The Rule of Threes - Marcy Campbell (the little red hen read aloud .txt) 📗

have a sibling? One minute you were laughing together and the next, at each other’s throats? Maybe he just didn’t get a good night’s sleep.

“I’m sorry you had to sleep downstairs, Tony, but remember, I said I’d sleep on the couch, so you could sleep in my loft.” I set my brush down, though I knew there were still knots in the back of my head. “And you said no.”

He didn’t say anything, just put Mittens down, then scooped his stuff into one pile and tried to carry it out of my room, all at once. I heard Grandma call to my mom.

“Susan!”

“Oh great, now you woke Grandma,” I said. She needed a peaceful night’s sleep more than any of us. I tried again. “I told you I’d switch places, Tony.”

“You can’t switch places with me!” He walked out, hidden behind a mountain of clothes and blankets.

I didn’t understand what his problem was. It wasn’t my fault he didn’t take me up on my offer. I knew he was probably still upset about what happened with his mom yesterday. I would be. But he didn’t have to take it out on me. I had gone with him! I was trying to help!

I got down from my loft and noticed one of his socks sitting just inside my doorway. Must have fallen out of his pile. I got my plastic dinosaur-head-grabby-thing that I’d won at the fair, picked up the sock, and carried it to the hall, where I dropped it down the laundry chute. Then I went back into my room and closed the door tightly. I needed a lock.

I thought about how Olive’s little brother wrecked all her stuff and Rachel’s brothers teased her. At least in Rachel’s family there were three kids, so if one sibling was being a pain, you could turn to the other one.

I thought of that decorating show where families switched spaces and decorated a room in each other’s houses. Somebody always ended up crying, and I don’t mean happy tears. I used to think Rachel’s family was great because her parents had a lot of money, so she always had the latest cool things. But her dad was hardly ever around, and I wouldn’t like that. And I wouldn’t want to switch places with Olive’s family because things always seemed a little out of control over there, which bugged me. Were there no families that got along?

I balled up my fists and could feel my own not-happy tears coming. I went to my desk to get my shell. But it wasn’t there. I moved the pencil cup, the little box with my paper clips, and the other box with pushpins for my bulletin board. The shell wasn’t behind them where it always was. I could feel my heart starting to flutter as I looked again behind everything. I looked in places where my shell had never been before.

And then I saw it, or what was left of it, on the floor under my chair.

It was in pieces.

“Nooooooo!” I wailed. “No, no, no.”

I picked up the shards, which pricked my fingers with their sharp edges. There were four larger pieces and then tiny bits, just fragments really, smashed into the carpet. Not even the strongest glue in my craft box was going to fix this. And I felt like . . . like all the memories that were part of that shell were ground to dust, and all that was left was the white powder on my fingertips.

I put the big pieces into the trash. My nose was running. I reached for the box of tissues I usually kept on my desk, but it wasn’t there. Where was everything? I always kept everything right in the place where it was supposed to be, always, so it would be there when I needed it. I looked around and noticed my plant had been moved, and some of my books were gone, because there was a space like a missing tooth in my bookshelf.

I sniffled and got another leftover whiff of Tony’s bag.

Tony!

He had been sitting at my desk doing his homework when I woke up. He was holding one of my pencils, which he must have taken from the cup. Who knew if it was the first time, either? What if he’d come in here before, when I was off with Olive working on the contest, and snooped through my stuff?

I heard him come out of the bathroom, then tromp down the stairs. Then I heard Grandma say, “Susan, I’m hungry,” and then, weirdly, “I’m Eleanor Hanson,” which was in fact her name, but why she needed to say it like that, I had no idea. Perhaps that was part of the disease, like her brain was trying to grab everything it could and pin it in place.

I heard Mom running up the stairs, heard the jangling of dishes on the bed tray. I couldn’t go in there and help, although I wanted to. Not right now.

I leaned against my door and took deep breaths. My clock said it was well past the time that I should have been up and dressed for school, but I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t do anything right now. I opened my closet door, pushed away enough stuff so I could fit inside, and closed the door with a soft click.

Ironic how my parents called my closet my “dirty little secret” now that I knew all the secrets they’d been keeping. I thought of it more as my “cozy little space.” I took a deep inhale of that bubblegum-mixed-with-lotion smell and made a mental note to someday look for those gum wrappers. I couldn’t really see anything in the dark closet, but I didn’t need to. I knew the stuffed animals were in the back left corner. I knew in the back right, there was a stack of Lego kits I’d gotten for presents when I was into that. I still had a half-finished Millennium Falcon. Dresses I hardly ever wore hung