Repercussions
Veronica walked to school Monday morning a changed person. A whole and complete person. A dog person. She skipped and sang and couldn’t wait to get on with the day, because in just six hours she would be walking back home to Cadbury. She was dying to tell everyone, to tell anyone, the news about Cadbury. Without realizing, she walked a block past Randolf and had to turn around. Lord knows what other mistakes she would make today because of being distracted by thoughts of her new friend.
As usual, bunches of girls were clustered outside the front door. The subject today was Sarah-Lisa’s party.
“OMG. The sunset. It was the best candle walk ever,” Auden Georges said. Auden Georges had an English accent, which made everything she said sound so much more intelligent than anything anyone else said. Veronica inched in a little closer, hoping to share her news.
“You guys, my mom totally freaked about how late we went to bed and I totally lied to her. I said we went to sleep at one,” Darcy Brown said.
“Are you talking about the party?” Becky Shickler said. “It was so fun!”
The party. The party. The party. That was all anyone wanted to talk about. Veronica looked for Melody. Maybe Melody would care about Cadbury. Where was Melody when you needed her?
The front doors opened and the girls started inside. Athena and Veronica found each other and linked arms.
“Where were you?” Athena asked.
“The most amazing thing happened,” Veronica said. She squeezed Athena’s arm.
“More amazing than a once-in-a-fall equinox?” Sarah-Lisa asked.
Veronica should have known Sarah-Lisa wouldn’t be far from Athena for long.
“I got a dog!” Veronica said. The words tumbled out like cartwheels.
Sarah-Lisa took Athena by the other arm, saying, “I have to show you something in my locker.”
“Right now?” Athena said. “Can’t it wait till we all get upstairs?”
“Not really,” Sarah-Lisa said, and pulled Athena away.
Veronica tried to blend into the crowd.
* * *
Ms. Padgett’s lips moved during main lesson, but Veronica had no idea what they were saying.
“So who can tell me what citizenship means?” Ms. Padgett said.
“It means being a useful member of your country?” Melody Jenkins called out.
Veronica doodled Cadbury’s name surrounded by question marks up and down the margin of her loose-leaf. Saying the right answer mattered more to Melody Jenkins than anything in the world, possibly even more than the children’s chorus at the Met. Why Melody Jenkins didn’t end up in the emergency room every week with a dislocated shoulder from extreme hand raising was a mystery.
“Melody, let’s give other students in class a chance. Veronica? Did you do anything this weekend that displayed good citizenship?”
“Um, I cleaned up my new dog’s poop,” Veronica said.
“That’s why you skipped my party?” Sarah-Lisa said, loud enough for everyone to hear. Everyone laughed, even the teacher.
“Excellent,” Ms. Padgett said. “You took care of an animal by giving it exercise and you took care of the city you live in by not littering. You were an excellent citizen indeed! Sarah-Lisa, I am sure your party was spectacular, but let’s stay on topic. Shall we? Anyone else?”
“I think I am on topic,” Sarah-Lisa said. “I have my beginning-of-the-year party as a way of building community,” she continued. “I was being a good citizen.”
Veronica wanted to disappear.
“It’s wonderful how inclusive your parties are, Sarah-Lisa. It must feel disappointing when people don’t accept your kindness and yet, to embarrass people in front of other people is also unkind,” Ms. Padgett said. She smiled at Veronica, who was grateful. “Please bear in mind, though, that everyone moves at their own pace through their own lives,” Ms. Padgett continued. “Any other ways people practiced good citizenship?”
“My father was going to throw out some yogurt containers. But I washed them and packed my lunch in them,” Sylvie said.
Sylvie reminded Veronica of an old Sasha doll she had loved but then ruined by giving her too many haircuts. Sylvie should really deal with her hair. Or join a motorcycle gang and live in a basement somewhere.
“This is great, you guys,” Ms. Padgett said.
Veronica wished she had been the only good citizen in the class. She knew this wasn’t very nice and would not make the world a better place, which was sort of the whole idea behind good citizenship. But she had liked it when Ms. Padgett had singled her out.
“I took the bus to lunch with my grandmother instead of driving. My parents always take the driver,” Darcy said.
“I see a theme in our class. Does anyone else?”
“Global warming?” said Melody Jenkins.
“Yes, Melody,” Ms. Padgett said. Melody’s head swiveled around, grinning. “I think many of you share a concern for the environment, which is absolutely wonderful and it means you are going to love this year’s curriculum because we are focusing on ways people and progress and society affect the environment.”
Funnily enough, Veronica had thought about the very same thing yesterday. She and her mother had been going to buy Cadbury a toy and Fifth Avenue was being attacked by jackhammers. Construction workers were busting up chunks of concrete and Veronica watched spellbound. Under Fifth Avenue was just dirt. Dirt and roots and pebbles and bugs and who knew what else.
“Don’t you remember all the pictures of the olden days in the Museum of the City of New York? Most of Manhattan was once farmland. It wasn’t always a city,” her mother had said. It was so obvious. Cities weren’t literally made of concrete. The concrete was on top of the dirt. Thinking of New York City without sidewalks—being a giant patch of weeds and wildflowers—was amazing to the mind of a city girl like Veronica.
“Let’s look at the closing lines of that poem by Yeats that I asked you to read this weekend,” Ms. Padgett continued. The girls opened their books and Ms. Padgett read aloud:
O chestnut-tree, great-rooted blossomer,
Are you the leaf, the blossom or the bole?
O body swayed to music, O brightening glance,
How can we know the dancer from the dance?
“All right, my ladies, any thoughts?”
When Veronica read the poem over the weekend an image of a tree came clearly into her mind. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen a chestnut tree in real life so she compared her idea against reality by looking on the Internet. The image of the actual chestnut tree was very similar to the one she’d imagined. When her intuition was correct like this it made her think that her own brain was full of everything she would ever need to know if she only knew how to access it. She wanted to express this to Ms. Padgett, but she didn’t know how without sounding stupid.
“Okay,” Ms. Padgett said, “let’s start with the beginning. What do you see in your mind?”
“A giant tree,” Becky Shickler said.
“Did anyone else see a giant tree?” Ms. Padgett asked. Almost everyone’s hands shot up in the air. Melody was waving hers around like crazy. “Can anyone describe the tree they saw? Veronica, what about you?”
Melody slumped. It must hurt her—physically—not being called on. Veronica couldn’t believe she was being called on again. She preferred not to speak in public and Melody Jenkins lived to speak in public. It wasn’t fair.
“Well,” Veronica faltered, “I saw a big wide tree with a lot of shade underneath. Which was weird because I didn’t actually know what a chestnut tree looked like but when I looked it up it looked just like I’d imagined it.”
“Did anyone else research what a chestnut tree looks like?”
“I wanted to, but I was scared it would be cheating?” Melody Jenkins said. Veronica’s cheeks flushed.
“It is never cheating, Melody, to answer questions that are on your mind,” Ms. Padgett said. “Let’s collaborate as a class by exp
loring this picture.” Ms. Padgett hung a reproduction of a painting by Renoir on the wall. “This is one man’s picture of a chestnut tree. Does it match what you saw in the poem?” The painting was of a riverbank and a large tree. Before she could control herself Veronica’s arm was in the air. What if she was turning into Melody Jenkins?
“Veronica?” Ms. Padgett asked.
“Well, not to knock Renoir or anything, but if I was going to illustrate the poem, I would pick another picture.”
“Why?”
“Because to me the poem is saying there is no end to the tree. The branches, the leaves, the bark, the chestnuts are all the same thing. So when I think of that I think of just one giant tree. Not a landscape. Although I guess that picture could be saying the whole world is connected, which reminds me of Morning Verse. The way it says that the sun and the stars and the beasts and the rocks are all kind of connected inside us.” Veronica had never talked so much in front of a class before in her entire life.
“Excellent!” Ms. Padgett said. “You know, girls, most of us have been saying that verse every day for so long, I wonder if any of us give it any thought anymore. It’s good that Veronica reminds us.” Veronica blushed. Her cup runneth over. Ms. Padgett had complimented her in front of the whole class! But what if the other girls thought she was trying to be the teacher’s pet? She’d never be able to keep the proverbial glass full. Mary would be so disappointed.
Poopularity
After French, Veronica overheard Darcy Brown, three lockers down, telling Becky Shickler how shocking it was that Veronica hadn’t gone to the party.
“I would never not go,” Becky said. “Even if I didn’t want to. She must have a death wish.”
Seriously? How could it be such a big deal if she was or wasn’t at a party? Half the kids probably didn’t even know her name yet, and if Sarah-Lisa was the kind of person who liked to embarrass people, Veronica was glad she didn’t go anyway. No, Melody’s prediction of popularity was not in her future.
She put her books in her locker and got her lunch. She dreaded the cafeteria. She obviously wasn’t going to sit with the A Team and Melody had left early for opera practice today. Everyone was already in groups or pairs. There was no spot for her unless she sat with Sylvie, who was at a table alone pulling the spine out of a whole fish.
A voice called her. “Athena wants you to sit with us. She wants to hear about your dog.” Athena waved from across the cafeteria.
Against all better judgment, Veronica followed Sarah-Lisa to the A Team table. She didn’t want to, but she had nowhere else to go.
“Well?” Athena said.
“I got a dog,” Veronica said, but the words came out flat, no cartwheels this time.
“So we heard in social studies. You are such a good citizen for cleaning up after your dog,” Sarah-Lisa said.
“I love dogs,” Becky said. She moved her tray over to make room for Veronica.
“Me too,” Darcy said.
“Is your dog a him or a her?” Athena asked.
“A him,” Veronica said. She caught herself looking at Sarah-Lisa for permission to continue. “His name is Cadbury,” Veronica said finally. “He’s a lemon beagle and he weighs twenty-four pounds and he is white with caramel spots, except he has a dark brown triangle under his front right arm-leg and he has the cutest, softest, most velvety ears in the entire hemisphere.”
Just thinking about Cadbury made the day so much better. She missed him!
“More,” Darcy said.
“Do you have a picture?” Athena asked.
Veronica wanted to throw her arms around her.
She produced a photo from inside her pencil box. It was just on regular paper, not the shiny kind, but still. It was Cadbury.
“He’s darling!” Becky said.
“Ohhh!” Athena said. “Look, Sarah-Lisa!”
“The polite thing to do, Veronica, is at least RSVP,” Sarah-Lisa said, giving the picture right back. She’d barely even looked. “Didn’t your parents teach you anything?”
Blood rushed to Veronica’s ears. She was so mad she believed she had the strength to lift the table, which was bolted to the floor, and actually throw it at Sarah-Lisa.
Darcy and Becky looked a little bit embarrassed, but no one said anything.
Sarah-Lisa, meanwhile, was unpacking the most exotic-looking sushi Veronica had ever seen. She even had red chopsticks that were tapered at the ends and a ceramic dish for soy sauce. Athena, on the other hand, was eating school lunch. Why was Athena friends with her?
Coco Weitzner plunked her tray down. “What did I miss?”
“Not much,” Sarah-Lisa said. She lifted a scallop with her chopsticks and scowled. “Veronica was talking about her dog.”
Veronica’s temperature went up ten more degrees. Maybe Sarah-Lisa would get food poisoning and die.
“Oh. Victoria, did you really get a dog on Friday?”
“Yes,” Veronica said. “But my name is Veronica.”
“Oh sorry. Ooh, I love spicy tuna roll. Can I have one?” Coco said. “What kind of dog?”
Sarah-Lisa held up a piece of spicy tuna roll. “Athena, do you want one?”
“No, I’m good,” Athena said, flashing a smile. “Coco can have it.”
Sarah-Lisa dropped one piece of spicy tuna roll on Coco’s tray. Veronica unscrewed her wide-mouth thermos. Nothing fancy—noodles with butter and tomato sauce—but made just how she liked. She dug in her lunch bag for a fork. Her mother had forgotten to pack one.
“Wow. Is that pasta?” Sarah-Lisa said. Was this another dig? Veronica wondered. “You are so lucky.”
“Veronica, do you need a fork?” Athena said. “Sarah-Lisa’s cook always packs one. Like you need a fork for sushi.”
“Yeah, duh. Here, take mine.” Sarah-Lisa handed over her fork.
“Yeah, duh,” Veronica said. “Mine always forgets one too.” She didn’t mention that her cook was her mother.
“Back to your dog,” Coco said.
“Yes!” said Becky. “Your dog!”
“A puppy?” Darcy asked.
“Yes,” Veronica said. “He’s so cute and I wanted him for months and I love him so much.”
“Athena, do I have something in my teeth?” Athena inspected her friend’s canines before declaring them perfect. Then Athena asked Sarah-Lisa if she had anything between her teeth even though she hadn’t eaten anything.
“Yes. Upper left,” Sarah-Lisa said. Athena rummaged around in her shoulder bag, which contained more beauty products than Veronica could even identify. She pulled out a compact mirror and a toothpick.
Sylvie meandered by the table, a book propped open on her tray next to a pile of fish bones. “Oh, man,” she said, “is that quinoa?”
“According to the lunch menu it is,” Athena said, “but it looks like poop on top of throw up. You want it?”
Sylvie said yes and dug in. Apparently her whole fish hadn’t satisfied her.
“Oh, by the way,” Sylvie said between mouthfuls, “how was your party?”
“My party was amazing,” Sarah-Lisa said.
“Yeah. I bet,” Sylvie said with what Veronica thought might be sarcasm. She thanked Athena for the quinoa, curtsied, and walked away.
“That girl is so weird,” Sarah-Lisa said. “What is her problem?”
God and the Cultural Jew
Veronica walked home wondering why there always had to be a Sarah-Lisa Carver or a Cricket Cohen in her life. A person capable of throwing her off balance and making her doubt her own legitimacy. She wanted to feel glorious and confident all the time, like in class when she spoke up and Ms. Padgett praised her.
She told her parents about what a great teacher Ms. Padgett was and about the Randolf traditions of Morning Meeting and Morning Verse. At six o’clock the doorbell rang, the deliveryman was tipped, and Mr. and Mrs. Morgan unpacked dinner while Veronica set the table.
Cadbury was at her heels the entire time. He was clearly the su
bmissive one of the pair, but Veronica knew he wasn’t suffering from feelings of doubt or insecurity. She never sent him mixed messages like Cricket or was mean like Sarah-Lisa. She was a better friend. He knew he was loved, she was sure of it.
“I want to get back to this Morning Meeting Verse business,” Mr. Morgan said. “Marion, did you know about this? Where’s the beef with broccoli?”
“Marvin, we talked about it at the interview with Mrs. Harrison. You were right there, honestly. You are holding the beef.”
Veronica helped herself to Buddha’s delight and settled her feet on top of Cadbury, who was again conveniently located under her chair.
“Oh right. And I thought it was crap then too,” Veronica’s father said. He plunked some beef on his plate. “What happened to the separation of church and state?”
“I’m not in church. I’m in school,” Veronica said. She looked over at her mother and they both smiled.
“What are they teaching her over there?” her father demanded.
“She is right here,” her mother said, gesturing.
“I will tell you what they are teaching her, religion disguised as a cockamamy poem,” her father said, stabbing a dumpling with his fork.
Veronica had no idea what he was talking about. She recited Morning Verse in her head. The word God wasn’t in it. “What’s the big deal?” she asked. “We’re Jewish, aren’t we?”
“Yes, we are. We most certainly are. But we don’t believe in God,” her father said. “We’re cultural Jews, we believe in Chinese food and The New Yorker.”
As far as Veronica was concerned, this explained nothing. “But we celebrate Rosh Hashanah and Passover every year. We sat shiva for Bubby. Are those cultural?”
“Ask your mother,” her father said. “And while you’re at it, ask her why we have a Christmas tree.”
Mrs. Morgan rolled her eyes. It was hard for Veronica to tell how serious tonight’s rant was. Sometimes her father just liked to argue.
“Well,” her mother said, pausing with a piece of tofu between her chopsticks, “I grew up following certain traditions and performing certain rituals. A shiva is a way of mourning. I thought my mother would have wanted me to honor her that way. Passover is a tradition. Rosh Hashanah is a tradition. I don’t really think of them as religious. Passover’s a dinner. We do it at home. I love Passover. Don’t you?”
The Good, the Bad & the Beagle Page 6
