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

was no laughing matter, but I couldn’t help smirking. The idea was just too, too crazy.

“You have a one-day suspension.” He looked at the clock. “The buses have left, but I need to call your parents anyway, so hopefully one of them can come get you.”

“Suspension?” I said.

I was starting to feel really sick to my stomach. That lavender scent diffuser that I put in the outer office, for its calming effects, was way too strong, and the whole place smelled like chemical flowers.

“But I didn’t do anything that bad!” I said. “It’s not like I started a food fight!” Those were the only other kids I knew of who’d gotten suspended this year.

He looked at me closely, some kindness creeping into his face, and so I asked, “Can you make an exception?”

“I’m sorry, no,” he said. “Stay home. Read a book. It’s only a day.”

He’d swiveled his chair and was looking out his window, tapping his pencil on his desk. “You know, my wife gets all those decorating magazines. They’re all over our coffee table.” He waved his hand and turned back to me. “You did a good job on the office, Maggie, and we like it a lot, but, you know, you misjudged your classmates.” He shrugged. “They were expecting school colors and all that.”

“That’s not design,” I said.

“No, it’s not,” he said, kind of sharply but not meanly. I was taken aback. “It’s a decorating contest. No one said interior design, Maggie. I think you wanted this contest to be something it never was.”

Then it hit me, slowly, that maybe, just perhaps, the student body at Long Branch Middle School might not be as up to date on current interior design trends as I was. I sat there for a minute, rubbing my forehead and wondering if he could be right, then realizing he probably was. How could I have been so dumb? The first rule of design was to know your clients. I had thought all along that Mrs. Abbott was my client, but it was really the students. They were the ones voting.

“Crepe paper,” I muttered. “They wanted crepe paper.”

“Guess so,” Mr. V said. “As my wife says when she’s watching all those HGTV shows, ‘There’s no accounting for taste.’”

“Everybody still gets a day off, right? For voting?”

He laughed softly. “I heard that rumor, too. It’s preposterous, of course. The academic calendar is set years in advance by the school board. I can’t go around giving days off for no good reason.”

That burned. No good reason? He turned to his computer screen, where he’d pulled up my emergency contact information. “Should I call your mom or your dad?”

“Mom,” I said, without even hesitating. You’d think I’d want the good cop, not the bad cop, but I didn’t want to disappoint my dad, not after I’d fantasized about how proud of me he was going to be when I won.

“Can I head home?” I asked. I didn’t want to hear any of this phone conversation.

“I thought you rode the bus?”

“I walk sometimes,” I said.

“Okay,” he said, “you can go,” and he turned his back as I left, hurrying out through the outer office with my head down. If I had to see Mrs. Abbott again, or our bookshelf or rug—any of it—I’d probably throw up.

When I got outside, I was surprised to find Tony standing by the flagpole. All the buses were long gone. There were a few kids messing around, but Tony was just sitting by himself, like he was waiting for me. Or, on second thought, maybe he was waiting for Rachel.

“Hey,” he said, cutting across the grass. “I’ll walk with you.”

“Why aren’t you walking with Rakell?” I asked. I walked faster, but he matched my step.

“She took the bus. Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about that, before you find out on your own. See, Rakell and I are kind of—”

“Going out,” I said. “I know. I saw you holding her hand.”

It didn’t mean anything. All it meant was that they declared they liked each other and held hands in the hallways, big deal. Of course Rachel would be the first of the BFFs to go out with someone. It didn’t surprise me a bit.

“Oh, okay,” he said. He looked relieved that I already knew. “Well, what happened was, one of her older brothers was playing basketball with me and Dad, and she started hanging out, and we started talking, and . . . I just think she’s cool, that’s all, which I mean, you already know. She’s your best friend.”

I stopped walking. “Was.”

“Is,” he said. “As far as she’s concerned, at least. She’s just going through a lot right now.”

“We all are,” I said.

“Yeah, I know, but she’s going through a lot of stuff that you don’t know about, with her parents.”

“Again,” I said. “Who isn’t?”

Tony blurted, “They’re getting a divorce, Maggie.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

Of all the parents I knew, Rachel’s were the perfect ones, the ones who never dressed like slobs, even if they were just in the car pick-up loop. They got season tickets to the symphony, which I’d never even been to; the only concerts I saw were the free ones at the bandshell in the park. And they always spoke very carefully, e-nun-ci-a-ting everything. I imagined Rachel hearing the divorce talk, getting the question about which parent she wanted to live with. What would that conversation sound like in her family?

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“Yeah, I’m sure. I mean, Rakell is sure. They told her.”

“But maybe they’ll change their minds. Sometimes parents say that, and then nothing happens. Sometimes they even tell their kids to decide who to live with, and still change their minds.”

Tony gave me an odd look. “I think it’s pretty definite. Her dad already moved out.”

I couldn’t believe she hadn’t told me. Had she told Olive? Had she told Katelyn? I’d be jealous if she had, but also, hearing that this was going on with Rachel made me think of her a little