie Cooper?”
    â€œBesides compassion and fashion?” My new motto.
    Trixie pushed on the bindi . “Yep.” “I know my way around a computer.”
    Her eyes lit up; she picked up her laptop. “Oh, oh, add me as a friend!”
    Now here’s where I thank God in heaven my mother never allowed me to get a Facebook page. There would be no escaping my past. “I don’t do Facebook—”
    â€œWhat?” She looked totally freaked, logged on, and up popped her page. I quickly looked at her pictures, and my heart fell through the floor when I saw none other than Roxy Daly’s face. I hadn’t seen her since the day