School of Fear (17 page)

“Or we could just imagine we were imagining our activities in the Fearnasium?”

“Now we’re talking,” Garrison said while cracking a smile.

“You are absolutely devilish, Lulu,” Theo said with great admiration.

“I know,” she said pridefully. “What would you guys do without me?”

“I’d probably have higher self-esteem and I suppose Madeleine would be less insecure about not being spotlighted for pageants,
and Garrison …”

“Theo, it was a rhetorical question. Even I know that,” Garrison said as he walked toward the classroom.

“The rhetorical question,” Theo rued to himself, “gets me every time.”

Theo fell in line behind Garrison as the foursome made their way to the classroom.

The classroom was nearly dark with the thick velvet curtains drawn, blocking all the day’s light. It reminded Madeleine of
the ride to School of Fear, where vines and trees all but deleted the sun from view. Thankfully, cracks of light managed to
break through between the dense curtains and the windows. Lulu glanced at the slivers of light as Mrs. Wellington prepared
the slide projector for the day’s lesson. The projector’s humming was jarringly loud to the foursome. Of course, they were
accustomed to teachers using nearly silent laptops for presentations.

Garrison sat with impeccable posture, a side effect of Mrs. Wellington’s beauty pageant education. Not that he even realized
it; Garrison was far too preoccupied hoping that the day’s lesson would finally focus on fears. It didn’t have to be the key
to the Magic Kingdom, instantly eradicating his fear, but just some good sage advice. Garrison needed something to take home
to his father.

Behind Garrison, Theo sat, also with perfect posture, rubbing his tongue around his mouth, desperate to eradicate the leftover
slime from yesterday’s lesson. While admittedly, his gums did feel softer, he wasn’t used to his mouth having the consistency
of a slip-and-slide. Next to Theo, Madeleine performed her usual dusting of repellent with near-perfect posture. In front
of Madeleine, Lulu defiantly hunched her shoulders, a testament to her pride in escaping Pag Ed.

“Contestants, when I went upstairs, Schmidty screamed. He was that taken aback that I had allowed you, my disciples, to see
me in the light of day without a shred of makeup or hair. As you know, my platform has always been that ‘a beauty queen is
always prepared,’ and for floundering this one time, I apologize,” Mrs. Wellington said with misty eyes. “Now then, as you
requested, we are skipping pageantry today and will instead focus on something a bit more traditional — history.”

“History? You’re going to teach us history? What about something to do with fears?” Garrison moaned, “since this is the School
of
Fear
and all?”

“Sporty, history is the second most important subject a boy can study. You shouldn’t scoff at that.”

“Let me guess, pageantry is the first,” Garrison said with bubbling agitation.

“Exactly! Who said you weren’t sharp?” Mrs. Wellington responded. “Was that Lulu? Or Madeleine?”

“It wasn’t me,” Madeleine quickly interjected.

“What am I supposed to tell my dad? He expects me to come home cured!” Garrison exploded. “Do you know what that means? It
means afternoons at the beach! Surfing lessons! Pools! Whitewater rafting! I feel sick even saying the words! How am I going
to face my dad?”

“You tell your bossy, old, grouchy father that getting over your fears is a process, one we must confront daily, and that
if he has a problem with that, he should investigate why he is more afraid of your fear than you are,” Mrs. Wellington said
with the confidence and clarity of a bona fide certified teacher.

Garrison, shocked into silence, stared at Mrs. Wellington, whose lipstick Schmidty had accidentally applied slightly outside
her lips. It was a spectacularly astonishing moment: Mrs. Wellington had actually taught him something. Beyond the wig, bad
makeup, and total insanity, there appeared to be a sliver of knowledge regarding fears.

“Thank you,” Garrison mumbled, incapable of articulating anything more. He still wasn’t any closer to being cured, but he
felt a great deal lighter.

“You’re welcome, Sporty,” Mrs. Wellington said kindly. “It seems like just yesterday, my own mother was teaching me the Bill
of Rights,” she said while dabbing her eyes. “When I learned that the Bill of Rights secured my right to bear charm, freedom
to bleach, and protection from unreasonable tweezing and plucking, well, history just came alive. I suddenly understood how
important it was, and today I hope I can help you see that as well,” Mrs. Wellington said while clicking the first slide.

A black-and-white photo of an elaborately dressed baby in a bassinet filled the screen.

“It all started at Murphy General Hospital,” Mrs. Wellington said while gazing at the baby.

“Stunning, isn’t she? In fact, Edith was so gorgeous the doctor asked to purchase her. Of course, her parents declined, although
they certainly were flattered.”

“Wait, a doctor tried to buy a baby?” Lulu asked incredulously.

“As you can see, Edith was an exceptional beauty; no one could blame the doctor for momentarily losing his bearings.”

“Now then, first grade,” Mrs. Wellington said while clicking the projector. “Edith was very smart; a true hit with the teachers.
Sometimes, they even brought
her
apples. That’s how much they liked her.”

“Who is Edith?” Theo asked genuinely. “The governor of Massachusetts? State senator?”

“Dear boy, I haven’t aged that much, have I?”

“Wait, the history lesson is about
you
?” Theo responded.

In that moment, Garrison was more perplexed than he had ever been. How is it possible that the same woman who just handed
him fantastically smart advice was now conducting a history lesson on her own life? Not to mention doing it in the third person.

Mrs. Wellington clicked the next slide and a young caramel-haired boy, no more than ten, filled the screen. His face was angelic,
a true beauty. Though the boy was only onscreen for a second, Garrison was instantly confounded by his familiarity.

“Uh! What is that doing in here?” Mrs. Wellington grumbled to herself.

“Who was that?” Garrison called out as Mrs. Wellington quickly snapped to the next slide of herself.

“Who?”

“The boy.”

“What boy? Oh, that boy,” Mrs. Wellington said with sudden recognition. “His name is Theo. Honestly, I thought you would have
learned each other’s names by now.”

“Not Theo,” Garrison responded, “the boy in the slide. Who is he?”

“O-oh,” Mrs. Wellington stammered, “He came with the projector. Moving on.”

“No, I’ve seen him before. I’m sure of it.”

“Oh Garrison, no one is really sure of anything in this crazy beauty pageant of life. Now moving on …”

“No, I know I’ve seen him before. He’s the missing kid from the poster by the B&B,” Garrison said, suddenly sure of himself.

“Is that poster back up?” Mrs. Wellington said with bloodred lips. “I’m going to have some serious words with Schmidty.”

The foursome stared at Mrs. Wellington as her face twisted with fury. Minutes passed before her cheeks returned to their normal
contour and her lips arrived at a more natural shade. Sensing the eye of the storm had passed, Garrison pressed on.

“Who is that boy?”

“Again with this? His name is Theo.”

“The boy in the slide!” Garrison retorted with intensifying annoyance.

Mrs. Wellington sighed, adjusted her wig, and dabbed her upper lip before speaking.

“Perhaps he was once a student here.”

“What’s his name?”

“I can’t be expected to remember every student’s name. Why, there are days I can hardly remember Schmidty’s name. Just last
week I called him Harriet! And to make matters worse, he responded. He too thought his name was Harriet! Do you see how confusing
it all is? It’s simply impossible for me to know who that boy is!” Mrs. Wellington exploded harshly.

“Got it,” Garrison said, surprised by her intensity and anger. “Never mind, then.”

“On to my cotillion,” Mrs. Wellington hollered before pausing to collect herself. “Edith always had such a lovely little cherub
face,” she continued while gazing at the slide of herself in a white gown and elaborate jewelry.

“Do most American girls wear diamond tiaras and necklaces to their cotillions?” Madeleine asked sincerely.

“Diamonds are such a headache. Why, just looking at this photo makes me want to reach for an Excedrin. They are the worst.
The absolute worst. Whoever said diamonds are a girl’s best friend never owned any. All diamonds ever got me was a bunch of
dead guys. Four to be exact.”

“Did you say dead guys?” Theo asked.

“Yes, I said
dead
guys: the Malicious Melvin Brothers’ Circus. Those scoundrels trained in rock climbing for a year before they burgled me.”

“And you killed them?” Theo asked with surprise.

“Why is it that you are always asking me if I killed someone? Do I look like a murderer? Do I dress like a murderer? What
exactly about my beauty says murderer? Had you said ballet dancer, model, actress, I would understand, but murderer? Would
a murderer have perfectly painted pale pink fingernails?” Mrs. Wellington asked while displaying her immaculately manicured
nails.

“Sorry, it’s just where my mind goes,” Theo said with a shrug. “You absolutely do not look like a murderer. I’m sure that
if I had seen you back in the day when you still had your own hair, I would have totally thought you were a model.”

“Thank you, Theo,” Mrs. Wellington said with a nod before returning to the story at hand. “Not only did I
not
kill those circus creeps, but after they grabbed my diamonds, I offered them pocket money and a snack for the return journey.
Unfortunately, my calm attitude spooked them, and they became frantic and cut through the forest instead of following the
road back.”

“And?” Lulu asked.

“And nothing. Schmidty found my tiara and necklace four years later atop a stack of old bones. Apparently the men had starved
to death, or been eaten, or, well, anything. Schmidty isn’t much for forensics. What can I tell you? The forest, like a casino,
always wins. That’s why you should never gamble, or enter the forest. And above all, never underestimate Schmidty,” Mrs. Wellington
said seriously. “Class dismissed.”

M
acaroni loved his food — that much was obvious. The dog regularly sprayed the table with spots of drool while enthusiastically crunching through piles of kibble. So when he lifted his head and ignored his half-full bowl, the lunch crowd took note.

With their eyes dutifully on Macaroni, Mrs. Wellington, Schmidty, and the students wondered what epiphany could possibly have
distracted him from his beloved kibble. It was oddly disconcerting to watch Macaroni freeze under the weight of his canine
instincts; after all, this was a dog who willingly wore pajamas to bed. Macaroni’s growl was low and fierce, immediately dissolving
all lighthearted explanations for his behavior.

“Why is Macaroni growling?” Madeleine, who was seated closest to the dog, asked.

“I’m not sure,” Mrs. Wellington responded while staring at Schmidty.

“You don’t think he sees a spider or something?” Madeleine continued.

“No, Madeleine, I assure you he doesn’t growl in response to spiders,” Mrs. Wellington said curtly.

Madeleine instantly began dreaming of a spider and insect seeing-eye dog. She would cherish such a companion, lavishing him
or her with filet mignon, rack of lamb, and other delicacies. Madeleine’s daydream was cut short when Macaroni once again
increased the decibel of his growl.

“Perhaps Mac has something stuck in his throat,” Schmidty said.

“Should I give him the Heimlich?” Theo offered while jumping to his feet.

“No,” Mrs. Wellington said dismissively. “If he had something in his throat he’d cough. This is a growl.”