With mere days left before Sylvie’s article was to run, even Schmidty worried that School of Fear would soon find itself shuttered, forever disgraced. Following hours of nervous cooking and cleaning, the old man pondered his precarious future while lugging garbage to the back of Summerstone. Alone in the dark recesses of the yard, he fretted not for himself or even for Mrs. Wellington, but for the many fearful children in the world. Where would they go? Who would help them? His eyes clouded with tears as he opened the garbage bin and prepared to toss in the sack he held. Then something pink caught Schmidty’s eye. Knowing of Mrs. Wellington’s strict moratorium on throwing away anything pink, he instantly deduced that the blob must be Sylvie Montgomery.
“What are you doing in my trash?” Schmidty angrily asked the rosy-skinned reporter.
“Looking for leads,” Sylvie said before snorting loudly, her nose aflame from all the secrets she sensed inside Schmidty.
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave the trash can, and the premises for that matter.”
“You’ll never be rid of me! I’m going to win the Snoopulitzer for this story! I can smell it already,” Sylvie announced excitedly, holding up an imaginary award in her left hand. In the disgraceful, dishonest, and highly disreputable field of tabloid journalism, there was no higher honor than winning the Snoopulitzer.
By the following daybreak, Schmidty was electrified with concern over the escalating security breaches. With few options remaining, a grounds patrol was enacted. And while Hyacinth volunteered, she was immediately disqualified due to her incontrovertibly loquacious nature. It was, after all, her big mouth that had started the entire Sylvie Montgomery mess. As for Madeleine, she wholeheartedly refused to take part because of spiders’ and insects’ well-known proclivity for living outside. And Garrison begged off after seeing some gray storm clouds overhead, concerned that a flash flood was on its way. This left only Theo and Lulu for the inaugural patrol of Summerstone’s grounds.
“Must you eat like that?” Lulu asked as she watched Theo shove handfuls of dry cereal into his mouth before taking a swig of milk from the carton.
“We are on patrol; I need to be prepared to move at a second’s notice. I can’t be weighed down by a bowl and spoon. Honestly, Lulu, it’s like you’ve never been on a stakeout before.”
“This isn’t a stakeout; we’re basically mall cops.”
“Do you take Visa? Because this doesn’t look like the mall to me.”
“You have the worst comebacks I have ever heard, and I do mean ever.”
“Excuse me,” came a voice from behind Lulu and Theo, greatly surprising them. “I don’t suppose you could help me? My name is Melissa, and I’m looking for School of Fear. I hear it really helps with… fears.”
Standing before them, dressed in a blond wig braided into pigtails, a plaid school uniform, and thick glasses, was none other than Sylvie Montgomery. Try as she might to disguise herself, her nose and pink skin tone were unmistakable.
“Um, hello? Of course it’s good with fears—that’s why it’s called School of Fear,” Theo said condescendingly, clearly unaware of Melissa’s true identity.
“You can’t be serious,” Lulu responded in disbelief.
“Please, I’m so scared. Won’t you let me come inside?” Sylvie asked impatiently.
“What exactly is it that you’re afraid of, Melissa?” Lulu asked through gritted teeth.
Sylvie suddenly froze, caught completely off guard by the question. She opened her mouth, then closed her mouth, then opened it again and blurted out, “Mangoes.”
“Mangoes?” Theo repeated. “I guess that hairy seed could be kind of creepy.”
“Theo, it’s Sylvie Montgomery! The pink face? The nose? The weird body? Please tell me you knew it was her.”
“Um, of course, Lulu,” Theo blustered. “I was just undercover a second ago.”
“As who?”
“I was undercover as myself, or more precisely a version of myself that didn’t know that Melissa was really Sylvie,” Theo said before turning toward the nosy reporter. “How dare you come around here causing all these problems? This is School of Fear, and in case you haven’t figured it out by now, we have enough problems already!”
“Can I quote you on that?” Sylvie asked with exhilaration.
“He’s a minor; you can’t quote him without parental permission,” Lulu said, slapping her hand over Theo’s mouth.
“Quite the legal mind,” Sylvie responded, sniffing loudly. “I’ll give you anything you want for the inside scoop.”
“You want the inside scoop? I think you have allergies. It’s not normal for a nose to make so much noise,” Lulu shot back.
“What about you, kid?” Sylvie asked Theo with a wink.
“I think there’s also a very good chance that you’re suffering from rosacea; your skin shouldn’t be that pink.”
“This is no time for jokes; you have no idea who you’re messing with!”
“Who’s joking? Your skin is screaming for a good dermatologist!”
“In that case, perhaps I can get Dr. Bregman’s number from you?”
“How do you know my dermatologist’s name?” Theo asked nervously.
“I know all your doctors’ names, and your teachers’, and your neighbors’,” Sylvie said with another snort. “I know just about everything there is to know about you guys.”
“Yeah, right,” Lulu replied halfheartedly.
“You stole the key to the teachers’ restroom just so you could use a bathroom with a window,” Sylvie said matter-of-factly.
“How could you know that?” Lulu asked, shocked.
“Like I said, I know absolutely everything about you kids,” Sylvie said confidently. “And as for those last few secrets about your teacher and the school, I’ll sniff them out soon enough…”
EVERYONE’S AFRAID OF SOMETHING:
Aviophobia is the fear
of flying.
As the outcome of her contestants’ plan grew dimmer, Mrs. Wellington retreated to her bed in the middle of the day. With a bleak forecast for the remainder of her life, she hardly had a reason to stay awake. And so as Lulu and Theo finished their first patrol, the old woman fell quickly and quietly to sleep in her oversized pink bed.
Upon waking from her nap a few hours later, Mrs. Wellington trotted to the mirror to reapply her makeup and brush out her wig. The old woman looked at her reflection and realized she must still be asleep. There was simply no other explanation for what she saw. Mrs. Wellington promptly pinched herself, only to find that she was in fact conscious. She immediately began to rub her eyes, absolutely sure that dust particles were distorting her vision. After thirty seconds of diligent massaging, Mrs. Wellington once again looked in the mirror. Still the inexplicable image persisted, which could only mean one thing: it was real.
“I’ll kill him!” Mrs. Wellington erupted as she stormed down the stairs, through the foyer, and into the Great Hall.
Alarmed by the commotion, Schmidty, Abernathy, and the students rushed into the corridor from the classroom. There stood Mrs. Wellington, sporting a massacred wig, a literal mess of short jagged spikes.
“Man, that is one bad haircut,” Garrison muttered as he surveyed the damage.
“I think it’s kind of punk rock,” Lulu said optimistically. “If you add some leather and chains to your wardrobe, you can totally pull this off.”
“You ruined my last wig,” Mrs. Wellington spat venomously at a smiling Abernathy.
“Mister Abernathy, I beg of you to stop smirking. It’s hardly helping the situation,” Schmidty pleaded while nervously wringing his hands.
“Well, you ruined my life, you shrew!” Abernathy retaliated loudly.
“Celery wants to know what a shrew is,” Hyacinth said in her usual peppy voice. “I totally know, but you know how ferrets can be…”
“Hyacinth,” Lulu said with a sigh.
“Hyhy,” Hyacinth corrected her.
“Tell Celery to get a dictionary because we don’t have time for this!” Lulu huffed.
“You’re pure evil,” Abernathy bellowed at Mrs. Wellington before once again beginning to growl and snarl.
“You ruined my hair! That’s tantamount to treason where I come from,” Mrs. Wellington declared before breaking into a guttural hiss.
“Ugh, not the animal-kingdom thing again,” Garrison said with frustration.
Fortunately, the animalesque brawl was interrupted by Summerstone’s seldom-heard doorbell. In a nod to Mrs. Wellington’s pageant history, the bell played the Miss America theme song, not that anyone other than Schmidty and Mrs. Wellington recognized it.
“Old man, open this door,” Mrs. Wellington ordered Schmidty after stomping into the foyer with all but Abernathy in tow.
“Yes, of course, Madame.”
Standing on the doorstep in a Girl Scout uniform was the ubiquitous Sylvie Montgomery. Dressed in an emerald skirt with socks pulled up to her knees and a sash covered in badges, Sylvie looked disturbingly authentic. One couldn’t help but wonder if a local Girl Scout would soon discover her uniform missing from the clothesline.
“Hi, I’m Jenny! Would you like to buy some Girl Scout Cookies?” Sylvie said from beneath a thick layer of white makeup, a desperate attempt to camouflage her Pepto-Bismol skin tone.
“Finally, something goes my way. We’ll take twelve boxes of Thin Mints and all the Samoas you’ve got,” Theo stated euphorically.
“Again, Theo?” Lulu asked, shaking her head in disbelief.
“You really can’t tell it’s Sylvie?” Garrison asked with a most perplexed expression.
“Dear Mister Theo, for the country’s sake, may you never work in espionage,” Schmidty added.
Sylvie took one small step toward the door, desperately angling her head to get a better view of Garrison.
“Well, if it isn’t the boy who offered to teach Ashley Minnelli how to surf even though he can barely swim,” Sylvie said excitedly, staring at Garrison.
“How do you know about that?” Garrison exploded as Madeleine simultaneously screamed, “Who is Ashley Minnelli?”
“Leave the students out of this!” Mrs. Wellington snapped ferociously at Sylvie.
“It’s a little late for that. I’m including all their weird and embarrassing secrets in the article. It will make the story all the more compelling to the Snoopulitzer committee,” Sylvie announced proudly as Mrs. Wellington slammed the door.
“I guess that means no cookies,” Theo lamented sadly.
The group stood still, silently taking stock of their extraordinarily grim predicament. With only days left before the story went to press, they were faced with a few undeniable truths: Abernathy still loathed Mrs. Wellington, and Sylvie’s passion for the story was increasing exponentially by the day. Unless they stopped her, she would publicly humiliate them all, literally exposing their deepest, darkest secrets to the world.
“We failed you,” Garrison announced glumly to Mrs. Wellington and Schmidty.
“He’s right,” Lulu agreed. “It’s over. Well, except for the part where she tells the world all of our horrifying secrets, which should make the first day back at school a real treat.”
“At least you’re young,” Mrs. Wellington said quietly. “There’s still time to change your names and build new lives. For me, this is it.”
“I can’t believe this is happening. I thought School of Fear was too big to fail, sort of like all those companies on Wall Street,” Theo moaned morosely.
“As acting academic tutor of the house,” Madeleine explained, “I feel it is my duty to inform you that many companies on Wall Street did in fact fail.”
“Oh, no, I wonder if my uncle lost his job. Although on the bright side, if he did, at least I’ll have someone to hang out with while I’m being homeschooled. There’s no way I’m showing my face at school after the article,” Theo blustered.
“Ashley Minnelli is going to find out that I’m not a surfer, that I can’t even watch SpongeBob SquarePants without getting a sweaty upper lip,” Garrison groaned.
“Oh, enough about Ashley!” Madeleine snapped most uncharacteristically. “Sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into me; it must be the stress. I’m sure Ashley is a lovely girl, absolutely lovely. And best of all, she probably doesn’t wear a shower cap.”
As Madeleine looked at her feet, her cheeks burning bright red, Garrison turned away, unsure what to say or do to make it better.
“It’s not over yet,” Schmidty said, nervously patting his comb-over.
“I think your hearing aid needs the volume turned up; we just covered how we totally and completely failed,” Garrison corrected the old man.
“Well, there’s still one option left…”
“Oh, come on, Schmidty!” Theo yelled. “We don’t have time for dramatic pauses!”
“I was merely pausing to breathe, Mister Theo, and I hardly think you are in a position to lecture anyone where drama is concerned,” Schmidty huffed before turning to Mrs. Wellington and whispering in her ear.
“Hey!” Lulu barked. “We don’t have time for secrets, either!”
Mrs. Wellington’s eyes flitted about the room nervously as she contemplated what Schmidty had said.
“Oh, dear, you aren’t going to sell us to Munchauser, are you?” Madeleine asked quietly, silently reminiscing about Mrs. Wellington’s grotesque, gambling-obsessed attorney.
“Why would you even plant that idea in their heads?” Theo responded disapprovingly.
“Please, Schmidty, won’t you tell us what you’re thinking?” Madeleine asked nicely.
“Madame, it’s your call. You know him better than I do.”
Mrs. Wellington’s eyes again flitted around the room, as if she were frantically searching for the right answer, before landing on Schmidty. After a few seconds the old woman cautiously nodded her head in agreement.
“The man’s name is Basmati…”
EVERYONE’S AFRAID OF SOMETHING:
Hobophobia is the fear
of bums or beggars.
Bishop Basmati is the most contrary man in the world. If you say ‘black,’ he will most definitely say ‘white.’ And if you then say ‘white’ he will deny he ever said ‘white.’ He simply cannot agree with anyone. So contrary and tricky is Basmati that simply being in his presence rids children of difficult behavior,” Mrs. Wellington explained to her rapt students.
“He runs the Contrary Conservatory in upstate New York,” Schmidty added. “Along with School of Fear, it’s one of the few specialty institutions left in the country.”
“Well, what are we waiting for?” Garrison asked. “Let’s go see this guy.”
“I think it’s best if we stop and call Basmati so he has time to go grocery shopping before our arrival,” Theo added seriously. “As I always say, an empty cupboard leads to an empty brain. And I think we can all agree, if we’ve ever needed full brains, it’s now.”
“I’m beginning to question if you even have a brain,” Lulu said to Theo.
“I’m afraid the Contrary Conservatory abides by the same no-technology stance as we do,” Schmidty explained. “So this will have to be a surprise visit, snacks and all.”
Never in the history of Summerstone had anyone packed as fast as Abernathy. The man simply placed his toothbrush in his fanny pack and considered himself ready. After years of forest living he felt that changing his clothes more than two times a month was most extravagant. Mrs. Wellington, on the other hand, found it impossible to leave Summerstone without a minimum of ten outfits, a backup case of makeup, and her infamous pageant tutu. So obscene was her amount of clothing for the short trip that the students and Schmidty actually had to aid her in packing.
After finally wrangling the eight-person, two-animal group out the front door, Schmidty shot the flare gun, signaling for the sheriff to come to the base of the mountain. Unfortunately, as the sheriff was attending to actual city business,
issuing a jaywalking ticket to an elderly man, the group was forced to wait almost twenty minutes. Standing next to the Summerstone Vertical Tram, the eclectic group watched flying squirrels glide effortlessly from branch to branch along the perimeter of the Lost Forest.
“Do you ever miss the forest?” Lulu whispered quietly to Abernathy.
“Not like I thought I would,” Abernathy replied, clearly surprised by his own response. “There are a lot of nice people out here. Well, except for her,” he added with a nod at Mrs. Wellington.
Upon arriving at the base of Summerstone, the sheriff agreed to drive the group to Pittsfield Airport, therefore removing the greatest danger from the trip: Mrs. Wellington behind the wheel. The memory of the horrifying drive to the Pageant for Pooches was still clearly etched in everyone’s mind, as was Mrs. Wellington’s subsequent arrest.
While none of the children had an explicit fear of flying, Lulu and Theo were definitely uneasy with the idea. For her part, Lulu was extremely worried about being trapped in midair, literally marooned in the sky, without any possible means of escape. Theo, on the other hand, was deeply concerned about everything that happened between takeoff and landing—the plane, the pilot, the peanuts.
Pittsfield Airport was the sort of small-town establishment that crafted signs using paper and felt-tip pens. Constructed out of a converted auto-body garage, it had questionable security to say the least; upon entering, the group was faced with a handwritten note that asked all passengers carrying illegal weapons or other forms of contraband to please turn around and drive to Boston’s Logan Airport.
“I am officially naming the plane Besties Airway!” Hyacinth cheered as she ran toward one of the two gates at the airport.
“Um, no way,” Lulu said with her hand firmly covering her twitching left eye. “That is not a plane; that is a coffin with wings. And quite frankly I don’t think Theo could fit in there even if he was wearing a girdle.”