“Contrary to the title, a beauty pageant isn’t all about beauty. There are a great deal of other things that come into play — poise, personality, posture — just to name a few. And yes, I realize that none of you have the makings of pageant winners — well, except for Lulu,” Mrs. Wellington said, “but there are still many important lessons that can be garnered from the art of pageantry.”
“Mrs. Wellington, I can’t speak for Theo, but I am a boy. We aren’t into pageants. We don’t wear lipstick, tutus, or crowns. Nothing pink,” Garrison said harshly.
“I sometimes wear pink,” Theo added before noticing Garrison’s incredulous look, “but only around Easter.”
“Trust me, Sporty, you of all people could use some pageantry in your life. And in case I hadn’t made it clear, my lessons are not optional. I am like going to the dentist, school, or your grandparents’ house — a necessary pain. So please close your mouth,” Mrs. Wellington said with crimson-spotted lips. “Now then, let’s begin with two of the most important skills: the smile and the wave. These will help you throughout life, serving you well at the mall, on a date, or just hailing a cab.”
“I don’t get it. What do smiling and waving have to do with fears?” Lulu asked.
“What a sharp cookie,” Mrs. Wellington said, prompting Lulu to gloat at Theo, Garrison, and Madeleine with a smirk.
“The art of pageantry has absolutely nothing to do with fears. Not one little thing,” Mrs. Wellington said. “Each of you has been given a pot of Vaseline.”
“I’m terribly sorry to interrupt, Mrs. Wellington, but why we are learning pageant protocol at School of Fear?” Madeleine implored politely. “Wouldn’t that be more appropriate for a beauty school or modeling school?”
“Honestly,” Mrs. Wellington said before releasing a long and irritated sigh, “I haven’t seen the likes of this since the Spanish Inquisition, which as you may recall started when Marcia de Sevilla tried to steal my crown at the Barcelona Hilton.”
“Actually, I believe it was started by Ferdinand II of Aragon and Isabella I of Castile —” Madeleine stopped mid-sentence after noticing Mrs. Wellington’s darkening lips. “Or on second thought, maybe it did start at the Hyatt.”
“It started at the Hilton,” Mrs. Wellington said with exasperation. “Contestants today have no regard for history. Haven’t your parents taught you the importance of education?”
The odd old woman then adjusted her wig, took a deep breath, and applied more bubblegum lipstick. “Now then, please dip your index finger into the Vaseline and spread it slowly across your teeth,” Mrs. Wellington instructed. “Any excess Vaseline may be wiped on the napkin or, if you’re hungry, eaten. Unfortunately, Schmidty did not have time to flavor the Vaseline with Casu Frazigu, something about needing to sleep. Honestly, when men hit their eighties, it’s one excuse after another.”
Madeleine stared out the window, ignoring Mrs. Wellington altogether, which was no easy feat. Mrs. Wellington was at her most alert and insane when discussing the fine art of pageantry. Madeleine felt a terrible unease with the state of things. Not only was she separated from all the things she held dear in life — her family, bottomless supplies of repellent, her own personal exterminator — but she was learning absolutely nothing. When all was said and done, the girl would return to London just as hindered by insects as ever. The only difference would be a few pageant tricks up her sleeve.
“Oh Beekeeper? I need your attention in the front.”
“My apologies, Mrs. Wellington,” Madeleine responded while plastering her teeth with the thick opaque goop.
“And the veil needs to be raised.”
“Is that absolutely necessary?”
“You can raise the veil or I will confiscate all your repellents, including the ones hidden in your luggage.”
“But, how did you …”
“Schmidty may be blind, but he can still snoop with the best of them.”
Madeleine acquiesced, raising the netted veil off her face.
“This stuff won’t affect our teeth enamel, right?” Theo asked. “Because my dentist is really strict. I’m not even supposed to drink soda. He was a colonel in the army, so I don’t want to make him mad.”
“Theo, I am sure that someone somewhere cares to listen to you ramble on about your dentist, but it’s not me,” Mrs. Wellington said as she shoved a ruler in the back of his trousers. Theo’s pants were already a little too snug for his liking. The addition of the ruler made them downright unbearable.
“Or me,” Lulu added with a smirk as Theo feebly attempted to stretch the waist of his trousers.
Mrs. Wellington proceeded to place rulers in the back of Lulu’s, Madeleine’s, and Garrison’s clothes, all of which had a great deal more give than Theo’s slacks.
“One cannot wave properly without good posture. Your backs are to remain parallel to the rulers at all times,” Mrs. Wellington said as she demonstrated the perfect posture, smile, and wave for the students to imitate.
“Fingers together, backs straight, smiles wide. Again! More Vaseline, Madeleine! Shoulders back, Theo! Fingers together! Backs straight! Smile wide! Garrison, that wave is entirely unacceptable! Do it again, Sporty!” Mrs. Wellington barked. “Again! Again! More Vaseline, Theo! I said more!” Mrs. Wellington’s voice rose, channeling a dictator the likes of which the children had never seen.
By the time it was over, biceps and triceps stung from waving, cheekbones ached from grinning, and mouths bubbled with Vaseline. It was a strange brand of torture, but painful nonetheless. Even athletic Garrison felt the strain of these peculiar tasks. While his arms survived fine, his face was a mass of dull, throbbing pain.
The lesson was extraordinarily long, forcing the students to forgo lunch and rush to dinner without brushing their teeth or removing the rulers. Once seated stiffly at the dining room table, crows cawing in the background, the foursome wiped their well-greased mouths on Mrs. Wellington’s pristine linen.
“You think this will stain the napkins?” Theo asked.
“Who cares about the napkins? We’re stuck with a deranged beauty queen. I can’t stop smiling, and I’m not even that nice,” Lulu whispered.
“Finally, a little self-awareness,” Theo said condescendingly.
“Shut it, chunky funk.”
“Enough, Lulu,” Madeleine butted in, “you’re the last one who should be complaining; you’re her favorite and the only one she deems pretty enough to win a pageant.”
“You say that as if being teacher’s pet to a waving weirdo is a good thing. Trust me, it’s not. And if you’re so interested in winning a beauty pageant, why don’t you take off the veil?”
“Madeleine without her veil is like chocolate without peanut butter, salt without pepper, mayonnaise without mustard.”
“Thank you, Theo. I am rather keen on the veil as well,” Madeleine said before sighing, “she simply doesn’t know a thing about fears. I wouldn’t be surprised if we went home worse off than when we arrived.”
“Home,” Theo stated dramatically. “Just hearing the word makes me miss my family. My family always fed me such delicious food. Have I mentioned that I’m really, really hungry? I need food that doesn’t taste like maggot cheese. I need pasta. Or even just a slice of fresh sourdough bread with some butter, preferably salted butter.”
“We have more pressing issues than getting you salted butter!” Lulu snapped.
“Someone needs a time-out,” Theo whispered to himself before being interrupted by Garrison pounding his fists in frustration on the table.
“Why did I even come to this stupid place?” Garrison grunted angrily.
Naturally, at that very moment, Mrs. Wellington chose to make her grand entrance.
“Sporty, do you have Alzheimer’s? Be such a shame, seeing as you’re only thirteen. I suspect Schmidty has it, but alas, you can’t ask him, since he’s deaf. Perhaps you can write him a note about your condition after dinner,” Mrs. Wellington said from the doorway
to the Great Hall. “Something short and pithy like, ‘I can’t remember, can you?’ ”
“Madame, it appears that it’s you who can’t remember. I am not deaf, but rather a tad blind,” Schmidty calmly announced.
“Quite right. You are blind and a bit pudgy, in case you were interested,” Mrs. Wellington responded.
“Mrs. Wellington, I’m pretty sure I don’t have Alzheimer’s,” Garrison explained.
“Very well. But if you happen to remember that you’ve forgotten everything later on, let me know. In the meantime, let me remind you that you’re here because you bluster and sweat in a very unattractive way at the sight or mere mention of water. If you like, I can do an impression?”
“No, thanks,” Garrison said quickly as Mrs. Wellington, Schmidty, and Macaroni joined the children at the table.
The children may have remembered how they came to be at School of Fear, but now they were focused on how they could flee, as soon as possible.
CHAPTER 18
EVERYONE’S AFRAID OF SOMETHING:
Eisoptrophobia is the fear of mirrors or of seeing oneself in a mirror.
The following morning Garrison awoke with heart palpitations, covered in sweat. Next to him was a snoring pajama-clad bulldog; apparently Macaroni the dog had tired of sneaking into Theo’s bed. Garrison stroked his soft head while racking his brain to remember what could have caused him to wake up with such anxiety.
Obviously, his first line of thinking focused around water. Had he dreamt of being lost at sea, trapped in the eye of a hurricane, or simply seated near a pool? Garrison wasn’t sure exactly how to explain it, but this felt different. With Macaroni loyally at his feet, Garrison brushed his teeth, determined to let whatever he’d dreamed about go. He spat out the remaining bits of toothpaste and looked down at Macaroni. As Garrison peered into the brown sagging eyes of the semi-clothed dog, it came all at once.
Garrison had dreamt of the end of the summer, when he was to return to his parents in Miami. Garrison had told his father that he was still afraid of water. Mr. Feldman hadn’t expounded on life’s distaste of losers and babies; instead he had turned away from his son without a word. It was an epic failure, one too large for words to contain.
Garrison slipped downstairs, leaving his classmates happily unconscious in their beds. He didn’t even know what he was looking for, but he wanted some kind of proof that this place would cure him. As he tiptoed down the Great Hall, his stomach began to churn with anxiety. He was at a circus, a veritable loony-bin. It was utterly inane to expect a woman with a home as eccentric as Mrs. Wellington’s to actually be a true teacher. While staring at the door to the Library of Smelly Foods, Garrison accepted defeat. He would return home just as big of a baby as he’d left.
Shortly thereafter, a depressed Garrison joined Madeleine, Theo, Lulu, Schmidty, and Macaroni for breakfast. The absurdity of the past few days had taken a toll on everyone, not just Garrison, leaving the group abnormally quiet. Forks scratched against china and Macaroni chewed loudly, but no one spoke. No one had even inquired where Mrs. Wellington was, and why she was late for breakfast. Of course, even if they had, no one would have guessed correctly.
“Ahhh!” Theo yelped as a large green swamp thing entered the dining room. It was the shape of a human covered head to toe in a soft green moss. Within seconds, the precise steps, inhumanely straight posture, and feminine mannerisms exposed the creature to be Mrs. Wellington.
“Oh stop, blathering boy, it’s just Greenland fungus,” Mrs. Wellington responded.
“Is that like gangrene?” Theo asked while pushing his chair away from Mrs. Wellington.
Before she could answer, Madeleine asked, “Do bugs live in that stuff?”
“Children, you act as if you’ve never seen someone dressed in fungus before.”
“We haven’t,” Garrison responded.
“Well, I suppose if you don’t spend much time in Northern Greenland, you wouldn’t. Up there, you find entire towns dressed in fungus. They don’t bother washing it off during winter. It’s warmer than fleece, but much less expensive. The best part is that it’s attracted to heat, so all a warm-blooded creature need do is touch it and — pronto — instant outfit.”
“How do you take it off?” Theo asked.
“Follow me,” Mrs. Wellington said as she began marching down the hall in sync, as usual, with the tick of the clock.
Halfway through the Great Hall, Mrs. Wellington stopped in front of a standard-sized patchwork gold door. The foursome squinted at the radiant door before Mrs. Wellington flipped it open, exposing wall-to-wall slimy green fungus. Somehow, the fungus was a bit more disgusting en masse than on Mrs. Wellington. Maybe she just wore it well; a stylish lady through and through. All the children knew for certain was that a room full of fungus made them queasy.
“Does it smell like mayonnaise, or am I imagining it?” Theo asked with a grimace.
“You are imagining it, Chubs; all I can smell are brussels sprouts,” Lulu said.
“Contestants, the lot of you are ridiculous. It is all in your heads. The fungus is entirely odor-free. Here, take a sniff,” Mrs. Wellington said as she presented her arm to the foursome, who unanimously declined the offer.
Madeleine still hadn’t heard a definitive “no” regarding whether bugs inhabited the fungus and would not be going anywhere near the stuff until she knew for certain.
Mrs. Wellington stepped into the room of wall-to-wall fungus, immediately camouflaging herself.
“Watch closely,” she instructed while hovering near the doorway, rattling a chain. As the children strained to focus on the blob, salt hailed down from the ceiling. Coarse and unusually heavy salt flakes washed over Mrs. Wellington, creating a large white dust cloud. Seconds passed and the haze cleared, showcasing a miraculously spotless Mrs. Wellington.
Mrs. Wellington stepped into the Great Hall and closed the golden door. The foursome stood, mouths agape, inspecting her white nightgown for a speck of fungus, but there was none. It took a second for the children’s eyes to make their way up Mrs. Wellington’s body to her head.
When they did, the foursome screamed in unison as they stared into the face of death. Mrs. Wellington was a frightening sight without a drop of makeup, exposing grayish yellow skin splintered with bulging blue veins.
“Contestants, I am terribly sorry. I’ve let you down as a beauty queen. Today I am not prepared. Your queen has faltered. Your icon has cracked. Please understand, it was your unbridled curiosity for the Greenland fungus that overwhelmed me, prompting me to momentarily lose sight of my role as a beauty queen. Can you ever forgive me?”
“Um, well, that depends,” Lulu said haughtily. “Are you going to make us do more pageantry exercises?”
“Of course, whatever you wish,” Mrs. Wellington said, completely misreading the situation.
“Um, we most definitely do not want to do any pageantry today,” Lulu said assertively. “We’re talking no Vaseline.”
“In that case, no pageantry. Contestants, you have my word. Consider it scrawled in lipstick. Absolutely no pageantry or Vaseline today. How about ten minutes of imaginary exercises in the Fearnasium, so Schmidty has time to apply my makeup and hair?”
“Schmidty does your makeup?” Lulu asked.
“Actually, that makes a lot of sense,” Theo said while reflecting on Mrs. Wellington’s sometimes questionable makeup choices. “Yup, it’s all coming together for me.”
As soon as their ashen-faced, bald-headed headmistress exited the Great Hall, Garrison started toward the Fearnasium.”
“Um, you’re welcome,” Lulu said sarcastically to the group. “A little appreciation would be nice.”
“Thank you, Lulu, it’s much appreciated,” Madeleine said with lackluster. “Now we ought to get started in the Fearnasium.”
“Or we could just imagine we were imagining our activities in the Fearnasium?”
“Now we’re talking,” Garrison said while cracking a smile.
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“You are absolutely devilish, Lulu,” Theo said with great admiration.
“I know,” she said pridefully. “What would you guys do without me?”
“I’d probably have higher self-esteem and I suppose Madeleine would be less insecure about not being spotlighted for pageants, and Garrison …”
“Theo, it was a rhetorical question. Even I know that,” Garrison said as he walked toward the classroom.
“The rhetorical question,” Theo rued to himself, “gets me every time.”
Theo fell in line behind Garrison as the foursome made their way to the classroom.
The classroom was nearly dark with the thick velvet curtains drawn, blocking all the day’s light. It reminded Madeleine of the ride to School of Fear, where vines and trees all but deleted the sun from view. Thankfully, cracks of light managed to break through between the dense curtains and the windows. Lulu glanced at the slivers of light as Mrs. Wellington prepared the slide projector for the day’s lesson. The projector’s humming was jarringly loud to the foursome. Of course, they were accustomed to teachers using nearly silent laptops for presentations.
Garrison sat with impeccable posture, a side effect of Mrs. Wellington’s beauty pageant education. Not that he even realized it; Garrison was far too preoccupied hoping that the day’s lesson would finally focus on fears. It didn’t have to be the key to the Magic Kingdom, instantly eradicating his fear, but just some good sage advice. Garrison needed something to take home to his father.
Behind Garrison, Theo sat, also with perfect posture, rubbing his tongue around his mouth, desperate to eradicate the leftover slime from yesterday’s lesson. While admittedly, his gums did feel softer, he wasn’t used to his mouth having the consistency of a slip-and-slide. Next to Theo, Madeleine performed her usual dusting of repellent with near-perfect posture. In front of Madeleine, Lulu defiantly hunched her shoulders, a testament to her pride in escaping Pag Ed.
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