The Rule of Threes, Marcy Campbell [short novels to read .TXT] 📗

no way she would have let him go to school in that. She wouldn’t even let me wear shorts unless they went down to at least the middle of my thighs.

“I had my hoodie over it. But I got too hot.”

“Why didn’t you just cover it back up?”

“I tried that! But Mr. V was being a total jerk. He said he was going to call my mom, but he meant your mom because he can’t call my mom. So, anyway, your mom didn’t answer, and when he called my . . . dad . . . Robert . . . at his office, the secretary said he was at another branch today and tied up in a bunch of meetings.”

Tony tossed his backpack into the corner and dropped into my white beanbag chair so hard, I was worried he’d bust the seams and I’d have Styrofoam pellets everywhere.

“Take it easy,” I said.

“It’s not like it’s even a swear,” Tony said, looking down at his shirt. “I mean, it’s a female dog.”

“Oh, come on, Tony.”

“What? It is!”

“Yeah, I know it is, but, you know that shirt is the kind of thing adults would say is inappropriate,” I said, in a high-pitched voice like the mean lunchroom lady. “Children! Would you like to have your lunch with Mr. Villanueva!!!” We both started laughing.

“You look like you’re feeling better.”

“It’s just a cold,” I said. “I’m sure I’ll be back at school tomorrow. What about you? Are you supposed to change and go back, or what?”

“I’m not going back,” he said, “not today.”

I sat up straighter in my loft, propping the pillows behind my back. Mittens didn’t like being jostled, so she skittered down the ladder and went to rub against Tony’s legs.

“You should probably just call him Dad from now on,” I said. “I mean, Robert sounds weird, and . . . obviously he is your dad, so . . .”

Tony’s face lit up like I’d given him some big gift, which made me feel really cruddy for telling him to call our dad Robert in the first place. And then I remembered what Rachel had said, about calling people what they want to be called.

“That reminds me,” I said. “Do you like being called Tony? Instead of Anthony, I mean?”

“Oh, yeah, definitely.” He rolled his eyes. “Only my mom calls me Anthony, and only when I’m in trouble.” I imagined Mr. V calling him that today.

“Can’t you just change your shirt and go back and talk to Mr. Villanueva? Show him that you’re not trying to cause trouble?”

“What’s the point? He’s already got me figured out,” Tony said. He gave Mittens a scratch behind the ears, then crossed his arms.

I wondered if that was true. Did Mr. V have all the students figured out? Did he have me figured out? There were so many students, and he’d just started at the school, so he barely knew most of us. He clearly didn’t know how to motivate teams to enter the decorating contest because he’d said on the announcements that he was disappointed in the “paucity” of entries, which I’d had to look up. It meant there weren’t many, just the six groups. That was good for the BFFs, though—less competition.

But being sent home for a dress code violation was not a good way for Tony to start out at a new school.

“My mom could take you shopping,” I said.

“Yeah, she mentioned something about that,” Tony replied, “but I guess she’s pretty busy with your grandma right now.” He pulled Mittens into his lap, and she started purring immediately. “What’s she like anyway?”

“Grandma? Oh, she’s awesome,” I said. “She always wants to hear what I’m doing, and she knows all about design things.” An image appeared in my head from when we’d left her with the health aide after the assisted living trip, how I’d peeked into her room and saw her asleep, and she looked so, so tiny. “She’s sick, though,” I said. “She has Alzheimer’s. She can’t remember stuff very well, and it’s going to get worse. She can’t take care of herself.”

Tony nodded.

“You don’t have to worry about it, though,” I said. “She’ll be at the assisted living place, and you don’t have to go there. It’s not like she’s your grandma.”

Watching this sad look come across Tony’s face, I realized I was being an idiot. It wasn’t just my grandma he was thinking about; it was his mom. After all, she was sick, too. She couldn’t take care of herself either, not right now anyway, and so she couldn’t take care of him.

“Ummm, you know, if you wanted,” I said, “I could take you to the Good Samaritan Thrift Shoppe, so you could pick out some clothes. I’ve got a month of allowance saved up, and stuff there is really cheap.”

“That’s where my mom got this!” Tony said, looking down at his dog shirt, and we both started laughing again.

“Looks like you were just there anyway,” he said, pointing to the bag sitting on my desk.

“Oh yeah, my friend Olive and I went shopping while you and Dad were playing basketball.” I felt a little leftover pang of jealousy about that, but brushed it aside and climbed down my ladder. “What do you think of these?” I pulled out the yellow paper organizer and baskets. “We’re doing the design contest for Spirit Week. Have you heard about that? We’re decorating the outer office, that lobby where you came to see Mrs. Abbott the other day. That’s why we were in there, to get measurements and stuff.”

“Yeah, I heard some cheerleaders talking about the contest at lunch,” he said. “It seems like it’s mostly sixth graders who are into the whole contest thing. The seventh graders are more into the football game and pep rally.”

“But you heard about the frozen yogurt truck, right?”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s a bribe for voting.”

I didn’t like the sound of the word bribe. “No, it’s just that Mr. V wants the whole school to get excited, so, you know, if everybody votes, he’ll bring in the truck.”

“But how is he going to be sure