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For Red Burns and Fanny Gennis
Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Part 1
An Alphabet of Woes
Matryoshka Morgans
Morning Verse
Cadbury
Mary
Dr. Veronica Morgan, Dog Psychiatrist
A Chance for Success
The Friendship Pact
The A Team
The Goddess Athena
Live from New York, the Esme Weiner Show
Morning Meeting
Half-Full
Cadbury and Fitzy Sitting in a Tree K-I-S-S-I-N-G
Part 2
Repercussions
Poopularity
God and the Cultural Jew
Sins Upon the Water
Part 3
Winners and Losers
Atonement
Nothing to Wear
Things Are Really Looking Up
Double Booked
The Fourth Veil
The French Philosopher
Progress
End of Days
Doctor-in-Training Esme Weiner
Symmetry and Percentages
Colors
Scrabble
Noodle Art
Poor Melody
Signs
More Opinions
Devotion
Closed Windows
Darkness
Part 4
A Very Long Weekend
Her Cat Died
The Mourner’s Kaddish
Shiva
To Care or Not to Care
Far Enough
Black and White
Goodbye, and Thank You for Inviting Me
The Center of Another Bed
Fake It Till You Make It
The Parting of the Red Sea
Conspiracies
Part 5
For the Love of Science
Mistaken Identity
Latchkey Kid
Recovery
Silence Is Golden
Halfway
The Light at the End of the Hall
The Right Moment
I’m Afraid to Tell You
Nature vs. Nurture
Final Touches
The Big Blastoff
Weather Patterns
In the Closet World
A Net Is There
Passover
Here, There, and Everywhere
The Ceremony
Mrs. Ferguson
New Arrivals
Copyright
Part 1
An Alphabet of Woes
There was a patch of dry, scaly skin on Veronica Louise Morgan’s left middle finger that she hated. Scratching was useless because the itch was below the bone. The only thing that helped was rubbing her knuckle back and forth against the green carpet in her bedroom until the whole thing was numb. She’d been rubbing her finger this way for twenty minutes already and the clock by her bed read 7:05 a.m.
Today was her first day at the Randolf School for Girls.
She would never survive.
The sounds of the coffee grinder and the front door closing infuriated her. This meant her father had just brought in the newspaper and her mother was making breakfast. Didn’t the last day of their eleven-year-old daughter’s life deserve some kind of ceremony instead of business as usual?
“Honey, what kind of bagel do you want?” her mother called. Veronica rubbed her knuckle harder. Her family was incredible. Who could think of things like bagels at a time like this?
The rug burned through more layers of skin while the aroma of sweet, warm, yeasty bread wafting from the kitchen made Veronica’s mouth water. She pushed images of yellow butter collecting in foamy pools along the surface of a lightly toasted bagel right out of her mind.
“Sesame,” she called. Oh well. She might as well enjoy one last breakfast.
“What?” her mother called back.
“Sesame!”
“Veronica, don’t shout!”
Ordinarily, Veronica Morgan would be very happy to point out that her mother was the person doing the shouting, but this being the last day of her life and all, she didn’t have the wherewithal to fight. She had some sense of decency, unlike the people she lived with.
“Veronica, Daddy and I are dying to see you in your uniform! Hurry up!”
Oh God. How could she ever leave her room? The only advice the twelfth-grade Randolf tour guide had given her was regarding uniform length. The girl’s name was Lynn Dehavenon and Lynn Dehavenon said uniforms had to be seven inches above the knee. That was the protocol for girls who were cool and put together. She was very specific.
“Socially, it is the most important thing you can do,” she had said.
Veronica had rolled that pearl of wisdom around her mind all summer. With proper tailoring, cool and put together were just within reach. In fact they were only seven inches away. But children are not the captains of their own ships. Grown-ups are. The tailor and her mother were at the helm and they steered Veronica’s ship straight into an iceberg. The tailor convinced her mother that since Veronica was still growing it was necessary to leave the newly acquired Randolf uniform nearly as it was. In other words: not cool and not the least bit put together.
Here she was, the first day of her new life, her finger rubbed raw and her future capsized. Her parents said she was being dramatic. Oh really? Was it dramatic to mourn the end of your life? Veronica Louise Morgan thought not. She was the smallest Morgan, sandwiched between two bigger Morgans who always sided against her. People in charge so rarely take responsibility.
At least there was Cadbury. She would see him this afternoon. Cadbury was the puppy that had arrived at Paws and Claws eight weeks ago. His face was the first thing Veronica thought about every morning and the last thing she imagined before she fell asleep at night. All summer she had asked her parents to buy him. They said, “Maybe.” But it turns out maybe is just a word that makes parents seem less mean before they say “We’ll see” and other time-stalling things parents say before they finally say “No” and “The discussion is over.” When she had children, Veronica decided, the discussion would never be over.
The idea of Cadbury being sold to people who could never love him as much as Veronica did was a thought worse than death. It was a crime she had to prevent. But first she had to get through her first day at the Randolf School for Girls.
Ugh.
Matryoshka Morgans
Veronica and her parents waited for the elevator in descending-size order. They were a set. But Veronica didn’t feel she belonged. She needed someone who would see her point of view, a sister. Everyone said having a sibling wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Take Poppy Greenblatt. She’d been left alone with her little brother Walter for all of five minutes and had accidentally poked his eye out. “Well, of course she did!” Mrs. Morgan had said. “Poor Poppy isn’t the center of her parents’ lives anymore.” Mrs. Morgan always had sympathy for the wrong person in the story. Wasn’t Walter Greenblatt the glass-eyed toddler the tragic character?
The elevator arrived and Mr. and Mrs. Morgan ushered their daughter inside. Veronica’s stomach was in knots. She experimented with her posture, trying to make her uniform look shorter. Mr. Morgan pushed the button for the lobby while her mother fu
ssed with her hair.
“We have got to get you a haircut,” Mrs. Morgan said with a kind of exasperation that Veronica took personally. “Your hair is so long, honey, it just pulls your whole face down.”
Veronica grimaced. A haircut was not the answer. The answer was a shorter uniform.
The elevator deposited the three Morgans in the lobby and there was Charlie, Veronica’s favorite doorman. “Looking good,” he said. “Today’s the big day!” He smiled and cocked his cap. She loved when he did that. It was like their secret handshake.
“Charlie! You are so sweet!” said Mrs. Morgan. Why was her mother answering people who weren’t talking to her? Obviously Charlie was addressing Veronica Morgan, not Marion Morgan. Veronica’s finger wormed its way inside a pleat and she gave it a good rub. That was one small virtue about wearing a uniform, she supposed. She could probably rub her finger till it bled and no one would even know.
Outside the September air hung heavy and humid. At the corner of Ninety-Eighth Street and Fifth Avenue Marvin Morgan said, “Hey, I’m noticing something!” Veronica exchanged a look with her mother. “You two are always mad at me for not noticing anything. Well, I’m noticing something.”
It was true. Veronica’s father rarely noticed anything. Last year her mother had experimented with dyeing her hair red and it took him three days to comment, and even then he got the color wrong.
“What are you noticing, Marvin?” asked his wife.
“Straight ahead. Isn’t that the same whatchamajig Veronica is wearing?” Veronica and her mother looked, and up ahead, another girl was wearing a Randolf uniform.
“Marvin! Very good noticing.”
“There’s another one,” he said proudly. He pointed to a girl with wavy hair the color of honey. Her uniform was at least as long as Veronica’s. She wasn’t the kind of person Lynn Dehavenon would have considered cool and put together.
“Let’s catch up with her,” Mrs. Morgan said, beginning to run. “Maybe she’s in your class.”
“Mother, please!” said Veronica. But Mrs. Morgan was already halfway down the block.
“How many times do I have to tell her I’m shy?” Veronica asked her father. He knew her predicament better than anyone, but he never stood up for her. Just once Veronica would appreciate her parents taking her side instead of simply reminding her that she was loved. A sister would take her side.
When Mr. Morgan and Veronica caught up with Mrs. Morgan they found her merrily interrogating the honey-haired girl.
“—and how long have you attended Randolf? We think it is the most lovely school!” Which was more awful? Veronica wondered. Your mother trying to make friends for you or a total stranger seeing how crazy your family was? Veronica counted on empathy from the girl but instead all she got was a look entirely void of emotion. Veronica was crushed.
“Veronica,” Mrs. Morgan said, “this is Sylvie. She not only goes to Randolf, as we can tell by her stunning uniform, she’s in your class!”
“Pretty crazy,” Sylvie said.
“Yessir,” Veronica said. It was obvious they were never going to be friends.
She tried not to worry, not because she had a shred of confidence about her future, but because when she was worried she looked worried and when she looked worried it had a bad effect on people. And she still had a whole school’s worth of people to meet.
* * *
At the corner of Ninety-First and Madison her parents asked if she wanted them to come inside with her. They were in front of the little bakery where Mrs. Morgan and Veronica sometimes indulged in chocolate croissants.
“I cleared the whole morning,” Mrs. Morgan said.
“We could at least walk you in,” her father suggested. He gave his daughter’s hand a little squeeze. Were they kidding? If Sylvie didn’t think badly of her before, she had to now. Sylvie wasn’t even walking with one of her parents, let alone both of them. Veronica let go of her father’s hand.
“No, thanks,” she said.
“Have a great day! I love you, honey,” Mrs. Morgan said. She reached over for a hug, awkwardly smashing her purse into the side of Veronica’s backpack.
“Goodbye, Sylvia,” her father said. “Love you, Veronica.”
“Sylvie, not Sylvia. I love you too,” Veronica mumbled. Ugh.
Her parents left together, and Veronica tried to get her bearings. Two girls running toward each other caught her eye. It couldn’t be, but they looked like they were running in slow motion. They were a mirror image of each other in their uniforms and matching bright pink cashmere cardigans. Their cheeks were flushed and their hair gleamed.
“Athena Mindendorfer! I love what you’re wearing!”
“Sarah-Lisa Carver! I love what you’re wearing. You must be some kind of a style genius to pair that uniform with that cardigan.” They hugged madly.
They were definitely the kind of girls Lynn Dehavenon would consider cool and put together, but what Veronica envied most was their friendship.
In all the years of being best friends with Cricket Cohen, she’d worried constantly about liking Cricket Cohen more than Cricket Cohen liked her. Whenever she’d brought it up, Cricket always said, “Veronica, you never think people like you.” At which point Cricket would walk away leaving Veronica with the distinct sensation that nobody liked her.
The cardigan twins entered the school in a synchronized, practically choreographed manner. Aside from coveting their friendship, Veronica wanted their tailor. Their uniforms were perfect.
Veronica’s eye traveled from her own long and baggy skirt to Sylvie’s. The two of them resembled a couple of wrinkly furred shar-peis. Those Chinese dogs that look like they will never grow into their own skin.
Morning Verse
Inside Randolf, plaid-clad girls swirled. They ran every which way, hugging, squealing, nearly knocking Veronica over in their excitement. Veronica knew she would feel out of place. But the happy clamor of reuniting friends was worse than she had imagined. Meanwhile Sylvie had disappeared, as though she had better things to do than be attached to Veronica Louise Morgan. Veronica was surrounded by people who must have known she was new. But none of them showed any interest in anything about her. Why would they? Everyone knew new kids had to pay their dues.
Everyone, that is, except Marion and Marvin Morgan. All summer they had told their nervous daughter that the whole of Randolf would be excited to meet her. The stupidity of people over thirty was frightening. Apparently intelligence was removed when you got older. There could be no other explanation. All Veronica could hope for was that when it happened to her, it wouldn’t hurt. She rubbed her finger against her skirt, trying to remember why she had wanted to change schools in the first place. What a mistake.
Veronica’s old school had a mission, which was to prepare its students for the statewide proficiency tests. Randolf’s mission was very different. It wanted to build a student’s reverence for the world she lived in through an appreciation of spirit, science, and art. Randolf believed humanity existed inside the soul and outside in the world. Mrs. Morgan thought that this was wonderful. Mr. Morgan didn’t know what they were talking about. And Veronica stood somewhere in the middle.
The school occupied an old mansion designed by the same man who designed Grand Central Terminal. Veronica looked at the vaulted ceiling. She half expected to find the answers to all of life’s questions etched there like stars in the heavens. Wouldn’t that be nice? She felt a kind of reverence looking up at the gorgeous ceiling, so maybe the school’s philosophy was already taking root.
A bell rang and everyone headed up the long and gently curved staircase. Veronica let herself get swept along with the crowd. The stairs were made of marble and Veronica couldn’t help imagining girls floating up and down, wearing ball gowns instead of school uniforms. She spotted Sylvie up ahead and tried to keep her in focus. She would know where the sixth-grade classroom was and Veronica was in no condition to ask anyone anything. Not that she would have been a
ble to get anyone’s attention anyway. A clutch of girls chattered behind her. They were so close she could almost feel their breath on her neck.
“Are you going to Sarah-Lisa’s party on Friday night?” one girl said.
“Of course!” said another. Veronica wanted to turn around and see who was talking. But she didn’t dare. There were already parties she wasn’t invited to. Just like her parents had said. Everyone was dying to meet her.
* * *
The walls of her new classroom were the color of egg yolk and three big windows let in lots of thick bright sunlight. Her old classroom was a pale green. She realized now, in retrospect, that the green made everyone look slightly sick. Yellow is a much happier color, Veronica decided. She could see the tops of the trees through the windows. Being in her new classroom felt a bit like being inside a tree house.
Her teacher, Ms. Padgett, stood in front of the class and the way the sun reflected off her blond hair made her look like she had a halo.
“Veronica?” she asked warmly. “Please, come and join us.” Her voice sounded like wind chimes. Ms. Padgett walked Veronica to a chair next to Sylvie, who was sitting at a table for four. But unlike the shared tables at Veronica’s old school, this one was round. Neither she nor Sylvie seemed happy to be reunited.
“Girls,” Ms. Padgett said, addressing the class. “Let’s welcome Veronica. Try to remember what you felt like your first day and be kind.” Veronica really wished Ms. Padgett hadn’t just said that because now every pair of eyes in the room was looking at her and her ill-fitting uniform. The cardigan twins took seats at the same table where she and Sylvie sat. Veronica observed that their hair, though different colors, was cut to match.
“Veronica,” Ms. Padgett continued, “this is Athena, Sarah-Lisa, and this is Sylvie. Girls, this is Veronica.”
Athena and Sarah-Lisa flashed white, straight-toothed smiles and Sylvie barely moved her head as she said, “Yes, we met.”
“Veronica,” Ms. Padgett said, “follow along as best you can and in a few days you will feel like you have been with us forever. Right in front of you, please look at your copy of Morning Verse.”
All at once, the class rose.
The Good, the Bad & the Beagle Page 1
