by R. S. Lively
"Really?" she asks. "I thought when they decided to build this school, they wanted it to be on the original site.”
"Apparently, that was the plan. Turns out, that land is privately owned. It was never the property of Magnolia Falls itself. The family who owns it established their farm before the town of Magnolia Falls even existed."
"Which family?"
"That's the thing, the Historical Society was very hush-hush about the whole thing. I got the feeling they knew more than they wanted to tell me, or than they were letting on.”
“I’m not sure I follow you.”
“Even though they couldn’t tell me who owns the land now, they dropped some hints about the family who owned it when the original school was there. What I got from it was that, much like the land itself, the family never integrated into Magnolia Falls. Apparently, they’ve never been very social. According to Maribelle at the Society, there was even a rumor that a member of the family started the fire over some conflict on social beliefs."
"Social beliefs?" she asks.
"That's all she'd say. There was never any investigation, and the town didn't have enough money to build a permanent school. So many of the men had gone to fight in the war already, and others had left to join the protests. Businesses closed down. The economy on the island was struggling, and they didn’t have the budget to rebuild right then. They didn't have any permanent solution, so classes were held in different buildings around the village until there was money to construct a new building. When that time came, though, the owner of the land refused to let it be used for the school."
"So there wouldn't be an investigation?"
"Who knows? Anyway, they had to change their plans at the last minute, and find a new location to build the school. This spot." We duck into the theater, and I see Emma's eyes scan the cluster of students on the stage as she does a head count to make sure none of them have wandered off. "The new school building was essentially used as propaganda to build morale throughout the village during the war. During that time, there was so much division. Society was in an uproar. Everything was changing, and it was terrifying and upsetting to a lot of people. Plans for the new school were supposed to be a unifying, positive image, so they didn't want to make too many changes. They continued to say that the new high school would be built at the original site, and that a satellite location would be opened on another spot to accommodate specialized education."
Emma glances up at me with a questioning expression.
"Specialized education?" she asks. "What does that mean?"
"It means they wanted to be able to continue saying they were going to rebuild on the original location so people wouldn't get discouraged by everything that had happened.”
"So, they built this school as the satellite…"
"And haven't acknowledged the other site since. Apparently, the owners of the land were just as stubborn back then as they were when the fire happened, and the situation hasn’t gotten any better since. They won't even let people up there to look at the original site. Over the years, the importance of it just kind of faded. Focus turned to other things, and people forgot."
"That's horrible," she says.
I nod.
"I know."
"So, what now? Can’t we try to see the building? It’s been a long time. Maybe the family will have changed their minds. Maybe they don’t even care now.”
"It isn’t that easy. According to Maribelle, what was left of the building was demolished shortly after the fire."
"How could they do that, though? If it was a school building, wasn't the land it was on owned by Magnolia Falls?"
"The local government never thought to buy the land from the owners. They chose the location, found out it was already owned, and when they approached the family, they refused to sell. Eventually, they agreed to lend the use of the land to the town, but with strict conditions. There was a statement in the agreement between the landowner and the town that said once the building was no longer in use as a school, it would revert back to the landowner. After the fire, the damage was so devastating, they immediately had to stop using the building. A small section was still intact, but, because of the water and smoke damage, the town thought it would be better to keep students away from it until it had been renovated. The landowner determined that meant the building was no longer being used as a school and petitioned to have the land rights fully reverted back to him. Unfortunately, it worked out in his favor."
"Great," Emma sighs. "So, what now? We can't get anywhere near the original site. There's nothing left of the building. All those plans are going to have to be completely thrown out the window now."
"Not necessarily," I say.
"What do you mean?" she asks.
"Let me see what I can do."
I turn to walk out of the theater, and I hear Emma call after me.
"The pep rally is tonight," she says when I turn around. "Judy and I are going. Under orders from Mr. Bernheimer and Mrs. Burke themselves."
"For such an old guy, he sure can be pushy," I laugh.
She nods in agreement.
"I know your brothers weren't able to come to town like you had planned, but that doesn't mean you should skip out on the festivities. Do you want to come with us?"
"No," I reply, shaking my head. "I think I’ve experienced enough school spirit for a lifetime. I don't really need to be involved. Besides, I've got a lot of work to do before going back to the office."
"Oh. Ok."
I walk out of the theater, and head back outside. I'm walking back toward the main village, away from the sports fields at the back of the school, when I see Judy running in my direction. Her arms are overflowing with large rolls of streamers in the school colors. Her usually sleek black hair is tight ringlets, several of which are purple.
"Hi, Judy," I say.
"Hi, Grant," she says, not slowing down.
"What's all that?"
She rushes past me.
"For the parade float. Bigger than I thought. Crepe paper. Not afraid of it anymore."
I have no idea what that's supposed to mean.
"I like your hair!" I yell after her as she approaches the corner to go around the side of the building.
"Thank you! I got it done by Miss Angelique at Dye, Baby, Dye."
She disappears around the corner.
"Miss Paula's daughter must have started her own business," I say to myself. "How nice."
Tuesday
The pounding on my front door is so frantic, I'm worried something is terribly wrong. I rush to it, and throw it open without checking to see who it is. Judy stands on the porch, oven-mitted hands gripping tightly to what looks like two orange bowls. The smell of smoke clings to her.
"Can I use your oven?" she asks, her eyes wide.
"What?"
"I need to use your oven."
"What's wrong with yours?"
She pushes past me into the house.
"It's at my house," she says.
"That's a good place for it to be. Why aren't you at your house?"
I walk into the kitchen and find Judy trying to fight the oven open with her elbows.
"I'm helping Emma bake a pumpkin pie for the contest, and her oven is full."
"Full of what?"
"Burned pie pumpkins."
Not orange bowls. Pie pumpkin.
There's another round of desperate knocking on my front door, and I walk back through the house to it. I already know who is on the other side, but I wait anyway.
"Who is it?" I call through.
"Is Judy there?"
"Judy… Judy… Judy… hmm…" I say, pretending I'm thinking.
"Send her out here."
"The last time I saw her, she was running down the street carrying pumpkins."
The door opens, and I step back as Emma pushes into the house.
"You should lock your door."
"Come on in. Apparently, my house has become the neighborhood clubhouse."<
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"Judy!" Emma shouts.
Judy runs into the room, her eyes still wild.
"What?"
"Come on, we can go back to my house."
"No, we can't."
"Yes, we can. I put all the flames out and cleaned the pumpkin guts off the bottom of the oven."
"I already have the pumpkins in Grant's oven."
She slides her eyes over to me.
"I told you. Grant doesn't want to be involved with the Homecoming stuff. He's here to work."
"What are you doing?" I ask.
"Pumpkin pie competition," Judy says.
I look at Emma.
"Pumpkin pie competition?" I ask.
She sighs. "Yes. It's one of the mandatory spirit events for teachers. I don't have any idea what baking a pie that is clearly designed for Thanksgiving consumption has to do with Homecoming in October, but I didn't have a say in the planning."
"I thought you were in charge of all student activities and spirit events," I tease.
Her eyes narrow at me.
"Come on, Judy. I already have the ingredients out."
"I don't trust your oven. It betrayed me. I want to cook the pumpkin in Grant's oven."
"Grant is not entering the competition. Which, incidentally, starts in two hours and we still don't have a pie."
"I'm not going."
An expression of mock horror suddenly crosses Emma’s face.
"Judy, your eye makeup is smeared."
Judy's eyes widen. Her garish purple metallic eyeshadow doesn't look smeared to me. She rushes out of the kitchen, anyway.
"Grant, can I use your bathroom?"
"Yes," I call back. "You invaded my house uninvited," I say in a quieter voice. "Why wouldn't you use my bathroom to reconstruct your face, too?"
Emma doesn't respond. She stalks directly into the kitchen, puts on the oven mitts Judy set on the counter, and pulls the pumpkins out of the oven. Not bothering to close the oven door, she stomps back through the house and out the front door. A few seconds later, Judy appears.
"Everything's fine," she assures me.
"Good. It was touch and go for a second, there."
She nods, then looks around.
"Where is Emma?"
"Oh, she kidnapped your pumpkins."
"Damn it! We are not going to win the contest like this."
Judy runs out of the house, and I close the door behind her, shaking my head. This is not the Spirit Week I remember. I wonder if this nonsense was happening behind the scenes with the teachers while us students were wrapped up in our own, much less complicated, events.
Four hours later, I hear a decidedly less frantic knock on the door. I open the door and find Emma on the porch, leaning casually against the railing. She's holding two clear plastic plates in her hands, each one supporting a large wedge of pumpkin pie. There's a tiny swirl of whipped cream on top of each, and a plastic silver fork tucked against the sides.
"Back from battle?" I ask.
"I just thought you'd like to taste what a red ribbon pumpkin pie tastes like. Considering the pumpkins were briefly housed in your oven, you technically contributed to the final product."
She doesn't make a move to come into the house, so I step out onto the porch with her. I accept one of the plates.
"Red ribbon?" I ask as I sit in one of the chairs.
"Yeah, we got second place," Emma explains.
She starts down the steps, and I realize she is heading back toward her house.
"Aren't you going to join me?" I ask.
She looks unsure as she eyes the chair positioned just a few inches from mine.
"It's late," she says. "I still have some stuff to finish before school tomorrow."
"Didn’t Mrs. Burke say tomorrow is a half day?"
"Yeah, but I still have to teach, and then after that there's another mandatory Homecoming event. And I won't lie, I'm a little concerned. Not getting the blue ribbon really got to Judy. She has the eye of the tiger now."
"Come on," I coax. "How long does it take to eat a piece of pumpkin pie? Besides, you can't really expect me to get the full experience of eating a red ribbon slice of pie without the baker here to talk me through it."
She hesitates for another second, then climbs back onto the porch and sits down.
"The secret is the gingersnap crust," she says.
"There's gingersnaps in here?" I ask, looking at the wedge more closely. "It just looks like a regular crust."
"It's a hybrid," she says, taking a bite. "Devised it myself."
I nod as I fill my fork with some of the thick, spice-flecked pie.
"So, who won?"
"Jane Pauley," Emma says with a sigh. "Her secret is the bourbon in her whipped cream. And pie filling. And crust."
"Ah," I say. "Bold move."
She nods as she glides her fork through her soft lips. Her tongue slides out briefly to flick away a remnant of the bite, and I have to look away.
Emma still has no idea how sexy she is.
"Speaking of whipped cream, I'm never trusting Judy to top off the pies ever again. What is this piddly little swirl? Maybe if we'd had a nice big glop like you're supposed to, we would have had better chances."
"Agreed," I say, swallowing another bite. "And it’s Christmas, by the way."
She looks at me strangely.
"What are you talking about?"
"Christmas," I repeat. "Earlier you said you didn't understand what a pie clearly designed for Thanksgiving had to do with Homecoming in October. You were wrong. Pumpkin pie is for Christmas."
She scoffs.
"No, it's not. Pumpkin pie, while vastly inferior to sweet potato pie, is a staple Thanksgiving dish. That's why you see all the little pumpkins in the pictures. Harvest and bounty, and whatnot. Pumpkin pie… Thanksgiving."
"Oh, you are so wrong," I say. "Pumpkin pie is not only the supreme pie, second only to my great-grandmother's pear-apple-caramel pie – which was not a pie, but a gift from above – but it is most definitely a Christmas dessert. It's referenced in no fewer than three Christmas carols. When was the last time you heard pumpkin pie referenced in a Thanksgiving carol?"
She knits her eyebrows together and tilts her head at me.
"When was the last time you heard a Thanksgiving carol?" she retorts.
"That only further cements my point. Songs are the definitive source of holiday lore. They pass down tradition and history through the ages, and you can't deny the presence of pumpkin pie in songs about Christmas. You've probably sung it a thousand times and never even realized it. There's No Place Like Home for the Holidays. Sleigh Ride? Iconic. Pumpkin pie-inclusive."
"You're right,” Emma says with mock seriousness. “Those songs are quintessential to Christmas, and our culture. Personally, I don't know how I would understand the holiday season without those beautiful ballads to tell me of Mary, Joseph, Rudolph, and Frosty racing on their horse-drawn carriage through the snow so their blessed newborn wouldn't miss his opportunity to rock around the Christmas tree," she says.
"And eat pumpkin pie."
She smiles and takes a final bite of her pie.
"And eat pumpkin pie."
A breeze sweeps up around us, and strands of Emma's silky blonde hair blow across her face. I reach over and move them out of the way. I can't resist running my fingers along the side of her face and tracing her delicate jawline. She shivers as the wind picks up again.
"Are you cold?" I ask. "I could go inside and get you a blanket."
Emma shakes her head and stands up.
"No," she says insistently. "I really do need to get home."
"Thanks for the pie," I say.
She nods, and rushes down the stairs, running on the balls of her feet across the moonlit grass. I watch until she gets to her front door, glances back at me, and dips inside.
Wednesday
Spirit Week Scavenger Hunt List
12 forks. Bonus points for different sizes.
&
nbsp; A scary movie featuring actors with the first name of each member of the team. Multiple movies accepted.
Three quilt squares depicting your journey to adulthood, and what Magnolia Falls means to you.
Five socks from different pairs. Must be distinctly different. Single tube socks need not apply.
Mixtape featuring iconic songs from the years of each stage of your life.
One teacup.
One saucer that does not match that teacup.
Teapot that does not match either.
A handheld Christmas tree.
A monocle
"What the hell is this?" I ask, looking at the sheet of paper Judy handed to me.
After the half-day at school today, Emma and Judy had gone to a teacher's lunch and recognition ceremony for Spirit Week. I spoke to Emma after the event to remind her to set up a time with the vital records office so we can compare the old yearbook to marriage and death certificates, and start building a guest list. She was rushing to change clothes and get back up to the school for what she called a "strategy meeting." I thought it might have something to do with the rest of the school year, or maybe her part of the retirement celebration. Now I'm thinking it had something to do with this.
"It's a scavenger hunt," she says. "We're up against teams made up of all the other teachers. The team that finishes first, or whoever has the most items when time is up, gets bonus points, and the team with the most points wins."
She sounds like she is repeating the instructions for the hunt verbatim.
"What do they win?"
"The services of a substitute teacher the week before Christmas break."
"That's a pretty significant incentive."
"Which is why we have to win!"
Her expression looks completely wired, and I remember what Emma told me yesterday about Judy being upset at them losing the pumpkin pie contest. I have to admit, she seems driven.
"Where's Emma?" I ask.
"She's at her house. Slacking. It's a good thing that girl is pretty, because she is lacking in the warrior spirit."
"Warrior spirit?"
"Yes!" Judy says emphatically. "This is Spirit Week! Only the strong survive!"
I smile at her.
"Do you have anything so far?" I ask.