CHAPTER 17

EVERYONE’S AFRAID OF SOMETHING:
Mastigophobia is the fear of punishment.

The following morning Lulu, Madeleine, Theo, and Garrison cautiously settled into their silver desks and prepared for Mrs. Wellington’s lesson. The night before the four children had discussed how they might escape from the school, but in the absence of any good ideas, they went to sleep, hoping the next day would bring better luck. The fact that the day was beginning in the classroom rather than the Fearnasium or any other crazy room in the house was a start.

“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.