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

“Oh, Maggie,” she said. “What have you done?”

Next to her was Mr. Villanueva. He looked taller somehow, but that might have just been because I was bent over. He had his hands on his hips and wore his very displeased expression, the same one he gave to the kids who’d started a food fight in the cafeteria a couple weeks ago. But I wasn’t one of those kids! I wasn’t a troublemaker!

Mr. V motioned for me to follow him, and Brittany let me go. There wasn’t a sound in the hallway, except for the shoosh shoosh shoosh-ing of the crepe paper disaster as I waded through it, my footsteps in line right behind his, all the kids standing back to let us through. It sounded like we were walking through fallen leaves.

What had happened with the voting? How could anyone choose this hodgepodge of tacky junk over a tasteful design?

I tapped Mr. V’s arm. “Did the students see the reorganization of all the files?” I asked. “You couldn’t even find anything in there before!”

We were almost back to his office now. “Did they get to see how everything is functioning, before they voted?”

Mr. V sighed. “Save it for my office, Miss Owens.”

I turned around to exchange a nervous glance with Olive, but she was slowly walking the other way.

The worst part was that I had to walk right through my losing design on my way to Mr. V’s office. I tried not to look, but I couldn’t NOT see that beautiful fabric I’d used to recover the seats of those chairs. That staple gun had left my hand sore for days! I kept thinking how impressed Dad had been with my concept board, kept thinking of how much fun it had been with Tony, painting the bookshelf.

The color scheme had come from all three of the BFFs, though that interview with Mrs. Abbott seemed like ages ago. And all of it, the whole room, couldn’t have been put together without the lessons I’d learned from Grandma. I caught the eye of Mrs. Abbott, who gave me a sad little smile, which made me start to cry.

When we reached his office, and Mr. Villanueva noticed my tears, his expression softened, but only for a moment. He told me to have a seat. The chair across from his desk had wooden arms and an upholstered back in a gray, scratchy fabric. It might be vintage in another ten years, but right now, it was just ugly. His own chair was tall and leather and on coasters. Everything else was just boring desk and bookcases, all in a cherry finish that tried to look expensive, but wasn’t. I wondered if I should offer to redo his office, too. Maybe that would get me out of trouble.

“There’s no need to cry,” he said.

I looked around for a tissue but didn’t see any. Where were all the tissues when I needed them lately?

He sat down in his big chair and leaned forward. “We all make mistakes. It’s what we learn from them that’s important.”

I nodded and sat there for a minute, just kind of waiting for him to talk. I had no idea what was supposed to happen in these situations; I didn’t have any experience with it. Maybe he was waiting for me to tell him what I’d learned, and I guess I was waiting for him to tell me.

One thing I knew was that I’d hurt a bunch of girls on the cheerleading squad, even though I’d only meant to hurt Katelyn. Seeing their faces as I walked through them on my march to the office? Yeah, I wouldn’t be forgetting that. Nor will I forget that headlock, I thought, as I rubbed my neck. I imagined Katelyn sitting in front of me, in Mr. V’s chair as Principal for a Day, and shuddered.

“Do you have anything you want to say? In your defense?” he asked.

I didn’t know where to start. I’m under a lot of stress because I have a new brother I didn’t know about, which means people I love weren’t telling me the truth and I don’t know who to trust, and my grandma had to come live with us, and she doesn’t know who I am half the time, and my best friend has kind of deserted me but also, she’s maybe dating my brother, and the only thing that was going to make everything right, the only thing, was me winning this contest.

But I didn’t say any of that. What I said was “It’s not fair.”

I immediately wished I could take it back because I’d been on this earth long enough to know adults hated it when kids said that. They usually said some dumb thing back, like, “Life’s not fair.”

I tried again. “I worked really hard. I thought everyone would like it. Did you . . . like it?”

“Of course I did, and Mrs. Abbott is very pleased,” he said, “but, Maggie, we didn’t vote. Remember?”

“I’m going to redo the nurses, office, too. Did Mrs. Sherman tell you that?”

“No, she didn’t. That’s very nice of you.” Mr. V took out a big red binder from a desk drawer. “It doesn’t affect any of this, however.”

He flipped through the pages. “Here we go,” he said. He turned the binder so it faced me and pointed to a paragraph. “You’ll notice item number four under Behaviors Leading to Suspension. Willful destruction of school property.”

“But I . . . I didn’t destroy any school property!” Destroying school property sounded like spray-painting graffiti on the bricks or hurling a rock through a window. And did he say . . . suspension?

“You most certainly did destroy school property,” he said. “As soon as those decorations were affixed, they became school property.” He closed the binder and leaned back in his chair. “Let me ask you this, Maggie. If the math team came in here and took a chainsaw to the bookcase you painted, how would you feel?”

I knew this