The Final Exam

by Gitty Daneshvari

  “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.

  EVERYONE’S AFRAID OF SOMETHING:

  Neophobia is the fear

  of anything new.

  Abernathy, 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-manicure
d 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.

  Abernathy continued to gaze at Lulu, Theo, Hyacinth, Garrison, and Madeleine. These were his first real friends, outside of insects and squirrels. He trusted them; he knew them to be flawed but honest people. They believed in Mrs. Wellington, and that was something Abernathy simply couldn’t ignore, regardless of how hard he tried.

  “Are you that reporter who’s going to run the story on School of Fear?” Abernathy asked quietly.

  “Yes. I’m Sylvie Montgomery, the future winner of this year’s Snoopulitzer.”

  “Well, then I guess we should talk.”

  “No!” the School of Fearians screamed. “Don’t do this! You’re wrong! Please give her a chance!”

  Just as Abernathy prepared to open his mouth, Basmati started screaming. And for once, it wasn’t about Toothpaste or Mrs. Wellington.

  “Fire! Fire!” Basmati hollered as black smoke billowed out of the roof of the Contrary Conservatory.

  Basmati, Mrs. Wellington, Schmidty, Abernathy, and the School of Fearians took off toward the house as Sylvie smiled euphorically.

  “This just may be the best day of my life! First, an exposé on a secret society, and now a fire… It just doesn’t get any better than this!” Sylvie said with delight before waddling after the others.

  The top floor of the Contrary Conservatory was aflame, with clouds of heavy smoke pouring from the windows. Fortunately, standing on the ground, covered in soot, were the three Contrarians.

  “Someone call the fire department!” Theo screamed.

  “There’s no phone here, Mister Theo!” Schmidty explained as he frantically searched for the hose.

  “I must find the switch!” Basmati shrieked as he dangerously approached the front door of the Contrary Conservatory.

  “You mustn’t go in there!” Mrs. Wellington hollered. “Step back, Basmati!”

  “The switch! The switch!” Basmati repeated as he pulled a red lever on the corner of the front stoop.

  Almost immediately, the sound of a complex sprinkler system went off inside the house. As the fire sizzled and smoke continued to pour out of the blackened structure, Basmati turned toward the singed Contrarians.

  “Was Toothpaste in there?” Basmati asked with tears in his eyes.

  “No,” Fitzy replied quietly. “We don’t know where he is, but he isn’t in the house.”

  After releasing an audible sigh, Basmati stepped closer to Fitzy, Bard, and Herman, whose hair was unflatteringly charred from the fire.

  “In twenty-five years of teaching difficult students, no one has ever managed to burn down half my house,” Basmati said, seething with rage. “Do you have any idea how long it took me to build this place?”

  “We’re really sorry,” Fitzy muttered, as Bard and Herman both echoed, “Sorry.”

  “We were hiding in the greenhouse, and we wanted to see if burning roses would make the air smell like perfume. And before we knew it, flames were whipping all around us. It was really scary,” Fitzy babbled as his burned tee shirt crumbled to dust. “We’re giving up danger for good.”

  “You’re giving up danger for good?” Basmati repeated with surprise.

  “Yeah,” Fitzy grunted meekly. “We’re done. We can’t take it anymore.”

  “All of you?” Basmati asked.

  All three boys nodded feebly, still reeling from the fire.

  “Well, normally I would say you had graduated, but seeing as I still think you know where Toothpaste is, I can’t do that,” Basmati said coldly.

  “I swear we have no idea where that bird is!” Fitzy declared.

  “Bird?” Sylvie said quietly to herself.

  “I don’t believe you! Where is Toothpaste? Tooooothpaaaaaste!” Basmati shrieked emotionally.

  “Hello?” a man’s deep voice cut through the air.

  As everyone looked around, Sylvie sheepishly closed her coat.

  “Hello? Toothpaste wants a cracker. Toothpaste wants a cracker. And a car. Toothpaste wants a car, preferably a BMW,” the deep voice continued as the group focused in on a highly suspect lump in Sylvie’s coat.

  “About that source you mentioned—you know, the one who told you about the secret door. It wasn’t by chance a little birdie, was it?” Lulu asked knowingly.

  “You have Toothpaste!” Basmati exclaimed angrily.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about!” Sylvie shot back defensively.

  “I love you, Toothpaste!” Basmati screamed.

  “I hate you, Basmati,” Toothpaste responded from inside Sylvie’s coat.

  Basmati twirled his half-mustache before letting out an evil cackle that lasted almost thirty seconds. After which he grabbed the pink-skinned reporter by the arms.

  “I’ve always enjoyed the taste of bacon. And you know what bacon is made of, don’t you? Dead pig,” Basmati said eerily as he opened Sylvie’s blue jacket and pulled out a small but terribly animated canary. Just as Fitzy had said, the bird was indeed sporting a bald spot above his right eye.

  “Look, I didn’t kidnap the bird—he found me! Or he found my sandwich, actually,” Sylvie explained. “And then he just started talking and talking. I tried to interrogate him, but it was impossible to have a conversation because he disagreed with everything I said!”

  “Good bird,” Basmati said, kissing Toothpaste’s bald spot.

  “Bad human,” Toothpaste chirped.

  “But then I caught on to his game, and that’s how I found the trapdoor. He told me some other stuff, too; my story on the Contrary Conservatory should make an amazing follow-up to the one on School of Fear. Now, then, Abernathy: How about that quote?”

  “What quote?”

  “About your stepmother,” Sylvie said victoriously as Schmidty, Mrs. Wellington, and the School of Fearians grabbed one another’s hands in preparation for what was to come.

  “Edith Wellington married my father when I was pretty young, and I admit that at first I really didn’t like her… not one bit. You see, I had promised my mother I would protect my father, and that is exactly what I intended to do: protect him from all the other women out there. But then I realized maybe that wasn’t exactly what she meant…”

  Mrs. Wellington smiled at Abernathy, tears welling in her eyes.

  “Yeah, but when did she send you to the forest?” Sylvie asked aggressively.

  “Never.”

  “What do you mean, ‘never’?”

  “I mean she never sent me to the forest; I’ve been at Summerstone this whole time,” Abernathy lied.

  “I’ve been training him, preparing him to continue the family legacy,” Mrs. Wellington added, tears streaming down her overly made-up face.

  “Boring! Who is going to give me the Snoopulitzer for that?” Sylvie snapped before looking at Hyacinth. “Thanks a lot for wasting my time! No one cares about happy stories; they want misery, drama, destruction! Oh, forget it; I guess I’ll just write about Basmati now!”

  “How exciting!” Basmati responded joyfully. “Who is he?”

  “You are he!”

  “I am who?” Basmati answered.

  “You are Basmati! And I am writing an article on you and the Contrary Conservatory.”

  “How could you be writing an article about yourself?”

  “I’m not! I’m writing it about you, Basmati!”

  “But I’m not Basmati, you are,” Basmati shot back emphatically. “And I can have two government officials and a psychiatrist here in an hour to prove it. And then it’s off to the sanitarium for you.”

  “Well,” Sylvie blustered, “maybe I should look into that gambling-obsessed attorney instead.”

  “If I may inquire, Sylvie,”
Schmidty asked calmly, “was it Munchauser who sold you the children’s files?”

  “Twenty-five dollars and some inside information on the horses goes a long way with that guy,” Sylvie grunted angrily before waddling away.

  “You did it, contestants!” Mrs. Wellington said, engulfing the five students in a group hug. “You saved the school! You saved me!”

  “We also saved ourselves from total humiliation. I don’t know what I would have done if the truth about my girdle came out,” Theo admitted.

  “Come, children, let’s get out of here,” Mrs. Wellington said as she led them away from Basmati and the soot-covered Contrarians. “We have a graduation to plan.”

  “We graduated?” Madeleine said elatedly.

  “With honors.”

  “Does that mean no more summers at School of Fear?” Garrison asked with a tinge of sadness.

  “No, not as students—but maybe as counselors,” Mrs. Wellington said with a wink.

  “Counselor Theo. I like the sound of that!” Theo announced.

  “Of course you do!” Lulu, Garrison, Madeleine, and Hyacinth chimed in unison before breaking into laughter.

  EVERYONE’S AFRAID OF SOMETHING:

  Ecophobia is the fear

  of home.

  Never in all my many years of teaching have I had the pleasure of meeting five such remarkable individuals. Your compassion and bravery have inspired me, changing the very fabric and quality of my life,” Mrs. Wellington announced from behind a silver podium atop a sparkly pink stage on the front lawn of Summerstone.

  In honor of School of Fear’s graduation, Schmidty had laid out ten rows of silver chairs, a pathway of rose petals, and a large pink stage. The audience, filled with the students’ parents and siblings, emanated relief, excitement, and a healthy dose of shock. This was a moment they had long imagined, the day their children’s lives were no longer guided by fear, but by their dreams.

  Seated on the stage behind Mrs. Wellington were Abernathy, Schmidty, Macaroni, the cats, the sheriff, and Munchauser, all adorned in long silver gowns with matching caps. Directly in front of them, in the first row of the audience, was the graduating class, also dressed in shimmering silver gowns and caps.