Chapter Nine
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Jerome[/i] Squalor’s day of destiny arrived sooner than he’d expected—and much quicker than he would have preferred. His exam was scheduled for precisely four o’clock on Thursday afternoon at the V.F.D. Training School.
The school itself was sited in a remote area of the Mortmain Mountains, far from the prying eyes of those unassociated with the organization. Two weeks prior, a volunteer disguised as a mailman had delivered to the Squalors directions to the school. While Cora could just as easily have obtained them herself from the Snickets, a personal delivery of such importance to the families of new and potential students was one of the academy’s strictest rules.
It would be a month before Jerome learned whether or not he had been accepted into the V.F.D. Training School. But today would be the first step, and he hoped to receive some sort of idea on how well he did during the exam. He couldn’t bear the thought of failing and disappointing his father. A failure which would surely send him toppling back into the void of low self esteem, where he’d been just one month earlier.
For the first time in his life, Jerome didn’t feel in the least bit hungry. His stomach was in knots, and his mind swam with thoughts of disappointments—disappointment for himself, and disappoint for himself by his family. He politely declined the pancakes his mother had prepared for him, explaining that he didn’t trust himself not to ruin the upholstery of his father’s Mercedes.
“Don’t worry,” Cora said, and pushed the plate topped with four pancakes toward her son. “If anything of the sort
does occur, then we’ll be prepared.”
Jerome had been hoping that all of the added stress would help stabilize what had always been his ravenous appetite. But it had merely stayed the same—just another thing for him to feel he’d failed at if he didn’t pass this exam.
“Just have a little.” Cora passed her son the syrup, hoping that would encourage him to eat a little something. “It’s important to keep your energy level up so that your brain may function.”
Maxwell was accompanying his family to the mountains, if only to give the impression that he cared about his child’s education. In all respect, this was very true; but he also cared about making money, as well as things that had nothing to do with money—things that lay more along the lines of private pleasures.
Noisily he rustled his newspaper, which Cora had requested only once not be read during mealtimes. Her husband—unsurprisingly—had blatantly ignored her request, but of course, she wasn’t about to argue with him.
“Oh, Cora, stop
badgering the boy! If he says he isn’t hungry, then what’s the use of trying to change his mind? He’ll eat when he’s ready.”
Feeling somewhat debased by being scolded like a child by her husband in front of their sons, Cora slid down into her seat. She wanted to cry, but it wasn’t the effect Maxwell’s words had had on her that made her feel this way. Not really, anyway. It was more in connection with the fact that the exam that would shape the future of her eldest son—and, later on, her youngest. While Cora had no trouble believing that Andrew would zip right through the exam when his time came, she was worried about Jerome. The exam was eight hours away, and already he was panicking. She hated herself for believing that all he’d have to show in the end for his hard work was a broken heart and his father’s loss of respect for him. She couldn’t bear to see Jerome go back to being the insecure, reticent boy he had been before all this. He was brighter than his behavior led on—he simply had a difficult time expressing himself. It was a shame that not everyone was as patient with him as Cora was, or the Snickets, or Esmé Salinger. If people only gave Jerome a chance to open up, then they would be amazed by just how wonderful he was.
“If Jerome doesn’t want his pancakes,” Andrew spoke up, “then
I’ll eat them.”
“Here,” said Jerome, pushing his plate and the syrup across the table to Andrew. “Take them all. I think I’ll have a banana instead.”
Happy to see her son making an effort to be reasonable, Cora passed him the bowl of mixed fruit in the center of the table. Jerome plucked from the bowl the largest banana, while Andrew scarfed down his brother’s uneaten pancakes.
~
The journey up to the Mortmain Mountains had been about as monotonous as one of Maxwell Squalor’s business meetings. That is, until Andrew started feeling ill and his father had to pull over or risk the ruin of his leather upholstery. Andrew wasn’t prone to carsickness. But he
had eaten six pancakes at breakfast, and the continuous jolts in the mountainous roads weren’t agreeing with him. Cora had brought along a trash bin for emergencies, but Maxwell was convinced that one of the curves in the road would cause the bin to tip over. He tried not to express annoyance each time Andrew cried out, “Father, I’m going to be sick!” This occurred a total of three times, the third being just as the peak of the Training School was coming up in front of them.
“Maxwell, we’ve nearly arrived,” Cora said, “and Andrew isn’t feeling well. Must you force him out of the car each time he feels ill?”
Maxwell clamped his hands forcibly around the steering wheel and sighed heavily before answering. “What I choose to do is nothing against Andrew. I simply don’t want to spend the next six months driving a car with an odor equivalent to someone’s hospital room.”
“Father—” Jerome started, as Andrew prepared to heave again.
“It’s only a
car.” Cora’s voice was becoming less timid, Jerome noticed. “You can have it cleaned.”
“That is not the point, Cora. Even if I
were to have it cleaned, the stench would continue to linger. What if I want to sell one day? Do you honestly think anyone will want to buy a car that smells like—”
“Mother—”
“He is your
son, Maxwell. How can you compare your son to your car?”
“I’m not comparing him to
anything. I’m simply referring to the idea that—”
A horrible sound echoed from the backseat, as Andrew disposed of the last of his pancakes. He didn’t make a mess of anything other than the trash bin. But the odor that filled the Mercedes afterward required everyone to roll down their windows.
“May I have a drink of water?” he asked. It was his customary request every time he had finished being ill.
Before Andrew had even made the appeal, his brother was reaching for a container of bottled water in a six-pack between the seats. Smiling warmly Jerome handed the water to Andrew, who grinned faintly before unscrewing the cap and taking a small sip.
“Don’t worry, dear,” Cora assured her younger son from the front seat. “We’re almost there. When we arrive, we’ll see about getting you a place to rest while your brother takes his exam.”
A burst of panic surged through Jerome at the mention of his exam, and he turned his face toward the window. He set his focus on the tall fir trees that lined either side of the dirt path, dismissing all thoughts of potential failure.
The remainder of the drive passed uneventfully. As the Squalors pulled up to the pair of metal gates adjacent to the V.F.D. Training School, Andrew announced he was ready for lunch.
“Mother, are there any Anxious Clown restaurants nearby? I’m starving for a cheeseburger.”
“Perhaps, but it would require us to drive all the way back down the mountain. Furthermore, I’m not so sure it’s wise to consume such a heavy meal when you’ve only just gotten over being ill. You’d fare much better with some soup and soda crackers.”
“I hate soup.”
It wasn’t like Andrew to argue with his mother, or anyone for that matter, unless he desperately wanted something. Apparently, he had every intention of getting his hamburger, regardless of what anyone else had to say about it.
“The cafeteria here is sure to have hamburgers. Ones that are much better than those served at the Anxious Clown,” remarked Jerome, who hated that particular fast-food joint. He didn’t know
why his brother insisted upon injecting such grease-covered junk into his body. Then again, Jerome supposed he wasn’t one to talk, considering he ate pancakes nearly every morning for breakfast.
Jerome had seen photographs of the V.F.D. Training School, but he hadn’t expected it to be as impressive as it was. At the end of a long, cemented path the building stood proudly, with mountains jutting up from behind the roofs. The school itself was constructed out of brick (
All the better in case of fire, Jerome reflected) and stood a full three-stories high. It was comprised of three chimneys—none of which were in use, what with it being the start of September—and a pair of large double doors.
The lawn appeared to have been recently mowed and was unusually green, considering the large number of surrounding trees. Jerome assumed there must be some sort of chemical in the fertilizer used to give it a tint so similar to that of his eyes. He longed to run through the gates and throw himself down on the grass, to feel its smooth texture against his skin as he rolled about. Perhaps he would have, if it weren’t for the presence of his father. Maxwell was always after his sons to behave like gentlemen at all times. If that rule was broken, then there were punishments to face—many of them severe.
Maxwell linked his arm through his wife’s, and escorted his family through the gates leading to the V.F.D. Training School.
Andrew skipped contentedly along ahead of his parents and brother, whistling a merry tune. That is, until his father snapped at him to “Stop that infernal conduct before someone sees you!” As a result Andrew’s pace dropped to a slow rhythm, and his head lowered as abashment overcame him.
Both Jerome and his mother commiserated with Andrew, who appeared to have become the object of Maxwell’s annoyance. Jerome and Cora hoped this to be a temporary incidence—nothing more than a flaring temper triggered by the unfortunate events of the day.
The first thing Jerome noticed when they arrived at the pair of doors was the familiar ornament adorning the wall above them. It was a metal carving, one made to resemble a large eye…an eye he’d seen many a time on mail sent by the academy. As he entered with his family through the doors, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise. It was as if the spurious eye were forming what would be each student’s and every teacher’s impression of him.
Jerome shook off the thought as he and his family found themselves standing at the end of a wide, open hallway. Lining the right side were a row of classrooms, while to the left were a chain of lockers painted a sickly green color. At the end of the hallway was a door marked ‘Library’. To the right and located a few feet away were a pair of doors that looked as though they led outside. Across from them and to the far left of the library was a flight of stairs leading up to the second floor.
“The letter we received stated that anyone taking the exam is required to go straight to the auditorium,” Cora informed Jerome, “which is upstairs.”
“Do you have the map of the school, Mother?”
“Yes.” She started to reach into her purse. “But why—”
“I think I’d like to try and find it on my own.”
“Are you sure about that, dear? You’ve never been here before. What if you get lost?”
“I won’t get lost. I’ll have the map.”
“But—”
“Oh, Cora, let him figure out for himself where he needs to be,” Maxwell practically flared. “He isn’t an infant, so for God’s sake stop
treating him like one.”
Although Jerome appreciated his father taking his side for once, he felt the situation could do without Maxwell’s harsh criticisms. Jerome felt so sorry for his poor mother and brother, both of whom seemed to have become Maxwell’s punching bags since breakfast. Jerome was exhausted from the drive himself, but at least he knew enough to keep a civil tongue.
“Is that what you want, Jerome?” Cora asked. Her blue eyes swam with a declaration that told him any answer he gave would be met with her approval.
He nodded once and said, “Yes, Mother.”
Her face softened. “Well, all right, then. I guess we’ll see you after the exam.”
“We’ll be outside,” Maxwell added. “Good luck, son.”
“Thank you, Father.”
“Break a leg, Jerome,” quipped Andrew.
Jerome chuckled. “I will, Andrew.”
“Just remember, darling,” said Cora as she placed the map carefully in his hand. “No matter what happens, your family is always proud of you.”
“Thank you, Mother.”
She gave her son a hug, while his father merely presented him with a nod of encouragement. Andrew waved, and it was only then that Jerome found the courage to face the stairs. As he mounted them, he prayed that when he came back down again, that he would feel like a winner.