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

And then the bell rang, and everyone scattered out to the lockers. The bells were automated, so it was Mr. V’s fault for being long-winded, but it was still a bummer, like when someone sneezed during an important line at a movie.

I strained to listen as I stood clutching my combination lock. I couldn’t make my fingers work. I wasn’t even sure I could remember the combination.

Mr. Villanueva said, “With their super musical decorations, the math team comes in third place.”

I felt my breath whoosh out of me in one long exhale. That only left the BFFs and the terrible, no-good, crepe paper disaster. My head was spinning. I rested it against my still unopened locker.

There were kids all around me, slamming their locker doors, stuffing books into backpacks, not even listening. How could they not be listening? But even in all the chaos, it was like it was just me and Mr. Villanueva’s voice floating out of the speaker in a corner of the hallway. I couldn’t see or hear anything else. Nothing else mattered. I remembered Tony teaching me to shoot free throws. It’s just you and the hoop, he’d say. You and the hoop.

Kids were running out to the buses. If I missed my bus, so what? I’d walk home. I’d run! I’d run through the door and announce the awesome news to my parents, and my dad would twirl me around and tell me again how amazing I was, and they would promise to never fight again. I’d run to Grandma’s room, and she’d call me by my name and say how proud she was of me.

I’d treat Olive, and Tony, and Rakell, yes, even Rakell, to hot fudge sundaes because we were all in this together and it was so silly to fight over petty little things. How could I ever have thought about sending Tony back to Bircher? How could I have been so angry at Rakell? Who had time for that?

Not me. I had things to do, big things, now that the BFFs were going to be on the map. Now that Maggie Owens had officially arrived. I was imagining where I’d put the trophy, thinking of how I should start writing my acceptance speech, thinking of colors for Mrs. Sherman’s office, for Tony’s room. I was tasting that cheesy, ooey, gooey pizza. I was waiting for Mr. Villanueva to say the magic words.

Crepe Paper Disaster

It was Katelyn’s scream that I’d remember most, that shrieking “OH MY GOD!” that would ring in my ears far longer than Mr. Villanueva’s flat, calm voice saying, “And in second place . . . is the BFFs, which means the Long Branch cheerleading squad takes the prize. Congratulations to all the teams.”

It felt like Katelyn’s voice was reverberating up and down the tiled hallways, but it might have just been echoing in my head.

Mr. Villanueva continued, “And because everyone in attendance today cast a vote, stay tuned for information on that frozen yogurt truck!”

All the kids in the hall started cheering at that, which made it so much worse, and then it was like I dove underwater. All I could hear was the pounding of the surf above me. I’d felt the same way when Dad first told me about Tony, first told me I had a brother.

My breathing was amped up, my heart in my throat, which was a saying I’d never really understood until that moment. All around me, the hallway was filled with kids, dashing to get their stuff and run for the exits, then to the buses, or to a waiting car, or just to the freedom of the rest of the world, outside this school, where their own two legs would carry them home.

My legs felt stiff and awkward, like they belonged to someone else. And I was not going home. Not yet. My eyes narrowed to take in just the few feet ahead of me, enough of a sight line to keep walking, but not enough to keep from clipping people left and right with my elbows.

“Ouch!”

“Hey!”

“Watch it!”

I looked for someone, anyone, for some friendly face, but I suddenly felt very alone. Rachel preferred Katelyn and Olive and, now, Tony; and Olive preferred Rachel; and Tony preferred Rachel, and nobody liked me and I wasn’t a designer and I couldn’t win anything and and and . . .

Up ahead, I saw Katelyn and her crew, hugging and jumping around and acting like complete idiots.

Then I saw something else, and I zeroed in on it. One end of a crepe paper loop was already on the ground. All I had to do was reach up, pinch it, and yank it the rest of the way. Crepe paper was so delicate and so . . . so useless. It wouldn’t even stand up to most five-year-olds’ birthday parties, so who could expect it to survive in a majorly busy hallway with hundreds of kids passing through every hour of the day?

Only someone who had done zero planning. Only someone who would do the bare minimum, buying a couple rolls of crepe in the school’s colors, scribbling on a few squares of cardboard, and calling it design. Honestly, something this ugly deserved to be torn down. I was only putting this hallway out of its misery.

I worked quietly at first, even pausing for a second to consider that maybe I was being a poor sport. I also realized I might get in trouble. Who cared?

Just then, Katelyn looked over, and her eyes were huge with surprise and anger. How dare she be angry? She, who’d spent a maximum of two hours on this project I’d been working on for WEEKS. That did it. I flew into a rampage—clutching, tearing, stomping until every little bit I could reach was in shreds on the ground. I stopped only when Katelyn’s friend Brittany put me in a headlock.

Bent over, trying to struggle free, I saw Olive out of the corner of my eye. She had a disappointed look that