Rule of Three (8 page)

“OK, you first.” I leaned down so Joey could whisper in my ear. “Alex is singing ‘I’m Gonna Wash That Man Right Outta My Hair.’”

“No way! That song is on the list! The list of songs that make directors throw up! I am SO going to get this part!” I said gleefully, rubbing my hands together and grinning like Cinderella’s evil stepsister.

“Now you tell me,” Joey said.

“OK, I’ll give you a hint. But you have to swear on your life that you won’t breathe a word, or I’ll cut off your entire eight-and-three-quarter-inch ponytail when you’re sleeping.”

“Deal.”

I looked around to make sure there wasn’t a spy (a.k.a. Sherlock/Alex) listening, then leaned over again and whispered “The Glory of Love” in Joey’s ear.

“I know a secret! I know a secret!” Joey sang.

“Shh!” I said, covering her mouth and looking around furtively. “Do you really want to get tickled to death again?”

“La-la-la-la-la-la-la! Lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo. Lee-lee
-
lee-lee-lee-lee-lee.”
I paced back and forth, wearing out the roses in the carpet as I warmed up my voice to practice singing for the audition. The Big Moment was only a week away.  

“Me-may-mah-mo-moo —”
When I paused to take a breath, I couldn’t help hearing music blaring, coming from Alex’s room. And singing.

I listened in the doorway. Alex was playing musicals on the karaoke machine and singing along with them. Not softly, I might add.

“Will you read some more
Little Women
with me?” Joey asked, bounding up the stairs. Now that she had recovered from the shock of Beth’s death, she was bugging me to read again.

“Not now, Joey. I’m practicing.” Back in my room, I sang my scales a little louder.
“Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah.”

Just as I was getting into it, I couldn’t help but hear Alex trying to drown me out by singing the “Maria” song from
The Sound of Music.
I tried to fight back by howling “The Star-Spangled Banner,” but it was no use.

Breathe in. Don’t clench your jaw. Loosen your neck.
I tried to relax. I shook my arms. I wiggled my head back and forth. I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate on breathing. But Alex had cranked up the karaoke machine, singing along to every musical under the sun, just to annoy me and get my attention, I’m sure. One minute she was washing some man right out of her hair, and the next she was bragging about Oklahoma at the top of her lungs.

“Plpp, plpp, plpp, plpp, plpp, plpp, plpp.”
I practiced my lip rolls, up and down the scale, like a trumpet player. Next thing I knew, she was singing that she was shy, had always been shy, and had to confess that she was shy. More like screaming. She sure wasn’t
shy
about letting me know she was practicing for the audition, too.

For an old tumbledown house, these walls were paper-thin. I could hear Joey in Alex’s room now. They were both singing songs from musicals, screaming at the top of their lungs. I guess the Victorians who built this place did not have sisters.

I tried the under-the-covers trick. The pillow-over-the-head trick. My iPod headphones. My swimming earplugs. Joey’s Oregon State Beavers earmuffs. But nothing, not even humming with fingers pressed to both ears, could drown out the Super-Screechy Soprano Sisters who’d gone
South Pacific
on the other side of the wall.

I took my fingers out of my ears to listen. “Sisters, sisters . . .”

That did it! Alex wasn’t even practicing anymore. Now she was getting Joey to sing the sisters song from
White Christmas
just to bug me on purpose. I paced in circles around the rug in our room, my face growing hot. So what if she’s my sister? I was determined to beat her fair and square.

Me:
(Knocking on wall.)
I can hear you guys!

Them:
“Caring, sharing, blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah . . .”

Me:
(Louder).
I CAN HEAR YOU!

Putting my fingers in my ears didn’t help. I could still hear them singing together, acting as one . . . so I gave up. Who could drown out two sisters singing the sisters song without the third sister?

“Nonny-nonny, noony-noony, no-no-no, nee-nee-nee, nay-nay-nay,”
Joey sang, twirling back into our room.

“Not you, too.” I scowled at Joey. “Why are you helping Alex?”

“Who says I’m helping Alex? We were just goofing around.”

Alex cranked up the music again. “Isn’t she done yet?” I asked. “I can’t hear my own voice. Joey, ask Alex to turn the music down.”

“Loud music is a teenage thing. I read about it in one of Alex’s magazines.”

“C’mon, Joey. Go ask.”

“Why me? You ask her.”

“You know she won’t do it if I ask her.”

“Sheesh. Do I have to do everything around here?”

“As if.”

Joey headed back to Alex’s room.
Mumble, mumble.
I heard voices, but I couldn’t tell what they were saying. Geez! Just when you
want
to hear through these walls . . .

Joey came back. “Alex said no.”

“Did you ask right?”

“How should I know?”

“Joey, ask her again and this time say please, and if she still says no, tell her she’s being a selfish brat and I can’t hear myself think, let alone sing.”

Joey left. More mumbling. She came back and plopped onto her bed. “Well, what did she say?” I asked.

“You really wanna know? She said, ‘Tell Stevie calling someone a selfish brat is not the best way to get them to do you a favor.’”

“OK, this time remind Alex that I have every right to practice and sing just as much as she does.”

Joey left and came back again. “Can’t you just go downstairs and practice?”

“Did Alex say that?”

“Yes. But I told her to.”

“Joey! Tell Alex her music is as loud as the fire alarm next door. Why should I get kicked out of my own room just because she’s a Number-One Fink Face?”

“This is really confusing, you know. Just go talk to her yourself. Tell her you’ll give her ten dollars to turn down the music or something.”

“You know I don’t have ten extra dollars. I’m still trying to get a hundred dollars so I can be in the cake-off.”

“Send an e-mail. Paper airplane. Smoke signal. I don’t know. But I do know I’m getting tired of going back and forth and back and forth. What am I, a Human Ping-Pong Ball?”

“I wish you’d just go ask her one more time,” I whined.

“You know what I wish?” Joey said. “I wish I had three wishes on Dad’s genie lamp and that
all three
wishes would be for everybody to stop fighting or singing or whatever and pay some attention to me for a change.”

“‘My patience, how blue we are!’” I said, getting Joey’s attention by saying
Little Women
stuff.

“Please can we finish
Little Women
? Did you know Jo gets Plumfield? And she opens a school for boys?”

“Wait. How did you know? Hey, you’ve been reading ahead.”

“So? I still want us to finish it together.”

“Tell you what. Listen to me sing my song for the audition, and then we’ll read the last two chapters straight through.”

“Swear?”

“I swear.”

“Swear on
Little Women
.” Joey held out the book in front of me. “Put your hand on the book and repeat after me.”

“Joey!”

“Just do it.”

“OK, OK.” I placed one hand on
Little Women
and raised my other hand.

“I, Stevie Reel . . .” Joey started.

“I Stevie Reel . . .”

“Do solemnly swear . . .”

“Do solemnly swear . . .”

“That I will finish reading
Little Women
. . .”

“That I will finish reading
Little Women
. . .”

“Help Joey with her school project . . .”

“Hey, did I say I’d help with homework?”

“Cheerfully measure Joey’s ponytail whenever she asks . . .”

“Cheerfully measure Joey’s ponytail even though it’s been eight-and-three-quarters inches long forever . . .”

“Hey! That’s not what I said.”

“Hey! That’s not what I said,” I repeated after Joey.

“And stop acting like a turd muffin.”

“And stop acting like a turd muffin, whatever that is. Hey, wait, that’s like four things! All I said was that I’d read —”

“Too late. You swore. On
Little Women
.”