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Mom’s mouth thins in that way it does when she’s about to do a lecturin’, and she gestures for us to take a seat at the kitchen table.
Because Izzy’s parents are at the hospital with Jeremy—he went to the ER last night when he threw up blood after dinner—she’s staying with us tonight.
Waylon too, since his dad had to work doubles yesterday and today. And we’re still too young to stay home alone.
Mom was able to take off from the diner, given what’s going on.
I glance at Waylon. He’s been extra quiet since Principal Gibson called his dad to tell him what’s going on. Pale too. His dad’s really strict, so I don’t blame him for being worried about punishment. He’s probably going to be grounded twice as long as Izzy and me.
“Your dad’s a cop though!” I’d told him in the car, when he looked like he was gonna throw up. “If anyone will understand why we had to do this, he will.”
Waylon didn’t seem too sure about that. He just turned away to rest his head against the window and closed his eyes.
Izzy, on the other hand, spoke with her mom on my mom’s cell phone. I was sitting in the middle between her and Waylon, so I could hear everything. Mrs. Montgomery told her they’d talk about this at home, and said she needs to let the grown-ups handle this. She also told her she loved her—that they all love her—and Jeremy said hi.
I haven’t seen Jeremy since before he went to the hospital. I asked Mom if we could go visit him, but she said he’d be home by tomorrow, and I can stop over to see him when we drop Izzy off.
Now, the three of us take a seat at the table, with Waylon taking the furthest chair away from Mom, the one at the opposite end facing her. Izzy and I sit across from each other in the middle.
“Look, kids, I get you guys feel helpless right now with what’s going on,” Mom says.
I push my lips together in a frown.
Izzy’s got hers pursed, cheeks puffed out like a balloon—like she’s trying really hard not to say a word.
Waylon just hangs his head, black hair falling all around his face, long over-do for a trim. But he doesn’t seem to mind.
“But JJ’s going to be okay,” Mom goes on softly. “And the grown-ups will handle what’s been going on at school. Not you three little fighting musketeers, okay?”
Izzy giggles at that, and I wiggle in my seat, grinning evilly.
Waylon’s peeking up through his bangs.
Mom looks at each of us and sighs. “You three are gonna be trouble when you’re older, aren’t you?”
Izzy and I look at each other and nod real big.
Even Waylon’s lips twist in a smile.
Later, Mom lets us watch The Three Musketeers on our new big TV in the living room, after we beg and beg and beg. Mom tells me I’m grounded starting tomorrow, once Waylon and Izzy go home. But after that—and after visiting Jeremy of course—I’m cut off from the world for a whole week.
Whatever that means.
Sounds scary.
I tell her as much and she just laughs. “Go enjoy your last night of freedom.”
So that’s what we do.
And at the end of the movie, the three of us lower our swords from where we’ve been fighting in the middle of the room—the table pushed back. Or rather, Waylon and I lower our light sabers, and Izzy lowers the fog-horn I’d bought last year at the St. Patrick’s Day parade.
The end credits roll, music filling the room.
Izzy looks at each of us and says in a very serious tone, her face flushed, “If the grown-ups fail, we step in. The three musketeers.”
Waylon chuckles as I raise my light-saber in the air, roaring, “All for one!”
“Wait, wait!” Izzy says, holding up a hand. She curls the fingers of her free hand, leaving just her pinky up. “We have to spit on it. It won’t count if we don’t.”
