by Dyan Sheldon
“I don’t want to argue with you, Dr Kilpatiky.” In fact, Marigold doesn’t like arguing with anyone. Ever. “But I do think they need something much more basic.” She gives a light, non-argumentative laugh. “You know, Richard Scarry, not Richard Ford. Or phonics. That’s it. They need someone who knows phonics.”
“I appreciate that, ideally, this is a job for qualified teachers, but I’m afraid there isn’t any funding for that. Everyone who works in the programme at Half Hollow is a volunteer.”
The summer sky begins to darken ever so slightly. “But that doesn’t mean I should be one of them.” You might think that Marigold is so determined to get her old placement back because her friends won’t be able to visit her at the tutoring programme as they did at the library, but that isn’t actually why. There are, in fact, two reasons why she doesn’t want to change. The first is that Marigold doesn’t really want to deal with children. She has one sister, eight years older, who lives in Australia, which means that the only time she’s ever been around little kids was when she was one. The second is that Marigold really doesn’t like anything unpleasant or depressing. She wants the world and everything in it to be bright, shining and pleasant, if not actually filled with music and joy. She has never been to Half Hollow but she knows that, compared to Shell Harbour, it is virtually a slum. Busted. Depressing. Children from a busted, depressing slum aren’t going to be bright, shining, pleasant or filled with music and joy. What they’re likely to be is dysfunctional, difficult and miserable. “I’ve never taught anyone to read, Dr Kilpatiky. So sending me there just isn’t the best deployment of resources.”
The principal’s nose twitches some more. “This isn’t a career we’re talking about here, Marigold; it’s a few hours of community service. I’m sure the library will survive without your input. Just as I’m certain that the tutoring programme will benefit from it.” She pushes back her chair and gets to her feet.
Marigold stays seated. “But Dr Kilpatiky—”
Dr Kilpatiky is already at the office door. “Marigold, I do have some other things to do before I can go home…”
With less speed than a slow loris moving from one tree to the next, Marigold stands up and crosses the room. “I really think this is a big mistake,” she says as at last she reaches the door.
“I know you do,” says Dr Kilpatiky. “And if it’s the end of civilization as we know it, you can most certainly blame me.”
Chapter Four
Georgiana Grumbles
Georgiana and Will sit at a window table of the Bay Cafe, recovering from the traumas of the first full week of school – though the way Will eats it is more like he’s refuelling than recovering.
From the expression on Georgiana’s face as she watches him chomp on his sandwich you might think that what he’s actually doing is dismembering a very small bird with his bare hands – a parakeet, or, possibly, a wren – and tossing the tiny feet onto the table.
“It’s nice to see your appetite hasn’t been affected,” says Georgiana.
Will gazes at her over his seeded bun. “By what?”
“By what?” Georgiana tilts her head to one side and frowns. “I’m sorry. Was I dreaming? I thought today was the day the community placements were handed out.”
“Yeah. And?” Will wipes ketchup from his mouth with his napkin. “It’s not like we’re being sent into combat.” He spears a few fries with his fork. “We always do community service. We just didn’t get to pick for ourselves this year, that’s all.” Which apparently bothers him about as much as not getting to choose the day’s weather.
Georgiana stirs her coffee as if she’s trying to dig a hole in the bottom of the cup. “I’m glad it was such a non-event for you, Willem. But, personally, I feel like I’ve been ambushed. I can’t believe Dr Killjoy’s done this to me.”
“To you?” Will’s voice is slightly muffled because his mouth is filled with fried potato. “What’d she do to you?”
“What do you mean, what’d she do?” There is nothing muffled about Georgiana’s voice. It rings through the cafe like a very large bell. “You know what she did. She deliberately gave me a placement she knew I wouldn’t want.”
“What are you talking about?” Many people believe the world is manipulated by conspiracies and ulterior motives, but Will isn’t one of them. His is an easy-going nature. If Will had a motto, it would probably be “whatever”. “Why would she do that?”
“Why?” Georgiana, however, is a look-under-the-bed-and-check-the-closet kind of person, whose nature is as easy-going as an arctic winter. “Because of that stupid debate, that’s why. She hasn’t forgotten it, and she hasn’t forgiven me, either. She wants me to pay.” Georgiana’s spoon clatters to the table. “In blood, preferably.”
“Aw, come on, George. You can’t be serious. Dr Kilpatiky’s got a lot more to do than lie awake at night coming up with ways to punish you.” Will’s smile is less disarming than usual because of the piece of lettuce lodged in his teeth. “And besides, she didn’t give you the placement. The computer did. It was random. Luck of the draw. You know, like being hit by a chunk of space debris or winning the lottery.”
Georgiana’s lips remain as flat as a meat cleaver. “You really believe that?” It’s clear from Georgiana’s tone that she’s starting to wonder if Will is as clever as she’s always thought. “That’s what she wants us to think. But I know her. She watched me like a surveillance camera all last year—” She breaks off suddenly, slapping the table so hard that coffee sloshes out of its cup. “Good God! Now it’s all making a really horrible kind of sense.” She leans forward. Earnestly. “You know what I just remembered?”
Will, who is definitely clever enough to spot a rhetorical question when he sees one, says nothing.
“Last spring? Right before school ended? She actually asked me what my community placement was!” Georgiana’s eyes shine with righteous triumph. “What do you think of that? You still think this is just a coincidence? She came right out and asked me! She was hatching this plot even then.”
Will is beginning to wish he’d said no when Georgiana invited him to stop for a bite on the way home. They’ve been friends since sixth grade; he knows her well enough to understand that there is nothing so small that she can’t turn it into an earth-shaking event. And it’s always an earth-shaking event aimed at her. In the world of Georgiana Shiller, it never simply rains, it’s always a tropical storm especially created to ruin her new shoes. Normally, Will doesn’t mind the drama and emotion – he has two sisters and plays basketball: drama and emotion are part of his life – but this afternoon what he really wanted was to chill out, not hot up. He also suspects that the moment is coming when he gets some of the blame. It’s what his sisters always do. So he doesn’t wave his fork at her and say, And? Your point is? She’s the head honcho – she’s always asking stuff like that. She has to prove that she’s interested in all her students. Which is what he would like to do. Instead, he tries to look sympathetic and says, “You mean, like, out of the blue, for no good reason she asked you what your placement was?”
“Yes! Out of the blue! Pointlessly!” The muffin Georgiana isn’t eating jumps as she slams her hands down on the table again. “Can you believe it? Apropos to absolutely nothing, Will! Like she’d been festering about it for months and finally pounced!”
He swallows the last fry. He should have gotten onion rings as well. “You mean you were just walking along and all of a sudden Dr Kilpatiky came charging down the corridor and demanded to know what you were doing for community service?”
“Pretty much an instant replay,” says Georgiana.
Will rattles the ice in his glass of soda. He isn’t sure he believes her. Not that Georgiana lies exactly, but she does have a way of making reality agree with what she thinks, rather than getting what she thinks to agree with reality. As it happens, he is right to be sceptical. The only similarity between what he described and what actually happened is that Georgiana and Dr
Kilpatiky are in both versions. “I still don’t see how that means she had anything to do with you getting the nursing home. And even if she could’ve fixed it, how would she know you’d hate it so much? If you ask me, it’s a pretty cushy number.”
“Oh, really?” Georgiana’s smile is almost as sweet as vinegar. “Well, I’d give anything to do what you’re doing. At least yours is fun.”
“No, you wouldn’t, and no, it isn’t. I’m doing maintenance work at the park.” Georgiana has never trimmed anything except her nails. “The only reason you even know what a lawnmower looks like is because your gardener uses one.”
“So? It’s not rocket science. You just sit on it and go. And mowing lawns is a lot better than working in an old people’s home.”
“No, it isn’t,” says Will. “It’s just boring manual labour. And I’ll be out there, shovelling walkways in the snow. At least yours is indoors.”
“So is jail.”
“Anyway, I don’t see what’s so bad about working in the home,” Will goes on. “Besides being warm and dry, you may have a good time. Old people can be really interesting and cool. Look at Keith Richards.”
“Who?”
“He’s a famous rock guitarist. He’s one of the coolest dudes on the planet. My grandad has all his albums.”
Georgiana sighs. Patience isn’t her strongest quality. “Will, Keith Whateverhisnameis isn’t going to be at St Joan’s with his guitar. It’s just going to be full of regular old people who are all wrinkled and bent and dying.” Georgiana squinches her nose in distaste. “I don’t like death.”
“You mean, unlike everybody else?” Will’s smile is amused. “’Cause if you’re under the impression that death’s more popular than YouTube, George, I think you may be wrong about that.”
Georgiana does know that few, if any, of us could be said to like the idea of death, but for her it’s more of a phobia. She hates to think of anyone dying and closes her eyes whenever she passes a cemetery, a funeral parlour or a funeral procession. In fact, death frightens Georgiana so much that she has never had a pet, not so much as a goldfish; she couldn’t face finding even something that small floating at the top of its bowl, its empty eyes staring at the ceiling. All of which makes the thought of working in a place where the residents have no future to look forward to but the grave particularly unappealing. Georgiana thinks of nursing homes as death’s waiting rooms. What if someone actually dies while she’s with them? What then?
“I don’t know why I couldn’t stay where I was,” grumbles Georgiana. “I told Dr Killjoy I like dogs.” Which is exactly what she did tell the principal.
This is how Dr Kilpatiky really discovered what Georgiana’s community service placement was. It happened by chance one Saturday. Dr Kilpatiky was weeding the flowerbed in front of her house when Georgiana walked by with a dog named Desmond. The principal had her back to the street and didn’t see them, but Desmond saw her cat, perched on the railing of the porch. Desmond feels about cats the way sharks feel about fresh blood. After they got the cat out of the tree and Desmond out of the hydrangeas, Dr Kilpatiky started talking about pets, and Georgiana explained that Desmond doesn’t belong to her, he’s a rescue dog at the animal shelter and she was just taking him for a walk. Dr Kilpatiky then politely asked her how she got involved in that. “I’m working there for my community service placement,” said Georgiana. “I really like dogs.”
“So get a dog if you like them so much,” says the ever-practical Will.
Georgiana glowers. He really can be exasperating. She wonders if he does it on purpose. “I don’t want a dog, Will. I just want to help them. They’re much easier than old people.” And usually much more attractive. “I really don’t think I can be around old people. Not for more than a couple of minutes. They really creep me out. They’re so fragile. Like soap bubbles. And they fall down.” She stares at the empty air behind him. “They’re always falling down.”
“Always?” Will laughs. “I don’t think that’s true. I think some of them manage to walk a few feet without landing on the sidewalk.”
Georgiana shakes her head. “No, you’re wrong. One minute they’re fine, and the next thing you know they’re dead. They just fall down dead.”
“Oh, come on, get real here.” Will is still laughing. “Anybody can fall down dead. You don’t have to be ancient for that to happen. Young people die all the time. What about that football player?”
“Football?” She looks as if she’d like to throw a football at him. “How did we get onto that?”
“All I’m saying is I think you’re blowing this way out of proportion. Anyway, I bet not everybody at this place is there because they’re old.”
“Oh no?” Maybe not a football. Maybe a boulder. “Then why are they there? They got lost going to their wrestling class?”
Although his nose isn’t twitching, Will gives her a look very similar to the one Dr Kilpatiky gave her during the poverty debate. “You didn’t read up on this place, did you?”
“What for?” Georgiana is not a girl to take two steps when one will do. “I know what a nursing home is.”
“Apparently you don’t.”
Georgiana laughs but not because she’s amused. “And you do?”
“Well, more than you do. My sister did her community service at Ocean View. You know, that big place out by the water? Lucy said it’s majorly awesome.” The grounds are like a private park with fountains, lakes and gardens; the amenities include a gym, beauty parlour, indoor pool and tennis court; every room has a flat-screen TV. “And lots of the residents there were convalescing from operations or getting some kind of therapy. She said there was even a bunch of kids and teens. She said most of them were having a ball.”
“Yeah, I’m sure they were. The zombie ball. Warm milk and the Beatles’ greatest hits.”
“I’m serious. And in case you want to know, they don’t even call them nursing homes any more. They call them nursing centres.”
Georgiana being Georgiana, she is not convinced. A skunk by any other name, is still a skunk. “And what’d she have to do there? I bet she had to push old people around in their wheelchairs and stuff like that.”
“Not Lucy. She played the violin.”
Georgiana’s first thought, of course, is that she doesn’t play the violin. Or anything else except the radio and the stereo. Her second is, “They let her do that?”
“They practically begged her. They had concerts every Sunday, and on special occasions like Christmas and Easter. She said it was fun.”
“Oh, I’m so sure.” Fun. Fun is definitely not something Georgiana associates with people who are about to fall over and die.
“I’m just telling you what Lucy said.”
Georgiana’s frown is thoughtful. “And you think St Joan’s will be like that? With concerts?”
“What am I now, psychic? I don’t know if it will or not. But you can’t tell what something’s going to be like till you do it. St Joan’s may not be as bad as you think.”
“Or it could be worse.” Georgiana is nothing if not consistent.
Will takes a deep breath. Georgiana also doesn’t respond well to criticism. “For the love of cheese, George, you know, it wouldn’t hurt you to be a little more like Marigold.”
“You have to be kidding me! Little Miss Sunshine?” Georgiana, of course, couldn’t be less like Marigold if they belonged to different species. Marigold always looks for the good; Georgiana has X-ray vision when it comes to seeing the bad. “Don’t get me wrong, Will, I love Marigold. She’s great. But you know… Sometimes it’s like she’s in a musical and is about to burst into song.”
“That would be Singin’ in the Rain,” says Will. “But what I meant was that you could try to be a little positive.” Just to break the routine. “Marigold doesn’t like her placement, either, but you don’t see her winding herself up about it. She just makes the best of it. I mean, it’s not like you’re going to be there every day. It’s just an ho
ur every week or two.”
Georgiana purses her lips. “An hour can be a long time if you’re at the dentist.”
“And a short time at a party,” counters Will.
“St Joan’s is not a party. That I’m sure of. And no matter what they call it, there’s still going to be lots of old people there. They’re going to be in the majority.”
Will isn’t the type of person to bang his head on the table, but for a second he is tempted. He’s captain of the basketball team and good at strategy – good enough to know when to retreat. So instead of continuing the argument – or banging his head against the checkered tablecloth – he points to her untouched muffin. “Are you going to eat that or what?”
“Don’t tell me you’re still hungry.”
“Well, if you don’t want it, I’d hate to see it go to waste…”
“You mean, unlike my breath,” says Georgiana, and shoves it towards him with so much force that it might be a hockey puck and Will the goal.
Chapter Five
Asher Attempts Negotiation
“Oh, come on, Claudie,” pleads Asher. “Please? For me?”
She should have known when he offered her a ride home – disrupting his afternoon schedule – that he wanted something. Asher always has an angle.
“No.” From the way Claudelia shakes her head it’s clear that if they weren’t sitting in his car and there were a door between them she’d slam it shut. “I won’t do it. And that’s as final as the end of the world.”
Asher’s expression is so guileless he’d make a saint look shifty. “But why not?”
“Because it’s a stupid idea, that’s why not.”
“I’d do it for you.”
Claudelia smirks. “No, you wouldn’t.”
He decides not to get into that argument. They’ve been officially going out together for almost a year. There may be too many precedents for him to win it. Asher isn’t a mean or ungenerous person, but he is a numero-uno kind of guy.
