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

scold. “Charlie!”
    But I was quick to correct, in a low, measured voice, of course. And PS, have you ever noticed how holy people are super slow ( but not boring ) talkers? Last night when I was watching Mother Teresa on YouTube, I was like, Wow, she almost seems stupid, but it’s the opposite. The smarter you are, the more stuff’s going on up there, the slower you are to speak. “No, Mom,” I said slowly, “I think she looks beautiful.” I stood. “Pen, last night I had an epiphany. You are my new role model.”
    Orange juice shot from Pen’s nose. “Me?”
    â€œYes, you.” I lifted her bag up and handed it to her. “Teach me to care about others like you do, Pen.”
    â€œBut you hate charity! You take the money out of the UNICEF Halloween boxes.” Pen laughed. Mom and Felix thought it was pretty funny too. In fact, all the laughter at my expense went on so long, I had to sit down. “Seriously, I don’t know if it can be done, Charlie.”
    â€œOh, come on, just teach me, for God’s sakes,” I implored. “You have so many causes, add me to your list, make me a cause.” And then I got an idea. “I’ll pay you.”
    â€œI don’t want your money.” Pen shook her head. “I don’t even know what you want from me.”
    But I knew exactly what I wanted from her. “Like yesterday, when you went into that bathroom and ate with that weird girl, what happened when you came out, what did people say to you? How did they act? Did they run?” My fear. “Did they think you were a total freak?”
    Pen shrugged like it was all so easy. “No, Charlie, they just thought I was nice, I guess.” She was clueless about it, like someone who was naturally good. “I don’t know. I honestly didn’t even think about it.”
    â€œWow.” I needed facts. Hard-core facts. “Let me ask you this. When you got out of there, do you think people liked you more or less?”
    Pen closed her eyes, leaned back against the wall like she was dissecting her day, and then said, “More, people liked me more. I guess.” She opened the door. “Can we go now?”
    I jumped in front of her. “Last question, last question, I swear. Was it just the total freaks who liked you more or the cool people too?”
    â€œNot that I see a divide, but I guess everyone. People felt sorry for her.” She had this teary look in her eyes. “No one did anything,” she said, “so I did.”
    â€œWow,” I repeated, “‘No one did anything, so I did .’” Majorly catchy. That was it, my new mantra.

Meet Charlie C. Cooper, Selfless Activist
    The bell rang just as we made it into the upper parking lot. Cars were pulling out. Horns were honking. Moms were yelling at moms; dads were running for cover; the principal had his loudspeaker—all with coffee mugs in hand, coffee teeth, angry lips. It was like my eyes had opened and I was seeing the world I lived in for the first time. I looked around and announced to Penelope, “So much anger.”
    Pen rolled her eyes. “I’m beginning to miss the old Charlie.”
    I pressed my little pink bindi jewel, making sure it stayed where it was supposed to, and then, as if it was a sign, Marta came walking up the hill wearing the socks and sandals again, her pants so short and tight, her massive calves nearly ripping them in two.
    â€œPoor girl.” Pen shook her head and walked into school. I was just about to walk over to Marta when I heard Trixie shouting from the other direction.
    â€œCharlie!” Trixie came running down the hill, Babs chasing after her. “I’m so late!”
    â€œHey!” I shouted back. “Hi, Babs.” I waved to her too, because from now on I saw the Little Person.
    Trixie’s mouth dropped when she caught up with me. “Oh my God, I love your bindi