Molly Mormon?

$12.95

ISBN: 1-55517-606-2, SIZE: 170 pages, 6x9", Paperback
PUB. DATE: March 2002, CATEGORY: LDS Fiction/ Young Adult

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Prologue and first chapter of Molly Mormon?--

Prologue:

            I once met a kid named Rusty Nail. And my great-great grandfather’s name was Vigor Vanderkolk. Maybe I don’t have it so bad after all. But, even Will Shakespeare claimed that a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet. So, of all the names in the universe, why did my parents choose to name me Molly?

            Mom says she thinks my name sounds feminine, Dad thinks it sounds intelligent, Grandma says it sounds strong, independent, unsinkable—she’s a big Debbie Reynolds fan—but they just don’t get it!

            Now these are intelligent Latter-day Saints we’re talking about—card-carrying, so to speak. Mom and Dad (a.k.a. Sandi and Norm) are both graduates of Primary, Seminary, and BYU. Our garage is lined with barrels of wheat, our favorite Sunday meal is scones, and the top of our bookcase is adorned with award-winning Pinewood Derby cars. Didn’t they realize the years of taunts and jeers they were setting me up for?

            I guess it wouldn’t have been so bad if they had raised me in Boston or Houston, but after they graduated from college, Dad wanted to return to the farm he was raised on in Oakley, Idaho. This means that the same twenty-six kids that I went to kindergarten with, are the same twenty-six kids I will graduate with, and in some way or another, through marriage, blood, or in some cases just dumb luck, we are all related…and we’re all Mormons.

If I didn’t try to do what’s right, didn’t bother to go to church, say my prayers, read my scriptures, and seek after things that are virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy, my life as “Molly” at Oakley High School probably wouldn’t seem so difficult at times. But ever since the sixth grade, I went from Molly the feminine, intelligent, strong, independent, and unsinkable, to “Molly Mormon” the “Primary Princess” and “Seminary Saint.”

            It’s not like I walk around the halls of Oakley High School quoting King Benjamin. Or that I spend my time chastising the lunch ladies if I don’t feel that the meatloaf they are serving in the month of April adheres strictly to the Word of Wisdom. (I really don’t have an issue with meatloaf in April.)

            For the most part, the other students just see me as I am; Molly Chambers—tall, strawberry blond, and athletic. What else could I be as the only girl in the Chambers clan sandwiched in between two older and two younger brothers?

            But there is a trio of students in the junior class, who, for some reason, feel the need to harass me because I go to church on Sunday and try to act like a Latter-day Saint the rest of the week also. (It’s just a hunch, but I believe that these same three students have also been known to send innocent Primary teachers home in tears.)

 Chapter One:

Myth:   A good Mormon is perfect. 

Me:      I’m not perfect, but I keep trying…even if I fail sometimes.

  “Hey, Molly Mormon,” Jennavive said, as she leaned over my shoulder to examine my completed U.S. History worksheet lying on the desk.  We had been assigned to turn it in at the beginning of class. I had just taken it out of my folder, waiting to pass it up the row where Mr. Foster would collect them. “What did you get for that part at the bottom of the page, or will you brake one of the Ten Commandments if you tell me?”

Jennavive Taylor is probably the prettiest, and most popular girl out of the twenty-six juniors at Oakley High, (or the entire student body for that matter). Her long brown hair shines even in the dark, and her emerald green eyes are adorned by long, lush eyelashes. The boys make fools of themselves trying to impress her, while the girls feebily attempt to imitate every fiber of her fashionable being. I just try to keep my distance, which at OHS is almost an impossible.

I must not be the perfect Mormon girl that Jennavive always harasses me about, because at the moment my thoughts were less than saintly. I could vividly envision Charlton Hesston as Moses from the movie The Ten Commandments standing in the front of our History class, holding stone tablets in one arm, and pointing with the other, calling Jennavive to repentance. “Thou shalt not cheat off thy neighbor’s homework,” he shouts with fervor.

What’s a girl to do at a moment like this? Should I fling my body across the top of my desk, to obstruct her view of my paper? Should I recite the thirteenth article of faith? We believe in being honest… Instead of doing everything my heart told me I should, I gave-in to the part of me that was just like every other student at OHS—wanting to be seen favorable in the sight of Jennevive. I let her copy my paper. I actually felt sick.

At the sound of the bell, I was eager to escape Mr. Foster, U.S. History, and especially Jennavive Taylor. As usual, I met up with Shannon for lunch.

Shannon was actually a sophomore, and in most schools across the U.S., the “best friendship” between a sophomore and a junior would probably be considered taboo…even social suicide, (at least for the higher ranking junior). But things are different in towns where all the old men know your grandpa, and all the old women can recall the time they tended you and had to change your diaper.

I’ve known Shannon forever. Not only is she my best friend, she is also my cousin. Hanging out with your relatives is not only common in a small town, it’s also unavoidable.

Since Oakley High School doesn’t have its own cafeteria, we have to make the 100-yard trek down the sidewalk and across the parking lot from the combined high school/junior high, to the elementary school cafeteria—a small price to pay for a gooey slice of pizza or some tasty chicken nuggets.

The crisp September air made my breath fog up as I spoke. “Did Chad call again last night?”

“Yeah, he’s called the last four nights in a row.” Shannon sounded a little too excited about this, and it made me worry. “Guess what?” she added.

“I don’t know. He’s proclaimed his love to you, and wants to elope next weekend?”

Shannon hurled her purse at me, inflicting minor damage to my already grumbling stomach.

“Okay. Okay.” I held up my hands to call a truce. “No more violent outbursts. What? What? Tell me what?”

“Chad wants to meet me after the football game. Maybe go into Burley and get a hamburger or something. Of course we’ll be with a group, so it’s not really like a date or anything.”

“And what do your mom and dad think about this?”

“Hey, try not to sound so excited for me, will ya?”

“I’m sorry. I really think Chad’s good looking. I guess I’m just a little worried.”

Shannon started to sigh and rolled her eyes, knowing exactly what I was going to say. I didn’t let this hinder the speech formulating in my head.

I continued on. “He’s a senior and you’re a sophomore. And he hasn’t been to church in…I don’t know, probably two or three years. What’s up with that?”

Shannon took on a defensive tone, and I could tell she had hashed this out in her mind a few dozen times. “Just tell me who in my grade you think I should like?” She hardly took a breath as she continued on in a softer tone. “I think I could help fellowship him…help him come back to church.”

I had been saving this last bit of information, if the first two feeble attempts didn’t work. “You were with me at the Pioneer Days rodeos last twenty-forth of July weekend; remember? Don’t you recall seeing Chad and his buddies both nights just as drunk as they could be? I don’t go to their parties, but I’d venture to say that they drink more often than just at the rodeo.”

“I don’t think Chad would drink around me. He knows I wouldn’t like that. He really likes me, Molly. I really think I could be a good influence on him.”

“That’s not what I’m afraid of.”

We headed into the elementary school, and then turned into the cafeteria. With all the commotion, we left our conversation for later, and set our minds and mouths to the task of lunch.

After Shannon and I filed through the lunch line filling the compartments of our lunch trays with chocolate milk, spaghetti, green beans, apple sauce, and a roll, we found an empty table and started to eat. I had just rolled a long strand of the pasta around my fork and had placed it in my mouth when from the next table a familiar boy’s voice hollered.

“Hey Molly, aren’t you forgetting to bless your food?”

Then another voice—the one that always seems to follow the first—chimed in.  “Yeah…you’d better repent.”

I didn’t even have to look up.  I know that I can always expect a personal jab once or twice a week from Travis and his equally irritating sidekick, Mitch.  You see, just as it is in the ocean, and on the plains of Africa, there is a chain of prey here at Oakley High School.

Until a few years ago, Mitch had always been pretty much a loner. He’s a short kid—always has been. I’m sure this has caused him plenty of anxiety over the years. I think that Travis is about the only friend he has ever had. It wouldn’t surprise me if Mitch would eat a worm or walk across hot coals barefoot for Travis’ approval.

So what does Travis get out of this friendship? A continuous audience. Mitch laughs at all of Travis’ absurd jokes, agrees with anything Travis has to say, and probably even does his homework

Travis is the next step up on the food chain.  Ever since the fifth grade it has been common knowledge that Travis worships Jennavive. They aren’t dating or anything. Jennavive isn’t even slightly interested in Travis “that way.” But he does come in handy when she needs a ride down to Clark’s grocery store during lunch, an answer to an Algebra question, or just a simple boost to her ego with a current report on the status of her beauty.

I guess you could say that Jennavive stands at the top of this little ecosystem, (or should I say egosystem) she has created. She pretty much orchestrates her own little universe, absorbing Travis’ praise along with her other followers. I doubt Travis and Mitch would continually badger me if Travis didn’t think it would win him some favor in the heart of Jennavive.

So where does this leave me? I’m the prey! Why? I’m not sure. Perhaps because I refuse to fall into the flocks of devoted Jennavive followers, or perhaps I’m not as chic as many of the others. Perhaps I’m a good target of her wrath because I’m tall. Maybe in sixth grade, when this all started, she drew my name out of a hat and said, “I think I’m going to pick on that Molly Chambrs for the next six years. I think it will help her build character—maybe even strengthen her testimony.”

For some reason Travis was in extra need of attention today. Usually he only felt the need to make a single jab at me, but today he just couldn’t seem to quit.

“Hey Molly, do you have to repent often?”

Again, the expected echo from Mitch followed, “I bet she’s a regular with the bishop.”

Travis was in rare form now. All I could figure was that he must have asked Jennavive to the Homecoming Dance, and thought this might win him a date with her.

“You know what the Good Book says, Molly. ‘Ask and it shall be given. Knock and ye shall receive.’ All that you sinners have to do to be forgiven, Molly, is to knock and ask.”

The usual hum of the cafeteria had grown quiet at Travis and Mitch’s unusual oration, calling me to repentance.

I usually just try to ignore the ridiculous insults of Curly, Moe, and Larry, (the names that Shannon and I affectionately dubbed Travis, Jennavive, and Mitch). I have always tried to follow the example of Christ and turn the other cheek, but for some reason, this afternoon my neck felt very stiff.

I did manage, however, to glance over to the table where Jennavive was sitting. The smug grin on her lips was an obvious display of some twisted source of satisfaction. Why did she derive such pleasure from my discomfort? Why did she hate me so?

The empty pit of my stomach suddenly turned to stone. All rational thoughts seemed to momentarily flee my mind, and a new source of energy was now blazing within me. All I could see was Jennavive’s smirk, and all I could hear were the irritating guffaws of Curly and Larry. As if running on automatic drive, I slowly stood and walked over to the end of Travis and Mitch’s table. They were facing each other, and now I was standing next to each of them. What I did next came much too easily.

Rapping my knuckles twice on the cafeteria table I verbalized my action. “Knock knock.” Then, as if possessed by the menacing spirit of my irritating little brother, I grabbed Curly’s and Larry’s opened cartons of chocolate milk, tipped them upside down above the boys’ laps, and gave them a mighty squeeze.

Without skipping a beat, I humbly implored the two stunned and soaked figures, “Gee, I sure hope you boys will forgive me.”

Laughs and cheers filled the cafeteria as I returned to my seat. My sweater was slightly spotted from the shower of chocolate milk, but it was a small matter in exchange for the justice I suddenly felt.

I learned two things that day. First, most of the student at Oakley High School also find Travis and Mitch incredibly irritating. I have never received so many “way to go’s” and back slaps in my life. Second, anything deemed a “food fight” in the cafeteria is punishable by a one-day suspension from school, and a week’s worth of duty in the cafeteria. Ironically, I was also required to apologize to the boys, but they told the principal it wasn’t necessary.