School of Fear (7 page)

“Well, I better …” Garrison stumbled over his words as he started back to his seat.

“Do you have any other fears? Besides water?” Madeleine asked, desperate to keep the young man in conversation.

“Nope.”

“Oh, shame,” Madeleine said with disappointment before realizing she had said it aloud. “In London ‘shame’ means great,” she
poorly covered.

“Darling?” Mrs. Masterson said with a confused look. “What on Earth are you talking about?”

“Mummy,” she said sternly, pleading with her eyes for her mother to go along with the ruse.

“It was a
shame
to meet you, young man,” Mrs. Masterson said with a mischievous expression.

Madeleine turned to her mother, cheeks scarlet red, and giggled.

While Garrison may have been embarrassed, he was also overwhelmingly relieved that his father was not present for his freak-out.
He imagined the chorus of advice on life: NBA and NFL. In short, life doesn’t reward babies or losers, and considering what
had just transpired, Garrison felt like both. He was so preoccupied by his feelings that he hardly noticed Madeleine watching
him with the steady eye of an owl.

Madeleine was enraptured by Garrison’s tan complexion, which greatly differed from the pale boys of London. It wasn’t actually
the boys’ fault, as the whole of the United Kingdom was under a cloud for much of the year. But at that moment, Madeleine
decided that boys, like bread, were better toasted.

Close behind Madeleine and Garrison on Route 7 were Theo and his mother. Mr. Bartholomew had requested to join them on the
trip but was flatly denied by Theo.

“Dad, if you come and there’s a car accident, you both could die and I could live. Then what? How would I go on? How would
my brothers and sisters continue without the love and guidance of a parent? I mean really, Dad! How can you be so selfish?”

“Theo, nothing is going to happen to your mother or me. I promise.”

“You promise? Dad, you are so naïve. Life is unpredictable. I’m sorry, but we simply cannot take this chance. You will remain
at home.”

“But, Theo,” Mr. Bartholomew grumbled.

“No buts! My decision is final,” Theo retorted.

“Okay, Theo. Whatever you say.”

Once safely on the road, Theo scrutinized his mother, looking for any perceptible signs of fatigue. It was much harder than
he expected, for riding in cars had always made him drowsy. As he stared at his mother’s face, his eyelids weighed heavily,
closing for seconds at a time.

His head bobbed back and forth as he blubbered, “What if you doze off and kill both of us?”

“Theo, I’m fine.”

“Do you know how many people die in sleep-related accidents each year?”

Before Theo could tell his mother that according to the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration, drowsy driving was
responsible for a minimum of 100,000 accidents each year, he drifted to sleep. This was just one of the oodles upon oodles
of statistics Theo used to validate his many neuroses.

Only a couple miles behind Theo and his mother on Route 7 was the Punchalower family, who had hired a black town car to ferry
them to Farmington. Mrs. Punchalower and Lulu tried to sleep but found it impossible with Mr. Punchalower’s rapid typing on
his BlackBerry. It was nothing short of a miracle that the man hadn’t developed BBT (BlackBerry thumb), which causes the thumbs
to freeze in a bent position. According to The Institute of BBT, if the BlackBerry trend continues, opposable thumbs could
be obsolete within a century. Lulu held her throbbing left eye as she listened to her father type, all the while worrying
that she would be forced to partake in “exercises” involving small, cramped spaces without windows.

“How do you know this camp isn’t going to torture me? Lock me in closets?” Lulu asked with an unsteady voice.

“Lucy Punchalower, I expect rational thinking from my children. Don’t disappoint me,” Mr. Punchalower said sternly without
looking up from his BlackBerry.

“Do you guys know anyone who has gone to this strange school?” Lulu demanded.

“This institution comes highly recommended by Dr. Guinness. It’s extremely
exclusive
,” Mrs. Punchalower said with pride. “Your father and I expect you to do your best. Is that understood, young lady?”

“Whatever,” Lulu huffed with frustration.

“What did I tell you about that word?” Mrs. Punchalower asked angrily.

“Are you saying that I am not allowed to say the words ‘what’ and ‘ever’ or just when they’re together?” Lulu asked sarcastically.

“Any more lip and I will personally request they lock you in a closet,” Mr. Punchalower said without an ounce of humor.

Lulu closed her eyes in an attempt to block out her parents. She tuned out her father’s typing and focused on the sound of
air pounding against the speeding car. While Lulu didn’t have any problem blocking out her parents, her fears were quite another
story.

Questions stormed her mind, intensifying the thumping behind her eye. What if the bathroom didn’t have a window? What if her
bedroom was a converted closet? What if there was an elevator? Lulu longed to be back in her bedroom in Providence. When Lulu
stayed home, she forgot entirely that she was claustrophobic.

The Punchalower family drove down Farmington’s idyllic Main Street, a scene akin to a Norman Rockwell painting. The black
town car stopped in front of the bus station at exactly 8:57
AM
. As Lulu exited the car, she noticed a young boy hysterically crying and hugging his mother. It was a desperate, emotion-filled
hug most often seen in dramatic love stories. Lulu was shocked by the display. As a byproduct of her rigid parents, Lulu never
cried. In fact, she loathed crying altogether, prompting her to recoil as she passed the blubbering boy.

“Don’t leave me here!” Theo screamed. “They could be criminals!”

Lulu paused at the word “criminal,” realizing that the weeping boy had a point: she didn’t have a clue what she was walking
into.

A
t 9:00
AM
, Farmington’s bus station was com pletely vacant except for Madeleine, Lulu, Theo, their respective parents, and Garrison.
Seated alone on a pew, Garrison quietly read his baseball magazine in an attempt to ignore Madeleine’s ogling. Mr. and Mrs.
Masterson stood next to Madeleine, trying their best to breathe regularly as she sprayed copious amounts of repellent. The
Punchalowers, seated in the pew across from Garrison, maintained severe expressions while Lulu focused on Theo’s quivering
cheeks. Lulu found it indefensible to cry in public. She was a Punchalower and Punchalowers didn’t cry. As a matter of fact,
she wasn’t even sure they had tear ducts.

The bus station’s arched wooden door creaked open with the guttural growl of a feral cat. All four children turned, expectantly
waiting to see the next School of Fear student arrive. Their eyes focused on the dark brown cowboy boots before moving up
to khaki slacks and finally stopping on an obscenely large gun holster. Theo’s heart beat fast, as it always did, in the presence
of a deadly weapon. On the verge of screaming, he noticed a shiny badge on the man’s chest; this was the sheriff. He was approximately
forty-five years old with a long moustache that hung over his mouth. As if preparing for a speech, the sheriff cleared his
throat to get everyone’s attention.

“Hello, I’m Sheriff John McAllister, Farmington’s law enforcement, dog trainer, and driver for the town’s only car service.
I will be escorting the four of you to School of Fear’s campus a few miles out. As stated in the brochure, parents are not
allowed to accompany students to the campus, so you are going to need to say your goodbyes here.”

“Hey Sheriff,” Garrison said while raising his hand, “will we be driving over any water? Or next to it?”

“Son, I have been made aware of all of your situations and have taken precautions so that each of you will have an enjoyable
journey.”

“Would anyone object to a covering of bug repellent in the automobile?”

“I assume, miss, that you are Madeleine Masterson — fear of spiders, insects, and generally anything that crawls.”

“That is most accurate, sir.”

“As long as no one else objects, you are more than welcome to spray away. It’s the white van out front.”

“Are we waiting on other students?” Lulu asked hopefully.

“Today’s trip is only the four of you. Remember, you must leave all electronic equipment such as cell phones, computers, BlackBerries,
Sidekicks, pagers, Game Boys, et cetera with your parents.”

Theo opened his mouth, then scrunched his face in a silent howl while frantically clinging to his mother’s leg. Life without
a cell phone meant being completely removed from all that he held dear, and he simply couldn’t stand for that. Theo was many
things, but a passive observer of life was not one of them.

“Mom,
please
let me keep my cell phone. I will put it on silent and hide it from them. This man is suspicious, don’t you think? He looks
a lot like that guy we saw on the FBI’s most wanted list at the post office. Actually, on second glance, it
is
him! I’d recognize those child-hating eyes anywhere. I’ll distract him while you get the car. Go!”

“For Heaven’s sake, Theo, he’s the sheriff!”

“That’s his cover — smart, isn’t it? But not smart enough to fool us. Let’s get out of here.”

“You are not going anywhere.”

“Don’t you remember the poster? We are in the presence of a certified class-A maniac who tortures chubby kids with glasses.”

“I don’t remember the poster mentioning anything about chubby kids with glasses.”

“We don’t have time to debate this; we need to hit the road. Seriously, we should have left three seconds ago!”

“Your imagination is out of control.”

“Some say imagination, others say psychic vision. Are you really willing to take that chance on your youngest, most sensitive
son?”

“I’m pretty sure we ruled out all psychic abilities after the Yosemite trip. Now listen carefully, you aren’t getting out
of this, do you understand me?”

“Then show some mercy, woman! Let me keep my cell phone!”

Theo’s plump face was fraught with desperation and anxiety. Mrs. Bartholomew wanted to appease his frantic mind, but she couldn’t.
The application to School of Fear was explicit about adhering to the rules and restrictions. It clearly stated that any child
found in possession of contraband would face immediate expulsion without refund and possible legal action from the offices
of Munchauser and Son. Moreover, if Theo were ever to lead a normal life, he needed to face his fears. Mrs. Bartholomew would
never forgive herself if she impeded his treatment by allowing a cell phone.

“I’m sorry, Theo, but I can’t let you take the cell phone.”

Parked directly in front of the station was the sheriff’s large white van with massive black rubber bumpers along the sides
and a rusted metal hook on its roof. It more closely resembled a bumper car than a normal passenger van. Madeleine and her
father climbed into the vehicle and began the extermination. Mr. Masterson covered his face with his shirt and prayed that
this was the last time he would ever have to exterminate anything again.

Standing outside the van, Lulu made claims on the window seat across from the sliding door. She often fretted about being
trapped during a car accident and, therefore, preferred to sit near an exit. Garrison stared at Theo madly gripping his mother’s
leg, his face awash in tears. Sure, Garrison was afraid of water, but crying like a baby was something he, much as Lulu, couldn’t
understand. A horrific desire to extol Theo on the rules of life, NBA and NFL specifically, abounded as he watched the boy
blubber.

“Don’t worry, young man; the sheriff has assured me that there is no water on the way to the school. Apparently he is taking
a route that avoids even the faintest view of the river,” Mrs. Masterson said, unknowingly breaking Garrison’s concentration
on Theo.