Part 6 (2/2)

”You got it!” I said triumphantly. I marched out of the bedroom and made my way downstairs. It was time to break the news to the rest of my family.

”Look at Mallory!” Claire cried as I marched into the dining room. She pointed a sticky finger at me.

My father lowered the newspaper he was reading just enough to peer over the top. ”That's a sandwich board,” he said.

Byron read the sign out loud. ” 'Mallory on Strike.' What's that mean?”

I slid into my place at the table. Luckily, the poster board was flexible, so I could sit down. ”It means that I'm not going to pick up any toys, settle any fights over music, or find any lost pets today.”

”What's going on?” my mom asked. She set a bowl of fried potatoes on the table.

Claire licked one gooey finger and said, ”Mallory's not going to play with us today.”

I spooned some potatoes onto my plate and said, ”I'm striking.”

”You mean, like in baseball?” Nicky asked. ”Three strikes, and you're out?”

”Sort of. Only this is one strike, and I'm out.”

”Out of what?” Jordan demanded.

”Patience,” I muttered under my breath, then quickly added, ”out of commission. I'm going to be in my room and I don't want anyone to disturb me.”

”You have to stay in your room?” Margo asked.

”I don't have to,” I corrected her. ”I want to.”

”You want to?” Claire's eyes grew wide. ”That's awful.”

It was clear that my brothers and sisters had no idea what ”on strike” meant. ”People go on strike when they want their working conditions to change,” I explained, ”or when they want higher wages.”

Jordan squinted one eye shut. ”You mean, like a bigger allowance?”

I nodded. ”Yes.”

”All right!” Jordan folded his arms across his chest. ”Then I'm on strike, too.”

”Now, hold on a minute,” my father called from behind his paper. ”Only one Pike kid at a time can go on strike.”

”After breakfast I'm going to my room,” I announced, ”and I don't want anyone to talk to me, or ask me questions, or call me to the phone, or even touch my door.”

”You want to be alone,” my father said, folding up the paper and placing it beside his plate. ”I think we get the picture.”

”Good.” I took a sip of milk and smiled at my father. He really seemed to understand.

Margo, who had been watching me closely, suddenly shook her head. ”Not fair. Mal gets to sit in her room all day and get a bigger allowance.”

I listened to my brothers and sisters talk and wondered if it were possible for an entire family to have a screw loose. It sure sounded like it from their conversation.

I hurried through breakfast, then excused myself from the table, saying pointedly, ”I'll see everyone tonight.”

”Poor Mallory,” I heard Claire murmur as I left the room. ”She's striking. No cartoons, no toys, no fun.”

Once I was in my room (and Vanessa was out), I sat down at my desk and started to write. Several times I heard footsteps and whispering outside my door, but everyone respected my wishes.

I worked on my story for hours, fine-tuning every word. It was wonderful. Finally I felt like a real writer.

Chapter 12.

I had no idea that my parents were going out or that they had called Mary Anne and Dawn to baby-sit. Plus, I was so busy concentrating on my story that I didn't hear the doorbell ring.

”Do you think something awful has happened to Mal?” Mary Anne asked Dawn, as they waited for someone to answer the door.

”I don't think so.” Dawn flipped a strand of her long, blonde hair over her shoulder. ”Mrs. Pike would have said something.”

My father opened the door then. ”Hi, girls! Thanks for coming on such short notice. Mrs. Pike and I got a call from the Stoneybrook Library. They've scheduled an emergency board meeting.”

”I hope nothing terrible has happened to the library,” Mary Anne said, as she stepped inside the house.

”Oh, it hasn't burned down or anything like that,” my father a.s.sured her, as he slipped on his coat. ”We think they may be in some sort of financial trouble.”

Mary Anne and Dawn nodded sympathetically. They didn't know what to say. It's hard to understand how a library operates, or where it gets its money, or any of that complicated stuff.

”Mallory is up in her room,” my father said.

”She's here?” Dawn gasped. ”You mean, you need three sitters?”

My father chuckled. ”No, no. Mallory's working on her story in her room and asked that she not be disturbed, which is why Mrs. Pike suggested I call you.”

My mother hurried out of the kitchen, tucking a packet of tissues into her purse. She thanked Dawn and Mary Anne for coming to help, then handed them a sheet of paper.

”This is where we'll be for the next two hours,” she explained. ”There's pizza, juice, and fruit in the fridge.” She ticked off her list of reminders on her fingers. ”The boys know they can't bring their bow and arrow set into the house. Mar go has been given strict instructions not to play with my makeup. Vanessa has a slight cold and should stay quiet, if possible.”

”How do you remember all that?” Dawn asked in amazement.

My mother slipped a scarf over her head and sighed. ”Practice.”

Just as my parents were going out the door, my mother called, ”One more thing. The kids told me to tell you two that you're it.”

She shut the door behind her and Dawn turned to Mary Anne. ”We're it?”

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