The Case of the Rock 'n' Roll Dog Read Online Free Page A

“Would you like a chance to address them?”
    I said that depended on what “address them” meant.
    Ms. Nicols smiled. “It means, would you like to tell everybody once and for all whether they are going to be invited?”
    â€œBut I don’t know yet!” I said. “All Aunt Jen told me is she’s doing her best.”
    â€œI see,” Ms. Nicols said. “Well, it’s up to you. But I’m afraid it’s going to become a distraction if you don’t say something.”
    I looked at my toes. “I guess I could say
something
.”
    â€œGood,” Ms. Nicols said. “I’ll call on you after the bulletin.”
    At first when I found out The Song Boys were coming, I thought it was the best thing that ever happened. Now it was more like the worst thing. I hate to talk in front of the class. And it doesn’t help that people expect me to be good at it.
    Just because my mom is good at something, does it mean I have to be?
    I listened to the bulletin, wishing it would go on forever. But like always it ended after the cafeteria menu.
    â€œAnd now, class,” Ms. Nicols said, “Cameron wishes to address us. Cameron?”
    Standing up, I heard a rude noise from a desk in back. Nate. At least I hoped so.
    â€œUh . . . so I know everybody’s hoping they can come to the White House to see The Song Boys on Saturday . . .,” I started.
    Nate interrupted: “Not me! I hate The Song Boys.”
    â€œNathan?” Ms. Nicols said. “Could you let your cousin have her say, please?”
    Now I was even more nervous. “Uh . . . but the thing is there’s something called security clearances, and that’s why—”
    â€œCameron?” Now Ms. Nicols interrupted. “Could you explain that, please? Not everyone has had the experience of living in the White House.”
    A couple of people giggled.
    I took a deep breath, and then I said how a security clearance means the Secret Service makes surepeople visiting the White House aren’t planning to hurt anything.
    â€œAnd it takes a while for the Secret Service to do that, and then if there’s a problem, uh . . . well, that person can’t come,” I said. And then I sat down.
    â€œWait just a moment, Cameron. Is there a problem?”
    Unhappily, I stood back up. At this rate Saturday would come and go with me still standing in front of the class. “I don’t think so,” I said. “But Aunt Jen told me not to bug her about it. She and Mrs. Silver will let everyone know at the same time—and she promises that will be as soon as possible.”
    Ms. Nicols thanked me and said—finally—I could sit back down. “So now I hope everyone’s questions about Saturday are answered,” she said brightly, “and we can move along with our day!”
    Ms. Nicols may be the education professional, and I may be the ten-year-old. But even I knew “move-along-with-our-day” was not going to happen.
    And it didn’t.
    I won’t torture you with details. But maybe you have had a birthday party and your mom let you invite five people, and everybody was talking about who wasn’t going? Or maybe you got the lunchbox or the music player or the bicycle everybody wanted, and now they’re saying you’re spoiled? Or maybe a friend decided he didn’t like you anymore, and now his friends won’t sit with you at lunch?
    Well, pretend all those things happened on the same day, multiply that times a hundred, and add in one cousin who spends the whole day insulting your friends’ taste in music. That’s what Wednesday was like for me.
    At three ten when we were packing our backpacks to go home, Courtney tried to make me feel better.
    â€œI still like you, Cammie,” she said. “And even if I don’t get invited, I will still still like you.”
    â€œThank