Rule #9 Read Online Free

Rule number nine always changes and has never been written down. The rules don’t always stop us from fighting, but the rules usually settle an argument.
    Now I look at my friends talking to the old guy. I can’t imagine my life without Natalie or Vianna. I creep closer just as Natalie drops the bomb. “So how do you know that your daughter will not turn into an evil queen?”
    I step back. It is definitely not time to get to know the old guy. Once I’ve put enough distance between us, I sit in a chair against the wall and wait for my friends to notice me. It doesn’t take long, since Natalie can’t sit still for longer than five minutes at a time. My friends leave Mr. Morales and find their way through the dance floor to me.
    “Why are you sitting all the way over here by yourself?” Natalie asks.
    “Because you’re over there asking questions that could land me time in the dungeon. I don’t need you making it worse.”
    Vianna cuts in, “I don’t think she’s that bad. And her dad is funny.”
    “That’s what you said about Dia—”
    I interrupt Natalie: “Don’t say her name.”
    “Hey, I’m on your side. I was just trying to say that Vianna wanted you to give her a chance, too, and look where that got you.” Natalie is talking about her , the woman who ruined it all.
    “Let’s get out of here.” As far as I’m concerned, I’ve been “present” for long enough. It’s time to go home.
    We all pile into Vianna’s car and drive to my house. The drive is quiet. I don’t feel like talking and my friends know my mood. The only thing they don’t know is that besides being upset about the wedding, I can’t get that boy off my brain. But at this point I don’t want to talk about him either.
    When we hit the front door, my mom opens it, looks down at her watch, and says, “It’s only nine. You okay?”
    “Can I have service to my phone back now?” I’m not trying to be rude; I just don’t want to talk about it. Mom nods and then moves out of the way. My friends go in first. When I walk by she puts her arm around me and squeezes tight. The tears start to fall just as my head hits my mom’s shoulder. “I can’t talk about this now. Okay?” I say, without looking up.
    “Okay. I love you and I’m very proud that you went,” she says. She lets go but not before kissing the top of my head.
    I follow my friends back to my room. My dog Buster follows me. Natalie jumps onto my unmade bed. The dog jumps up next. He kneads the pillow to his liking and then plops. My big-eared, bug-eyed brindle dog with barely any muzzle starts snoring, loud. It’s a Boston Terrier thing. Vianna sits on the chair in the corner, by my desk. It’s the only place that is clean. I don’t put anything on my desk because it is where I do all the details in my sketches. The shelf above my desk is filled with cheap, worn-down colored pencils and used erasers, and the drawers are filled with half-filled sketch books.
    I grab a pile of clothes and shove them into a full laundry basket. The clothes that don’t fit fall out onto my wooden floor.
    Plopping down next to Natalie I ask, “Do all stepmoms have psychotic personalities? Do they take a test? And what’s on it?”
    What I really want to know is when the evil queen is going to show her secondary colors, the ones hiding behind that white dress she wore today. We all have them. Most of the time when primary colors are mixed, the new hue radiates beauty. But when they are not mixed properly, the color turns to mud. I need to be ready for mud.
    “I’ll tell you what’s on the damn test,” Natalie says. She grabs a composition book off my dresser and rummages through a drawer until she finds a pen. Then she starts writing:
    The Evil Step Monster Test
    “‘Number One: Do you like children that aren’t yours?’” Natalie looks up for our answer.
    Vianna shakes her head. I don’t answer because I really don’t know what to say. I’ve never had a stepmom