The Final Exam (28 page)

The sight of Sylvie Montgomery’s shimmering pink skin, much like neon Pepto-Bismol, shocked the group nearly as much as did her presence inside the wall. The nosy reporter tended to grow rather fluorescent when excited, and having finally found her way into the Contrary Conservatory, she was downright elated.

“What did I tell you about letting reporters in, Edith Wellington?” Basmati snapped viciously, still encircled by the School of Fearians.

“How did you get in here, Sylvie?” Mrs. Wellington
queried with palpable horror. “I do not believe that you were able to lug that ample derriere of yours over the wall!”

“The drawbridge is still up,” Lulu whispered to Mrs. Wellington after straining to see the entrance to the gardens.

“I didn’t know pigs knew how to burrow!” Mrs. Wellington said with contempt.

“Are you implying that I am a pig?” Sylvie barked as she grunted and groaned, sniffing the air.

“Implying? No. I am
stating
that you’re a pig.”

“Something tells me you won’t be so bold tomorrow, when my article runs. Now, seeing as I’m about to tell the world your deepest, darkest secrets, I thought I’d offer you each the opportunity to go on the record, to tell me your side of things.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt, especially when you are so
generously
offering to let us explain the secrets you are planning to share with the world,” Lulu said sarcastically, “but I really need to know: How did you get in here?”

“There’s a trapdoor in the northwest wall,” Sylvie
grumbled as she continued to draw deep and noisy breaths in through her snout.

“But how did you know about it?” Theo blurted out, proudly displaying his hall-monitor sash to the reporter.

“I have my sources,” Sylvie said with a self-satisfied grin.

“Celery says that smirk of yours is really starting to annoy her,” Hyacinth said with an uncharacteristic frown.

“Well, Celery certainly isn’t the only one,” Madeleine huffed, glaring at Sylvie’s luminescent pink face.

“Madeleine Masterson, why don’t we start with you? Would you care to comment before the whole world finds out you have a major crush on Garrison Feldman? And before you ask, yes, my paper’s published in the United Kingdom, too.”

Mortification, as Madeleine suddenly learned, is not merely a mental condition but a physical one as well. Nanoseconds after hearing Sylvie’s vitriolic words, the sensation of hot water scalding her skin spread across her body. Her vital organs retracted in shame and her eyes welled with painfully salty tears. Madeleine was
aware that the others knew of her feelings, but having them publicly declared was simply too much for the sensitive young girl. What if Garrison did not feel the same way? An inevitable wedge of awkwardness would separate the two, ultimately killing their friendship.

As Madeleine looked down at her small navy shoes, both Theo and Lulu put their arms around her in a show of support. Garrison, who was now the color of beetroot, appeared almost paralyzed with fear. He wasn’t sure exactly what to say, or to whom. But when he heard the soft sound of Madeleine crying, his instincts kicked in.

“So what’s news about Madeleine having a crush on me? I have a crush… on her… too,” Garrison announced nervously.

“No!” Sylvie snapped. “You have a crush on Ashley Minnelli. I read it in your file myself!”

“I
did
have a crush on Ashley, as in
past tense.
Get your facts straight.”

“What file?” Lulu asked, stepping toward Sylvie.

“I’m the reporter here! I’ll ask the questions,” Sylvie yelled in response.

“I don’t think so,” Lulu said assuredly. “You may succeed
in embarrassing us and ruining Mrs. Wellington’s career, but you won’t intimidate us; we won’t allow it.”

“Are you talking about our FBI files? Because I have long suspected I was on their radar, ever since I took part in that renewable-energy rally,” Theo said sincerely to Sylvie.

“You
really
think the Feds care about your secrets? You think they’re interested in the Covert Eaters Club?” Sylvie shot back caustically.

“How do you know about that? I’m the only member,” Theo muttered as a nearby bush rustled lightly. Having ignored Schmidty’s quiet pleas to stay firmly hidden behind the topiary, Abernathy had crawled almost twenty feet so he could clandestinely watch what was happening.

“The Covert Eaters Club is just the tip of the embarrassing iceberg,” Sylvie announced, smacking her lips and inhaling deeply through her snout. “Remember when you wore a ski mask to your grandpa’s funeral because you were afraid death was contagious? Your family was humiliated, especially your beloved grandmother.”

“If Chubby’s family was even a little embarrassed,
which I highly doubt, who cares? Theo was merely expressing his grief in a unique and original way. He loves his family very intensely, so it should hardly be a surprise that he would also mourn them very intensely,” Mrs. Wellington shot back defensively.

“Well, what about Lulu’s little bout of appendicitis?” Sylvie asked, turning her eyes toward the strawberry blond girl.

“Please don’t publish that story! I’ll never get a job; I may even be arrested!” Lulu pleaded frantically.

“Sylvie, you cannot be so heartless! Lulu is but a child!” Mrs. Wellington roared.

“She didn’t seem like a child when she broke into Providence General Hospital and stole an appendix!”

“I really needed that appendix!” Lulu wailed. “My teacher didn’t believe I had appendicitis; she thought I was just making it up to avoid the trip to the courthouse and those awful elevators! And of course she was right, so I broke into Providence General and took an appendix. But it’s not like anyone was using it. The thing was on a bookshelf in some old dude’s office!”

“Honestly, Sylvie, you of all people must understand that sometimes we all need to bend the rules a little,”
Mrs. Wellington said through gritted teeth. “But that doesn’t mean Lulu should be branded a criminal for life because of it!”

“You all sure do enjoy bending the truth—like when Garrison hid under the house with all those spiders and snakes just to fool his parents into thinking he was at swim practice,” Sylvie stated, staring at the tanned boy.

“You really are a vicious and most unsympathetic woman,” Mrs. Wellington responded. “He was attempting to make his parents happy, to relieve them of their worry. Plus, what child hasn’t fibbed about where he’s spending his time? I specifically remember telling my own dear mother that I was off to school when I was really going to the beauty salon. And at the end of the day, getting my hair curled was an education, so it hardly mattered.”

“That’s where you’re wrong; all of this matters—to me, to my readers, and, most important, to the Snoopulitzer committee.”

Mrs. Wellington was shaken upon seeing Sylvie’s ironclad determination and immediately softened her tone.

“These children came to me for help,” she said.
“Please do not punish them for that. You may write anything you like about me, even my real age, but leave the School of Fearians and Abernathy out of it,” Mrs. Wellington begged emotionally.

“Speaking of Abernathy, I must find that man; there’s something very important I need to tell him,” Basmati said cryptically as he pushed past the children and took off into the gardens.

“Abernathy is here? Now I’m definitely winning the Snoopulitzer!” Sylvie grunted eagerly as she waddled after the half-bald man.

A
bernathy, you must listen to me: Edith killed your father! I’ll show you the letter she wrote confessing to everything!” Basmati yelled as he raced through the gardens with Sylvie, Mrs. Wellington, and the School of Fearians hot on his tail.

With Basmati fast approaching the cacti cluster, Abernathy panicked and attempted to hide behind a tall, lanky cactus. Seconds later, upon entering the garden, Basmati found his eyes immediately drawn to the swathes
of plaid and pastel sticking out from behind a lean plant. The emotionally volatile man yanked Abernathy away from the cactus while proclaiming that his stepmother murdered his father.

“Listen to me, Abernathy! Edith Wellington killed your father!”

“Who killed his father?” Sylvie asked, panting, utterly exhausted from chasing Basmati.

“No one!” Mrs. Wellington barked as she closed in on Sylvie in the cacti garden. “It’s not true!”

“I have the letter to prove it! And Sylvie, if you leave out any mention of me or my institution, I will be more than willing to supply you with a copy,” Basmati screeched desperately.

“How could you?” Mrs. Wellington gasped.

“It’s not personal, it’s business,” Basmati responded coldly.

“So Edith Wellington not only ruined your life, forcing you to live in the forest, but she killed your father,” Sylvie said to Abernathy. “Would you care to make a statement?”

As Abernathy pondered the situation, he watched
Theo, Hyacinth, Lulu, Garrison, and Madeleine huddle protectively around the old woman. They knew exactly who she was, and they still loved her. Lulu, unsentimental to the core, sweetly placed Mrs. Wellington’s well-manicured but deeply wrinkled hand in hers. Madeleine wiped away tears with her trembling white fingers, only to have Hyacinth offer Celery as a hanky. Surprisingly, Theo did not cry, but instead stood boldly in front of Mrs. Wellington, acting as a human shield. Impressed by his chubby classmate’s stance, Garrison joined Theo in protecting their teacher from Basmati’s words.