A/N: This is yet another chapter that requires proper credit. This time it goes to my friend, JTB. About a year ago, he gave me permission to incorporate an idea from
The Finest Hour (a very lovely and extremely well-written fanfiction that I encourage anyone who hasn't yet to read) into my future stories. So, I've decided to include it here. The inspiration required some minor tweaking on my part, but the idea itself is still J's.
I can't say for sure what it is without spoiling anything, but he and anyone familiar with
Finest Hour will have no trouble recognizing it.
Chapter Eleven
Presuming it was Beatrice, Jerome and the others were surprised—and even a bit startled—to see instead a middle-aged man. The left side of his face was concealed by a white mask with a single hole through which one of two beady eyes peered. Jerome thought vaguely of the title character in Geston Leroux’s
Phantom of the Opera. The man was as tall as he was wide, with big shoulders that balanced out his muscled forearms. He held his head high, as if he believed that doing so exhibited great authority over his potential students. His dark gray hair was long and had been pulled back in a ponytail, revealing one half of his square-shaped face. His beady eyes were matched by a nose that was long and hooked like a vulture’s.
The man in the white mask was followed closely by another man, one who did not wear a mask, or attempt to hide his face in any way. This second man could not have been more than nineteen or twenty at best, and sported four short pigtails. Unlike the other man, however, this second man walked with his head bowed down. It was as if his intention was to hide himself from the world—something Jerome himself could easily relate to. The young man raised his head only once, his eyes locking briefly with Jerome’s. The young man had a round, pasty face and small, dark eyes that reminded Jerome of the pet mouse he’d had as a child. In the center of the man’s face was a nose that resembled none other than a small cherry tomato.
When the pair passed Jerome’s row, he shrank back in his seat to avoid the older man’s glare. Jerome felt like he had when he’d first entered the school, the thought of being watched causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand straight up. The way the eye moved behind the man’s mask caused Jerome’s level of discomfort to rise, and he slid a few inches lower in his seat.
The two men had not yet reached the platform before the stage when a third party stole quietly through the back doors of the auditorium. It was a girl Jerome knew well, and he nodded as she pressed a finger to her lips to guarantee his silence. He watched her crouch down low and keep to the shadows, making her way down the aisle to his row. It wasn’t until the girl had settled down into the seat directly behind Lemony that Jerome dared to mouth the words, “Hello, Beatrice.”
Beatrice smiled, and waved in Jerome’s direction. Lemony, who was an expert at reading lips, went wide-eyed before looking right, left, then up, and, finally, behind him. Jerome watched the couple kiss and then pivoted in order to give them privacy.
“Welcome,” thundered the voice of the older man through a microphone attached to the platform he now occupied, “to the V.F.D. Training School.” Jerome took note of how the man’s booming voice complemented his massive size. “I am Vice Principal Steerpike. In a few minutes you will all be embarking on a quest that will determine your futures as volunteer firefighters. Though many of you will pass, there are those of you who will fail—and some miserably at that. Here, ladies and gentlemen”—and here he gestured to his companion, who stood beside him like a loyal canine—“is an example of a failure. May I introduce my son, Nero. Ah, yes.
He had the potential to follow in my footsteps as a great football player. But instead he chose to play the violin. He practiced and practiced, but never did he improve. Unfortunately, his commitment to the violin eventually caused permanent injury to his wrist. Now, he can’t do anything.”
Jerome and the others all looked at each other, shocked that someone could dispense such cruelty to their child. Maxwell may not have been the most loving parent, but he would never humiliate Jerome publicly; let alone before a crowd of hundreds! It was true that Maxwell had never acknowledged his son’s prosperity in home economics, but never had he called him worthless. Jerome couldn’t imagine just how awful that must be to realize. His eyes shifted to Nero, who still occupied his original place, his head lowered. It was easy to imagine the young man’s face was now as red as his nose.
“My God,” R whispered, her delicate hand pressed to her small mouth. “What sort of twisted person would
say such awful things?”
“A damned ogre, that’s who!” flared Bertrand under his breath. “I’ve got half a mind to go up there right now and show that Steerpike exactly how I feel about his parenting skills…”
“You’d also have half your limbs missing,” Dewey whispered, “once he’s through with you. Just look at the
size of that guy! He’d take you out with one hit.”
“Well, it isn’t
right to criticize your child the way Steerpike did Nero,” Kit remarked. “That’s the trouble with people like him. They want everyone around them to be perfect, when in reality nobody is.”
“It makes you wonder what he’s got hiding behind that mask of his,” Jacques said.
“Poor Nero,” murmured Esmé, who sounded as though she might cry. Jerome put his arm around her and let her rest her head on his shoulder.
“Nero?” Jacques repeated. “What about us?
We’re the ones who are going to suffer, even if we
do manage to pass our exams. Can you imagine how it’s gonna be for the next nine months? Having to live under the constant watchful eye of Vice Principal Steerpike?”
“Maybe he’s only that way when it comes to his son,” suggested Beatrice, although her tone suggested she sympathized with Nero on the same level as her friends. “Maybe we’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“Still,” Lemony chimed in, “it’s distressing to see someone publicly humiliated like that. I wonder if it’s something Steerpike does to Nero during every assembly.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” sighed Bertrand, throwing his feet over the chair in front of him as he leaned back in his seat. “I could see exactly what Steerpike was the moment he walked through those doors.”
“Sshh,” Kit hissed, and signaled with her hand toward the platform. “He’s saying something else now.”
“All exams shall be held in the downstairs classrooms. Each of you will be sorted according to your surnames. So be sure to check the letters on the doors upon entry.”
“Isn’t it wonderful, Jerome?” Esmé gushed. Jerome was pleased to see that her happiness had rejuvenated itself in the form of a dazzling smile on her pretty face. “Because we’ll be sharing a classroom, we’ll get to sit next to each other!” She giggled and covered her mouth, burying her face in his chest.
Besides being reunited with Esmé, this was the best news Jerome had heard all day. No longer feeling so shy, he responded to this recent information and her action by throwing his arms around her.
“I wonder what Steerpike’s plans are for sorting students into the classrooms,” Lemony said. “If it’s going to be A through Z, or ABC through XYZ.”
“I counted eighteen classrooms when we came in,” Kit said. “So you, Jacques, Jerome, Esmé, me and probably Beatrice will all end up together.”
“What luck! This means Dewey and I get to be alone,” Bertrand joked. He made to wrap his arm around Dewey, who shoved him away.
“Just make sure not to mistake me for one of my brothers,” Dewey advised. “I’ve got one who’s liable to rip your arm clear out of its socket if you do that.”
“He’s referring to Ernest,” R clarified. “Don’t worry, he’s easy to spot. He looks exactly like Dewey. Except his hair is shorter and he sports a perpetual frown.”
“Exactly like Dewey, shorter hair, perpetual frown. Got it,” Bertrand said.
“They’re the only ways to separate Ernest from his brothers. Frank’s a little harder, since he and Dewey both have long hair. But Frank doesn’t mind being mistaken for him.”
Vice Principal Steerpike ended the assembly by instructing everyone to go straight to their assigned classrooms. “No one is permitted to loiter the hallways once you’ve entered your assigned classroom,” he warned. “If you are caught doing so, then you will be penalized by not being permitted to take the exam. Nor will you be given another chance. Your parents will be notified and a permanent ban from V.F.D. shall result.”
“He’s kidding,” Dewey said worriedly, and looked around at his friends for confirmation. “Please tell me he’s kidding.”
Lemony slowly shook his head. “I don’t think he is, Dew.”
Jerome swallowed hard. Where had he been? For years he’d believed it was
his father who’d been overly demanding, when all along it was someone else’s. Vice Principal Steerpike was the type who made someone like Maxwell Squalor take on the persona of a saint! How in the world Jerome was going to make it through the year (considering he passed the exam) caused his anxiety to skyrocket. The thought of what Steerpike would do if Jerome stepped just once out of line was going to be constantly on his mind. How was he going to live each day when he was constantly thinking about the possibility of failure?
“Jerome?”
Jerome had been so distracted by his reflections that he didn’t realize the group had moved out into the hallway. People were rushing past him left and right, eager to locate their classrooms and avoid Steerpike’s punishments. Jerome looked to his right, and down to see Esmé staring up at him with wide, concerned eyes.
“Jerome, is something wrong?”
He didn’t think Andrew had mentioned his elder brother’s anxiety to Esmé at the Veritable French Diner. Jerome wasn’t accustomed to talking about his disorder, nor did he care to make it the topic of any conversation. In particular those exchanged with Esmé. And so he nodded earnestly, smiling to assure her that all was as it should be.
She responded by inching closer to him. With a natural, feminine poise she shyly laced her arms through his and then brought her head to his shoulder. At any other point in time, he would have found this sort of behavior forward and let it scare him off. But not with Esmé. When he was with Esmé, Jerome felt at ease with a world he sometimes felt he didn’t belong in. She made him feel whole, as if he were a puzzle and she the missing piece he needed to complete himself.
When they got downstairs, everyone was pleased to discover that Lemony’s XYZ theory had proven correct. The friends wished each other good luck, and then Bertrand headed off with the Denouement cousins. Consequently, Jerome and Esmé turned in the opposite direction and into their own assigned classroom with the Snickets and Beatrice.
The space was filling up quite rapidly, but even so the acquaintances were able to locate six empty desks near the windows. While Jerome, Lemony, and Jacques seated themselves at their desks Esmé, Kit, and Beatrice made themselves comfortable on the window ledge.
“It’s hard to believe, isn’t it,” Beatrice said, “that after all these years, we’re finally getting the chance to follow in our parents’ footsteps.”
“I only learned about the organization last year,” Esmé explained. “If it wasn’t for my guardian, then I wouldn’t know what V.F.D. even stood for.”
“I wish we didn’t have to wait a month to find out the results of our exams,” Kit sighed. “I honestly don’t know
how I’m going to handle the pressure.”
“Typically my answer to that would be to pull out your hair,” Jacques quipped. “But we all know how proud you are of it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you have even one hair out of place.”
“It’s the only thing you seem to care about more than your grades, sis,” Lemony added.
“Oh, no,” said Esmé, and all five redirected their attention to her.
“What is it?” Jerome asked, reaching forward to draw her hands into his.
Esmé shook her head and then repositioned it to the side so that only Jerome could see her. She sniffled loudly. At first he thought the sympathy she’d expressed for Nero back inside the auditorium had at last come to the surface. But then her eyelashes—long, dark lashes that resembled feather dusters—began to flutter, and she emitted a sharp, gasping breath. Its sound suggested she had just emerged from having spent the last five minutes under water without the proper diving equipment. Esmé sniffed again, and Jerome felt her begin to struggle in his grip. Reluctantly he let go of her hands, watching as she reached up to rub forcibly at her nose.
She was still sniffling as she lowered her hands to her lap. He was preparing to offer her his handkerchief, when something happened to distract him from asking the question. She sneezed. Not once, not twice, but
three times in a row. Each sound was sweeter and more enchanting than the last, like birds singing on the first day of spring. To witness such a thing made Jerome’s heart flutter as he stared agape at Esmé, whose own face was now as crimson as a rose.
“So, what are you?” Jacques asked her. “Some kind of expert animal impersonator? If you hadn’t been sitting right here, I could’ve sworn there was a mouse scampering about!” He laughed. Not cruelly, but in a way that could be interpreted as such by someone whose sensitivity is especially fragile.
Along with the others, Jerome quickly learned this to be true of Esmé. They watched her throw herself off the window ledge and begin racing toward the door. Jerome called to her, but the only answer he received was the strident slam of the door as she escaped into the hallway.
Roughly, Lemony elbowed his brother. “Nice going, Jackie Chan!”
Jacques stared at Lemony, allegedly ignorant of the effect his words had had on Esmé. “What are you yelling at
me for?
I didn’t do anything!”
“Oh, yeah? Thanks to your little one-man stunt, Esmé might get kicked out of V.F.D. before she’s even been accepted.”
“Lemony’s right,” Kit said, and motioned with her head toward Jerome. “If that happens, it’s gonna be
your head on Jerome’s plate.”
“Enough with the cultural references, you two,” Jacques said. “I get it. I’ll go talk to her.”
“My God, Jacques,” Beatrice said. “Out of all the guys I know, you’re the one I’d expect would know the most about the personalities of women. When someone embarrasses us, or hurts us, the one responsible is the
last person we want to talk to.”
“Besides,” added Kit with another of her sly smiles, “I think this type of situation calls for a
special type of guy.” She winked at Jerome, who smiled shyly.
“Well, whatever you plan to do,” Lemony replied, “you’d better do it quickly, before someone catches Esmé and reports back to Steerpike.”
“Steerpike,” Beatrice muttered. “What an unfortunately appropriate name.”
“I wonder what his first name could be,” Jacques said.
“Caligula,” Kit suggested. Everyone excluding Jerome laughed.
“I’m gonna go find Esmé,” he announced, and rose from his desk. “If we don’t return, don’t come looking for us.”
“You make it sound as though you’re leaving for your execution,” Lemony commented.
In a way I am. And, in a way, Jerome was correct. To be caught hanging about the hallway was the very equivalent of capital punishment. He had worked too long and hard to lose everything, but even success couldn’t compete with his feelings for Esmé. Feelings that had merely intensified when she’d embraced him in front of all their friends. She was the type of girl he could see himself falling in love with, and who he had already begun to fall in love with. And if love meant risking one’s own future, then he was prepared to accept the consequences of whatever followed.