“Do you hear that? It sounds like flying water beetles or mutant airborne spiders,” Madeleine fretted feverishly as she attempted to pull her shower cap over her entire body.
“Uh-oh, I think the Brit’s going batty again,” Theo assessed rather impolitely.
“Maddie,” Garrison said reassuringly, “Lulu, Theo, and I are going to create a human shield to make sure no insects or spiders can get within three feet of you.”
“Thank you,” Madeleine whimpered as the threesome surrounded her, swatting away every last gnat, spider, and bug.
Following closely behind the human bug repellers were Hyacinth, Celery, Macaroni, and Abernathy. While Macaroni usually preferred the company of Theo, he found all the arm-waving more than a tad bothersome. Oddly, he didn’t mind the tone-deaf Christmas carols Hyacinth and Abernathy belted out, proof that canine hearing may not be as superior as previously thought.
“Is anyone else starting to hate Santa?” Lulu asked, clearly annoyed by Hyacinth and Abernathy’s rendition of “Santa Says Smile.”
“I’m boycotting the whole month of December,” Garrison grunted.
“Who cares about Santa? Aren’t you guys worried about this Basmati fellow? I’m barely able to handle Mrs. Wellington, and now we’re meeting another off-the-grid teacher. For all we know, this guy just escaped from the mental ward at Guantánamo Bay,” Theo whispered frantically to Lulu, Madeleine, and Garrison.
“Is that the pirate ride at Disneyland?” Garrison asked earnestly.
Madeleine blushed as she looked at Garrison. As gorgeous and kind as he was, he really hadn’t a clue about the world.
“Garrison, Guantánamo Bay is a detainment facility in Cuba, built to hold prisoners from Afghanistan and Iraq,” Madeleine offered with a kind smile.
“Thanks, Maddie. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Upon hearing this, Madeleine turned a shade of red she didn’t even know existed. She was simultaneously excited, embarrassed, and electrified by his comment.
“Theo has a point about Basmati. We haven’t a clue what we’re getting into with him. For all we know, he could make the Abernathy situation worse,” Madeleine said, flinching at the sight of a bee twenty feet away.
“You say that as if it could possibly get worse! In case you haven’t noticed, we are at rock bottom. Sylvie is about to destroy the school and publicly humiliate us all in one fell swoop,” Lulu stated firmly.
“Wrong,” Garrison replied authoritatively. “Where Wellington is concerned… it can always get worse.”
EVERYONE’S AFRAID OF SOMETHING:
Asthenophobia is the fear
of fainting.
What is that?” Lulu griped as she plugged her nose. “Theo, did you pass gas?”
“How dare you?” Theo thundered. “I would never! Well, at least not in the presence of other people. What do you take me for, a bulldog?”
“That’s not Theo,” Madeleine quickly assessed. “Sulfur dioxide smells like rotten eggs. My guess is there are hot springs nearby.”
“Hot springs? How much water are we talking about? A bucket? A bathtub? A pool?” Garrison asked with escalating concern.
“Contestants! Hurry!” Mrs. Wellington called out from around the bend.
As Lulu, Madeleine, Garrison, Theo, Hyacinth, and Abernathy turned the corner, gray clouds ominously passed overhead. With the last shred of sunlight fading, the group took in their new surroundings. It was a strange and unique union of beauty and peril. Barbed wire rambled across the stone wall like a wild unkempt vine, its jagged points shimmering in the setting sun.
Surrounding the spherical fortress wall was a moat with clouds of sulfur lingering just above the surface. Weathered by years of steam, the narrow wooden drawbridge was held precariously together by frayed twine and rusted nails. So absorbed was the group by their new environment, they unanimously failed to notice Garrison’s drastic change in demeanor.
Within the span of two minutes Garrison had begun to sweat so profusely that his hair was drenched and his clothes were visibly damp. The mere thought of crossing the moat via the flimsy bridge had sent the boy into a downward spiral of panic and perspiration.
Madeleine, the first to notice Garrison’s predicament, sweetly placed her hand on his moist arm, saying, “Garrison, are you all right? You look a bit peaked.”
“I feel so hot and light-headed,” Garrison answered, his eyes bouncing around like pinballs.
“I think someone’s about to pass out,” Lulu muttered as the sweaty boy swayed from side to side.
And sure enough, that’s exactly what happened; seconds later, Garrison collapsed into a wet ball atop the grass.
“I’ve never seen Madeleine move that fast for me,” Theo complained loudly as the shower cap–clad girl ran to Garrison’s side.
“Mister Theo,” Schmidty reprimanded, “I think it best for you to keep such thoughts to yourself.”
“Everyone needs to focus!” Mrs. Wellington hollered while pulling at her matching periwinkle skirt and top. “We need to get across so we can pull up the drawbridge before Sylvie finds us. With that nasty nose, she could be here any second!”
Upon hearing Mrs. Wellington’s voice, Abernathy broke into a rather disturbing roar. Even Macaroni and Celery appeared frightened by the mammalian sound of aggression. Perhaps decades alone with wild animals was simply too much to overcome? But just as the group began to look at him differently, Abernathy delivered one of his clumsy insults, instantly removing all fear from the equation.
“You’re uglier than this place smells,” Abernathy ineptly derided Mrs. Wellington.
“Man, you’re bad at talking trash,” Garrison uttered softly as he opened his eyes.
“Are you all right?” Madeleine inquired, hunching protectively over the weary boy.
“Gary! I tried to grab you, but you went down so fast,” Theo said to Garrison.
“That’s a total lie! You didn’t even move,” Lulu scolded Theo.
“My mind wanted to help; it just didn’t have a chance to tell my body.”
“Celery wants to know why your mind lets your body wear pastel and plaid together,” Hyacinth said to Theo.
Abernathy, dressed in an outfit nearly identical to Theo’s, looked downright shocked by Hyacinth’s comment. He had been led to believe that pastel on plaid was the height of fashion, especially when paired with a fanny pack.
“At least I wear clothes. Celery walks around stark naked. I’m surprised she hasn’t been arrested for public indecency,” Theo shot back spitefully.
“Enough! There must be total silence when Schmidty tests the bridge. If it collapses, dumping him straight into a boiling pot of piranhas, I want to hear his final words. Of course, knowing Schmidty, they’ll probably be rather boring,” Mrs. Wellington said with a sigh.
“Piranhas in a hot spring? I don’t think so,” Lulu scoffed.
“I wouldn’t be so sure; Basmati used to keep a pack of piranhas in every toilet in his house,” Mrs. Wellington explained before turning to Schmidty. “What are you waiting for? Hop to it! But please don’t actually hop; your jiggling stomach is most unattractive.”
“As is your personality, Madame. Oh, and thank you for yet another opportunity to act as your personal lab rat. I’m most obliged,” Schmidty said wryly as he stepped onto the dwindling drawbridge.
The rotund man wobbled and hobbled across the uneven wood, straining his eyes with each step. It was not so much the precarious nature of the lumber that worried Schmidty, but his own vision. If he didn’t pay close attention he was liable to step right off the narrow walkway.
As Abernathy, Madeleine, Lulu, Hyacinth, Garrison, Theo, and Mrs. Wellington held their breath in anticipation, a troubling noise captured their attention. It was the familiar sound of Sylvie’s snorting. Alarmed, all but Madeleine and Garrison rushed onto the bridge, causing it to sag perilously beneath their feet.
Having caught a glimpse of pink dashing through the
nearby trees, Madeleine forcefully grabbed Garrison’s hand. While normally too shy for such an act, she hadn’t time to ponder her behavior with Sylvie in dogged pursuit.
“Garrison, you need to come with me across the bridge,” Madeleine pleaded impatiently. “I promise it will be over before you know it!”
“Go without me,” Garrison muttered, his eyes flitting about uneasily.
“But Sylvie’s coming!”
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell her anything.”
“No, Garrison! That is unacceptable. You are the de facto leader and as such cannot act like a pansy! Now, move!” Madeleine ordered him.
“What does ‘de facto’ mean? Wait—did you just call me a pansy?” Garrison asked as Sylvie ran breathlessly toward them. Lucky for the School of Fearians, much like an actual pig, Sylvie lacked endurance where physical exercise was concerned.
“I said move it, PANSY!” Madeleine screamed ferociously, doing her best impression of an angry coach goading a player from the side of the field.
So unnerved was Garrison by Madeleine’s conduct that he did in fact start moving. He stepped onto the rickety bridge, innately aware that only a few flimsy pieces of wood stood between him and his mortal enemy, water.
“Faster, Feldman,” Madeleine bellowed. “This isn’t the bench! You need to move it, Feldman! She’s almost here!”
Now only ten feet away was a visibly bruised Sylvie, her normally pink nose crimson from excessive sniffing.
“You’ll never escape me,” Sylvie squealed victoriously as she daringly leaped for the rising drawbridge.
Fortunately, they all made it across, and Schmidty was able to harness his considerable body mass to successfully lift the drawbridge within a hair of Sylvie stepping on it. As the others helped the old man tie up the wooden walkway, Garrison collapsed onto the ground next to Madeleine.
“Do you really think I’m a pansy?”
“Of course not,” Madeleine replied honestly. “But I had to get you to cross that bridge, didn’t I?”
“Thanks, Maddie, you’ve always got my back,” Garrison said before sweetly throwing his arm around her shoulders, causing the petite girl to absolutely melt with euphoria.
Once the group was safely inside the fortress, a slew of contradictory signs greeted them: NO TRESPASSING, TRESPASS AT YOUR LEISURE, GET OUT, COME IN, ENTER KINDLY, EXIT ANGRILY. All in all, it was a terribly perplexing welcome.
The Contrary Conservatory’s residence was most bizarre and awfully difficult to describe. It was an amalgamation of several architectural styles crudely blended together. Bits of Gothic castles, igloos, and tree houses stuck out every which way without any decipherable rhyme or reason. Diverse elements such as limestone towers, artificial ice blocks, and rope swings combined to create an extraordinary eyesore.
Similar to the residence, the Contrary Conservatory’s grounds were an interesting assortment of landscapes, ranging from a Japanese sand garden to a cacti cluster to brilliantly sculpted topiaries and much more.
“Contestants,” Mrs. Wellington said as she attempted to straighten the monstrous mess that was her wig, “Bishop Basmati can be rather odd, so it’s best to follow my lead. Unless, of course, my lead isn’t working, in which case try something else.”
“Madame, your advice is as ineffective and useless as ever,” Schmidty muttered under his breath.
As Mrs. Wellington reapplied thick mauve lipstick, a strange rattle started overhead. Madeleine was the first to spot the shoddily built metal go-cart flying off a slanted igloo section of the roof. Much like the plane they had only just escaped, the cart was precariously held together by twine and tape. Jagged pieces of multicolored metal flew off the basic wooden frame as the cart became airborne. Even though they were standing at least fifteen feet away, the School of Fearians all shielded themselves from the flying scraps of tin.
The go-cart’s poorly constructed frame crumbled instantly upon touching the earth, quickly burying its passengers beneath debris. Within seconds, Schmidty and Abernathy rushed over to help. However, before they could grab even one piece of wood from the pile, three teenage boys surfaced from the rubble covered in an impressive array of bumps and bruises. Instead of tears or pained expressions, the boys displayed unbridled ecstasy; they had clearly crashed on purpose.
“That was awesome!” a stout redheaded teenager declared while pumping his fist in the air.
“You must be this summer’s Contrarians. I assume you’re all okay, as you’re standing and don’t appear to be hemorrhaging,” Mrs. Wellington stated disapprovingly.
“Theo Bartholomew at your service,” Theo said, extending his hand to the ginger-haired boy, who most unfortunately had the body of a tree trunk and the face of a pancake. “I’d like to check you for signs of internal bleeding, concussions, and mental illness because, let’s be honest, you just drove off the roof—that’s pretty crazy.”
“Have you ever jumped off a hundred-foot cliff?” the flat-faced boy asked Theo.
“What? Of course not; that’s why I’m still alive,” Theo replied as he struggled to grasp the direction of the conversation.
“Did I ever tell you about the time I broke my brother’s arm with my mouth?”
“I just met you six seconds ago; I don’t even know your name.”
“Fitzy Flint. And this is Bard Bates and Herman Hester,” Fitzy said, motioning to the two skinny brown-haired boys behind him. Bard and Herman were utterly indistinguishable in all ways but one: Bard moved incessantly, never standing still for more than a second. Even if he was simply tapping his foot or bopping his head, the boy was in constant motion. Herman, on the other hand, remained eerily still, almost catatonic, between activities.
“Nice to meet you guys. Let me introduce—” Theo said as he turned toward his fellow School of Fearians.
“Do you guys like to light stuff on fire?” Fitzy interrupted excitedly.
“Yeah! Fire!” Bard and Herman simultaneously grunted from beneath their coffee-colored mounds of hair.
“If you don’t mind my inquiring, where are you guys from?” Madeleine asked while suspiciously inspecting the three boys.
“California,” Fitzy answered, and Bard and Herman nodded their heads in agreement.
“Well, that explains a lot. Celery says people from California are crazy, like totally certifiable,” Hyacinth chirped with the ferret seated comfortably atop her left shoulder.
“We mustn’t generalize about groups of people. Although it would be disingenuous to say I haven’t heard the same,” Madeleine responded while keeping her eyes peeled for creepy-crawly life-forms.
“Do you guys want to see if Bard’s hair is flammable?”
“Are you bonkers? Of course it is,” Madeleine snapped before shaking her head judgmentally at Fitzy.
“We won’t know for sure until we try,” Fitzy countered firmly. “We thought my mouth was flammable, but it turns out it isn’t.”
“You tried to light your mouth on fire?” Garrison repeated in disbelief.
“Yeah, after I drank some hair spray.”
“That could kill you!” Theo screeched, flailing his hands about theatrically.
“No way,” Fitzy said before pumping his fist in the air and screaming. “Fire!”
As if answering a call of duty, the Contrarians bolted across the yard. While intellectually challenged and deficient in common sense, they were clearly quite physically adept.
“Well, that was weird,” Theo stated. “But on a positive note, I’m grateful to have Joaquin as a brother for the first time in my life.”
“What, he’s never broken your arm with his mouth?” Lulu asked sarcastically.
“Not successfully. But more important, he doesn’t play with fire, drink hair spray, or combine the two activities.”
“I must say I’m quite appreciative to be an only child at this moment,” Madeleine offered frankly.
“Me, too,” Garrison agreed.
As usual, Madeleine
blushed, absolutely delighted to have something in common with Garrison.
“Do you smell smoke?” Lulu asked the others.
“It appears Bard, Herman, and Fitzy have lit a potted plant on fire,” Madeleine said, motioning toward the far end of the yard.
“I suppose it’s preferable to lighting Bard’s hair on fire,” Mrs. Wellington offered matter-of-factly.
“Should we get a fire extinguisher or the hose?” Theo sensibly wondered aloud.
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Schmidty said as he watched the boys kick the flaming plant into a small fountain.
“I already have a bad feeling about this place, and we haven’t even met Basmati yet,” Theo whimpered as they approached the vaulted front door to the Contrary Conservatory.
EVERYONE’S AFRAID OF SOMETHING:
Ornithophobia is the fear
of birds.
GO AWAY TOMORROW, COME BACK YESTERDAY was the motto carved ornately into the front door of the Contrary Conservatory. Paying the message no mind, Mrs. Wellington vigorously clanged the copper bell to announce her arrival. As they waited for an answer, a tremendous and unexpected sense of failure took hold of her. For all her success as a teacher, she had failed the student who mattered most: her stepson. Suddenly teary-eyed, the old woman distracted herself by smoothing imaginary wrinkles on her periwinkle skirt. There simply wasn’t time for such emotional indulgence. Basmati was the last line of defense, and Mrs. Wellington needed to be as strong as possible to deal with him.
After banishing all tear-inducing thoughts from her mind, Mrs. Wellington assumed her customary pageant pose. With her back arched, her right knee bent, and her left hand on her hip, Mrs. Wellington reminded herself that once a beauty queen, always a beauty queen. Tough times and a butchered wig were no excuse for abandoning the basic tenets of pageantry. And so, as the door swung open, she greeted Basmati with a friendly Vaseline-coated smile and a mechanical wave.
Mrs. Wellington and Schmidty had known Basmati for years and as such were fully prepared for the vision that greeted them. The same could not be said for Abernathy and the students, who stood awestruck at the sight of him. The middle-aged man of average weight and average height was anything but average. Much like the Contrary Conservatory itself, Basmati’s blond hair was a mishmash of styles. Long curly locks descended from the left side of his scalp, while the right remained inexplicably bald. His coarse handlebar mustache solely inhabited the right facial sphere, while his lone eyebrow took the left. The entire look was topped off with a tee shirt that read I MARRIED A LIMA BEAN on the front and I DIVORCED A LIMA BEAN on the back.