Chapter Twenty-Two
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When[/i] they reached the lunch line, Jerome and Esmé were pleased to discover the Snicket triplets standing alongside Beatrice Taylor, Dewey Denouement, and Elizabeth Anwhistle. But the couple’s happiness soon proved to be as fleeting as it was blissful.
For the sextet was accompanied by none other than Ernest Denouement.
And yet there was something amiss about the terrible triplet. Jerome couldn’t put his finger on it, but Ernest seemed different. It wasn’t the absence of arrogance in his face, or that he had combed his hair since his appearance in Miss Winfield’s homeroom. No. It was more like the soul of another had crossed the threshold of Ernest’s physical form, and entered into his emotional state of being.
Thinking that perhaps he was allowing his imagination—as well as his obsessive behaviors—to run amuck, Jerome turned with Esmé to their friends, all of whom set about welcoming them with open arms. Among this gracious assemblage was Elizabeth, whose opinion of Jerome had not yet been made clear. Smiling warmly at him and Esmé, Elizabeth said, “I’m delighted by this chance to make your acquaintances again.”
“Yes,” Jerome replied, a bit bewildered but no less smitten with Elizabeth’s aberrant gesture of affection. “Yours, too.”
“Jerome,” Dewey cut in, and reached one lanky arm around Elizabeth, who let out a grunt of objection at having been interrupted, “Esmé.” Tugging Ernest forward, Dewey either failed to notice or chose to ignore Elizabeth’s tetchiness. “I don’t believe either of you know my brother, Frank.”
Jerome’s memories backtracked over the day’s events, to the group’s encounter with Ernest in the auditorium. Dewey had mentioned something about there being a third Denouement, though Jerome couldn’t recall any names. At the time, he had been too preoccupied with consoling Esmé, who’d been in tears over Ernest’s callousness, and by the awe of Elizabeth’s explosiveness, to acknowledge his surroundings.
Like Ernest, Frank bared an uncanny resemblance to Dewey. Strongest of all was Dewey’s own pleasant smile, which shone like a promising ray of hope upon Frank’s thin face. Ernest’s smile was about as promising as a gray storm cloud, closing over a clear blue sky on a bright summer’s day. How Dewey, Frank, and R could be related to such an odious person was a mystery. A mystery, Jerome determined as Frank shook his hand and then Esmé’s, that was as ambiguous as the formula that gave green Jell-O its color.
“I take it from your expressions that you’ve already had the displeasure of meeting our brother,” Frank said, heeding Esmé’s astonished gasp.
“Yes,” Elizabeth muttered. “It was a most unfortunate event.”
“It was
awesome!” Jacques corrected emphatically. “You should’ve
seen her, Frank, the way she stood up to Ernest! Until today, I’d never met him. All I knew was that he wasn’t a very nice guy. And I was right! The second he started in on Jerome and Esmé, Elizabeth let him have it. She was
smoking out there—and I don’t mean those cigarettes with the long holders, like Mrs. Squalor’s mother smokes.”
“I’m dreadfully sorry Ernest’s behavior forced you to result to such drastic measures,” Frank went on, speaking directly to Elizabeth now. “Please. Allow me to apologize on his behalf by treating you all to lunch. It’s the least I can do. If I’d known he was off causing you all such distress, you can be sure I would have put a stop to it at once.”
All misgivings Jerome had regarding the triplet’s sincerity were—as was his mother’s solution to everything her husband did that she didn’t approve of—quickly swept under the carpet. Elizabeth, on the other hand, was less than trusting. “Thanks,” she said, her voice indicating no appreciation whatsoever. Jerome thought he even sensed a spark of vulnerability shrouded beneath that stone-hard tone. “But I don’t need a man to fight my battles for me.”
“It’s true!” Jacques’ enthusiasm was that of someone who has, after many years of pining away, finally met their childhood idol. Jerome wondered if Jacques might not show up for the first day of classes in a t-shirt under his uniform that read, ‘Number One Groupie of Elizabeth Anwhistle’. Though from where he would produce such a garment on such short notice Jerome had absolutely no idea.
Sensing his lips start to tremble Jerome watched Elizabeth, whose uneasy smile betrayed her feelings, step to the side, creating a gap between herself and Jacques. Motioning to Esmé, she said, “If you’d like, you’re welcome to go ahead of me.”
Esmé blinked, her Cupid’s bow mouth hanging open in amazement. It was as though Elizabeth was the first person to ever offer her something in return for nothing. “A—are you sure?” Esmé asked, her angel’s voice shaking uncertainly.
“What about Jerome?” Lemony asked Elizabeth. “If Esmé takes the spot in front of you, then Jerome will be all alone at the end of the line. If you ask me, that hardly seems like a reasonable offer.”
“No he won’t,” Jacques corrected. “He’s more than welcome to my place in line. What say you, Jerome?”
Before Jerome could so much as consider Jacques’ offer, Elizabeth spun on Lemony. “Well, I
didn’t ask you!” It was her abrupt switch in attitude, rather than the accusing finger she pointed at him, that caused the triplet to recoil. His reaction left those around them with the impression that Elizabeth’s bark was surely as fierce as her bite. “Besides,” she added evenly, and Jerome was struck by the possibility that she suffered from some kind of undiagnosed mood disorder, “it’s up to
Esmé to decide if she wishes for Jerome to join her. If there’s one thing I don’t make a habit of, it’s in telling others what to do.”
“She sure doesn’t have a problem speaking her mind, though, does she?” Dewey murmured under his breath. Though the words themselves came off sounding slightly critical, Dewey’s attitude was a fanfare of respect. Although he was close enough to whisper his answer into the other boy’s ear, Jerome did not trust in himself to circumvent Elizabeth’s wrath.
Just as he had done a thousand times before whenever a similar situation arose, he took an alternate, much less taxing route, and nodded at the triplet.
“You
bet I want Jerome to join me!” Esmé exclaimed, her voice rising to a high-pitched squeak at the end. Seizing hold of both her boyfriend’s hands, she celebrated by doing what could only be referred to as a bounce and a jig.
Lemony, who seemed to have made a full recovery from his brush with a fury as terrifying as any pirate’s, unleashed an impressed whistle. “Is that your answer to
everything that makes you happy?”
Realizing the consequences of what she’d done, Esmé let her arms fall to her sides and dropped her gaze to the floor. “I don’t know.” She shrugged, undoubtedly too embarrassed to meet Lemony’s eyes or those of their friends. This included Jerome, who for the first time found himself questioning if there indeed existed someone even more self-conscious than he. “It wasn’t something I planned on. It was more of an impulse than anything else. I just…” She dropped her head a fraction lower, so that one of her pigtails brushed across the front of her shoulder.
“Nice going, Lem,” Jacques admonished.
“Yeah,” Kit said. “It looks like you’ve uncovered yet another area for which you have a flair.”
“Is that so?” Lemony’s tone seeped with more curiosity than defensiveness. “Well, then, dear sister. Enlighten us.”
Kit smiled, as if she were as pleased by this challenge as a cat sunning itself by a window. “I was referring to your hidden talent for bringing unwanted attention to another’s discomfort.”
“I’m sure he didn’t mean it that way,” Beatrice defended.
“I’m fine,” Esmé insisted, her eyes still contemplating the surface beneath her. “I
know Lemony didn’t mean to insult me, and he didn’t anyway, so you can all stop speculating.” Before anyone else could comment, Jerome found himself being dragged by Esmé into the available space between Elizabeth and Jacques. It was a tight squeeze, and required those on either side of Jerome and Esmé to spread out.
“Hey!” someone near the back of the line shouted in a shrill, lofty voice. “No cuts!”
Jerome barely missed being smacked in the face by Elizabeth’s hair, as she whirled about to confront the voice. “Meddling wench! If I choose to give up my spot in line to someone, that’s
my business. In the meantime, you’d be well advised to stay
out of it.”
“Some of us have been standing here for just as long if not longer than you have. In dealing out cuts, you’re denying those behind you their daily vitamins. If being accountable for the malnutrition of half the school is what you want, then you
deserve to wait at the end of the line!”
“She didn’t give cuts to
everyone,” Jacques reasoned. “Only to Jerome and Esmé.”
“I don’t care who she gave them to! What she’s doing isn’t fair, and goes against school policy.”
“That voice,” Frank muttered warily. “I’ve heard it before…”
“You have?” Lemony said.
“Whose voice is it?” Beatrice asked.
Frank’s lips parted, but before he could form even one word, his concentration was obstructed by the approaching figure of a hefty girl. Judging by her green blazer and skirt, she was a second-year student. Her coarse, mouse-brown hair was cut into a neat bob that slimmed her moon-shaped face. Her glasses were too large, causing her blue-gray eyes to amplify to twice their normal size.
She reminded Jerome of an owl, getting ready to ambush its prey.
Pausing directly in front of Elizabeth, the girl placed her hands on her hips. Like a disobedient child defying their parent, she fixed the much taller girl with her bird-like stare and said, “You’ve got
some nerve, missy, going behind Steerpike’s back and disobeying his orders.”
Elizabeth said nothing. She opted instead to hold her peer’s gaze, glaring harpoons like those she’d no doubt seen in action during her journeys on the high seas. Journeys she’d recounted with such passion and unbridled eagerness, that Jerome felt he’d had no choice but to trust in her every word.
He squeezed Esmé’s hand, more in an effort to relieve his own tension than as a way to prevent hers. She squeezed back, and he felt his heartbeat slow a little.
“For your information,” Elizabeth flared back at the girl, “those ‘orders’ you claim as Steerpike’s are, in fact, proposals made by Superintendent Anwhistle.
My grandfather. Steerpike’s only job is seeing that they’re carried out.”
“You lie! Steerpike—”
“Works for Superintendent Anwhistle. Precisely.” One corner of Elizabeth’s mouth rose in a proud half smile. “Who do you think hired Steerpike in the first place?”
“What does she mean?” Esmé whispered to Jerome, who detected instantly the panic marked so perceptibly in her voice. “Is she saying that that kindly old man from the assembly is the one we should fear, and not Steerpike?”
Jerome searched Esmé’s eyes. Stunning as they were, it would be a lie to say he didn’t do it partly to buy himself some time. For if there was one emotion he couldn’t bear to see those eyes express, it was the emotion known as distress. Alas, there are moments in our lives when such emotions are unavoidable. We do our best to comfort those who’ve been affected, and hope our exertions prove effective, if not triumphant. It was this air of compassion that chose to materialize itself now, in the heart of Jerome Squalor, as he gazed upon the anxious face of Esmé Salinger.
After weighing his words and their consequences carefully, Jerome addressed Esmé with the same thoughtful consideration as a parent telling their child that a beloved pet has died. “Perhaps,” he said at last. “It’s hard to say for sure
what Superintendent Anwhistle’s intentions are. But, my dear, I fail to see how or why he’d put us—be it students
and staff members, respectfully—in any deliberate danger.”
Jerome had just enough time left to bask in the warm glow of Esmé’s beautiful smile—a smile that was even more beautiful now, since he’d set her free from her uncertainties—before the girl who’d been arguing with Elizabeth stormed roughly past them. She broke gait only once, to glower back at Elizabeth and the others, before turning and continuing onward to the end of the line. When he found the courage to sneak a glance of Elizabeth, Jerome felt a rush of admiration flow through him at the victorious expression on her lovely face.
“What the heck was
that?” Lemony asked.
“That,” Frank replied distastefully, “was Geraldine Julienne. I had the ill luck of having the seat next to hers in Peake’s homeroom.”
“Oh.” Lemony winced, as if Frank had just described to him in full, gory detail the complete procedure of a heart transplant. “Is she as unpleasant in the classroom as she is
out of it?”
“Considering her preceding display, I’d say so. She’s a chatterbox, that’s for sure. And you know what they say about people like that.”
“No,” Beatrice said. “What?”
“That they all but
live for scandal. Whether they’re the sole initiator or one of countless messengers, they spend their days completely absorbed in the ultimate parable. The one rumor that will give them the buzz they’ve been waiting for. And they’ll do whatever they can to get it—even at the risk of ruining another person’s life. If I were you, I’d steer clear of Geraldine.”
“Don’t worry.” As if to shield her from the likelihood of such calamity, Lemony slipped a protective arm around Beatrice. “We intend to.”
“I say!” Jacques’ sudden, thunderous outburst caused Lemony, Beatrice, and Frank to gawp like three fish in a pond, as they anticipate the distribution of breadcrumbs from passersby. “You certainly showed her!”
“I’ve got to hand it to you, Elizabeth,” Frank congratulated. “That was a mighty impressive display.”
“I concur,” Dewey said. “You didn’t even have to lift a finger to show her you meant business.”
“You should audition for captain of the debate team,” suggested Kit. “You’d be a shoe-in for sure.”
“I’d vote for you,” Jacques said.
“So would I,” Frank seconded.
“Me, too,” Esmé thirded.
“Thanks, guys.” Elizabeth beamed, as if Esmé’s equaled not one vote, but all three. All the while Elizabeth’s focus remained concentrated on Esmé’s face, as if the entire life of the would-be pirate depended on this ability. Esmé’s presence seemed to mitigate the stiffness in Elizabeth’s face, making it appear softer and her overall self more approachable. “But I doubt I’d have the time to make such a commitment.”
“Oh, that’s right!” Jacques pounded one fist into the palm of his other hand. “Kit told us you’re on the fencing team.”
“It’s too bad the school doesn’t allow students of
all ages to audition,” highlighted Dewey, “like it does for debate. That’s one of the rules I think ought to be changed, or at least considered being changed. Fencing requires a great deal of concentration, and you’ve got all it takes.”
“I
disagree,” Kit argued. “I think it a
very good rule that only a senior be allowed to serve as captain of the fencing team. Even just regular members require a certain grade-point average, before they’re deemed qualified to join. What’s more, fencing is a dangerous sport, making it necessary to remain alert at all times. Being a leader means possessing a certain level of maturity and self-discipline, and not all people our age have that.”
“Neither do those who are older,” Jacques replied, his offense to his sister’s opinion distinct.
“What’s the point of signing up for the debate team,” Lemony interjected, “when we’ve got our own right here?”
“Your sister’s right,” Elizabeth affirmed. “If your average is lower than a B, or drops beneath that at any time during the semester, you’ll be automatically suspended from the fencing team.”
“For how long?” Esmé asked.
“Until you can improve your grade. Otherwise, you can forget about ever raising a sword in school again.”
“And what a swinging setback
that would be!” quipped Jacques.
His comment was met with a loud, approving sequence of laughter from the group. Even Elizabeth couldn’t suppress the grin that strained her lips, like a sweater hung by the sleeves from a clothesline. So absorbed was everyone in their amusement, that it took them some moments to realize they’d come at last to the head of the line.