Less Than Three

Chapter Two: Corn Dogs and Orange Soda

So much for sleeping in. Dad knocked on my bedroom door early the next morning. "Rise and shine," he said.

I lifted one eyelid and rolled toward the clock. Shine? At this hour? I mumbled a reply, waited for his footsteps to fade, and returned to my dream.

It was just getting good. I'd defeated Dave Brown in some sort of beach towel snap fight and as the victor I'd earned the right to choose his fate. We'd boarded a plane, headed over water, and I was about to shove him out the hatch with nothing more than a parachute, a case of orange soda, and a dozen corndogs.

Dave pleaded with me, 'No, Summer, don't!' He flashed big puppy dog eyes at me.

'Ha!' I shouted back. I placed a foot on his forehead, noted my excellent taste in sneakers, and gave a good, strong kick. Somehow Dave managed to hold on. Even after I slammed the door, he kept knocking, knocking.

"No way, Dave Brown," I told him. "I refuse to let you in."

"You what?"

Great. Now it was Mom on the other side of the door.

"Nothing," I told her. "It was just a dream." A dream that was rapidly turning into a nightmare.

"I wanted to say goodbye before I went to work," Mom said.

Before she went to work? That meant it was ... I rolled again. Ugh, 7:25 AM. What was wrong with these people? It got worse.

"I left a list for you and your brother."

"Whatever." I settled deep into my pillows.

"Summer, are you awake in there?"

Like a girl could sleep with all the knocking and talking going on?

"I got an email from your coach this morning."

I didn't need to listen any more. Coach had a limited agenda in the off season:

1. Eat right and drink lots of water.

2. Get plenty of rest.

3. Run every day.

4. Show up for gymnastics camp in August without belly flab or there'd be "heck" to pay.

I wasn't ready to commit to agenda items one, three or four but I was trying to work on item two: Get plenty of rest. If only a certain mother would let me get back to that dream. I shut my eyes tight, trying to re-create the image of the most aggravating boy in the universe hanging by his fingertips.

"Summer?"

Okay already.

***

My mom can be pure evil. The list she'd left for Tim and me was worse than ridiculous. Window washing on the first day of summer vacation? Please. Vacuuming? Surely not. I felt compelled to report this fresh abuse to Madison but I couldn't find my phone. It wasn't on my nightstand. It wasn't on the charger either. I reached for the landline instead. It rang as soon as I touched it.

Mom.

"I'm serious about the cleaning," she said. "I've invited Mrs. Johnson, from the newspaper, for a cookout on Friday and I want the house looking decent."

Along with vacuuming, cookouts were one more thing I detested. Maybe Madison and I should start a list. I figured I'd call her about it as soon as I found my ...