My apologies for the extended delay on this chapter! I came down with a very bad case of writer's block, which proved almost impossible to kick. Thankfully my muse seems to have stabilized herself for now, so hopefully there won't be any more two to three month-long stretches between chapters for a while.
By the way, if anyone can provide me with a list of the classes at the V.F.D. Training School, then I would be very grateful. I know there's acting, disguise training, and I believe note-taking, but those are all I can think of off the top of my head. ^^'
Chapter Fifteen
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“Oh,[/i] for goodness’ sake, you two! Get a room, will you?”
With profound reluctance, Esmé loosened her limbs slightly from around Jerome and lowered herself to the ground. He heard her heels click against the cement tiles prior to the couple whirling to consult whomever it was who had spoken. Standing before them was a young man who looked exactly like Dewey Denouement, albeit a few conspicuous differences. For example, the other boy’s dark eyes failed to convey any of the typical humor or warmth that was so eminent of Dewey’s personality. While Dewey’s hair was quite long, that of his counterpart was cropped short, especially around the ears. Jerome thought it made them look bigger by comparison, though of course he remained silent on this matter. The last thing he wanted was to stir up an argument between himself and someone else; especially when that someone else was a stranger.
Esmé, with her arms still wrapped amorously around Jerome, turned impatiently on the boy. “Are you
always this offended by open displays of affection?”
“Couples holding hands in public is one thing,” the boy who looked like Dewey retorted. “But when you stand there with your tongue crammed halfway down someone else’s throat, then it tends to affect others.”
“We weren’t kissing!”
“Is that so? Then would you kindly explain what your lips were doing a moment ago?”
“Oh, who asked you, anyway? If the way I greet my boyfriend bothers you so much, then go find something else to feast your eyes on… Like this!”
Jerome’s face flushed as Esmé made what was both a daring and degrading gesture with her finger. Seeing her betrayal of innocence came as quite a shock to the boy who had never so much as uttered even one foul word. He looked away uncomfortably, his eyes darting from one area of the auditorium to the other. If there was one thing Jerome Squalor hated more than arguments, it was the knowledge that he had begun one. If the argument between Esmé and this other boy didn’t end soon, then Jerome would have no choice but to run to the back of the auditorium and stay there until it did.
“Ernest, if I may make a suggestion,” Kit intervened calmly, “you may want to hold off on arguing with Esmé.”
“Oh, yeah?” The boy named Ernest quirked an eyebrow. He turned temporarily away from Esmé to address Kit. “And just what reason would I have for doing that?”
“Well, you see, Jerome is—well, he’s very…” Kit’s voice trailed off. Jerome assumed it was caused by the atmosphere of intimidation Ernest’s attitude was giving off.
Ernest sighed impatiently, crossing his arms over his bony chest. “He’s
what, Kit? A crybaby? A mute? A crazy?” All at once, a cruel sneer curled up the corners of his thin mouth. His eyes narrowed into slits, and his voice lowered to a whisper so quiet that only Jerome, Esmé, and Kit could hear him: “Oh, that’s right. It’s his fat
girlfriend who’s the crazy one.”
“Passive-aggressive!” Bertrand shouted down to Ernest from the stage. “What Kit
means to say is that Jerome is
passive-aggressive!”“Give it up, Bert,” sighed Lemony, unable to tear his attention away from the scene unfolding before them. “You’re too late.”
In his arms Jerome could feel Esmé shaking with rage and distress from Ernest’s cruel remark. Even as his face started to grow hot and his blood seethed with fury, Jerome found himself frozen to the floor in fear. Fear of what Ernest would say or do to him if Jerome did somehow find the courage to speak up. Or, worse yet, what other ways Ernest would find to hurt Esmé if Jerome’s attempts to defend his beloved failed.
But Jerome did not have long to dwell on the productivities and contraries of any future actions he was considering pursuing. He had barely begun when, out of the corner of his eye, there appeared a long sweep of blond hair. He thought he caught the aroma of what was either ocean-scented shampoo or perfume…it was sometimes hard to tell with girls. However, these thoughts were quickly bested by a voice that was liable to make even Maxwell Squalor tremble.
“Men!” Elizabeth Anwhistle snarled in disgust, and a cloud of silence fell over the auditorium. “It’s men like
you who give the rest such a lousy reputation, Ernest Denouement. Men like you whose influence over women can turn even the straightest girl into a dedicated lesbian. Why don’t you do my grandfather
and his academy a favor and return to your parents’ hotel? That is, of course, unless your own family couldn’t wait to be rid of you and that’s the
real reason you’re here.”
Jerome’s heart pounded in anticipation as he waited anxiously for Ernest to defend himself. Huddled ever closer against Jerome was Esmé, who had exchanged her rage for tears that were quickly staining his new blazer. He didn’t have the heart to mention it—not that he would ever complain when the tears being shed were hers. He had never taken her as someone who was so insecure over something like weight. Esmé was hardly thin, but rather soft and feminine in all the most perfect places. And, above all else, she
was a girl. Jerome expected it was these two truths that accounted for how hurt Esmé had been when Ernest decided to burden her ears with his spiteful remark.
Suddenly, Ernest shot back at Elizabeth with the same heated passion she’d expressed to him a mere moment earlier: “My parents are
dead!” The large, fluorescent beams suspended from the high ceiling gave the illusion of fire burning brightly in Ernest Denouement’s dark eyes. Eyes, Jerome saw, that served as a mirror to a veiled pain.
Ernest’s words were like a wrecking ball, obliterating Elizabeth’s wall of authority and leaving behind a humbled exposure. Jerome watched her head lower and her shoulders hunch forward in what could be interpreted as shame just as easily as it could defeat.
“I don’t expect you or anyone else to feel sorry for me or my brothers,” Ernest went on, his tone a clear indication of how much he despised pity. “But don’t
you assume that just because you have some special tie to this academy that it entitles you to acting as you please.”
In a flash Elizabeth straightened her posture. Her fists were clenched into tight balls of resentment as she strode toward Ernest. Sensing what was about to go down, Kit was quick to jump between Elizabeth and Ernest. As a further precaution Jacques stepped forward and restrained Elizabeth, who looked liable to lunge straight for the triplet’s throat. “It’s a tragedy what happened to your parents, Ernest,” Kit began, “and we’re all very sorry for you and your family. But not even the most dreadful of misfortunes justifies our right as human beings
or volunteers to act dreadfully towards others. Having parents as noble as yours were, have you not once stopped to consider what they would think if they saw you now? Don’t you feel remorseful in knowing not only how much you hurt people, but how much it would hurt your parents to see you bullying others? Especially when your mother and father made it their life’s mission to help those in need—even those who were strangers.” She paused and raised her hand, indicating to Jerome and Esmé, who continued to sob quietly into his chest. “Take a look, Ernest. Take a good, hard look, and see the affect your words have had on one innocent girl.”
The look Ernest gave Kit then was so smug that even Jerome found it difficult to control his temper. “Don’t make me laugh, Snicket,” Ernest said. “Everyone knows a girl who dresses as she does is
far from innocent.”
“What the
hell are you talking about?” Elizabeth shouted. “Esmé is wearing the exact same uniform as every other female student at this school!”
“Now she is. But you didn’t see what she was wearing when she first arrived.”
“Pig!” Elizabeth twisted in Jacques’ tight grip, desperately trying to free herself and give Ernest what he deserved. Seeing Jacques’ arms around Elizabeth rapidly beginning to weaken, Lemony leapt from the stage and raced over to help. He managed to successfully seize her by one arm while Jacques held determinedly to the other. But neither could do anything to prevent the impassioned words that Elizabeth Anwhistle spat forth at Ernest Denouement seconds later:
“Male chauvinist swine! How
dare you use such contempt to refer to a lady! Apologize to Esmé this very minute, or else suffer the consequences and taste the sting of my sword’s blade!”
“Those are very bold words,” Ernest said, impressed. “Bold, yet powerful. You’ve got guts, girl, which is a lot more than I can say for
others in this room.” His gaze shifted critically to Jerome, whose eyes lowered ashamedly to the floor. Even as he provided Esmé with a shoulder to cry on, Jerome still felt like a failure for being unable to defend her. Once again his inability to argue had triumphed. He was left feeling weak and useless, his urge to cry rising like a coastal shelf. He surely would have given in, were it not for Esmé and her desperate desire to be comforted.
Jerome was granted relief a moment later, as Ernest’s eyes swung back to Elizabeth. “But don’t think that just because you’re a girl that it lets you off the hook. I would raise my fists to you just the same as I would to a man. I’m no chauvinist when it comes to my enemies.”
Jacques and Lemony continued to hold fast to Elizabeth as Ernest spun on his heels and sauntered off to another area of the auditorium. It wasn’t until he was out of sight that the two triplets finally dared to let go of Elizabeth. Swiftly she reeled to face the others. Her long hair fell into her eyes, making her appear all the more wild in the face of what was evidently her uncontrollable temper.
“So, what are you all standing around for?” she demanded. “Don’t tell me you’re actually going to let De
creepment get away with what he’s done!”
“Look.” With a nimble leap down from the stage, Dewey approached Elizabeth. He was the only boy in his group of friends whose height matched hers. It was perhaps this physical aspect that accounted for his lack of intimidation as he spoke to her. “I’ll be the first to admit my brother isn’t the easiest person in the world to get along with. But I’ve also known him my entire life, and that’s long enough to gain a methodical understanding of his personality. For one thing, he exaggerates; when he threatens, all he’s doing is thinking out loud. Ernest has always been a bully, and after our parents died, his behavior only got worse. He’s the type of person who has difficulty expressing himself. So far, the only ways he’s found to do that are through cruelty and disrespect. Frank and I have tried to talk to him about it, and so has our Uncle Simon, but so far we’ve been unsuccessful. He’s a therapist, our uncle, and believes that Ernest is at an age where people often behave irrationally. But my uncle also believes that my brother’s behavior will eventually improve. So for now, all we can do is wait patiently, and hope that time will help Ernest mend his ways.”
“You seem like a nice guy, Dewey, so Lo siento for what I am about to say.” Elizabeth paused, and then said, “But I would not object to seeing your brother thrown to the Lachrymose Leeches, and watching them devour him limb from limb. I’d even volunteer to do it myself, if no one else did.”
“Well, at least you’re being honest about it,” Jacques said. When no one responded, he looked down at his feet in embarrassment. Jerome half expected to hear the sound of crickets begin to chirrup.
Elizabeth stared around at all of the eyes that, at some point, had all settled exclusively on her. “Think of me as heartless if you want to…God knows everyone else does. But don’t expect me to turn a blind eye when it comes to the conduct of male chauvinists like Ernest Denouement. If there’s one thing in this world that I refuse to tolerate, it’s the disrespect of women by men.”
Now that the dispute between Elizabeth Anwhistle and Ernest Denouement was no longer in full swing, the crowd of spectators began to reduce itself. Some students returned to the stage, while others sought out a place to sit in the rows of seats.
While small talk and casual conversation resumed, Jerome turned his full attention to Esmé. She hadn’t said one word since shouting at Ernest, which in turn had increased Jerome’s concern for her well-being. “Esmé?” When she didn’t respond, he simply tried again. “Esmé, what’s wrong?” When his second question failed to stimulate a reaction, he slowly ran his hands up and down her back. “It’s O.K., I understand. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t feel like it. But will you at least nod your head or something to let me know you’re all right?”
Dutifully, Esmé lifted her head. Jerome was taken aback by the amount of tears he saw sparkling in those big, blue eyes. Her dark mascara had smeared, making her look like a raccoon, while her foundation had paled to reveal her rarely seen freckles. This was the closest Jerome had ever come to seeing Esmé in her natural state. Despite her tears and the grim circumstances surrounding them, there was no denying that she looked more adorable and far more beautiful than ever. Why she chose to hide herself beneath all of those dreadful cosmetics was baffling! Even her blood red lipstick had smudged slightly to expose a hue indistinguishable to the pinkest pink rose.
“Darling,” Jerome said softly, feeling an explosion of joy in his heart as Esmé gave him a tiny but sincere smile. “Did what Ernest said really upset you
that much?”Esmé nodded slowly as two tears trickled down her cheeks. Jerome would have loved nothing more than to lean forward and kiss away those heartbroken tears. But it was still so early on in their relationship that he felt such a move would prove too audacious. Even though
Esmé had acted audaciously by referring to him as her ‘boyfriend’ in front of every freshman at the V.F.D. Training School. Now that he had earned that title, he felt he was worthy of certain privileges—privileges that included kissing the girl of his dreams. But, much like triple decker fudge cake on one’s birthday, cotton candy at a summer carnival, and fireworks on the Fourth of July, a first kiss is something to be anticipated and, ultimately, savored. Jerome had been dreaming of his first kiss ever since the tender age of eight, back when he’d first lain eyes on Stephanie Edwards. Like every other girl before Esmé, Stephanie had seen Jerome as no more than a friend. Nevertheless, Stephanie had been his first crush, and so the possibility that she might not feel the same way had failed to occur to him. Why would it when she never refused the ice creams he bought her during lunch period? Not to mention she was always so polite each time she asked to borrow a pencil from him. Jerome had never questioned Stephanie on the reasons why she never seemed to have any pencils of her own. It wasn’t so much the fact that he didn’t want to argue as it was his immense fondness for her that kept him from doing so. He had even begun keeping a few extra pencils in his desk, just for her. It was only natural that such a young and vulnerable boy like Jerome would assume that a young girl like Stephanie would share his feelings. Which was why he’d been so hurt and confused upon discovering she had a crush on another little boy.
“‘You’re sweet and everything,’” Stephanie said, after Jerome had found the courage to confess his true feelings. “‘But Linus Mumford can play the guitar. What can
you do?’”
“‘I can bake things,’” Jerome had answered proudly. “‘I have an Easy-Bake oven and can make all sorts of yummy desserts. Cupcakes, cookies, brownies, muffins…you name it. I’ll make you any dessert you want, Stephanie. All you have to do is be my girlfriend and let me kiss you sometimes.’”
“‘I already told you. I can’t be your girlfriend if I want Linus to be my boyfriend—and I
do.’”“‘But I…’” Jerome’s green eyes clouded over while his lower lip quivered simultaneously. “‘I love you.’”
“‘Jerome, please. I like you—just not in that way.’”
For the rest of the day Jerome had held in his tears. It was only when he found himself in the safety of his bedroom at the Squalor mansion that he’d let his feelings out. For the first time in three years, he’d refused the after-school snack his mother offered him. Cora, having always been able to read her eldest son like a book, had followed him upstairs to his room. But it was only when she heard him begin to bawl behind the closed door that she’d made her presence known by knocking. He’d bid her entrance, and spent the next forty minutes sobbing in her arms. Beating his small fists against his mother’s bosom, Jerome demanded over and over to know the reason why Stephanie Edwards didn’t love him.
“‘I’m afraid I don’t have the answer to that, my darling,’” Cora whispered into her son’s hair. “‘But perhaps it will help you to know that there are many other little boys and little girls who are just as lonely as you.’”
Although they weren’t exactly aboard the same boat as he, Cora’s words of comfort filled Jerome’s mind with thoughts of his two cousins. Tiago was twelve and Emma had just turned thirteen. Like their younger cousin, Tiago and Emma also attended Blue Melody Academy—though both had yet to enter the next stage of life known as courting. Tiago preferred to surround himself with friends who were girls but never any girlfriends, while Emma had yet to outgrow her ‘boys are icky’ phase. No one had suspected it would be shy little Jerome who would be the first among the three eldest Squalor cousins to express an interest in romance.
He could hardly believe, as he met the eyes of the girl wrapped so lovingly and protectively in his arms, that her affection for him was on the exact same level as that of his for her. At that moment, there were a million things Jerome wanted to say to Esmé. Things like how he’d been ready to settle for the idea that he’d never have a girlfriend and, quite possibly, never marry, right before she’d appeared in his life. Things like how beautiful and perfect she was, and that she shouldn’t listen to absurd fools like Ernest Denouement. But, like it always tended to do when he had too many thoughts he wanted to divulge, Jerome’s mind went blank. Yet he could tell by the thoughtful expression on Esmé’s sweet face that she understood everything he was failing to express vocally. It would be so easy for him to take hold of that little pointed chin, tilt back the head of lustrous, ebony waves, and plant on those puckered rosebud lips a kiss. A kiss filled with the same passion and warmth that filled his heart each time she smiled or gave him a hug.
But Jerome did no such thing. Not because it was too soon, he realized, but because he didn’t want them to become the speculation of all their friends and schoolmates. Just as family photographs, Easy-Bake Ovens, and the artistic creations of a favorite cousin are looked upon as sentimental treasures, so is a couple’s first kiss. Jerome knew that if he chose to kiss Esmé now, then it would become the object of gossip among every student at the V.F.D. Training School, and, as a result, lose much of its magic. Jerome would prefer, as he was sure Esmé would prefer, that their first kiss be an experience shared between just the two of them.
Then, and only then, would it be truly special.
***
The character of Uncle Simon is not mine, but May's, and I believe he was only mentioned in
A Tale of Three Friends, as opposed to physically appearing. He may or may not be making an appearance later on, in this story.