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

when I was sitting, Suzi said she didn’t feel well — and immediately threw up all over the kitchen floor. I cleaned up the mess, then held my hand to her forehead and realized she had a fever.
    I dialed the number Mrs. Barrett had left by the phone. It was for an employment agency where she had gotten a temporary afternoon job.
    The gruff voice that answered the phone said, “Hurley’s Garage.”
    Hurley’s Garage? “I guess you don’t have a Mrs. Barrett working there, do you?” I asked.
    â€œSorry, kid,” replied the man.
    â€œGreat,” I said to no one in particular as I hung up the phone. “Mrs. Barrett left the wrong number.”
    At that moment, Suzi threw up again.
    As I cleaned up the second mess, I racked my brain trying to remember whether Mrs. Barrett had mentioned the name of the agency where she was working. I didn’t think she had.
    Just in case, I opened the yellow pages of the phone book and scanned the firms listed under EMPLOYMENT AGENCIES , but nothing sounded familiar. Then Suzi began to gag again. That time I managed to rush her to the kitchen sink before she got sick.
    I put Marnie in her playpen, sent Buddy over to the Pikes’, rolled up the rug in the bathroom, and spent the rest of the afternoon there with Suzi, reading to her, and holding her head over the toilet every time she had to throw up.
    She was miserable. I was angry at her mother.
    When Mrs. Barrett came home, I told her, rather crossly, about the mixed-up phone number. She apologized, but it was a little late for that.
    If Suzi hadn’t needed her so badly, I might have said more to her.
    Two days later, I came down with Suzi’s bug and spent hours in the bathroom. Mom and Jeff caught the bug from me, and the Pike kids caught it from Buddy, who had been spreading it around the afternoon I sent him to their house while I was taking care of Suzi.
    Another day, as Mrs. Barrett rushed out the door, Buddy called plaintively after her, “Hey, Mom, my homework …”
    â€œI’ll look at it tonight,” she called to him, and continued down the walk.
    Buddy burst into tears and ran to his room.
    I ran after him, pausing in his doorway. “Hey, old Buddy. What’s the matter? Can I come in?”
    He was lying facedown on his bed, but I saw him nod his head.
    I sat next to him and patted his back. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?” I asked.
    He hiccupped. “My homework.”
    â€œDo you need help with it?”
    â€œI need
Mom’s
help.” He rolled over and looked at me mournfully.
    â€œAre you sure I won’t do? I’m pretty smart,” I told him. “I’m in seventh grade.”
    Buddy managed a smile. “It’s not that. We’restudying families. We’re supposed to make a family tree tonight, starting with our grandparents. You won’t know their names.
I
don’t know them. They’re just Gram and Gramps and Gee-ma and Gee-pa. And I have to bring it to school
tomorrow
and it’s our first homework ever and I want it to be good.”
    â€œOh, I see.”
    â€œAnd Mom said she’d help,” Buddy moaned, “but she won’t. Not really. She’s always too tired at night to do anything.”
    â€œWell, let’s make it easy on her,” I suggested. “Why don’t we make the tree part, and then she can tell you the names to fill in. Do you know how many aunts and uncles you have?”
    Buddy nodded uncertainly.
    So I busied the girls with some toys, and then Buddy and I set to work. It took a lot of questioning and two phone calls to Mrs. Pike, but we finally figured out where the Barrett relatives belonged on the tree. Then I showed Buddy how to make boxes and lines and spaces. When he was finished, he had a beautiful blank tree. I just hoped it was accurate. If it wasn’t, he’d have a lot of erasing to do.
    A week later, Buddy showed up at my house