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

absolute best.” He knocked on my bed rail. “Look over here so I can see you.” I turned toward him, pulling my covers up to my chin. “Mags, you’re amazing,” he said, and I smiled there in the dark.

I thought about what Dad was saying, about trying to enjoy the good times and holding onto memories, and I knew I wanted to remember this moment for as long as I could. But then I thought of my shell and all those beach memories, and I realized . . . Grandma had my books and tissue box, which meant she had been in my room, which meant . . . Tony was probably telling the truth all along. Maybe he hadn’t broken my shell. I’d been so angry at him, but, well, how could I be mad at Grandma?

“I forgot to tell you, my shell got broken,” I said.

“Your shell? What shell?”

I’d never even told my dad about it. “The shell I brought back from the beach, the one you said came from the world’s tiniest unicorn.”

“From that trip to Florida? I didn’t know you saved that. What happened to it?”

“It was on my desk, and then I found it broken on the floor. I’m not sure what happened.”

Dad looked over at the desk. “Well, I’m sorry about that, Mags, but I bet you can get a new one,” he said. “I’m sure the aquarium sells them, probably all different kinds.”

“Yeah, it’s just that, well, it’s not really the same,” I said. I knew I sounded babyish, but I didn’t care. I leaned over my rail. “It reminded me of our trip and how much fun we had.”

“Aw, Mags, none of those memories are going away,” he said.

I wanted to agree with him. But now I knew: Memories didn’t always last forever.

I woke up in the middle of a beautiful dream where I was on a stage getting a trophy, and Grandma was standing in the front row of a filled auditorium, clapping and smiling at me. But when I went downstairs for breakfast, it was back to reality.

Mom and Dad were snapping at each other in the kitchen. Mom was complaining that she wasn’t making any commissions on house sales because she was having to give her showings to other realtors. Dad was saying it was time Grandma went to the assisted living facility, even if they didn’t have a room in the wing she wanted.

“Or she can go to one of the others,” he said. “There’s four of them in town!”

“The other ones don’t have good ratings,” Mom said. She was peanut-buttering a sandwich with so much force, the knife went right through the bread.

I tiptoed around them, grabbing a banana. They didn’t even stop arguing when I entered the room like they usually did. Although, honestly, this level of arguing was new. It had been years since they’d really argued, that I knew of, anyway.

“It’s not just my mom, Bob,” Mom continued. “We have children to take care of, you know, TWO children, and everything seems to be falling on me, which is pretty ridiculous, considering.”

“Considering what?” Dad replied. He jerked the coffeepot out from underneath the steady drip and accidentally sent his mug crashing to the floor.

“Oh, great,” Mom said. “I guess I’ll clean that up, too.”

I hated this. I grabbed my backpack and said, “I’m leaving now! Bye!”

“What?” Mom said, looking at the clock on the stove. “It’s too early. You’ll be waiting at the bus stop forever.”

“It’s the contest today,” I said. “Don’t you remember?” Only the most important thing in my life right now. “I need to be there early.”

“Dad will take you,” she said.

“No, Olive’s mom is picking us up,” I said. “Don’t worry about it.”

They both looked relieved, like they were very happy not to worry about me, which just made me madder, especially after I’d had such a good talk with Dad last night. Olive’s mom wasn’t actually picking me up, but it wasn’t like school was very far away. I’d just jog. Anything to get out of this house.

I ran about a half mile, then had to stop because I got a cramp in my side. I stood there, clutching my waist, wishing I hadn’t eaten that banana so fast. In a minute, the cramp went away, and I started power-walking instead of jogging. I tried to pull up that warm feeling of pride I’d had on Saturday when Olive and I were admiring our work with Mrs. Abbott. I thought about asking Mrs. Sherman for a meeting so I could get a start on her room.

But no matter how much I tried to distract myself with those thoughts, I still felt nervous, knowing that a bunch of kids—including my competitors—would be looking at the office just hours from now. We’d done an incredible job. Would they see it? Would it be enough?

When I’d signed up the BFFs for the contest, I’d wanted everyone, especially Dad, and Grandma, to see that I could do something special. But maybe that was silly. Was Dad going to be super impressed if I won a middle school decorating contest? In any case, he’d already told me I was amazing. Was Rachel going to be impressed that we’d done it without her? Would my fellow students lift me up on their shoulders, like I’d seen them do in pictures of basketball championships? Did any of that matter?

I didn’t know anymore. As the school came into sight, the only thing I was sure of was that I was late meeting Olive.

Best Foot Forward

“Oh, thank goodness!” Olive shouted when she saw me. She was standing outside the front doors of the school, handing out bookmarks. She’d texted me last night to say she was making something, but I had no idea what to expect.

She held one out. “What do you think?” It said VOTE on one side, and on the other side was our BFF logo, which was three different shoes in a triangle and the words Best Foot Forward: