Chapter Fourteen
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There[/i] had been many times in Jerome David Squalor’s young life where he’d reduced himself to a nervous wreck. But none of those times could compare to the wreck he was the day of his return to the V.F.D. Training School.
The entrance exam would seem like a breeze in contrast to the efforts his instructors were going to expect from him. Working under pressure for a few hours was one thing. But having to spend five hours a day and at least three hours a night worrying over potential failure was just too much! For the first time since beginning his pedagogic journey, Jerome wondered if he would end up drowning in the waters he’d dared explore.
Because of how much he was sweating, he had substituted his school uniform with a simple cotton shirt and freshly pressed Dockers. Neatly inside his suitcase Jerome had tucked away his dark blue blazer (complete with customary eye insignia stitched in white onto the left breast), matching slacks, white dress shirt, and red necktie. Student uniforms were the same in style, but varied in color in relation to each grade. While the boys wore slacks, the girls were required to wear skirts.
The V.F.D. Training School had many requirements. The strictest of all was undoubtedly that ‘every student must keep their uniform clean and neatly ironed at all times’. Bertrand Baudelaire claimed to have heard a rumor that Vice Principal Steerpike called each student into his office every week for an inspection. Such a possibility was questionable however, as the vice principal must surely have better ways to spend his time. And Bertrand
did tend to exaggerate, according to the Snicket siblings. Still, Jerome felt he needn’t worry, for he kept his own clothing spotless and wrinkle free at all times. Finally his obsessive-compulsive behavior was going to come in useful for a change!
He arrived with his parents and brother at the academy a few hours before orientation. The dormitories, which were located on the top floor of the building, all bore similar resemblances and setups. Each room contained a pair of twin beds, or a single twin bed and one bunk bed. All of the dorms came equipped with a large wooden dresser and wardrobe. Every room had its own adjoining bathroom, which came fully furnished with complementary toiletries.
Jerome was grateful that the dorm he’d been assigned did not consist of a bunk bed. He didn’t care much for such things, as he’d always found the top difficult—and painful—to climb up onto. Most of the (few) friends he’d had as a child who invited him for overnights
all seemed to have bunk beds. When they offered him the top he always felt inclined to accept, lest they try and argue him into taking it. Not only that, but he convinced himself that the top would somehow collapse in the middle of the night and crush the other person. Obviously his fears had never come to pass, and he knew better than all that now. But he had been just five years old at the time, not to mention excessively fearful and passive. It was this fear and passiveness that had paralyzed him, causing him to believe all sorts of absurdities.
But it was not the beds that captured his attention upon entering his dorm early that afternoon. It was the familiar individual sorting through the suitcase on one of the two beds.
“Jacques?” Jerome asked.
Jacques Snicket peered over the rim of his suitcase, his single eyebrow knotting together in temporary puzzlement. It was only a moment before his face broke into a delighted smile. He threw his hands down and slammed the suitcase shut. “Jerome? Well, go figure! It looks like we’ll be rooming together for the semester.”
Jerome smiled. “Thank goodness! I can’t tell you how worried I’ve been about ending up with a roommate who refuses to pick up after themselves.”
Cora—who had been standing in the doorway with Maxwell and Andrew—stepped into the room. Putting her hands on Jerome’s shoulders, she smiled pleasantly at the other boy. “Hello, Jacques. My, but fate has certainly smiled on more than one lucky boy today, hasn’t it?”
Jacques nodded in agreement. “Hello, Mrs. Squalor.”
“What time did you arrive?” Jerome asked him.
“At around ten o’ clock this morning. My parents wanted to arrive early so that we’d all have plenty of time to say our goodbyes. They left about half an hour ago.”
“It’s a shame we didn’t arrive earlier,” Cora said, frowning. “It would have been wonderful to see Thomas and Linda and catch up. I feel as though it’s been ages since we—”
“It would have been unfeasible,” Maxwell interrupted gruffly. He strode into the room, followed closely by Andrew. “Really, Cora—you should have let me know in advance how you wanted to handle this excursion. If you had bothered to do that, then perhaps I could have done more to readjust my schedule.”
Maxwell regarded his wife as one does a child who has forgotten to return home on time for supper. Jerome, conversely, regarded his mother with sympathy. Cora’s eyes were averted from the other faces in the room—including the faces of her two young sons. Andrew came forward and slipped his hand into his mother’s, prompting Jerome to do the same to her other hand.
Their empathetic deed was met with the squeezing of both their hands by their mother. When at last she raised her head, her sons were relieved to see the small smile plastered to her gentle face.
“It’s getting late,” said Maxwell, eyeing his pocket watch. “If we’re going to exceed the traffic, then we must leave immediately.”
Giving her eldest son a somber look, Cora held out her arms. Like a child he threw himself into them, coiling his arms about her neck the way he’d done as a little boy. Tears filled his eyes as she began to tremble in his embrace. It was a sign that she, too, was crying, at the realization that they wouldn’t see each other again until Thanksgiving.
“Take care of yourself, darling,” Cora whispered huskily as she stroked Jerome’s hair. “Study hard, but not too hard, and make sure you eat properly. I’d hate to return in two months and find you’ve wasted away to nothing.”
His mother’s over exaggeration made Jerome chuckle. For if there was one thing he did too much of, it was eating. Now that he wouldn’t have access to a kitchen twenty-four hours a day, he was hopeful he could finally start to lose weight. He had been heavy all his life, and there was not one thing he wanted more than to look like every other boy he knew. He knew he would probably never look like Bertrand, and certainly not like Dewey, who was too skinny anyway. But if he could look like Lemony and Jacques, who were both average, then Jerome felt he could finally overcome his insecurities. Perhaps he would be confident enough to change for gym class inside the locker room with the other boys. Back at Blue Melody, he had always changed alone behind the closed door of a bathroom stall. Sometimes all of the stalls had been occupied, and he was forced to wait an extra five minutes. He’d had a very strict teacher, who never hesitated to discipline anyone who was late to class. Gym was the only class Jerome had ever gotten detention in—and all for being so insecure with himself.
Andrew threw his arms around his elder brother. “I’m gonna miss you, Jerome…and your cupcakes, too.”
“I’ll miss you, too, Andrew. Things are sure going to be different without
you around. But I’ll see if I can’t send some cupcakes home to you.”
The V.F.D. Training School offered many extracurricular activities—and one of those activities happened to be a cooking class. Cora, unbeknownst to her husband, had signed their son up for the cooking class. Jerome had not found out until that morning, when his mother came into his room to tell him the good news.
“It won’t be exactly the same as the home economics class you attended at Blue Melody. But you’ll fit in just the same as you did there, and have the opportunity to meet others who share your interests. The best part of all is that you won’t be graded, so you’ll be able to fully relax and enjoy yourself.”
“It sounds marvelous, Mother—oh! Does Father know?”
“No, and I don’t think we should tell him. You know how he feels about that sort of thing.”
Jerome would never forget the time Maxwell had taken from him the Easy-Bake Oven he’d treasured so dearly. “Boys don’t cook,” Maxwell advised, as he pried the toy away from his eight-year-old son’s determined hands. “Those who do grow up to be sissies…you don’t want to spend your entire life being looked at as a sissy, do you?”
“I-I don’t c-care,” Jerome stammered through his tears. “J-just give m-me back m-my oven. P-please, Daddy.”
“You’ll thank me for this one day, son. That you can be sure of.”
The Easy-Bake Oven was then shipped across town to the home of Buddy Squalor, whose young daughter had greatly appreciated it. Unfortunately, due to the friction between her mother and Jerome’s, he had never seen his beloved toy again. Of course, he was allowed at that time to use the kitchen oven, as long as his mother was there to supervise. They just had to make sure his father wasn’t around before getting out the mixing bowl and cupcake batter.
Maxwell said nothing in view of the comments made by his sons concerning cupcakes. He placed his large hands on the broad shoulders of his eldest son, observing him with what Jerome thought must be pride. There was not a time in his life the boy could recall where he’d ever seen his father smile. For Maxwell Squalor, smiling was akin to eating—only happy people smiled, just as those who wanted to survive ate. And rarely was there a time where he was happy. The only times he seemed so was when he returned from a late night at the office. Still, this was the sort of pleasure a man preferred to keep secret from his family. Jerome knew as well as Cora the cause behind his father’s so-called ‘happiness’. But, like his mother, he preferred to remain impassive.
Maxwell looked as though he wanted to say something…Jerome could tell by how the corners of his moustache flicked upwards. It was as if the right words were lodged so thickly in Maxwell’s throat that he couldn’t express them. Or perhaps he was merely
afraid to express them. Even so, the fact that he was making an honest effort lit a fire in Jerome’s heart. He smiled, hoping to provoke a similar response from his father. Jerome then watched, his mind immersed somewhere between fascination and shock, as the corners of Maxwell’s moustache raised. He held that smile for a very long time—longer than any smile Jerome had ever seen. It was as if Maxwell were making up for every smile he had ever failed to express. And what better time to express them than on the most important day of his son’s life?
“You were always such an unusual child, Jerome,” Maxwell began. “You never conveyed any interest in the things
I was interested in at your age. Why was that, I wonder?” Jerome shrugged, and Maxwell continued. “I never felt I understood you, or what was going on inside your head. Perhaps that’s why I sacrificed all chances I had at getting to know you. I’m not saying it was the
right thing to do, but your behavior made things between us so strained that— Well, never mind. What does it matter now, hmm? Just look at all you’ve accomplished in just a few months that takes most people
years to achieve. I didn’t think you had it in you, but you’ve proven me wrong.”
This was truly the nicest (not to mention
first) compliment paid by Maxwell Squalor to his son, Jerome. Jerome, whose happiness had temporarily rendered him speechless. Still, his inability to speak did nothing to interfere with the smile that began to form on his face. He felt his father’s grip tighten around his shoulders, as the billionaire articulated one final declaration of congratulations: “Well done, Jerry.”
With tears in her eyes Cora hugged her son, refusing to be dragged out of the room before she had kissed him on both cheeks. His eyes blurred, Jerome watched his father and brother guide his emotional mother out of the room. He didn’t move from his spot until he had watched his family disappear down the stairs at the end of the long foyer. He then dashed across the room to the window, watching a few minutes later as they emerged. Maxwell had his arm around Cora as he led her toward the parking lot. Andrew, who was trailing behind, paused to smile and wave up at his elder brother. Jerome waved back, along with Jacques, as he joined him at the window.
They observed in silence the Mercedes as it drove off down the road. Each curve caused the car to grow smaller and smaller, until finally it was no more than a memory. That was when Jerome let go and allowed his emotions to take full control. As he wept like a child after ssalsaing their knee, Jacques put an arm around him.
“Come on,” Jacques said softly. “The gang’s all waiting for us in the auditorium, Esmé included. You don’t want her to see you crying, do you?”
“She won’t mind,” Jerome sniffed. “She’ll think it’s cute—she told me so.”
Jacques simply rolled his eyes in mock annoyance. “Oh, right. She favors guys who are sensitive, doesn’t she? Well, good for her. Me, I prefer the macho type. Not that there’s anything
wrong with being sensitive, but it’s nice to have a balanced relationship. Opposites do attract, as they say.”
“For you, maybe. But Esmé and I are a lot alike.”
“I know. I’ve seen the way you both blush at the drop of a hat.”
“It’s more than that, Jacques. We understand each other. Not to mention Esmé is the first girl who’s been able to look past things like my weight and coyness. She likes me for who I am—not what I
could be.”“Sure. Like the first thing you didn’t notice about Esmé was how beautiful she is.”
“Well, that’s only to be expected. If she wasn’t nice, then I wouldn’t be attracted to her.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well…” Jacques smiled furtively. “You do have a record of falling for girls who are less than pleasant.”
“That only happened a few times! Besides, it was in junior high, so it doesn’t count!”
“If you had feelings for them, then it counts.”
“If you say so, Jacques. But I’m not going to argue with you.”
Again, Jacques responded with a roll of the eyes. “We’d better get a move on and head over to the auditorium. The last thing we need is to get detention on our first day of school.”
If Jerome hadn’t seen a point in arguing with his best friend before, then he saw even less of a reason to do so now.
~
The auditorium was packed to the brim with students, most of who had shown up in uniform. This, along with their excited voices, implied how eager they were to begin their education as future volunteers. Jerome, who had changed into his own uniform, recognized a few students as those he’d shared a classroom with during the exam.
Several students had decided to either gather around or sit directly on top of the stage. Jacques’ siblings were among them, along with Esmé, Beatrice, Bertrand, Dewey, and R. Esmé was speaking to the Denouement cousins, while Lemony and Beatrice were involved in their own conversation with Bertrand. Kit appeared to be heavily engaged in a one-on-one discussion with a girl Jerome had never seen before.
Like every other member of the group, the girl donned the official school uniform. Judging by its colors, she was a first year student like the rest of them. Her white, thigh-high socks had a pattern of orange fish circling the tops, and her long legs were well toned like a runner’s. Dangling from a black string around her neck was a large, silver pendent made to resemble an anchor. It came to rest perfectly between a pair of large bosoms, which Jerome might have noticed if he had been that type of boy. The girl was at least five-foot-ten, and could have easily been a model. She had very long, wavy blond hair that reached to her waist. Her eyes were a shade of brown Jerome had never seen before, more golden than anything else. Her copper eye-shadow made them appear two miniature suns in the middle of her pretty face. Like Esmé, the girl’s physical features were soft and feminine. The only difference was that she wore what Cora Squalor would have referred to as ‘a permanently hardened expression’. But, as hardened as it was, Jerome still sensed something heartrending in those pretty gold eyes of hers.
“Hey, you two,” Kit called, and raised an arm in greeting to her brother and their friend. “It’s about time you showed up.”
“Yeah,” added Bertrand. “We were worried Steerpike might get here before you guys did.”
“Has anyone seen him yet?” Jacques asked.
“Not yet. But Lemony and I
did run into Nero on our way down here. And you just know that whenever he’s around, Steerpike can’t be far behind.”
“Guys,” interrupted Kit, addressing Jerome and Jacques as she gestured to the girl she’d been speaking with, “meet Elizabeth Anwhistle. Elizabeth, this is Jacques, my brother, and our dear friend, Jerome Squalor.”
Elizabeth extended her hand to Jacques and then Jerome, shaking each boy vigorously by the hand. Jerome was shocked by how such a small hand could contain such a strong grip. “Ahoy thar.”
Jacques snorted back a chuckle. “Pardon?”
“That’s pirate speak,” Elizabeth verified. “It means ‘hello.’”
“Yeah, I know
what it means. My question is why you chose that particular salutation.”
“Gosh, I don’t know.” She shrugged, and Jerome watched embarrassment flash across her face. It was as if this was the first time anyone had questioned her unique form of speech…and she had barely spoken a word yet. “Would ‘I’ve spent the last seven years studying up on pirates and the history of pirates’ suffice?”Her strong tone, combined with her stature—which was a good two to three inches above Jacques—caused the middle Snicket sibling to take a step back.
“Elizabeth is on the school’s fencing team,” Kit went on, her carefree manner clearing the air of its tense cloud, “and her grandfather is head administrator of the academy.”
Jacques jerked his thumb in the direction of his sister. He asked Elizabeth, “Does it annoy you
at all that she’s enlisted herself as your personal commentator?”
Elizabeth appeared on the verge of forming a response, when an excited squeal sliced through the air like a knife through bread. Jerome was so startled by the noise that he rebounded, nearly crashing into the row of seats behind him.
Then he saw her: Esmé, whose trademark red lipstick smile lit up her beautiful face as their eyes locked together. Like a woman whose husband or boyfriend has just returned home from war, Esmé shoved her way through the crowd onstage. Soon enough she was climbing down, her arms extended as she hurried toward Jerome. He saw tears spring to her eyes just before her arms caught around his neck and he hoisted her off the ground. Ignoring the fact that she was heavier than he’d expected, he let her wrap her legs around his torso.
“Whoa,” said Bertrand, eyeing the couple’s (extremely) public display of affection. “I guess it’s true what they say, isn’t it? Absence really
does make the heart grow fonder.”
“Well, they’d just better make sure it doesn’t grow
too fond,” Kit remarked, “or else they’ll end up in detention until they graduate.”
“Or worse,” Lemony pointed out.
Jerome, however, wasn’t listening to the concerns of his friends. And, judging by Esmé’s determination to coat both his cheeks in red lipsticked kisses, she wasn’t listening, either. They had yet to share their first real kiss, but Jerome was not about to rush into something he had always dreamt would be special.
They were still clinging to one another as Jerome lowered Esmé to the ground moments later. He could sense what he thought must be every eye in the room on them, but he didn’t care. Not when he had the object of his affections to distract him from all that made him doubt himself.
***
@tiago: I do hope you both approved of and enjoyed my portrayal of Elizabeth.
I was a little worried I might have to wait until Chapter Fifteen to include her, but I was determined not to put it off for the third time. XD I am sorry, as well, that her appearance was so brief. But you can bet she will make many more - and longer - appearances throughout the story. She is also destined to become a very important character later on.
For those of you previously unfamiliar with the character of Elizabeth Anwhistle, she is an
original character of Tiago Squalor's. Her first appearance was in
The Shivery Shrine, which is the third installment of Tiago's
Yet Another Series of Unfortunate Events collection.