Class President (Marvin Redpost 5)

Marvin came home late in the afternoon. He was tired from playing hard, but still very excited. He walked through the gate, past the red post. Suddenly, he remembered.

“Shoes,” he said aloud.

He felt awful. It seemed as if he was always forgetting something. He sighed. He knew his mom would be mad. She had planned to leave work early just so she could take him shopping.

Maybe she forgot, too, he thought. He hoped.

Linzy, his little sister, met him at the door. “You better hide,” she warned.

Marvin slowly stepped inside.

His mother was standing by the stairs. Her hands were on her hips. “So nice of you to come home,” she said.

“Sorry,” said Marvin.

“Sorry?” asked his mother. “Is that it?”

Marvin didn’t know what else he could say. “I forgot,” he said. “You won’t believe what happened at school today!”

“What was the last thing I said to you before you left this morning?” his mother asked.

Marvin sighed. “You said to come straight home so we could go shopping for shoes. But—”

“I left work early so that I would be able to take you,” said his mother. “I had to rearrange my whole work schedule.”

Marvin’s father came down the stairs. “Don’t you ever think about others?” he asked.

It was two against one.

“Linzy, Jacob, and your mother sat around waiting for you,” his father said. “Don’t you think they had better things to do?”

“I’m sorry,” Marvin said again. “I forgot all about it. But you won’t—”

“We finally left without you,” said his mother. “Now I’m going to have to take you to the store tomorrow. Which means rearranging my work schedule again.”

“I can wear my old shoes,” Marvin offered.

“Maybe you should just go barefoot to your cousin’s bar mitzvah,” said his father. “Maybe that will help you learn.”

“Can I go barefoot, too?” asked Jacob. He smiled at Marvin.

Their parents didn’t think that was funny.

“Do you know what time it is?” his mother asked him.

“No.”

“It’s almost six o’clock,” said his father.

“Six o’clock?” asked Marvin. “Quick, turn on the TV!”

His parents stared at him. His mother raised her eyebrows. “There will be no television for you,” said his father. “Not for a week. Maybe then you won’t forget so much. Maybe television is destroying your brain.”

“It’s not regular television,” Marvin tried to explain. “The—”

“No TV!” shouted his mother.

“You care more about television than you do about your own family,” accused his father.