Just Like That

by Gary D. Schmidt

“Something else. I can’t remember.”

  And Mr. Tush and Myrna One would look at each other, then at Matt.

  “We could just beat it out of him,” Myrna One would say.

  “I don’t know. All that chowder this summer, looks like it’s put some meat on his bones.”

  “We could still beat it out of him,” Myrna One would say. “I’d hit him with a chair first.”

  “We’ll do it after the supper crowd,” Mr. Tush would say. “Have the iodine ready.”

  With September, the brunch crowd and the lunch crowd got smaller and smaller—the tourists were going home—and some of the boats were pulled up into dry dock, including the one that Chad’s future wife lived on. Then the restaurants began to shut down—first the Green Apple because it had a stupid name, then the Brothers’ Fish and Chips, then the Clam Shack, then Shrimp ’n Stuff, then the Lobster Company. Davey, Lew, Donny, Jesse, and Chad started team practices at school and weren’t around much—and the water was getting way too cold to skinny-dip. The Chowder House stayed open because, Myrna One said, every fisherman in town would have their heads if they dared to close, but by Labor Day there wasn’t much at all to do between the breakfast crowd and the supper crowd.

  And then, late one night, after the chairs had been put on the tables and the floor swept, Mr. Tush and Myrna One sat him down. Matt took Myrna Two onto his lap and stroked her as she purred. And Myrna One said quietly, “Matt, it’s time to tell us the truth.”

  But he knew that if he did, if he did, Leonidas Shug would find out where Matt was. Somehow he’d find out.

  He’d find Mr. Tush.

  He would find the Myrnas.

  “I’ll tell you everything in the morning,” Matt said.

  “Everything?” Myrna One said.

  “Everything.”

  That night, he packed what he owned into the pillowcase. He slept a couple of hours, and then he gathered Myrna Two off his chest, dressed, and walked to the Portland bus station.

  He bought a ticket for anywhere north.

  He was gone before the sun was up over the Azores.

  * * *

  That’s what he was thinking about down on the shore when Meryl Lee found him.

  He missed Mr. Tush and the Myrnas like he’d miss his eyes—which were crying, but so what?

  When he saw Meryl Lee, he stood, wiped his face, shrugged his pea jacket up, and climbed the shore ridge—all without a word.

  Eighteen

  On the second Monday of November, Mrs. Mott held her next Tea and Biscuit Conversation.

  The afternoon before, Meryl Lee had asked Bettye to help her practice pouring tea in Netley’s kitchen—because, said Meryl Lee, she was petrified about what could happen.

  “This sort of worries me,” said Bettye. “You poured from that pitcher, and guess what almost happened.”

  “I know. I’m sorry,” said Meryl Lee. “It’s just that I’m desperate.”

  “Let me see you pour,” said Bettye.

  Bettye watched the hot tea running underneath the spout, then splashing to the floor. “Everyone in the room should be petrified,” she said. “I’ll show you—for safety’s sake.”

  She did, and by the morning of Mrs. Mott’s November Tea and Biscuit Conversation, Meryl Lee was pretty sure she was prepared.

  Current national or international event: Ready. The likely effects on the Vietnam War if Hubert H. Humphrey were elected president of the United States (it seemed appropriate for Veterans Day).

  Required St. Elene’s Academy uniform since this was an official school activity: Ready.

  Non-ratty non-red shoes: Ready.

  Strategy for pouring tea: Probably okay because of Bettye’s lesson, but maybe she wouldn’t have to. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more unlikely it seemed that Mrs. Mott would ask her to pour the tea.

  Strategy for the teacup: Ready. Have it filled only halfway.

  Strategy for the biscuit: Ready. She wouldn’t take one.

  Everything was ready.

  But as Dr. MacKnockater says, sometimes in life there are Obstacles.

  * * *

  Late that afternoon, back at Netley, Meryl Lee told Bettye that usually her hiccups lasted only a couple of minutes. Never as long as they had lasted at Mrs. Mott’s November Tea and Biscuit Conversation. And never that loud before.

  And it had been bad luck hiccupping when she was passing a cup to Marian Elders, and so a drop or two might have fallen on her and probably because Marian remembered what happened last time, you can understand why she stood up like that and the teapot got knocked out of Meryl Lee’s hands and the tea went a little over Lois Tuthill but mostly over Marian.

  It was too bad the teapot was so full. But it showed foresight that Mrs. Mott had thought to allow the tea to cool a bit before letting Meryl Lee get her hands on it.

  * * *

  Two weeks before Thanksgiving break, Mrs. Connolly decided to give her students an Obstacle. They were to study and memorize a passage of no fewer than two hundred and fifty words from the book they were currently studying in order to develop taste and discernment. Then, they were to present those two hundred and fifty words interpretively in front of the entire middle school. “This will not only teach you how to read attentively and choose judiciously,” said Mrs. Connolly, “but it will also develop poise.”

  But when she heard what Marian and Heidi were preparing, Meryl Lee wondered about the assignment leading to apoplexy more than poise.

  Marian was preparing the climax of Oedipus Rex because it was so bloody and had panache.

  This surprised Meryl Lee some.

  Heidi was preparing the scene in Moby-Dick when the white whale smashed the Pequod to bits. “It’s the best part of the whole six hundred pages,” she said.

  This did not surprise Meryl Lee at all.

  Meryl Lee wasn’t sure the Tin Woodman scene from The Wonderful Wizard of Oz would hold up. The most exciting part was when Toto bit the Tin Woodman, but even then, Toto hurt only his teeth. And the whole business of the Tin Woodman groaning for a year and no one ever coming to help seemed sort of pale next to the Pequod getting smashed and sinking beneath the waves.

  She decided to look for a more profound passage.

  She tried to do this at night in Putnam Library, but it was difficult since she was struggling to find a way of sitting that didn’t hurt quite so much. The reason she was trying to do that had a lot to do with the very last field hockey scrimmage, when Heidi, determined to do her all at the end, swung her very large stick and flat out walloped Meryl Lee in a very unfashionable place.

  The next morning, Meryl Lee’s very sore unfashionable place was a whole spectrum of bright and dark colors that she was glad no one else could see, and she was walking around like an unoiled Tin Woodman since every left step hurt like anything. When Heidi saw her, she hugged her and wouldn’t stop saying how sorry she was. When Bettye saw her, she offered to bring over a hot water bottle. When Mrs. Saunders saw her, she told her to “straighten up, young lady.”

  Meryl Lee did the best she could.

  From Jennifer, no response to her suffering. Meryl Lee figured that if she came in with blood erupting out of her eyes, Jennifer would hardly notice. And if she did, she’d worry only about blood getting all over her green satin duvet.

  Latest conversation in their room:

  Ashley: Jennifer says when Alden comes to visit her for Thanksgiving, he’s going to give her one of his great-aunt’s jewels!

  Charlotte: (Squeals, then places hands over her heart.) I can’t believe it!

  Jennifer: It’s a ruby ring that’s been in his family since Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots.

  Charlotte: It’s almost like you’re engaged.

  Meryl Lee: (Rolling her eyes.) It doesn’t mean they’re engaged. It’s just a gift.

  Jennifer: Do your eyes always roll around like marbles?

  Meryl Lee: Only when they need to.

  Jennifer: “Only when th
ey need to.” How clever.

  Meryl Lee’s spectacular colors lasted almost a week; the soreness lasted a little bit longer. But you can put up with a lot if you know escape is imminent. They were only days away from Thanksgiving break. Just days! Soon, her mother and father would come to St. Elene’s to pick her up, and they would drive away through the main gate, past the wall and its poison ivy vines, and they would head back home to Long Island.

  She didn’t even care that Jennifer would be riding in her family limousine.

  Meryl Lee was going home.

  * * *

  On Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving break, Mrs. Connolly’s students gave their oral recitations of two-hundred-and-fifty-word passages. Mrs. Connolly was in a happy mood; she had been in a happy mood for the past three weeks, because the election was over and Richard M. Nixon would be the next president of the United States of America and in Chapel she announced that he would be the savior of our nation to boot. Truth and righteousness, she said, had triumphed.

  Meryl Lee thought that Dr. MacKnockater had not looked convinced.

  So Mrs. Connolly was smiling as the entire upper school of St. Elene’s Preparatory Academy for Girls gathered in Lesser Hoxne Recital Hall, where tradition coats the paneled walls. Dr. MacKnockater and Mrs. Connolly sat in two upholstered chairs on the stage, and one by one Mrs. Connolly called the presenters down. “Poise, girls,” said Mrs. Connolly. And they were all poised, especially when they walked from their seats to the podium, because the floor was polished wood and sort of steep and everyone could hear every step.

  As each girl positioned herself behind the podium, she handed Mrs. Connolly her book with the passage marked, and Mrs. Connolly turned the pages and studied the passage as if she had written it herself, and then she set the book on her lap, looked over her glasses, and said, “Begin, please.”

  Meryl Lee wondered if everyone wanted to throw up—like she did.

  Heidi was positioned before Marian and Meryl Lee, and she got her reading perfect—except Mrs. Connolly arched her eyebrows at Heidi’s obvious delight in destruction, which, she said after Heidi finished, had made her sound inappropriately mannish, and she wished that Heidi had brought the piece to her for approval.

  “I’m sorry, but was that on the list of requirements?” said Heidi.

  Silence in the room.

  “Courtesy should have been enough motivation,” said Mrs. Connolly.

  Then Mrs. Connolly called Marian, who forgot to hand Mrs. Connolly her copy of Oedipus Rex and Mrs. Connolly was already annoyed so she said, “Pay attention, Miss Elders,” and that made Marian nervous and she dropped the book and then she bent to pick it up again and her glasses fell off and she bent again to pick them up and Mrs. Connolly grabbed at the book but the marker had fallen out and she said, “What page will you be reciting from?” and Marian didn’t know the page number so Mrs. Connolly handed the book back and Marian put on her glasses and found the page and she handed the book back and by then everyone was laughing and Mrs. Connolly did her studying-of-the-passage thing and said, “Begin, please,” but Marian was so nervous now that she didn’t hear her and so Mrs. Connolly said, “Do you want to pass this course or not, Miss Elders? Begin, please.”

  Marian was about to cry.

  But she looked out and saw Meryl Lee—who winked—and Heidi—she winked too—and Marian took a deep breath and began.

  It was bloody.

  It was really bloody.

  But it had panache.

  Even Mrs. Connolly clapped.

  Marian almost danced off the stage.

  Then Mrs. Connolly called out, “Miss Kowalski,” and Meryl Lee walked up to the podium and handed The Wonderful Wizard of Oz to Mrs. Connolly, who held it at a distance as if it were infectious, and Meryl Lee waited to be told that she should begin, and just when she began with “All the same,” a marble began to roll down from the top of Lesser Hoxne Recital Hall.

  Really, everyone could hear it on the steep, polished wood floor. Meryl Lee stopped. The marble hit a chair leg, bounced off, hit another chair leg and poised there a moment before starting down again, and it rolled, bumping against chair legs, and stopped somewhere halfway down, probably stuck. People were trying not to laugh, but it was kind of hard.

  Meryl Lee thought about executioners’ axes and two tries, but Mrs. Connolly said, “Poise, Miss Kowalski,” and “Continue, please.”

  Meryl Lee took another deep breath and started again—“All the same”—but she didn’t finish the sentence before the marble came unstuck, and it rolled down, and rolled down, and the girls started to laugh, loudly now, and Meryl Lee glanced at Heidi—who was looking very grim about the mouth—and Mrs. Connolly said loudly, “Please, Miss Kowalski. Poise,” again, and Meryl Lee tried, but finally the marble smacked into the stage and stopped and the girls clapped and laughed.

  Heidi stood and looked back at the top row.

  Meryl Lee thought that if Heidi ever looked at her the way she was looking at the top row, she would definitely head for Canada. “Miss Kidder,” said Mrs. Connolly, “you are to sit down, please.”

  “You don’t think that was done on purpose?” said Heidi.

  “I do not. Miss Kowalski,” Mrs. Connolly said, “I remind you that this performance is not insignificant in regard to your quarter’s grade. Please begin.”

  Heidi sat down like a cannon resting before a blast. And Meryl Lee looked at Mrs. Connolly, who sat as if nothing at all had happened. Then she looked up at the top row, where Jennifer and Ashley and Charlotte from Charlotte smiled oh so sweetly, and there was the Blank, coming down the rows toward her, and then onto the stage, and then to the very podium, and Meryl Lee turned to look at Dr. Nora MacKnockater, who sat forward in her chair, almost as if she would stand but not quite, and who was watching her carefully.

  And suddenly Meryl Lee knew exactly what to do. Exactly. She felt Resolution come into her. Moving as if in a dream, she parted the Blank like a thick sea fog, and she stepped through, and she began.

  “All the same,” said the Scarecrow, “I shall ask for brains instead of a heart; for a fool would not know what to do with a heart if he had one.”

  “I shall take the heart,” returned the Tin Woodman; “for brains do not make one happy, and happiness is the best thing in the world.”

  Dorothy did not say anything, for she was puzzled to know which of her two friends was right.

  She spoke on, and it was quiet in Lesser Hoxne Recital Hall. Quiet as Meryl Lee finished. Quiet as Meryl Lee walked back up to her seat. And quiet until she sat down, when there was quiet clapping.

  At the end, Mrs. Connolly came to the podium and she thanked the girls for their hard work and wished them all a happy Thanksgiving holiday and then dismissed the upper school. Dr. Nora MacKnockater went to the recital hall door first, and as the girls walked by, she congratulated them on their good work too. As Meryl Lee walked toward that door, it seemed to her that again and again Dr. MacKnockater’s gaze would come over the heads of the other girls and fall fully upon her. And the gaze felt heavier and heavier as Meryl Lee came nearer and nearer the door. And when she got there, she looked up, and the Awful Dignity was looking at her, looking right at her, and Dr. MacKnockater said, “Would you please wait outside for me, Miss Kowalski?”

  So Meryl Lee waited outside the auditorium while Heidi and Marian walked on to Netley, looking over their shoulders to see what disaster was about to befall Meryl Lee, and then Meryl Lee was walking slightly behind Dr. MacKnockater to one side of Lesser Hoxne’s lobby while all the girls looked at her as if she had caused a whole lot of commotion. But Dr. MacKnockater looked around in all her Awful Dignity until the girls fled and then she said, “Miss Kowalski, your presentation was powerful. Thank you.”

  “It’s just The Wonderful Wizard of Oz,” said Meryl Lee.

  “Good books have questions for us to ponder. That is what all good art does. So, for example, in your passage, which assessment is corre
ct? That of the Scarecrow or that of the Tin Woodman?” Meryl Lee thought. “Right now, I guess I think it’s Dorothy’s,” she said.

  Dr. MacKnockater considered this. “For the present,” she said finally, “that is a good answer. But only for the present.”

  “How will I know when I have the right answer?” said Meryl Lee.

  “Is there only one right answer?”

  “Isn’t there always one right answer?” said Meryl Lee.

  Dr. MacKnockater shook her head.

  Meryl Lee considered this. “There can be more than one right answer?”

  Dr. MacKnockater smiled the Awful Dignity smile. Then, “I have something to tell you,” she said, “that will be a disappointment. I have received a call from your mother, who informs me that she and your father have scheduled legal appointments that they absolutely must keep, and they will be unable to come to St. Elene’s to pick you up for Thanksgiving.”

  Meryl Lee looked at Dr. MacKnockater. “You mean they’re not coming?”

  “I’m sorry, yes. That is what I mean.”

  The Blank, right there, without warning.

  Right there.

  “I don’t understand,” said Meryl Lee.

  “The heart is more difficult to understand than the brain,” said Dr. MacKnockater quietly. She took Meryl Lee’s hand in her own. “Miss Kowalski, as your plans have unexpectedly changed, may I ask this? It would give me great pleasure if you would come to my house tomorrow afternoon and share Thanksgiving dinner with me.”

  “You’re inviting me to Thanksgiving dinner?”

  “I am.”

  “Are my parents all right?” Meryl Lee said.

  “You will see them at Christmas. They will explain everything.”

  Meryl Lee looked through the glass doors of Lesser Hoxne. The clouds of the morning had been sheared away, and across the commons, the girls of St. Elene’s were skipping in the sudden sunlight. Just outside the doors, Heidi and Marian were waiting for her.