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

working on the outer office where Mrs. Abbott sits for the Spirit Week contest, and this space has a lot in common with that one.”

“Well, I . . .” Her face softened, and I could see her picturing what could be. We both were.

Just then, her phone rang, but before she picked it up, she said, “I’d love that, hon.”

I got out just as a boy went in, clutching his stomach and looking very pale. I started down the hall toward my locker while taking my hand sanitizer out of my front backpack pocket. I gave myself a spritz. My head was feeling better already.

Call It Done

“I’m proud of you girls,” Mrs. Abbott said. She was standing in front of her desk holding her bowl of lemon drops. I’d already eaten three, and so had Olive. Because it was Saturday, Mrs. Abbott was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt with a big, fat bird on it. During the school week, she wore a skirt and blouse. She looked even more comfortable (and even less chic) in her weekend clothes. She also looked very happy with us, with everything we’d done.

“You girls have sure made a difference in here,” she said. “I think I’m really going to look forward to coming to the office!”

I smiled. There was nothing as great as knowing you’d made your client happy. And once I finished a design, I just wanted to get right to work on another one. I needed to tell Olive about redecorating Mrs. Sherman’s office, and Rachel, too, if she ever wanted to hang out with us again.

“I hope all the students feel the same way you do!” I said.

They’d have the chance to look at the entries on Monday, before they voted. Olive and I had checked the other rooms when we’d arrived at the school this morning, and no one had set up yet.

“We have to tell people to vote for us!” Olive told her. “The cheerleaders were handing out flyers in study hall yesterday, telling people to vote for the main hallway. And this kid had a Blow Pop and said the math team had given it to him.”

“Can they do that?” I asked.

Olive shrugged. “I guess?”

“So, you’ve got the cheerleading team and the math team. Who else?” Mrs. Abbott asked.

“There’s the boys’ basketball team,” I said. “They got the hallway outside the gym, and student council has the car loop hallway, plus science club is in the science room, which was a lucky draw for them.” I’d seen no plans from any of those groups. Had they even made a plan? Who knew what they were going to do? It was all one big question mark.

“You look worried,” Olive said to me. “Don’t be worried. Come on.” She motioned me over to our beautiful blue bookcase. Tony had done a great job helping me paint it, and Olive had added a swirly white pattern along the sides that almost looked like the Milky Way and matched the swirls in a rug we’d found.

She handed Mrs. Abbott her phone. “Will you take our picture?”

“Absolutely!” she said. “Smile!”

“Now, one over here,” Olive said and moved to the poster of Van Gogh’s The Starry Night that Mrs. Abbott had found when Olive asked her if she had any posters. I’d put it in one of the many frames I had lying around, a silver one that looked expensive but wasn’t. It was totally normal to take photos of our “afters”; I usually took them myself and put them in a portfolio to show future clients. But I wasn’t usually in them. Still, this was fun.

“Wait,” I said, “we can’t forget the new filing system!”

I pulled open a drawer full of copies of blank forms, stuff like permission slips that got sent home to parents. I didn’t have enough money to buy a new cabinet, but I’d completely reorganized and labeled everything because Mrs. Abbott said she never had time to get to that.

“Say cheese,” Mrs. Abbott said as we posed by the cabinet.

“No, not cheese. Say BFFs!” Olive yelled.

“BFFs,” I said, but my smile was weak. I’d texted Rachel to say we were setting up the room, my last-ditch effort to get her involved. As usual, she didn’t respond.

“Rachel didn’t happen to text you today, did she?” I asked Olive.

“Nope,” Olive said, but I couldn’t see her face. She moved back by Mrs. Abbott’s desk and spread her arms wide. “It really is fantabulous!” she declared.

She was right. For once, Olive’s mash-up of fantastic and fabulous worked. The room was too great for just one adjective. The rug we picked out, and the chairs we refinished, and the painted bookshelf, and the art, and the office supplies—they all looked wonderful. And that didn’t even take into account the way we’d rearranged the space to give it better flow. No more banged shins on the mini refrigerator. Hooray! I was really, really pleased.

But I was still me, so I couldn’t help worrying.

“The basketball team has a ton of kids,” I said, biting my lip. All the other teams had way more members than just little old me and Olive. There were no rules about team size.

“Sure, they have quantity,” Olive said, “but do they have quality? Have they been doing this as long as we have? Do they have our special brand of design know-how-ed-ness?”

I laughed. “Okay, okay, I see your point.” Olive leaned close to Mrs. Abbott and took a selfie in front of the bowl of lemon drops.

“You girls crack me up,” Mrs. Abbot said. She popped a drop into her mouth. “What do you say? Should we call it done?”

I backed up a bit, looked carefully at each area of the room. I walked over to the trio of items on top of the filing cabinet: the yellow paper sorter we’d bought at the Shoppe, a rectangular basket, and a 3-D metal L for Long Branch. I moved the L slightly to the right while I thought about starting on Mrs.