Jennifer Scales and the Ancient Furnace

by MaryJanice Davidson

  “Nope. Have a seat,” she said with a mixture of relief and caution. She dreaded trying to explain her absence to Skip, although her parents had worked out an elaborate story of tragic illness.

  But Skip didn’t press her much. “Say, you feeling okay? Ms. Graf told us you were sick.”

  “Yeah, sick,” she mumbled. She tried to change the topic. “So I’ve never seen you get on the bus before. Your family’s house is around here?”

  He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “My aunt sold it to Dad, yeah. Since Mom died . . .”

  The uncomfortable silence lay on them for a while. Jennifer didn’t want to talk about her illness, and Skip clearly didn’t want to talk about his dead mother. Finally, she took a deep breath.

  “So, seen Eddie lately?”

  That worked fine. Skip set in on a string of topics ranging from how he and Eddie had spent all weekend playing catch to how much homework they had gotten in Ms. Graf’s class and whether Jennifer would ever catch up.

  But Jennifer discovered as she listened that she didn’t much care if she caught up, or fell further behind, or ever graduated from Winoka High. With every word of Skip’s that passed through one ear and out the other, she felt more and more that coming to school at all anymore was pointless.

  She knew how to read and write. She could do math better than some college students. History never interested her. And science? Her admiration of her mother’s career would remain that—admiration, bounded by the very real limits that getting “chronically, terminally ill” would present to a fourteen-year-old. So why was she here? What possible use was school to a creature like her?

  Running her hand through her hair, she felt disgust at touching the graying strands. For every moment she had spent hating her dragon body the week before, she hated this one more. This biped thing she had going on seemed wrong somehow. And how could that be, when she’d only been a dragon for a few days, but had walked around on two miserable, pale legs all her life?

  Skip didn’t seem to notice her inattention. In fact, he kept talking to her as the bus finally reached the school and they all got off. Apparently, he took her silence and occasional eye contact as approval to talk nonstop. As Jennifer got off the bus, she almost keeled over with the stress the steps gave her body. She muffled a desperate chuckle. The star athlete of her class, and she could hardly stand to be in her own skin!

  She marched through the first couple of classes in a daze. One time in the hallway she passed Susan, but her friend seemed uncomfortable even looking at her. Jennifer guessed this was probably for the best.

  In the classroom, she didn’t talk, no matter how hard her teachers tried to engage her. When Ms. Graf tried to make an issue of it in science, Jennifer fixed her with glassy, contemptuous gray eyes. Ms. Graf returned a withering look for the rudeness, but left Jennifer alone for the rest of the period.

  The bell rang and the class filed out. Jennifer once again lapsed into a stream of sour thoughts, broken suddenly by Bob Jarkmand’s loud, “S’matter, Scabs? You seem all pissed off. You got girly problems?”

  Girly problems. Ovulation. Reproduction. Bob’s brief interruption set Jennifer thinking again. What kind of kid would she have, years from now? It had always seemed weird to guess at before, but now the very thought of it made her sick to her stomach. Of course, thinking of sex and children—

  “Look at her, she’s all freaked out by her girly problems. I bet that’s what happens when you lose your virginity and start slutting around the school . . .”

  —was beside the point. There was no way she was putting a kid of her own through this. Nope, sorry, everybody off the genetic train, time’s up. She would enjoy her life as a lizard-spinster-hermit—

  “Don’t talk to her like that, punk!”

  That broke her train of thought. Skip had stomped up to within a few feet of Bob. The nearby students all stopped talking to look. Bob wasn’t much taller than Skip, but he was far broader. Unlike the last time they sparred, there were no teachers or classroom chairs to get in the way. How sweet, thought Jennifer watching Skip’s direct challenge. Suicidal, but sweet. She offered him a grim smile, but he was busy staring down the larger boy.

  “Don’t ever talk to her,” Skip continued. “Don’t you even look at her.”

  “Why, Francis? You her boyfriend for the day? Lotsa luck. Scabs seems like the kind of girl who likes to get around. She’ll be hangin’ with someone else tomorrow, I bet.” Bob stepped forward, putting Skip entirely in his shadow. “In fact, I know she will. Because you’ll be in the hospital.”

  Abruptly, Jennifer ran out of patience. It was charming of Skip to help and all, but . . .

  She stepped forward and slammed Bob right across the face with her fist. The crack made the surrounding crowd gasp and from all the way down the hall heads turned. Even more, the shot knocked Bob off his feet and a couple of yards to the left, where he hit the wall by the guidance counselor’s office with a satisfying whoomph. He slid to the floor and rolled across the doorway. A quick hand clapped to his mouth, but not before Jennifer saw blood spurt through his split lips.

  Skip stared at the fallen thug, then at Jennifer. He crouched and shook a finger in Bob’s face. “And there’s plenty more where that came from, buster!”

  Jennifer waved her hand, expecting it to hurt from the punch—but it didn’t.

  “Humiliating,” Skip said cheerfully, “yet exhilarating. So much for my knight in shining armor routine, eh? Amazing punch, Jenny—I mean, Jennifer! Wow! I’ll . . .” His eyes got a little wider as he stared past Jennifer. “I’ll . . . um . . . see you later.”

  “Why, where are you going?”

  “You should worry about where you’re going, young lady.” A hand closed over her shoulder. She knew without turning that it was the reclusive guidance counselor, Mr. Pool. He must have stepped over Bob to get out of his office. “You’re in a lot of trouble.”

  “She’s in trouble?” Skip’s look was incredulous, and he pointed to the bully plastered on the floor. “He started it.”

  Mr. Pool’s oily eyes rested on the new kid. “You may not be familiar with the code of conduct at this high school yet, Mr. Wilson,” he hissed, “but you will be soon. It includes showing respect to your elders.”

  “I’ll show respect for those elders that deserve it,” Skip shot back.

  Jennifer wasn’t sure what to do here. The solution last time had involved a straight punch to the jaw; but somehow that seemed less appropriate this time around. She didn’t have time to figure it all out: Mr. Pool decided to drag her away without further comment. She saw Skip fix a hot glare at the back of the counselor’s neck as Pool dragged her off.

  “I don’t mind saying I’m shocked! According to her records, Jennifer never had any sort of disciplinary problems before high school.” The principal of Winoka High School, Mr. Mouton, settled down behind his desk after shaking both Jonathan’s and Elizabeth’s hands, and motioning them to take the two vinyl chairs in front of him. Jennifer chewed her tongue in an uncomfortable fiberglass chair off to one side.

  “Mr. Mutton—” Jonathan began.

  “That’s Moo-TONE, if you please. May I add, Mr. and Mrs. Scales, it’s nice to meet you both. Though the circumstances could be better, of course. As the new principal here, I’ve been trying to meet parents before there’s a problem. I wish we could have done so in this case. My assistant tells me she’s had trouble scheduling a time when Mr. Scales is available . . . ?”

  Jennifer shot an accusing look at her father, and then a triumphant one at her mother. HA!

  “I’m usually on the road,” Jonathan explained slowly. “Elizabeth has been in closer contact with Jennifer’s schools, as a rule.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “We’re both very interested in Jennifer’s education, Mr. Mouton. But schedules sometimes . . .”

  “It hasn’t hurt her academic performance one bit,” the principal interrupted congenially. “At least not yet. But
these years are usually the point when the rules change, Mr. and Mrs. Scales.”

  Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Jonathan got the signal. “My wife makes every parent-teacher conference, soccer game, and art fair. And I make such events when I can. We’ve always supported Jennifer—”

  “Yes, of course, of course.” It was a concession and a dismissal at the same time. Mr. Mouton ruffled some papers and produced a file. It was rather thin, but he fanned through the skimpy pages as though he were thumbing through a dictionary. “It’s not unusual in these cases, Mr. and Mrs. Scales, for a child to act out in the absence of her parents. You say you spend lots of time on the road. Jennifer may have been calling for your attention.”

  “Or she may have been calling the school bully on his atrocious behavior.”

  Jennifer nearly fell out of her chair. Her mother had said that! Not only did Elizabeth seem to know about Bob Jarkmand already, she was taking sides—her side!

  The principal’s cheeks grew rosy. “Be that as it may, Mrs. Scales—”

  “That’s Dr. Georges-Scales, if you please. Why isn’t the thug in here answering questions?” Elizabeth looked up and down the principal’s office, obviously expecting to see the largest boy at Winoka High strung up next to the diplomas and awards on the paneled wall.

  “The ‘thug,’ as you put it, is in the nurse’s office, chewing ice chips in an attempt to get the swelling down,” Mouton said coolly. “No matter what Robert said to Jennifer, violence is not the answer.”

  “Save your platitudes. I see the consequences of violence every day, and I know the type that breeds it. I understand this Robert was not only talking at my daughter as if she were a whore, but also threatening one of her friends. Did you talk to this witness?”

  “Not yet,” admitted Mr. Mouton. Jennifer could see from her mother’s expression that she already knew the answer. Skip had caught her parents on the way into the principal’s office, then, and told them everything. He skipped class to lurk outside the office and talk to them. Jennifer smiled to herself. Knight in shining armor, indeed!

  Mr. Mouton caught the smile and turned on her. “This is not a laughing matter, Ms. Scales.”

  Jennifer didn’t drop the corners of her mouth. “I can’t help what I find funny.”

  “Best you keep quiet, dear,” Elizabeth snapped. The warm mother-daughter relationship dissipated instantly.

  “Why should I stay quiet?” she snapped back. “You’re all talking about me. About my life. About how I’m stuck here at this pointless school for no reason at all.”

  Elizabeth ignored the rant. “Mr. Mouton. Last week, our daughter was diagnosed with a rather serious medical condition. While the tests are not yet conclusive, it appears . . .”

  “I’M A FREAK!” Jennifer stood up and screamed at Mr. Mouton, startling the man against the back of his worn vinyl chair. “I’M A FREAK AND THERE IS NO CURE! I GET IT FROM MY FATHER, AND MY GRANDFATHER! WE’RE ALL FREAKS, BUT I’M A BIT MORE OF A FREAK! CONCENTRATED FREAK! FREAK WITH SPECIAL NEW AND IMPROVED FREAKY-FEATURES!”

  Jonathan got up quickly and braced an arm around her. Gently but firmly, he pushed her back down into the chair. His voice was too soft for anyone beyond Jennifer to hear.

  “If you continue,” he breathed, “we will ground you.”

  Ground had a new twist on it. No flying? No fishing? Chained up in the cabin basement, souped up on morphine and bad samples of her mother’s cooking?

  She fumed silently.

  Jonathan turned to Mr. Mouton. “I think if you put together what my wife and my daughter are saying, you’ll see that discipline in this case is neither completely warranted nor necessary. I’d appreciate it if you would let us handle this within the family. Due to certain . . . issues . . . regarding Jennifer’s health we had . . . her mother and I had discussed the possibility of homeschooling. Perhaps the time has come to do more than talk about it.”

  Mr. Mouton rubbed his chin thoughtfully, trying to show how well he had recovered from Jennifer’s outburst. “Well . . . I could talk to the Jarkmands. Given Robert’s record, it shouldn’t be too hard to show them both sides of the story. I can’t guarantee they’ll drop the matter, but Jennifer’s condition . . . speaking of which, I don’t want to seem insensitive, but, er, it would help if we had some documentation of . . . er . . .”

  “I’ll sign a doctor’s note myself.” Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Heaven forbid a school principal should pick his own nose without a signed doctor’s note.”

  “We’re going now,” Jonathan announced. Gripping his daughter’s collar and his wife’s wrist, he began a hasty exit. “Thank you, Mr. Mouton . . .”

  “Mouton . . .” Jennifer managed to resist her father’s momentum long enough to stare into her school principal’s eyes. “Mr. Dejarnais in French class taught us that means sheep, right?”

  “That’s right,” Mr. Mouton replied uncertainly.

  Before she could say anything else, she was pulled through the office doorway with a squawk.

  CHAPTER 7

  The Farm Under Crescent Moon

  “I’ve never thought this about you before, Jennifer,” her father hissed once they were in the car and headed home, “but either you’re not nearly as smart as we’ve always thought, or you don’t care whether your family lives or dies.”

  “Oh come on, Dad! Mouton’s a dork, and I was just having a little fun—”

  “This is not a game!” He was shouting into the rearview mirror. “There are enemies—things you’ve never even heard of—that would cut my head off in an instant if they knew what I was. Yours, too.”

  “That doesn’t sound so bad,” she pouted. “I hate living like this, anyway.” Looking out the backseat window, she spotted a black-haired ram in a suit, holding hooves with a scrawny blonde ewe in a floral print dress. A trio of fluffy lambs wove in and out of their path on the sidewalk. She rubbed her eyes, but the animal shapes were still there when she looked again. . . . This was getting worse. . . .

  Her father went on. “We had hoped that you could have attended school for a few days, before pulling you out for ‘medical’ reasons. Missing school like you did last week, coming back for one day, and then disappearing overnight again will look suspicious. And then on top of that—on top of that!—you punch out an enormous kid like Bob Jarkmand. He may have deserved it, but a hallway boxing match is hardly compatible with a tale of chronic and debilitating sickness!”

  “Maybe you can just say I’m mentally ill,” she sneered. “I feel like I’m going crazy anyway!”

  The expression in the rearview mirror softened, but only slightly. “Of course you’re not crazy, Jennifer. And we’re trying not to land too hard on you, here—”

  “You could have fooled me.”

  “—but you need to use your head!”

  She sniffed and wiped away tears in time to see a Jersey cow driving a minivan by them. Several peach piglets were strapped in the backseats. “I’m sorry I can’t get every detail of being a dragon down exactly right the first time.”

  Elizabeth cut in. “Being a teenager while this is happening can’t be easy. But whether we understand your pain or not, you’ve got to listen to your father. He’s trying to tell you there are codes of behavior. When you break those codes, you put us all in danger. So you need to grow up.”

  The way her mother inserted herself into this conversation infuriated Jennifer. She glared at the back of her parents’ heads. “In other words, this is a big vaudeville show, I’m your puppet, and you’re both annoyed that I’m not moving and talking the way I’m supposed to with an arm jammed up my wooden butt!”

  They had not cared for that last clever metaphor at all, Jennifer reflected later in the quiet isolation of her room. Her posters of boy bands, soccer stars, and fantasy movies were on the floor in tatters. She was sketching an endless flock of sheep with her charcoal stick directly on the faded pink wall. Across their backs, she suggested a dark, winged shadow
.

  “Jennifer?”

  She didn’t turn around. “Come on in, Susan. Skip and Eddie can come in, too. Make sure they know not to put weight on that top bit of the trellis.”

  “What are you doing?” Susan sounded worried as the boys scrambled over the sill behind her.

  “Who keeps their window open in Novem—Hey!” Eddie’s voice was even more concerned than Susan’s, but he tried to joke. “Won’t your parents execute you for doing that? My Dad caught me with crayons on the wall when I was four, and I can still remember the court-martial.”

  Jennifer still didn’t turn around. “They won’t punish me. I won’t be spending much time in this room, anyway. And I figured you would be coming—that’s why I left the window open. Please close it, Skip.”

  She heard the window close, then Susan’s tentative voice. It was difficult to pay attention: She could smell food. Prey? Her better sense chased the thought away.

  Susan was saying that Skip had told her and Eddie about what happened with Bob Jarkmand, and that Bob had to go to the hospital, and the whole school was talking. That, and maybe Jennifer wasn’t coming back to school, because she had been expelled . . .

  “That’s not true,” Jennifer interrupted.

  Susan paused. “No? Then what happened?”

  “I’m not expelled. I’m . . .” It was so hard to lie to her friends like this. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Skip was saying he heard maybe you were really sick, which makes sense,” offered Eddie. “I mean, the way you jumped out of my dad’s truck last week. If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s cool. But please don’t feel alone. We’re here if you need us.”

  Jennifer reached out behind her and grabbed Eddie’s knee as he crouched down by her. “Thanks, Eddie.”

  They all breathed out with a bit of relief before she continued. “But this feels like a solo run, guys. At least for now. You can stay if you like. Put on some music, make yourselves at home. Heck, pick up a stick of charcoal if you want. But I won’t be talking too much.”