The Final Exam (23 page)

G
ood day,” Schmidty greeted Basmati as he stomped into the kitchen in a puffy white wedding dress with a train twice the length of his body.

Much like the one worn by Princess Diana on her wedding day, this dress seemed to have a life of its own. The billowing mess of taffeta and crinoline whispered with each step, the fabrics brushing lightly against each other.

“
Good
day? Is it really a
good
day, Schmidty? How
do we know it’s not going to be a
bad
day? There are just as many bad days as there are good days, yet people insist on saying
good
day!”

“Very astute point. I stand most corrected. In the future I shall simply greet people with one word: ‘day,’ ” Schmidty replied to the matrimonially clad man.

“Yes, I think that wise. Now then, I’m off for my final lesson with Abernathy, but remember: if your students do not find Toothpaste, I shall convert him back to his stepmother-hating self quicker than you can say ‘Where’s your other eyebrow?’ ”

“I’m hopeful that will not come to pass, that we shall reunite you with Toothpaste and save our school at the same time.”

“It’s not that I wish School of Fear to fail, but a deal is a deal is a deal is a deal is a deal—”

“Yes,” Schmidty interrupted. “I’m quite sure I understand.”

“
Good day,
Schmidty.”

“Good day, sir.”

“What did I just tell you about saying that?” Basmati exploded.

“But you just said it yourself.”

“I did no such thing!”

“My apologies, sir. I must have hallucinated,” Schmidty said with exasperation. “I wouldn’t be surprised if my delusions stemmed from a complete lack of food. Your kitchen is chock-full of cylinders but nary a cracker or crumb.”

“I shudder to think of how you were raised. Everyone knows food is to be stored in washing machines, water heaters, and radiators. Who in their right mind keeps food in the kitchen?” Basmati said with disbelief as he stormed out of the room.

“Yes, who in their
right
mind indeed,” Schmidty muttered to himself as he went in search of the closest radiator.

After gratefully munching on an array of peanut butter and crackers provided by Schmidty, the School of Fearians returned to the basement to formulate yet another plan. The students, seated in a circle with Macaroni in the center, were understandably tense. They had a responsibility to one another and to Mrs. Wellington, but most
of all to School of Fear itself. Without such an institution, future generations of neurotic children would go untreated, dooming them to a life of anxiety and worry.

“Gary, what’s the plan?” Theo asked, eating rogue crumbs off his shirt.

“I’ve always hated losing,” Garrison said in a surprisingly philosophical tone. “It made me feel really bad about myself, like all the hard work I put in was for nothing. But now I’m beginning to think I was wrong. Failure forces you to focus on what’s really important, what matters most to you. And do you know what matters most to me? Showing the world just how strong we’ve become, letting them know that nothing can stop us, not even our fears.”

Madeleine took a deep breath, said a prayer for a spider-and-insect-free future, and removed her plastic shower cap. After weeks of continuously wearing the cap, the girl felt rather naked without it. And while a small part of her longed to put it back on, she didn’t. Madeleine was ready for liberation, from both her fear and her unflattering accessory.

“Give it up for M-A-D-D-I-E!” Theo said as he jumped up and began performing some highly questionable
Rumpmaster Funk dance moves. “Go Fearians! Go Fearians!”

“
School of Fearians are the best, especially when put to the test!
” Hyacinth sang off-key as she joined Theo’s impromptu dance party.

“Nice moves!” Theo complimented Hyacinth as he simulated riding a carousel, a dance move he felt was ripe to sweep the nation.

“Not to rain on the parade, but we haven’t actually rescued Toothpaste yet. As a matter of fact, we haven’t even come up with a plan to rescue Toothpaste. So maybe it’s better to hold off on all the celebrating until we’ve done that,” Lulu announced sensibly, prompting the others to nod in agreement.

Nestled in the southeast corner of the gardens, behind a cluster of aspen trees, was an intricately carved chartreuse and pink gazebo. While the color scheme was most unbecoming, an abundance of dried flowers and candles masked it well. Long-dead roses, tulips, and hydrangeas overflowed from the rotunda, creating a
scene similar to that of a wedding. Unfortunately, weddings always left Abernathy ill at ease, as they stirred up memories of losing his father to Mrs. Wellington. He had long thought of them as similar to funerals: cause for great sorrow and mourning.

Then Basmati arrived in the elaborate white wedding dress, humming “Here Comes the Bride,” which did little to assuage Abernathy’s anxiety.

“What a glorious day for a wedding! Absolutely perfect,” Basmati said merrily as he marched up the steps, his long train trailing behind him.

While perplexed as to who could possibly be getting married, Abernathy remained mum, worried the answer might include an alpaca.

“I love dead flowers—they’re just perfect for weddings,” Basmati stated, lightly grazing the flowers with his fingertip.

Abernathy nodded politely while studying the detailed beading of Basmati’s bodice. It was a most elaborate creation, clearly the work of a very patient and well-sighted artisan.

“It’s a beautiful dress, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but doesn’t the bride usually wear the dress?”

“In civilized society, the groom wears the gown and the bride the suit,” Basmati said snottily, quite literally looking down his nose at Abernathy.

The two exceptionally weird men fell into a prolonged silence, during which Basmati stared intently at Abernathy. While the forest dweller loathed the intrusive gaze, he had come to expect such behavior from the half-mustached man.

“As I am sure you’ve noticed by now,” Basmati said, “I am madly in love with your stepmother, Edith Wellington. And today I shall marry her, making me your stepfather.”

“I don’t want a stepfather,” Abernathy exclaimed quickly, his stomach twisting painfully into knots. “It doesn’t matter, anyway; she’ll never marry you.”

“What did you say?”

“I said she’ll never marry you.”

“Well, I don’t think she’ll ever marry
you,
” Basmati barked back venomously.

“That’s fine—I don’t want to marry her!” Abernathy replied with scantily masked hostility.

“Oh, of course, how could I forget? You despise poor old Edith Wellington; you would never marry someone you hate.”

“I would never marry
her
because she’s my
stepmother!
”

“And?” Basmati asked, shrugging his shoulders.

“And she’s family…. Family doesn’t marry family, at least not where I come from!”

“So you two are
family
?”

Abernathy paused to breathe as his blood pressure skyrocketed, a terribly common occurrence when speaking with Basmati.

“Yes, we’re family.”

“And that means you definitely don’t want to marry her, right?”

“Right.”

“Well, if you don’t want to marry her, neither do I!”

And with that Basmati marched straight out of the gazebo, his train flying dramatically behind him. Abernathy stood shocked amid the flowers, one word racing through his mind: “family.” He had referred to Mrs. Wellington as family, but what did that even mean? Abernathy hadn’t been a part of anything resembling a
family since he was a child. He closed his eyes, momentarily overwhelmed; a sudden flash of emotion filled his body as he recalled playing with his father as a little boy. Perhaps he did remember what family was after all.

“Let’s get down to business. What’s our plan to find Toothpaste? It’s got to work, and fast, because we still need to convince Sylvie to pull the story,” Lulu announced to the School of Fearians, who remained seated in a circle on the basement floor.

“Celery and I think the best way to handle Sylvie is to talk to her friend. She seems super scared of him, like he’s her dad or dentist or something, so she’ll do whatever he says,” Hyacinth remarked offhandedly to the group.

“What are you talking about?” Lulu exploded as Garrison simultaneously exclaimed, “What friend?”

As everyone reacted to her comment, Hyacinth merely shook her head angrily at Celery, who was perched atop her shoulder.

“Oh, no, did Celery forget to tell you? She’s become
super unreliable lately; maybe it’s Alzheimer’s? Or amnesia? Or ferret dementia? Or—”

“Hyacinth!” Lulu snapped with frustration. “Just tell us what happened.”

“Okay, so Celery and I decided to watch the sunrise this morning, in honor of our super-duper accomplishment of sleeping alone. Although, in truth, we didn’t really sleep at all—”

“Do you think you could tell us what happened
a little faster?
” Lulu interrupted through gritted teeth.

“We were walking next to the wall and we heard Sylvie talking to a man.”

“And what makes you think it was her dentist? Were they talking about gingivitis? Plaque? Root canals?” Theo asked seriously.

“Chunk, Hyacinth didn’t mean her
actual
dentist, just someone she’s afraid of
like
a dentist,” Lulu clarified.

“Oh, I see,” Theo said with a knowing nod. “I get it—dentists can be scary. I’m actually in hiding from my last one; he made me give up chocolate, soda, ice cream… all sugar-based products. It was like being back at fat camp all over again!”

“I could be wrong, but I’d bet my good name that the
man is the editor of Sylvie’s paper. Think about it: Who else would she trust to bring in on such a big story?” Madeleine pondered, biting her lip ever so slightly.

“Good point,” Lulu agreed.

“The editor is probably looking to confirm the facts, make sure she isn’t another Stephen Glass or Jayson Blair.” Madeleine surmised.

“I think I speak for everyone in the room when I say we have no idea who Jayson Blair and Stephen Glass are, or what they have to do with Sylvie,” Lulu said, brusquely pushing her strawberry blond locks away from her freckled face.