The Rule of Threes

by Marcy Campbell

  “Like I said . . . ,” Tony started.

  “It’s complicated,” we both said together.

  “Jinx,” we said.

  “Buy me a Coke,” I said.

  “What?”

  “Buy me a Coke,” I repeated. “Did they do that at Bircher? When two people jinx each other?”

  “No,” he said. “Does someone actually buy you a Coke?”

  “No,” I said.

  “Uh, okay,” Tony said.

  He got the funniest expression on his face, and I busted out laughing, and pretty soon, we were both laughing so hard we almost started crying. Eventually, we settled down and went back to our work, but after just a few minutes, I yawned, which made Tony yawn, which made us both laugh again, but we didn’t jinx each other. It was past my bedtime. I didn’t know if my parents had given Tony a bedtime, but he looked pretty tired.

  “Are you sure about sleeping here?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I’m sure.”

  I gathered my homework and handed him his pillow, which had fallen down behind the couch.

  “You know, I would have liked to have known, too, that I had a sister,” Tony said. He swung the pillow at me and just barely missed. “But better late than never.”

  Some Perfect Family

  The McDonald’s wasn’t very busy inside, though there was a long line of cars at the drive-thru that Tony and I had to carefully weave around. I couldn’t remember ever being inside the restaurant. On the rare occasion my mom or dad took me there, we used the drive-thru just like almost everyone else.

  We were a little bit early. Tony wanted to “scope the place out,” he’d said, find a good spot. He’d practically run here, with me trying to keep up, and now he paced around nervously, eyeing the tables. He had plenty of choices since the only other people here were a trio of old men in a booth on the far side.

  “I’m going to sit at this long table,” he said. “It’s one of the cleanest ones.”

  “Yeah, but it’s right by the door, so you’ll be distracted every time someone comes in or out,” I said.

  Don’t get me started on room arrangements. Different purposes call for different spaces. The outer office at school, for example, had many different purposes, which was part of what made it a real challenge to decorate. Here, the purpose was clear—a distraction-free lunch for Tony and his mom.

  “Take the corner one,” I suggested. “It’s bigger, and there’s lots of light.”

  I took off my coat and looked the place over. It was clear they had just redecorated, going for that seventies vibe that was so popular right now. Grandma was right: eventually, everything came back into style. There were live plants on top of a low wall, which separated a section of booths from tables. I could smell the dirt, so someone must have just watered them. I reached out and rubbed a leaf between my thumb and finger. There were so many realistic-looking fake plants these days, but these were the real deal.

  “Okay, I’ll sit at the corner one, and you can sit in this booth,” Tony said, pointing to one just on the other side of the wall.

  “Oh,” I said, “you don’t want me to sit with you?”

  “I think I might need a few minutes with just her. Then I’ll call you over.”

  “Okay,” I said, heading to the booth. This was actually easier, less awkward.

  “I think she’s really going to like you,” Tony added, and I smiled back at him.

  He seemed really nervous, which was totally understandable. I felt nervous, too. I wasn’t sure why. Did it really matter whether Tony’s mom liked me? Maybe not, but I wanted her to anyway. I wondered what she looked like. Movies made it seem like people who used drugs looked really scary, but I didn’t know if I believed that was true. I guessed I was about to find out.

  I slipped into the booth and studied the space to keep my mind occupied while Tony paced around. The walls were orange, except for one accent wall that was green, and there were framed pictures of ocean scenes hanging on the walls. That seemed out of place for a Midwestern McDonald’s but reminded me of our family trip to the beach. I’d been thinking about that trip a lot lately, about finding the shell with my dad. I’d been holding the shell a lot lately, too.

  It was hard now to remember that trip without thinking about Tony, without wondering what it would have been like to have Tony along. It was hard to remember anything now without also remembering that, since second grade, Mom knew about Tony, and Dad had known much longer than that. So, like, when I had my fifth birthday party where I rode a pony, Dad knew Tony was out there, getting ready for his sixth birthday. When I lost my first tooth, did my dad wonder if Tony had lost his? Did the tooth fairy come to Tony’s apartment?

  I didn’t know if I’d ever stop thinking stuff like that. About the before and after of my life. Before Tony and After Tony, like those pages in a design magazine.

  The door facing the parking lot opened, and a gray-haired woman I recognized as Tony’s social worker came in, followed by a thin lady with lots of freckles wearing a green turtleneck and jeans. Her black hair was pulled into a curly ponytail, and her face looked very pale, except for a thick slash of red lipstick.

  The woman spotted Tony and went quickly toward him, pulling him into her for a rib-cracking hug. She was shorter than he was. She wasn’t what I’d expected, though I’m not sure I had a clear picture of what I’d expected. I guess I wasn’t expecting her to look so normal, as normal as my own mom, though they didn’t look alike at all. My mom had long, blond hair, and was pretty curvy. My mom also wore a lot of makeup, or at least she did when she was going out to show houses. Tony’s mom wore lipstick like she wasn’t used to wearing it. The color wasn’t right for her.

  I don’t know why I was comparing her to my mom, but that made me think about Dad, which made me think about his cheating, which made me feel . . . gross again. I wanted to hate this mousy little woman sitting across from Tony, to blame her for everything, but it was hard when I knew she was sick, and when I knew how much Tony loved her, and when I knew, no matter how much I loved my dad, that he’d messed up. “I missed you so much,” I could hear her say, and then she murmured something else, close to Tony’s ear, that I didn’t catch. The social worker cleared her throat and gestured toward the corner table, where Tony had tossed his coat. They all took a seat.

  I wished I’d sat farther away. I was suddenly very aware that I looked like an idiot sitting in the booth by myself with no food. I thought of the BFFs and wished we were all here together, laughing and eating Happy Meals, but when was the last time we were together, happy? I could barely remember.

  I hadn’t brought any money because Tony had said he’d treat me. I reached instinctively into my pocket for my phone so I’d have something to do, but remembered it was charging back home on the kitchen counter. The only thing I’d brought was my yellow striped umbrella because it was supposed to rain today. Grandma would be proud of my preparedness, I thought, and I wondered what she was doing at home right now. She was probably sleeping. She’d been doing an awful lot of that.

  The three old guys were sipping large cups of coffee, their baseball caps lined up on their table like they didn’t think it polite to wear them inside, even inside a McDonald’s. They were staring, though, at Tony and his mom and the social worker, which wasn’t polite at all. Then I realized I was staring at the old guys, which wasn’t cool either, so I gazed down at the tabletop. It was orange with faint white shapes that looked like the amoebas we’d studied in science.

  Tony’s mom asked him what he wanted to eat. “I brought some money, so it’s on me,” she said as she led the way up to the counter.

  When they returned to their table, they had trays loaded with Big Macs and fries and shakes. An apple pie teetered on the edge of Tony’s tray, so close I could have grabbed it when he walked by. It was terrible to smell all that food and not eat any. My dad said they wafted the french fry smell through special vents into the neighborhood to make people
hungry. I didn’t know if that was true. It didn’t seem legal.

  As Tony passed me, he gave a little shrug and raised his eyebrows, like he was apologizing for not getting me anything. His mom was in front and didn’t notice Tony looking at me, but the social worker did, and she gave me the skunk-eye.

  I tried to make myself smaller, shrinking down into the booth. The social worker didn’t sit with them, but she was at the table right next to theirs, where she played with her phone while she ate, pretending not to listen in. I was listening, too. I couldn’t help it. When was Tony planning to call me over? I was wondering if he’d give me some cue. And introducing . . . my half-sister!!!! And I’d hop over to their table, waving and smiling, like a game-show contestant.

  But that didn’t happen, and the longer they talked, the more I wondered whether I should have come at all. My mom and dad had been on the fence about it. But Tony had said he needed “moral support,” and after the way he blew up at Dad and threw the basketball against the house, I think they didn’t want to argue with him.

  I heard Tony’s mom ask how school was going, and Tony said, “Good, real good,” and as she asked him about each individual subject, he replied how he had aced this test or that quiz and gotten an A on this or that presentation. I would have wondered if he was exaggerating, but I’d heard Dad and Mom talking about checking in with Tony’s teachers and saying that he was doing really well. I knew seventh graders had more homework than sixth graders, but still, he seemed to spend a lot of time on it, when he wasn’t shooting hoops.

  I’d gotten kind of used to doing my own homework to the accompaniment of the thunk, thunk, clang coming from the driveway. A few times this past week, I’d even taken a break and joined him. He never corrected my shooting form, like Dad used to. We also finished painting the bookshelf during our basketball breaks.

  When I snuck a glance over the plants, over at their table, Tony was still going on and on about school and hanging out with Dad’s basketball friends and their sons for pick-up games, but his mom didn’t look so happy anymore. She clutched her coffee in both hands, her fingernails showing the remnants of some chipped red polish that matched her lips.

  Finally, she interrupted him. “Well, I’m doing better, if you want to know,” she said.

  Tony kind of stuttered, “Y-yeah, I mean, you look better, so I figured—”

  Outside, the rain was starting to come down. Little drops splashed against the restaurant window. I saw the wipers of the cars in the drive-thru line all switch on like they were synchronized. There was an uncomfortable silence coming from Tony and his mom. I tried to keep my eyes on my table.

  “Sounds like everything’s just going perfectly for you,” Tony’s mom said, kind of sarcastically. Tony was chewing his thumbnail and playing with his hamburger wrapper. “You’ve got the perfect dad and the perfect stepmom, but let me tell you something, your dad is not as great as he thinks he is.”

  “Then why did you send me to live with him?” Tony asked, his voice loud.

  The old men were really staring now and looking back and forth at each other like they were watching some TV talk show. The social worker sighed, gathering up all her trash onto her tray.

  That’s when Tony’s mom turned and pointed at me. “And who’s this then? Your girlfriend, or your sister?”

  I bolted. Right out into the rain. I didn’t wait to hear what Tony said, didn’t wait to see if his mom was going to lump me into the “perfect family” she thought Tony was part of. Some perfect family! What a joke.

  I got my umbrella opened, but not before the rain pelted me a million times, stinging my face. A car honked at me as I dashed in front of the line of vehicles. I wanted to run home as fast as I could, but I didn’t want to leave Tony, especially when he seemed so upset. I skipped a puddle and waited on the sidewalk, the rain thrumming against the fabric of my umbrella like it might break through.

  “Hey!” he yelled. He came around the corner, running over to me. I could see his mom and the social worker leaving the McDonald’s from the other door and hurrying to their car. So soon? His mom had already seen enough of him?

  “You can share,” I said, waving him toward me and my umbrella. There was water running off Tony’s shaggy hair, making tracks down his face, and I noticed one of his shoelaces had come undone and trailed in a muddy line behind him.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  We squeezed under the umbrella, both of us smelling strongly of french fries. We didn’t fit very well. One of my sleeves was still getting soaked.

  “Why did your mom say all that stuff? About our dad?” I asked.

  Dad had royally screwed up, and I was mad at him, too, but it was kind of weird how, when an outsider said something against Dad, I wanted to protect him. He was still my family.

  “I don’t know.” Tony bit his lip and looked out into the rain, as though the answer was there. “Who knows why she does anything.”

  “Doesn’t she want you to be happy?” I heard my voice getting high and squeaky. “To have a house and food and a school you’re doing good at? I mean, if she didn’t want you to be with your dad, why didn’t she just keep pretending he didn’t exist?”

  “I know! That’s what I asked her! It’s all so dumb.”

  The patter of raindrops suddenly turned to the ping of ice pellets. Tony tilted his head and yelled, “This sucks!” into the sky, and I didn’t know if he was talking about his situation or the weather, or both.

  We watched the little pellets hit the sidewalk and bounce. “Let’s keep walking,” I said, and we set off. I didn’t know about Tony, but this McDonald’s was now the last place I wanted to be.

  After we’d gone half a block, I asked, “What did she say, when you asked her that?”

  “She said she didn’t have any other choice, that she didn’t want me to live with a stranger, and then she started crying, and the social worker told me to give her a few days and we could talk on the phone, and then they left.”

  “Kind of ironic, though. I mean, you are living with strangers,” I said, and laughed, trying to lighten the mood. “You said so yourself.”

  “That’s not what she meant,” he said, and I could tell he was bitter at her, not me. “And you know it. She meant living with people I wasn’t related to, a foster family.”

  We stopped at a light, and Tony pressed the button for the walk signal. Then he pressed it again, press, press, press, harder and harder.

  “Tony,” I said. But he kept doing it, and then he kicked the pole.

  “Tony,” I said again. There were raindrops rolling down Tony’s skin, but there was something just under his skin, too, something I couldn’t see but could only feel.

  Finally, he stopped and shoved his hands into his pockets, and we just waited, huddled under the umbrella, watching people drive by in their toasty-warm cars. The stickman flashed on, and we hurried across.

  I felt something cold against my ankle and realized my pant legs were soaked. I looked at Tony’s and saw his were, too. At least my umbrella was keeping the sleet off our heads.

  “Come on,” I said, striding more quickly toward home. The important thing was to keep moving.

  Dirty Little Secret

  In the morning, when I tugged back my curtain, I couldn’t see any sign of the freaky ice storm. The sun was shining, and it looked like it would be a beautiful fall day. I heard Mittens purring, but the sound wasn’t coming from the foot of my bed.

  “What the—!”

  Tony! He was sitting at my desk, wearing Mittens around his neck. He had on my dad’s old blue plaid pajamas, as usual, the cuffs rolled up, and he was bent over his math workbook, scribbling with my favorite pencil, the one with the green and yellow hearts all over it.

  I certainly didn’t appreciate having my personal space invaded, especially so early in the morning. Couldn’t a person expect to get a good night’s sleep in her own room without being scared to death when she wakes up?

  “What
are you doing here?” I asked. Then I noticed the nest of blankets and a pillow by my door, the same ones that had been on the sofa bed. “Why aren’t you downstairs in your bed?” I asked.

  “It’s not a bed. It’s a couch,” he said.

  “It’s a sofa bed, if you want to be technical.”

  “Well, I don’t want to be technical, and it’s not very comfortable,” he said, kind of snotty. He flipped his workbook closed. Then he whispered, with a glance toward the hall, “My bed is being occupied by your grandma.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” I said. I mean, I knew what it literally meant, but I didn’t like his tone. It was too early to be having an argument. I’d barely woken up. What was with Tony this morning?

  “Maybe you should go shoot some hoops,” I suggested.

  I took my purple brush from the shelf attached to my loft and started tugging out the mess of tangles that piled up every night.

  “No,” Tony said, without looking up.

  “Fine,” I said, “suit yourself.”

  He just sat there at my desk, Mittens around his neck, looking up at me like he was waiting for me to come down from my loft and fight him or something, though it was hard for him to look tough with a cat around his neck.

  My nose twitched. I noticed his duffel bag had somehow found its way into my room. That thing smelled like old socks.

  “Why are you acting so cranky?” I said. “And why don’t you fold your clothes and put them in a drawer?” I added.