The Sisters Club by Megan McDonald
Being in the middle is like being invisible. Especially when you’re the middle sister in a family with three girls.
Think about it. The middle of a story is not the beginning or the end. The middle of a train is not the caboose or the engine.
The middle of a play is intermission. The middle of Monkey in the Middle is a monkey. The middle of Neapolitan ice cream is . . . vanilla.
“I’m vanilla!” I shouted one day to anybody who would listen. Plain old boring vanilla.
Nobody listened.
Alex, my older sister, ignored me. She just kept writing stuff in the margins of her play script (what else is new!) and muttering the lines under her breath.
Easy for her. She’s strawberry.
I was sick of it, so I told my family how I hate being the middle. Middle, middle, middle.
“Hey! The middle of ‘Farmer in the Dell’ is the cheese!” Joey, my younger sister, reminded me.
“The cheese stands alone,” I reminded her back.
Alex looked up. “There’s a book about that, you know. I Am the Cheese.”
Yeah. My autobiography, I thought.
“Wait. You think you’re cheese or something?” Joey asked.
I ignored her. They just don’t get it. I mean, the middle of a year is, what, Flag Day? The middle of a life is a midlife crisis!
I told my dad I was having a midlife crisis.
“You’re going to give me a midlife crisis if you don’t get over this,” Dad said. I asked him to name one middle that is a good thing.
Dad had to think. He thought and thought and didn’t say anything. Then finally he told me, “The middle of an apple is the core.”
“Um-hmm. The yucky part people throw away,” I said.
“How about the middle of the night? That’s an interesting time, when people see things differently.”
I pointed out that most people sleep through the middle of the night.
Then he shouted like he had a super-brainy Einstein idea. “The middle of an Oreo cookie is the sweet, creamy, best part. You can’t argue with that.”
He was right. I couldn’t argue. If I had to be a middle, that’s the best middle to be.
“See? You’re the peanut butter in the sandwich,” said Dad. “You’re the creamy center of the cookie that holds it all together. You’re the glue.”
I’m the glue?
Maybe Dad’s right. After all, I’m the one who came up with the (brilliant!) idea for the Sisters Club, back when I was Joey’s age. Alex gets to be the Boss Queen, of course, so she runs the meetings. Joey (a.k.a. Madam Secretary/Treasurer) takes the notes and collects dues (if we had any money). I keep the peace.
I am the glue!
“No saying ‘nut job’” is Alex’s latest rule, which Joey has added to the list. Of course Joey had to ask, “What’s a nut job?”
“It’s a peanut who’s looking for work,” Alex said. The two of us cracked up.
“OK, I have a rule,” said Joey. “No doing that.”
“What?”
“That thing where you don’t answer a question right. Then you laugh and act like I’m a nut job.”
“No saying ‘nut job’!” screamed Alex.
All three of us piled on the bed, laughing our heads off.
“But can we at least say ‘nut’ or ‘job,’ even if we don’t say them together?”
“NO!” screamed Alex again. “Because that would make you a nut job.”
We died laughing some more, which Joey says is the best part of the Sisters Club.
For me, the best part has always been the Remembering Game. And Alex is the best at it.
MARSHMALLOW TOES
Starring Alex
SETTING: SISTERS CLUB MEETING
PLAYERS: THREE SISTERS
Joey: Sisters, Blisters, and Tongue Twisters. Let’s play the Remembering Game!
Me: Do you both solemnly swear not to repeat anything you’re about to hear?
Stevie and Joey: We do!
Me: OK. Everybody pull up a pillow. (We all lie on pillows and stare up at the ceiling.)
Joey: Tell one about me!
Me: Joey, remember when you were an eggplant in the Thanksgiving play in kindergarten?
Joey: Yeah! Matthew Martinez said I had to go stand in the corner all by myself because there were no eggplants at Thanksgiving dinner, and I started to cry.
Me: And all your purple face paint got washed away.
Stevie: And you tried to convince everyone you were a giant grape!
Joey: That kid’s in my same class in third grade and he still calls me Eggplant.
Stevie: No way!
Me: Stevie, remember that time you wore your pajamas to school by mistake?
Stevie: It was pajama day!
Me: Was not! OK, then, remember when you stole that blue marble from the Ben Franklin store, and . . .
Joey: What? You stole?
Me: Don’t worry. Stevie felt so bad, she went and turned herself in. All they did was make her put it back.
Stevie: OK. My turn. Remember when Joey begged Mom and Dad to see the elephants at the zoo, and then as soon as she saw them, she threw up?
Me: That’s the best!
Joey: How come all the throwing-up stories are about me?
Me: They just are. We never throw up. OK, I have one about me. How about the time I convinced you to put marshmallows between your toes?
Joey: I don’t remember that.
Stevie: Me neither.
Me: Good. Because we haven’t done it yet. We’re going to do it right now.
Stevie: No way am I putting marshmallows in my toes.
Joey: Toe jam!
Me: It’s a Health and Beauty Tip. I read it in a magazine. Put marshmallows between your toes, and it makes it easier to paint your toenails.
Joey: Glitter toenails — cool!
Stevie: Like I really care about toenails. And just one time I’d like to see one of these famous magazine articles you’re always quoting. Like how to eat pizza without smearing your lip gloss.
Me: Check my locker. They’re there.
Stevie: You just say it’s in a magazine to make it sound important.
Joey: C’mon, Stevie. It sounds like fun. And we can remember it later.
Stevie: What about the Sisters Club? Marshmallow feet are not in the charter. There are rules.
Me: New rule. Joey, write this down. “All members of the Sisters Club must try putting marshmallows between their toes if they want to be in the club.”
Our Town
Starring Alex
I come from a family of actors. Not just Mom and Dad, but a long line.
I love, love, love living in Acton, because we have a one-hundred-year-old theater and this town has had plays 4-ever (as Joey would say).
It all started with our great-great-grandmother, Hepzibiah McNutty Reel. Yep, that’s her name, for real. My dad has the family tree to prove it.
When I star in a play, people say, “That’s Hezzy’s girl,” like she’s my real-life grandma living down the street or something, even though she’d be like a million years old.
Stevie says how can I be happy about being descended from anybody with the name Hepzibiah? She thinks our whole family is Mc-Nutty!
I think old Hezzy is cool. They say she rode a horse for thirteen hours through so much snow that her feet froze right to the stirrups. Bugs and bears and stuff didn’t stop her. Not one bit. But the coolest thing? She wore bloomers so she could look like a lady but ride horses like a man.
Hey, maybe that’s where I get my fashion sense.
Acton wasn’t anything but a wide spot in the road back then, so Hezzy put on plays at the old Raven Theater just to give people around here something to do.
Mom wants a real house someday, which means a new one. But this house has history. I mean, Hezzy’s ghost could be hanging around in the rafters with the spiderwebs, watching over me. I like thinking Hezzy might have looked out the same window I do, practicing lines for a play.
How could I not love acting, right? As Dad says, “You’re a Reel. It’s in the blood.”
My whole family is crazy about acting, but I hate standing up in front of an audience. I once told my dad I was missing the Reel acting gene.
“Hogwash!” (He actually said that.) “Everybody likes a good story. Just because you don’t want to perform in front of people, like Alex, doesn’t mean you don’t have an actor in you.” Dad says, “All the world’s a stage, even the living room!”
He’s the set builder for the Raven, so he’s always making stuff for this play or that. We’ve had dinner with the Mad Hatter, a giant Nutcracker, and Santa’s reindeer (all eight). Our dining room has been an underground rabbit hole, a Kansas tornado, a Civil War battlefield, a fire station, and a medieval castle where you have to cross a moat just to eat at the table.
And he lets us put on King Lear in our own living room anytime we want.
That’s why King Lear is the only play I like.
King Lear is Dad’s favorite play, too. I wonder why. It’s about this guy who has three daughters! They have weird names.
If you think Stevie’s a funny name for a girl, try Goneril, Regan, or Cordelia. Cordelia’s not so bad. (That’s Joey, the youngest, and the good one — King Lear’s favorite. Joey never lets me be Cordelia. Not once!) At least Cordelia sounds like a flower. Not a president or a yucky worm.
Each daughter tells him how much they love him so they can get his kingdom, but the older ones are just faking. Really they’re super-greedy. They each keep pretending the other one is trying to murder King Lear, and they try to poison each other (YES!). People get stabbed (with a dagger) and eyeballs come out (POP!).
So King Lear goes outside and yells at a thunderstorm (a.k.a. cookie sheet!).
He gets to say lots of funny-sounding words like “Alack” and “O nuncle!” and stuff.
The play is a tragedy. It’s supposed to make you cry, but it doesn’t. It usually makes us laugh our heads off. (No heads really come off — just eyeballs!) Or we end up in a fight. King Lear (Dad) usually lets Cordelia live and get the kingdom, which makes Alex and me mad. Then we say, “How come Joey always gets her way?” (So true, even though Joey says it’s so NOT true.) Then Alex quits, then I quit, and Joey yells, “The end!”
KING LEAR
Starring Alex
TIME: OLD-TIMEY ENGLAND
SETTING: THE KINGDOM
(A.K.A. THE REEL LIVING ROOM)
CHARACTERS:
KING LEAR (THE FATHER)
THREE DAUGHTERS:
GONERIL (THE OLDEST . . . THAT’S ME!)
REGAN
CORDELIA (THE YOUNGEST)
Before the curtain rises: King Lear is preening himself, waiting to be flattered. He sits, looking at a map.
King Lear: (Why do I have to remind Dad three times? Stage directions say ‘Point to map’!) ’Tis time I remove myself from public life. I wish to give each of thee, my three daughters, a parcel of my kingdom. This will depend upon how much each of you loves me.
Goneril: Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? (Good line!) Thou art more —
Stevie: Alex, quit showing off!
Me: What? That’s a real line from Shakespeare. (I should know!)
Stevie: Well, it sounds like Romeo and Juliet, not King Lear.
Joey: Sick! It’s from an ooey-gooey love poem!
Dad: Are we going to do this scene or not?
Regan: OK, I love thee more than all four of the seasons, not just one day in summer.
Goneril: I love thee more than meat loves salt.
Regan: Well, I love thee more than meat loves special sauce, lettuce, and a bunch of other stuff on a sesame-seed bun. My love is supersize!
Me: Hey, no fair. Dad, she’s making it sound like an old hamburger commercial, not Shakespeare. (Since when is Stevie the Shakespeare expert?)
Stevie: Don’t look at me. You’re the one who loves Dad like meat. I’m just following your lead. You always say to ad-lib.
Goneril: (Getting down on one knee in front of King Lear.) I love you more than the ocean has water, more than the sky has stars.
Regan: (Breaking into song.)
My love is warmer than the warmest sunshine, Softer than a sigh. . . .
Me: Um, last time I checked, King Lear was not a musical. (Or a comedy!)
Joey: Then when do I get a line? You guys are the greedy sisters, fighting over all Dad’s, I mean, King Lear’s, stuff. Doesn’t the good daughter get to say any words?
Me: Just be happy you didn’t have to be an eggplant.
Dad: OK, Cordelia. Your turn. Read your line.
Cordelia: I can hardly breathe for all this odious hot air that fills thy room.
Joey: What’s odious mean?
Stevie and Me: (Holding noses.) Stinky!
King Lear: My youngest, you have been strangely silent. Have you no tender musings on your love for me?
Cordelia: My love for you, dear Father, is as a daughter’s should be. No more, no less.
King Lear: Thou art a boil, a plague-sore, an embossed carbuncle in my corrupted blood. Away with you! Cast thee from my sight forever!
Joey: (Being dragged from room.) Hey! What did I do? You mean I get sent away? I thought I was the only one who really loved King Lear.
Stevie: You’re still banished!
Joey: No fair. You guys told me I was the good one.
Goneril and Regan: (Snickering.) More for us! More for us!
Cordelia: What stugly upsisters you have proven to be. Off with their heads!
Me: You’re supposed to say, “A pox on you.”
Cordelia: Chicken pox on you!
Me and Stevie: (In fits of giggles while dragging Joey, a.k.a. Cordelia, from room.)
Lights go down as Cordelia is banished, stage left. Quick curtain.
Joey: Wait! We’re not done. Nobody got stabbed or poisoned or anything.
Me: That’s ’cause we lost the plastic dagger.
Joey: Couldn’t we just use a spoon or something?
Goneril: How daft! King Lear was lying in his bedchamber, unaware, never guessing he was about to be spooned to death!
Regan: Then, when Goneril saw her own image reflected upside down in the spoon, she keeled over and died.
Goneril: Thou thinks thee so clever, but thou art not the least bit funny.
King Lear: (Collapsing on couch.) Give an old man some peace!
Even though I like King Lear, I’m still not thrilled about being related to crazy Hezzy McNutty. Still, I guess I can see why she stopped her wagon when she got here. Take one look at the mountains, and you’d never want to leave, either.
The best view is from a window right in our shower. No lie. When you get up in the morning and look out, the first thing you see are the Cascades, with three snowcapped peaks. They’re really volcanoes, called the Three Sisters.
Just like Alex, me, and Joey.
South Sister is the youngest one, like Joey. It’s only twenty-five thousand years old. Then there’s Middle Sister (me, of course). And North Sister reminds me of Alex. You never know when she’s going to erupt (the sister, not the volcano!), especially lately. She’s been auditioning for some play at school, and I swear she’s gotten bossier by the minute.
So I’m taking a shower, and there are the mountains looking all picture-postcardy, like you could just stick a stamp on that view and send it to somebody you love. In the morning, when the sun hits just right, the snow looks like it just put on some blush, and in the evening, lots of times the mountains look eerie blue, like how I picture Antarctica.
Blue snow.
It sure gets a person dreaming.
Mom wants to get a “real” hous
And I could keep the light on as long as I want.
But I sure would miss that view.
That’s pretty much when Alex starts kicking in the bathroom door, telling me I take the longest showers in the history of History, and that I’d better get out and come to an SCM (Sisters Club Meeting) pronto.
Hey, can I help it if there’s a window in the shower?
MYSTERY OF THE MISSING GLITTER NAIL POLISH
Starring Alex
SETTING: ALEX’S BEDROOM
CHARACTERS: THREE SISTERS
Alex, onstage, takes a bow. Lights come up.
Me: (Picking up shampoo bottle.) This will be the microphone. Whoever wants to talk has to use the shampoo bottle.
Stevie: Says who?
Me: Says me. Why? Because I’m the oldest. That makes me the director! (To audience.) Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to Alex’s room, where two sisters who do not live in this room (but think they do) are always hanging about.
Joey: You called us in here! For an SCM!
Stevie: Yeah, you got me out of the shower for this? You said it was for the Sisters Club.
Me: Allow me to introduce myself. I am Alex the Actress, star of the Reel Family. That’s Reel, as in film or fishing. Not R-E-A-L, as in unreal. I am, for real, the FOBS: First, Oldest, and Best (Reel) Sister! (Stevie throws a pillow at me; Joey throws a slipper.) Please refrain from throwing rotten fruit and other objects such as pillows and slippers at the actors.
Stevie: (Takes shampoo bottle.) I have a question. How come you always get to go first when we have the Sisters Club?