Dawn and the Impossible Three by Ann M. Martin Page B

make tents all the time,” Mary Anne told me over the phone, “but this one was the biggest I’ve ever seen.”
    The Barrett kids loved the tent. Suzi and Buddy crawled around inside it, playing an imaginary game about camping and bears and spacemen. Marnie invented a game of her own, which involved peeking at Buddy, Suzi, and Mary Anne from under the tent flaps.
    When it was time for the picnic (orange juice and graham crackers), the kids wanted to eat in the tent. Just as they were finishing up, the phone rang.
    â€œI’ll get it!” shouted Buddy. “It’s the space phone.”
    â€œSorry,” said Mary Anne, remembering that I’d said Mrs. Barrett didn’t want the kids to talk to their father. Besides, she had a feeling
I
might be calling.
    Buddy scrambled out of the tent anyway, but Mary Anne was hot on his heels. She reached the phone at the same time he did, and since she was taller, she answered it first.
    Out of sheer frustration, Buddy gave her the Bizzer Sign.
    â€œHello,” said Mary Anne. “Barrett residence. Can you hold on a sec?” She covered the receiver with her other hand. “Buddy, you are in trouble. Go to your room.”
    Buddy stuck his tongue out at Mary Anne and stomped upstairs.
    â€œHello?” Mary Anne said again.
    â€œHello,” answered a man’s voice. “Who’s this?”
    â€œThis is Mary Anne Spier, the baby-sitter. Who’s this?”
    â€œThis is Mr. Barrett. May I speak to Buddy, please? Or Suzi?”
    â€œI’m sorry, they’re … they’re at a friend’s house,” Mary Anne lied.
    â€œOh,
fine
,” said Mr. Barrett, and slammed down the phone.
    Mary Anne felt afraid. What was wrong? Why didn’t Mrs. Barrett want Mr. Barrett to talk to the children? Was Mr. Barrett angry at Mary Anne now? Did he know she had lied?
    Probably, Mary Anne decided.
    There was a scene when Mrs. Barrett came home. Buddy was mad because he’d been punished, and Mrs. Barrett was mad both because Buddy had misbehaved and because Mr. Barrett had phoned.
    â€œHe’s only supposed to speak to the kids on alternating Tuesdays. That’s part of the custody arrangement. This is the wrong Tuesday. He can’t keep his own schedule straight,” she said, fuming.
    â€œAnd, Buddy, what is the
mat
ter with you? I get notes from your teacher; you give Mary Anne trouble. I don’t have time for this, young man. I cannot be your mother and your father, run this household, look for a job,
and
straighten out the messes you get yourself into. It’s too much to ask of anybody.”
    Buddy, standing at the top of the stairs, began to cry silently.
    At the bottom of the stairs, Mrs. Barrett did the same thing. Then she opened her arms and Buddy rushed into them. Mary Anne, who had already been paid, tiptoed out the front door.

The rain continued for several more days. Although it was dreary, I didn’t mind it — much. It was kind of like the California rainy season. Meanwhile, my mom was in a great mood. She went around smiling and whistling. The house became more organized. Three straight days went by in which I didn’t once have to tell her to change her clothes.
    She talked to Mr. Spier on the phone almost every evening.
    The Barrett kids, on the other hand, were being driven zooey by the rain. Four days after Mary Anne sat for them, I sat for them. There had not been a drop of sunshine since the puddle walk. It was a Saturday. The weather forecast was for rain ending before noon, followed by cloudy skies.
    By the time Mrs. Barrett had been gone for an hour, I was as zooey as the Barretts were. Theydidn’t want to do
any
thing, not even take a puddle walk or make a tent.
    â€œHow about putting on a play?” I suggested.
    â€œNo!” said Buddy.
    â€œMaking our own comic book?”
    â€œToo hard,” Suzi said grumpily. She was scrunched down in a corner of