Chapter Thirteen
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It[/i] was the final week in July. Jerome stood before the parlor window, wishing he could see the colorful leaves detach themselves from the trees outside. Like an invisible broom, he imagined he saw a gust of wind capture the foliage and send it sweeping across the yard. Out of all the months, Jerome had always been fondest of autumn. He took pleasure in seeing the leaves change from plain green to red, to orange, to gold. He welcomed the cool breezes, which played like unseen fingers through his hair and tickled his cheeks.
A month had passed since his exam. In that time, he’d felt like a tree must in anticipation of autumn. Waiting for the weather to change and alter him in ways that would enable him to enter his next stage of life.
“Any day now,” Cora had said, each time the mail was delivered and no letter from the V.F.D. Training School turned up. “Any day now we’ll have our answer.”
Jerome only hoped that answer would contain good news. The exam hadn’t been as intricate as he’d anticipated, but still difficult. He realized halfway through that he should have skipped ahead to the essay questions. By the time he’d completed the multiple-choice, his eyes were strained and his brain felt as if it had turned to oatmeal. The only things to fuel his motivation were his thoughts of Esmé and the effect his failure would have on the both of them. Although he appreciated cheesy, romantic tales, he had never let himself believe in love at first sight. The idea was just too painful, for he didn’t want to believe in something that had the potential of remaining only a fantasy. But he couldn’t help but love Esmé the first time he saw her—she made it impossible not to. And he felt it safe to assume that she at least had feelings for him.
During the day, he carried the note she’d written him inside his pocket. At night, he slept with the slip of paper tucked safely away beneath his pillow. He had dreamed of her many times since their encounter at the Training School. He wasn’t like other boys, whose dreams of girls conveyed hidden desires of love-making. His dreams had predicted an innocent boy’s infatuation with a sweet girl. He’d dreamed of lying with her on a bed made of rainbow-colored marshmallows set in the middle of an enchanted forest. In between telling her how beautiful she was, and how she was everything he wanted in a girlfriend, he’d hugged and kissed her. She’d gone on to tell him honestly how handsome and adorable she thought chubby boys were. He awoke to the feeling of hot summer sunlight splashing across his face, only to find that he was blushing.
Jerome recorded his dreams of Esmé in a commonplace notebook he kept stashed underneath his mattress. The Snickets and Denouements all kept commonplace notebooks of their own; and so Jerome felt it only right that he did the same. The only thing different about his commonplace book was that he kept it hidden from everyone’s eyes but his own. He didn’t know what he’d do, or how he’d cope with the humiliation, if anyone ever read what was written in its pages. They were his own private thoughts and no one’s business but his own. Although he couldn’t keep himself from blushing each time he read the sincerely expressed words.
He was thinking of going for a walk—it was an unusually cool day outside, and besides, he felt he could benefit with a little exercise. He was just about to go retrieve his sneakers from his bedroom closet, when suddenly Cora burst into the parlor. She appeared breathless, for her hand was clasping her chest as one suffering a heart attack would do.
“Mother,” Jerome cried, terrified by the possibility of such a danger befalling his beloved mother. “Mother, are you all right?” He raced over to a small table on which there sat a telephone. He was prepared to use it if necessary. “Do you need me to call an ambulance?”
“If you’re going to call anyone, let it be your father. Just look at what has finally arrived!”
Until now, Jerome had failed to notice the envelope clutched in his mother’s right hand. Immediately he recognized the symbol stamped in the center of the round, blood-red seal melted onto the flap. Quickly he snatched the envelope from his mother’s outstretched hand. His own two hands trembled unsteadily, for he was mere seconds away from unmasking his future.
Cora sensed her son’s anxiety. “Would you rather I opened it for you, darling?”
Though he smiled appreciatively at the offer, Jerome shook his head. “Even if you did, Mother, it wouldn’t do my anxiety any good. The sooner I read the contents of this letter, the sooner I can put it behind me and get back to my life.”
Cora was about to retrieve the letter opener from the drawer of the small table. But before she had even extended her hand, Jerome was tearing into the envelope like a grizzly bear into a fresh fish. His heart beat wildly, almost painfully, against the wall of his chest, making him feel as though he’d swallowed a bird. He withdrew the piece of paper and slowly unfolded it. Below the V.F.D. eye insignia and the words ‘V.F.D. Training School’ was a neatly typed letter. He let the envelope fall to the floor unnoticed, and began to scan the contents of the letter.
He didn’t get any further than the first two lines, before lightheadedness overwhelmed him and he collapsed into a dead faint.
When next he came to, Jerome found himself laying face-up on the couch in the parlor. His mother was standing over him, her expression one of excitement as she clutched the letter in her hands.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
Jerome pressed the tips of his fingers to the back of his head, which was resting on a feather pillow. He winced, supposing he’d struck his head when he’d hit the floor. Apparently, the Oriental rug didn’t do as good a job at cushioning falls as it did feet.
“You poor dear. Shall I notify the doctor?”
But it wasn’t doctors or the dull pain in the back of his head that were of any interest to Jerome. It was the contents of the letter he had read prior to passing out. In fact, it was the first thing he’d thought of upon opening his eyes. “Mother, is what I read true?” If it wasn’t true, then he was fully prepared to burst into tears like a five-year-old. He was never ashamed to cry in front of anyone. Anyone except his father, who viewed weeping in men as ‘weak’ and ‘unmasculine’. But it would be another few hours before Maxwell Squalor returned from the office. If Cora had any news that was less than grand, then Jerome preferred she tell him now. That way, he could have his reaction and be done with it long before his father arrived.
Jerome had learned long ago that in hoping for the best, you were almost always setting yourself up for disappointment. When he was twelve, he had been in love with a girl named Madeline Weatherby who, at the time, was the prettiest girl he knew. She was in his home economics class, and was always asking him to help her measure out ingredients. Of course, being only twelve, he’d taken this as a sign that she’d liked him. Thus, he had inadvertently set himself up for an immense disappointment. It took him two weeks to seek the courage to ask her to the homecoming dance. Never had he been a member of Blue Melody’s football team, nor had he ever attended any of their games. He didn’t dance, either, but figured it the perfect alibi with which to ask Madeline out.
He had used his entire week’s allowance to purchase a single red rose, which he presented to her at the end of class a week before the dance. Then, speaking as clearly as he could despite his stutter, he asked the burning question. She blinked twice, looked at the rose, then at him, and laughed. Jerome’s round face went beat-root red, as he wondered what he had done wrong. She went on to explain that, although she found Jerome ‘very nice’, her interest in him did not extend that of a friend. Madeline Weatherby was the first in a number of girls who would shoot Jerome Squalor down. Although each time never failed to leave him feeling heartbroken, it also made him stronger.
Eventually he was able to stop worrying, and that, he assumed, was what paved the way for his encounter with Esmé Salinger. Sweet little Esmé, who was the perfect mix of beauty and compassion. She had hugged him goodbye that day in the courtyard following their exam, promising to do it again soon. Jerome had never known anyone who enjoyed hugging as much as Esmé did—or perhaps it was only
him she liked to hug. Either way, he felt incredibly blessed. He loved the warmth of her arms as they slipped around his neck, and the softness of her hair as it brushed his cheek.
But, more than anything, he loved
her. So much that he was convinced he’d go mad with grief if he couldn’t spend the next nine months experiencing the sensation of her small, warm hand in his.
Cora was stalling. The news was bad—it had to be, or else why wasn’t she saying anything? Still, Jerome had to know the truth. He was going to crack under the pressure if he didn’t get an honest answer from his mother in the next ten seconds. Of this he was sure. “Mother, did I really…”
“Yes!” Cora beamed, unfolding the letter once more and holding it up before his eyes. “Yes, darling, you made it! You got in!”
“I…I got…I got
in? Really?” Jerome was quick to rebound from his minor injury. He sat up and snatched the letter from his mother’s hands. He was determined to prove to himself that what he’d read only minutes before was more than wishful thinking.
“‘Dear Mr. Squalor,’” he read. Although he did not stutter, his voice trembled unsteadily. “‘Your score on the recent nationwide entrance exam of 1700 points in total has shown that you are eligible for studentship at the V.F.D. Training School. Therefore, it is with great pleasure that we welcome you to the academy. We hope to see you at orientation on the 21st of September at 2:00 P.M. With all due respect, Vice Principal Steerpike.’”
Jerome didn’t bother to comment on how the affability of the letter seemed greatly out of context for someone like Steerpike. After what Jerome and his friends had seen of him, cordiality was most definitely not the vice principal’s most commendable feature. Perhaps Steerpike had gotten his son to write the letter instead. Although he had met Nero for only a moment, Jerome felt it long enough to form an opinion of the young man. An opinion that was positive in every sense. Nero had probably salvaged the future careers of Esmé Salinger and Jerome Squalor by warning them of Steerpike’s imminent presence. Jerome smiled to himself, for it was the noblest thing anyone had ever done for him.
Cora clasped her hands together and pressed them to her breast. “Oh…oh, my! But I’ve only just realized how very much we have to do! We have to buy your books, and take you to be fitted for your uniform, and a hundred other things I’m in too much of a tizzy to think of right now!”
Jerome couldn’t help but be amused by the way her excitement seemed to be overriding his own. “Mother, calm down. We have a month, right? We’ll get all that done in plenty of time before school starts.”
“I should call your Aunt Eloise. She went through the same thing when your cousin got accepted to the academy. If anyone can offer advice on how to get things done in a limited amount of time, she can.”
“Well, if you think you can go more than five minutes without arguing with her…”
Cora Squalor may have been passive when it came to her husband, but she was not above arguing with his sister-in-law. Eloise was married to Buddy Squalor, Maxwell’s elder brother. It was quite the pity that Eloise and Cora had never gotten along well with the other. Their inability to connect as in-laws made it impossible to assemble at family reunions and during holidays together. This had presented even more of a problem for Jerome during his childhood. He was very close with Eloise’s son, who was four years older, and whose company was not only that of a brother, but a mentor, to Jerome and Andrew.
“Why don’t you just ask Tiago?” Jerome suggested, referring to his cousin. “Surely if anyone else knows, he would.”
“Tiago is out of the country on official V.F.D. business. He won’t be back until sometime after Christmas.”
“What about Emma?” Emma was Jerome’s favorite cousin. She was also the daughter of Seymour Squalor, Maxwell’s other brother. Buddy was the twin brother of Seymour, who had died in a fire when Emma was ten.
“She’s gone along with him.”
“Oh.”
Jerome pouted. For as long as Tiago had been an adult, and for as long as Jerome had known Emma, they had always spent reunions and holidays together. Tiago, who lived nearby, had spent Christmas morning with his family, then drove across town to the Squalor mansion. Jerome always delighted in seeing his cousins, for both were filled with tales of their experiences in V.F.D. Even Andrew would grow wide-eyed, as he sat beside his brother and enjoyed being entertained. Tiago and Emma were always happy to show their cousins the tattoo of an eye on their respective ankles. They’d gotten the tattoos at a time when such things were still a requirement of the organization. Then one day, Andrew announced that, once he grew up, would get a tattoo as well, whether or not they were essential to the organization. Tiago (who, when not volunteering, worked as a freelance artist), had even made Andrew his own collection of temporary tattoos. This had pleased the youngster immensely, and for an entire year he went around sporting an extra eye. Sometimes it was on his ankle, while others it was on his arm, the palms of his hands, his kneecaps, and various other places in between.
“I certainly hope your father isn’t planning to stay late at the office again tonight,” remarked Cora, breaking Jerome away from his current thoughts. “It’s very important that he be here to help us celebrate your success.”
Jerome didn’t comment on how his father’s frequent absence at mealtimes seemed to concern his mother more than it did him. Perhaps it had at one time, but now that Jerome had achieved what he’d set out to do, he no longer felt so affected. He would be going away soon, anyway, to a place where all his worries would be on his schoolwork. He no longer needed to worry himself over being liked by his peers, or finding a girlfriend. For these were things he’d gained before even stepping into a classroom.
Like the colors of the leaves in autumn, Jerome’s life was finally starting to change. Change. It was a scary notion, but one he was prepared to face with the courage, hope, and motivation that had been right there beside him all along. All he’d needed was a way to bring it to the surface.