The Rule of Threes Marcy Campbell (animal farm read .TXT) 📖

left of it, in the corner. Kids started shifting around, getting ready to leave, but Mr. V held up his hand again.

“I have one more thing to share with you,” he said, “something exciting.”

Ooh! I just remembered, the decorating contest. He said he’d give us the details at the next assembly and this was the next assembly!

He said, “As you probably know, the middle school will have a Spirit Week this fall, the same week as the high school’s Homecoming. We won’t be having a dance here at the middle school, but we will have a pep rally and bonfire, and our boys will play football against the Rockets, same as the high school boys. The Centerville Rockets are a formidable opponent, and I should know. I used to teach there!”

Mr. V paused for a response from the crowd, but none of us really cared about his résumé. He cleared his throat. “Well, anyway, we’ll all need to come together and show some school spirit!”

I knew the Long Branch Wildcats were supposed to be bitter enemies of the Centerville Rockets, but that was all pretty stupid as far as I was concerned, and so were pep rallies. I sang in the choir, and nobody had a pep rally for us. Nobody had a pep rally for Rachel’s swim team or for the math club. Get to the good stuff, Mr. V!

He talked about Spirit Week theme days, like crazy sock day and school colors day, but he’d really lost his audience, all except me. Some kids had already stood up. Some were shoving each other along the bleachers, which started a wave of shoving that led to the kid on the end being pushed into the aisle. I tried as hard as I could to tune it all out.

Mr. V kept talking. “To get ready for the game, we also thought it would be fun to have a decorating contest, as I mentioned on the morning announcements. We’re going to have teams compete to decorate different parts of the school, and you’ll be allowed to vote for the winning team, who will get a trophy and a pizza party with their friends, and . . . ”

The noise level had grown to a low roar. On the wall, the clock ticked forward, just three minutes until the last bell.

He put his hand up. “MAY I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION?” The microphone let out a squeal and a bunch of kids clapped their hands over their ears, but he got the desired effect. Everyone shut up.

“Thank you. Students, this is important. Everyone can be involved. We can have as many entries as we have rooms and hallways. Athletic teams, clubs, music groups, or just groups of friends—”

I felt a little fluttering in my chest. Yes, groups of friends. The BFFs! I went from feeling genuinely terrible, both physically and mentally, to the most excited I’d been in months! Olive turned around and looked up at me, beaming, and I gave her a huge thumbs-up, which she returned, and doubled. I looked over to Rachel, but she was still messing with that boy who had her scarf. Now he was pretending to give it back and then pulling it away at the last second.

Mr. V went on about how we lived in a democracy and it was important that we all recognized our obligation to vote and so on and so on. He was losing the crowd, and fast. Even me. I was already imagining how I could transform the hallways.

“THERE WILL BE PRIZES!” he yelled, drawing everyone’s eyes back on him. “If we get one hundred percent voting participation, I will bring in a frozen yogurt truck, and the whole school will get free yogurt, with toppings! And in addition to the trophy and pizza party for the winning team, that team can designate someone to be Principal for a Day!”

Mr. V didn’t say anything about the rules for the contest, which was surprising, and made me a little nervous. Rules made things so much easier. Grandma had taught me about design rules early on, about strengthening your foundation, considering your assets, not being afraid to mix textures, and probably most importantly, she taught me that in order to make a room look beautiful, you had to tear it apart first, then build it back up, bit by bit. Grandma always said, “Things are going to get worse before they get better.” But I wasn’t sure how much tearing apart I’d be allowed to do in the school.

The bell rang, and everyone forgot that we were supposed to exit in an orderly fashion. I tripped over a boy, but caught myself by grabbing onto the elbow of some girl, all of us moving like a clumsy stream of ants toward the doorway. For once in the past twenty-four hours, I wasn’t thinking about Tony at all. I was thinking about how this contest could be the biggest break for the BFFs, how we could really make a name for ourselves at this school. My parents would be so excited for me, and Grandma would be so proud, and the BFFs would be right back on track, just like Grandma used to say while she looked at her garden: “Everything’s coming up roses.”

Before and After

I was still thinking about the decorating contest while I cleaned my room on Saturday, spraying some Lemon Pledge onto a scrap of one of Dad’s old T-shirts, wiping it across the top of my bookshelf, then carefully rearranging the items I’d removed to do the dusting. There were three things: a framed photo of me and Olive and Rachel taken at the pool just after school got out last year (before all the Rakell business), my slightly wilted philodendron, and, lastly, my bronze winged pig. I liked it too much to leave it in the prop box.

I needed some space from Tony. He was spreading himself all over the house, either watching TV on the couch, or snacking in the