by Dyan Sheldon
Summer is almost over. Soon the leaves will begin to turn colour and fall, and the days will grow shorter and cool. Even sooner, the pool, the swimsuits, the Ray-Bans and the sunblock will be replaced with classrooms, school clothes and iPads; the planning of beach parties and boat rides replaced with organizing what everyone’s doing on Saturday night or after the game. Which is not a thought that makes them all happy.
Beneath the umbrella decorated with dragons, Georgiana sighs, a sound like someone trying to blow out a fire. “God, can you believe the summer’s almost over?” It seems to Georgiana that it was only yesterday that she walked out of Shell Harbour High, free as a bird and full of anticipation and plans, and now here she is about to walk back in, the door slamming shut behind her. Caged again. “I had so many things I wanted to do that I never did, and already it’s back to the old grind.”
“But we did have some really good times.” Marigold believes in positive thinking. There is no cloud so black that she can’t find a silver lining in it – or, at least, a silver thread. “And there are a lot of fun things to look forward to in the fall and winter.”
Byron grins. “What? Like flu and getting stuck in the snow?”
Marigold laughs in her good-natured way. “You know what I mean. It’s not all gloom and doom, is it? There are dances and parties. Homecoming. Christmas. Skiing. All that cool stuff.”
“Yeah, sure there is. And I love all that, too.” Georgiana absent-mindedly twists a strand of hair around one finger. “But, I don’t know – the winter’s not like the summer. It’s all routine and schedules and regular life. In the summer it’s like anything could happen.” By “anything” Georgiana means romance and adventure. Not that there has been much of either in her life so far. This summer the most exciting thing that happened to her was nearly drowning in the undertow swimming at her aunt’s house in Baja. Last summer all Georgiana got in Thailand was dysentery.
“Let’s not start talking about snow yet, OK?” says Claudelia. “I mean, I’ve only just gotten my tan even and soon it’ll be all leggings and sweaters and boots.”
“I wasn’t even thinking of that stuff.” Georgiana sighs again. “You know, sometimes I really wish I lived in LA. I know it has its downside…”
“You mean like the weird people, the earthquakes and the terminal pollution?” asks Will.
“Don’t forget the Godzilla traffic,” chips in Byron. “We were stuck in a jam so bad it would’ve been faster to walk back to the hotel over the cars.”
“But at least it’s always warm and sunny,” says Claudelia.
“Permanent summer.” Georgiana looks wistful. “I could do that. It’d be awesome.”
“But you’d still have to go to school,” points out Will.
Georgiana scowls at him. “Like I could forget that, right?” Georgiana is not the biggest fan the education system has ever had. She believes that life is for living, not sitting in a room being taught a whole lot of things she’s never going to have any use for. Does she need to understand Hamlet to shop? Grasp the basics of quantum mechanics to play tennis? Master quadratic equations in order to have a bank account? No, no and no. People spend a lot more time under the ground than above it. Life’s too short to read Proust. That’s what Georgiana thinks.
“Oh, come on,” says Marigold. “School’s not so bad. I like it.” Which is true. Marigold is a straight-A student with a special passion for literature. She’s already read Proust.
“I wonder if there’s any place in California where you can go to school in a bathing suit.” Claudelia is still thinking about her tan. “I mean, if there’s anywhere on the planet where you could, that would have to be it, right? Or maybe Florida. Florida’s pretty laid-back.”
“Oh my God!” Something has finally made Georgiana smile. “Can you imagine the cow Dr Kilpatiky would have if you showed up in a bikini? She wouldn’t shut up about it for months!” Georgiana’s laughter makes her lounger tremble and wakes up Dunkin on the chair beside her (though not for long).
Will, who has been lolling, sits up, straight as a bolt. “Wow! That’d be so awesome. Can’t you just picture it? I’d pay to see that. I really would.”
“Never mind paying,” says Asher. “We could sell tickets. Make a fortune.”
Too-funny-for-words tears fill Georgiana’s eyes. “Oh God, wouldn’t it be fantastic?” she gasps. “The old witch would be so outraged! And you know how her nose twitches when she’s really upset? I bet she’d go into lift-off.”
“Oh, man!” Byron is in danger of falling off his chair. “I don’t know how, but I forgot about the twitching nose! The twitching nose is phenomenal. Can you grasp the total wonderfulness of what would happen if we got it on camera? Put it on YouTube?” He turns to Claudelia. “Come on, Claudelia, why don’t you do it? Show up the first day wearing what you’re wearing now.” Three small triangles of material and several lengths of string. “Just to see the Killjoy’s reaction.”
Claudelia knows exactly what the principal’s reaction would be. “Yeah, in your dreams.” She jerks her head towards Asher. “Why don’t you get Ash to do it? He’s the pro at dressing down.”
Asher pretends to laugh. Hahaha. “You’re very funny.” When it comes to wearing inappropriate clothes and causing the Kilpatiky nose to twitch so much it looked as if it were trying to wrest itself from the Kilpatiky face, Asher, of course, has history. It is, however, a history he’d rather not repeat. Not a year away from graduation. “I still can’t get within a yard of the old bat without her making some crack about last Halloween.”
“Halloween!” Will falls back against the cushion again. If a bull could laugh, it would sound like Will. “Now that was truly awesome. It was like you created the Legend of Shell Harbour. We should probably write a song about it. No one’s ever going to forget it.”
“Well I wish the Killjoy would.” Even wearing swimming trunks and a T-shirt, Asher manages to give the impression that he’s wearing a suit. An immaculate and well-pressed suit. This ability of Asher’s to always look as if he’s going to an important interview, no matter what he has on, was noticed by Dr Kilpatiky at the Halloween dance. Which didn’t make her like his costume any more. “I don’t really think grudge-holding is a desirable trait in an authority figure. It shows a lack of flexibility. She needs to learn how to let go of things. Crissake, it was just a joke.” Which is where he went wrong, of course. If you converted the Killjoy’s sense of humour into money she wouldn’t be able to buy a small cup of coffee. Not even at twentieth-century prices.
“Grudge-holder is right,” says Georgiana. “Unlike you, Ash, I didn’t actually do anything. I just said something. In a debate, for Pete’s sake. In language arts.” Which is about the same as saying something silently and to yourself in an igloo in the middle of the frozen tundra. The only person who was actually listening was Dr Kilpatiky. “Look at the dumb things politicians say on TV and nobody gets on their case, do they? But boy, just say one little thing about parties helping fight poverty and she acts like I was arguing to bring back slavery.”
Byron smirks. “I guess she’s old-fashioned enough to think that the last thing somebody living in a cardboard box needs is a party.”
Georgiana rolls her eyes. “Um-duh, Byron. I didn’t mean throw them a party. I meant as a fundraiser. Gees Louise, everybody does stuff like that. It’s called charity.”
Which, of course, is what she told Dr Kilpatiky. Not that that cut any ice with the nose-twitcher. The woman single-handedly redefines the meaning of “party pooper”. Dr Kilpatiky said that charity isn’t an effective weapon against poverty because it treats the symptom, not the cause. “You might as well put a Band-Aid on a bullet wound,” said Dr Kilpatiky.
“Like all of a sudden she’s what’s his name?” gripes Georgiana. “That Communist. The one with the beard.”
“Castro?” guesses Asher.
“No, the other one.”
Will tries Che Guevara.
“No
.” Georgiana shakes her head. “The one we did in history last year. He wrote that thing.”
“Are we talking about Karl Marx?” asks Byron.
“That’s him!” Georgiana snaps her fingers. “All of a sudden she’s Karl Marx.”
This is a comparison that would surprise both Mr Marx and Dr Kilpatiky, but the only one around the pool who disagrees is Byron. “More like Stalin, really. She who must be obeyed or it’s off to the Gulag.”
Marigold has been quiet throughout these tales of woe and injustice, but now she says, “Well, she is the principal. I mean, it is her job to enforce the rules.” Marigold, of course, has had her own difficulties with Dr Kilpatiky and charity but she believes in being reasonable and fair. She also doesn’t like to dwell on unpleasant or upsetting things. What you don’t talk about doesn’t really exist. That’s what Marigold thinks.
“And anyway, it doesn’t matter, does it?” Georgiana gazes at the strip of ocean on the horizon as if she will never see it again, and effortlessly returns to the beginning of this conversation. “Even if Dr Kilpatiky gave birth to twin cows, it still wouldn’t make up for summer being over. I mean, seriously? How are you supposed to have a life when you have to go to school every day? It is such a drag.”
“It beats working at McDonald’s,” says Byron.
Will whoops with derision. “How would you know, Locke? You’ve never been in a McDonald’s in your life.” As it happens, Will, who is hypoglycemic and will eat just about anything that can be considered edible, is the only one here who has.
“And?” Byron raises an inquisitive eyebrow. “I’ve walked by dozens of them. Hundreds of times. Smile, scoop. Smile, box. As jobs go, Lundquist, it’s not exactly the great challenge of our times.”
Georgiana peers at Will over the top of her sunglasses. “Yeah, but I’m not going to wind up scooping fries in McDonald’s, am I, Willem? That chapter is not in the book of my life.”
“You don’t know,” says Asher. “You might if you don’t go to school.” There are times when he sounds so much like his father, he might have been cloned from him. “Especially if you don’t do well.” The most important thing in life is to get ahead, and the way to do that is through hard work, ambition and being better than everyone else. That’s what Asher thinks.
Georgiana makes a not-again face. “Please. Spare me the lecture on the joys of education.”
Will takes the damp towel hanging over the arm of his lounger and throws it at Asher. “From the mouths of anal-retentive, over-achievers…”
“I’m just saying,” says Asher.
He throws the towel back at Will, but it lands on Dunkin.
Dunkin doesn’t notice.
Chapter Three
Marigold Tries Reason
Mrs Mahoney finishes packing her briefcase, shuts it and picks up her bag. This was the last day of the first week of classes, and it’s been a long and stressful one. The community service placements were handed out this morning, and it seems Mrs Mahoney was right when she suggested that Dr Kilpatiky’s change would be greeted with less celebration than an outbreak of skin fungus. People who are used to getting their own way seldom shrug philosophically when they don’t. They carp and grumble. They follow you down the corridor defining the word “unfair” for you, since you clearly have no idea what it means. They interrupt conversations you’re having with other teachers to explain their human rights. Mrs Mahoney is looking forward to getting home. Which is why when she hears a knock her immediate impulse is to duck under the desk. “Yes?” Mrs Mahoney holds her breath as the door slowly opens.
“Mrs Mahoney?” Marigold Liotta appears in the opening, smiling like good news. Smart, motivated, outgoing, conscientious, and always pleasant and upbeat, Marigold is a favourite with the staff of Shell Harbour High. Indeed, ever since kindergarten, Marigold’s report cards have always included the information that it was a real pleasure to have her in the class. Mrs Mahoney starts to breathe again. Golf clubs and caviar aside, if more students were like Marigold Liotta, fewer teachers would quit because of pressure and stress.
Marigold steps into the room. “I was wondering if maybe I could talk to you for a minute?” If sunshine were a teenage girl, this is definitely the teenage girl it would be. “I mean, if you’re not real busy.”
“I was just leaving,” says Mrs Mahoney. “Why don’t you walk me to my car and we can talk on the way?”
“Oh, that’d be great.” Marigold makes it sound as if this was exactly what she wanted. Still smiling, she waits for Mrs Mahoney to turn off the lights and lock the door.
“I hope you don’t already have a problem this term,” says Mrs Mahoney as they walk down the hall.
“Oh no, not a real problem.” Beside all her other virtues, Marigold is not in the running for Drama Queen of the Year – unlike many of the teenagers Mrs Mahoney has known. “More like a minor glitch.”
The “minor glitch” has to do with the new system for community service placements.
“I’m very in favour of innovation and not doing things a certain way just because that’s the way it’s always been done,” explains Marigold. “And I think using a computer program is really cool. I mean, this is the twenty-first century. Why have all this technology if we don’t use it? But in my case I really don’t think the computer’s made the right choice.”
“Even computers can make mistakes.” There has been one instance already of it doing just that. Mrs Mahoney laughs. “Don’t tell me it has you coaching football.”
Marigold joins in the laughter. “Oh no, nothing like that. It’s just that I really believe my old placement makes much better use of my talents and interests.”
Mrs Mahoney shakes her head. Regretfully. “I’m afraid I can’t help you then, Marigold. If you were given something you’re obviously not suited to we could get you another placement, but if it’s just that you don’t like what it gave you, it’s out of my hands.”
They cross the central foyer, empty as a ghost town. Their footsteps echo.
Marigold continues to radiate good cheer. “Well, whose hands is it in?”
Mrs Mahoney glances towards the principal’s office. “That would be Dr Kilpatiky. She’s the only one with the authority to make a change based merely on personal preference.”
Marigold stops so suddenly that Mrs Mahoney takes a few more steps before she realizes she’s walking alone and looks back.
“I guess I’ll have to talk to Dr Kilpatiky then.” Marigold waves cheerfully if dismissively. “Have a good night, Mrs Mahoney. And thanks for your help.” She turns away.
Marigold continues to smile as she makes her way to the principal’s office, though not because the prospect of talking to Dr Kilpatiky makes her happy. Her last serious discussion with Dr Kilpatiky is still vivid in her mind, the one in which the principal accused her of acting like Marie Antoinette – a comparison Marigold found a little harsh.
The office staff have already left for the day, but the principal’s door is open. Marigold knocks. “Dr Kilpatiky? Can I talk to you for a minute?” Marigold still looks as if this is something she’s looking forward to.
One of the reasons why Marigold acts more like the goodwill ambassador from the planet Perfect than a normal adolescent from the dark and dangerous kingdom of Teen is that she believes that life is what you make it. Not in the sense that you can have anything you want if you work extremely hard and go to Harvard, as Asher does. In the sense that if you think and act as if everything is good, then it will be. The glass is always half full – and never with anything unpleasant. Things may be bad right now, but it’s all going to be just fine very soon. There is nothing so wrong that wishing can’t make it right; nothing so impossible that persistence can’t make it happen.
Although this doesn’t seem to be a philosophy that Dr Kilpatiky shares.
“No, Marigold, I’m sorry,” says the principal when Marigold has finished explaining what she wants. “I’m afraid we can’t change your pl
acement on a whim.”
“But it’s not a whim, Dr Kilpatiky.” If Marigold were a summer day there still wouldn’t be a cloud in the sky. “Literature is one of my major passions and my last placement was at the library, so that was perfect for me. I really learned a lot, and I don’t want to sound like I’m waving my own flag or anything, but they kept telling me what an asset I was. Only, this term, with this new system, the computer gave me a tutoring programme. In Half Hollow. You know, for kids who are innumerate and practically illiterate? I mean, not only is that really a job for qualified teachers, I think you’d agree that it’s a waste of my abilities and talents.”
Dr Kilpatiky, however, wouldn’t agree. She repeats that she is sorry. “I’m sure you were a valuable asset to the library, Marigold, but I don’t really consider shelving books a specialist skill. If, for example, you were a basketball prodigy and wanted to swap your placement for coaching kids hoping for a college scholarship, I would certainly consider that.”
“Books are just as important as basketball, you know.” Marigold continues to look as if this conversation is going the way she planned. “And it’s not just shelving, Dr Kilpatiky, it’s my knowledge of both fiction and non-fiction, as well. It’s very extensive. I help people.”
“Well, now you can help the students in the tutoring programme.” Dr Kilpatiky’s nose twitches involuntarily. “As you said, many of the children who attend are functionally illiterate. Which means that someone with a major passion for literature is exactly what they need to inspire and encourage them.” Her smile is an afterthought. “You can be a role model.”