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

“Of course,” Tony said, “tons of times. Haven’t you?”

I searched my brain. I’d taken school buses forever, but the long, white city buses? I didn’t think I’d ever been on one of those. I’d seen them downtown, and seen people waiting in those plexiglass boxes for the bus to come. I’d even stood in one of those boxes once, when my mom and I got caught in a rainstorm without an umbrella. But when the rain stopped, we walked to the parking garage and got in our car.

“Not that I remember,” I said. “How much does it cost?”

“Don’t worry,” Tony answered. “I’ve got a card.”

I didn’t know if he meant a credit card, or like a card the teachers wore on lanyards to get them into rooms at school. I figured it wasn’t the time to ask too many questions, which was too bad, because I had plenty. What were we going to do when we got there? What if his mom wasn’t even there? Would we get back before anyone noticed we were gone? Tony seemed to know what he was doing, but it felt weird, not being in control myself.

We were almost directly across the street from the school now, and of course Tony chose this moment to stop and tie his shoe.

“Don’t stop here,” I hissed. “Someone might see you.”

“So what?”

“So, you’re supposed to be sick,” I said.

“And you”—Tony took his time double-knotting his laces—“are supposed to be suspended.” He sounded so much like my dad when he said that, stern, but still kind of joking. It was easy to forget sometimes that he was only a year older than me.

He stood up and turned toward the school, cupped his hands, and yelled, “It’s Maggie Owens, everybody! Total rebel!”

“Cut it out!” I said. I punched his arm.

“Ow!”

“I mean it, Tony!”

“I was just teasing you, just trying to lighten the mood, take my mind off things for a tiny second. Don’t worry, I won’t let anybody know about your bad-girl behavior.” He wiggled his fingers at me. “Wouldn’t want you to start sliding, one bad move after another . . .” He trailed off, and I didn’t think we were talking about me anymore.

“What’s your mom going to do?” I said quietly. “She can’t just quit trying to get better. She wouldn’t do that, would she?”

“She doesn’t want to do what she does,” he said. “She can’t help it.”

Tony zipped his jacket all the way up. The air had a real bite to it this morning. “I just need to see her,” he said. “She listens to me, sometimes. If she’s thinking clearly, at least.”

“What do you mean?” Tony gave me a look. “Yeah, yeah,” I said and let out a nervous sigh.

I was about to ask Tony more about his mom when I noticed someone exiting the school from the side door by the gym. The kid who came out the door left it propped open with his backpack, which was totally against the rules but definitely helpful at the moment. I had an idea, but I had to act fast. I’d thought when we left the house that I was prepared, that I’d brought everything I needed for this little adventure, but I wasn’t, I hadn’t.

“I need to run into the school for a minute,” I announced to Tony. “I forgot my social studies notes, and I have a report due tomorrow.”

“What?” Tony said. “No, absolutely not.” He shook his head. “What if we miss the bus?”

I ignored him, running toward the school. “I’ll just be a second,” I called over my shoulder.

Thankfully, the gym was empty, and I raced across it, turned down one hallway, and then another, noticing a girl from my math class coming out of the bathroom. She gave me an odd look, but I just put my head down and kept walking. I headed straight for Mrs. Sherman’s office and stood outside it, wondering what to do next. I could hear her talking to someone.

Just then, a sixth-grade boy whose name I didn’t know came out to his locker. “Hey, you,” I whispered loudly.

“Huh?” He gave me a confused look.

“Can you do me a favor?” I asked. I dug my five-dollar bill out of my front pocket, and the boy suddenly grew interested.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“Can you . . .” What did I want? I hadn’t thought this through. I just needed to get into that office. “Can you create some sort of distraction out here, like, pretend to be sick or something?”

“Why?”

“I need her to come out.” I pointed toward the nurse’s office and held out the money.

He snatched it and immediately started making gagging noises.

“Not here,” I whispered, waving my hand, “down there, farther away.”

He jogged down the hallway, to the place where the next hallway crossed. I tucked myself into an alcove and waited. He started yelling, “Ugh! I don’t feel so good! Mrs. Sherman!”

His acting was pathetic, but it had the desired effect. She came running.

My heart pounding, I slipped into her office. I shouldn’t be doing this, I shouldn’t be doing this. But Olive and I had a meeting set up with Mrs. Sherman tomorrow, to interview her for her room redo. I’d just find a way to slip it back into the cabinet then. Grandma always said sometimes you needed to break the rules. Of course, she was talking about design, like mixing silver and copper, but still.

It only took a moment. The supply cabinet was unlocked just as before. The Narcan box was right where it had been. I grabbed it, slipped it into my backpack, and was out the door.

My backpack felt heavy on my lap. Tony sat next to me. There were only a few other people on the bus, a mother with a toddler (who kept turning around to smile at us), a couple of older women, and a college-aged boy wearing headphones. I didn’t know what song he was listening to, but I could hear the bass thumping.

Tony had swiped us