Bursting Bubbles (29 page)

The day is chilly but sunny and pleasant. Carlin says he hasn’t felt this positive in a long time.

Asher, although no stranger to stress, can’t remember ever feeling this anxious before. “You mean you think we’re going to win?”

Carlin rubs his hands together. “Oh, I don’t know about that. It just feels good to be doing something. Instead of just watching things happen to you. Like you’re nothing but an observer in your own life.”

“I know what you mean,” says the Reverend Dunbar. “And I have to say, I’m feeling pretty excited myself. It does feel good to be acting rather than simply reacting.” He turns to Asher. “What about you, son? You’re the one filled with youthful rebellion.”

The only thing Asher is filled with right now is fear. “Tell you the truth, I’m feeling pretty nervous.” They’re both looking at him; he looks at the bird droppings scattered over the roof. “I’ve never done anything like this before. And, you know…”

“Your father’s a lawyer,” fills in Carlin. “So he probably isn’t going to think this is a good extracurricular activity. Not like working for the mayor.”

“Yeah.” Asher nods. “You know, I’ve kind of grown up to respect the law.” And yet here he is, sitting on a rooftop, preparing to break it.

“Laws are made by men,” says Carlin. “And not always for the sake of justice.”

“As Edmund Burke said,” says the minister, “‘It is not what a lawyer tells me I
may
do; but what humanity, reason, and justice tell me I ought to do.’”

“I don’t think my father knows that quote,” says Asher.

At fourteen minutes after two they all take up their positions and Reverend Dunbar starts counting down.

It isn’t until he says, “Three … two … one… Now!” and they hurl the banner over the edge that they see the crowd already gathered below. Demonstrators. News people. Spectators and passers-by. And police. A cheer goes up, and Asher, Carlin and Reverend Dunbar all wave. Which is the image that is later shown on national news.

A few hours pass before Asher calls his father.

Albert wants to know where he is.

“I’m in Queen’s Park,” says Asher. “I’ve been arrested.”

His father laughs. “No, really, Ash. Where are you?”

“In jail. You’re my one phone call. I need you to bail me out.”

“In jail?” repeats his father. “What the hell are you doing in jail?”

“My community service.”

Albert Grossman is not a screamer and shouter. Logic and reason are his weapons; that and always being right. Indeed, he is so calm and relaxed when he arrives to get Asher that he might be picking him up from a game and not a police station. You would have to be his son to know he’s angry. The only comment he makes as they leave the building is, “Well, this will be a story to tell my grandchildren. Hopefully, I’ll be able to laugh about it then.”

Because Asher’s father likes to concentrate when he’s driving, they don’t discuss what happened until they get home.

“I can see Dr Kilpatiky’s reasoning,” says Albert after Asher explains about the changes she made in the community-service placements. “There’s no harm in giving kids a push. But you should have told me. I could have done something.”

Asher shrugs. “You said I should stand on my own two feet.”

“Not on the roof of the town hall, I didn’t.”

“No,” Asher mumbles. “That just kind of happened.”

His father positions himself in front of the fireplace as if he’s pleading before a judge, his hands clasped behind his back. “So did these people force you to join them today?”

“You mean at gunpoint?” asks Asher. “The Reverend Dunbar and his wife?”

“There’s no need to be facetious. I know that young people your age need to flex their muscles as it were, but I don’t really understand why you would break the law like that.”

Albert Grossman exudes confidence and wellbeing. As he should. He has it all: professional success, status and money. So much so that he could be an advertisement for the benefits of Western civilization;
Living the Dream
. But as Asher looks at him, it is not the well-dressed, well-fed, well-respected businessman he sees, it is Shelley Anne Rebough and her children at the Christmas dinner at the church, so happy you’d think they’d won the lottery.

“Because a lot of people need help, that’s why,” says Asher. “And everything’s being shut down and taken away.”

“That’s the way the world is,” says his father.

“That doesn’t mean it’s the way it has to be,” says Asher.

Albert laughs. “It isn’t? You really think your little protest is going to change anything?”

If there is one thing Asher’s learned in the last year it’s that the world isn’t run by or made for Shelley Anne Rebough and her children; it’s run by and made for Asher’s father and men like him. “Probably not,” Asher admits.

Albert laughs again. “Then why do it?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do.”

Coloured
lights have been strung across the Shillers’ backyard; chairs and small tables dot the lawn. The umbrellas from Thailand have been arranged to shelter the buffet of food and drink near the house. A banner saying
CONGRATULATIONS!
hangs over the patio doors and music plays from speakers fixed to several trees. The roses are in bloom.

This is the last weekend in June. Soon summer jobs and family vacations will begin. Marigold will be counselling at a summer camp for inner-city kids, Asher will be working at the community centre, and Georgiana, Byron, Will and Claudelia are doing a road trip, but right now they all sit together at a table near the koi pond. Dunkin lies under the table. The humans are dressed up for the party. Dunkin is wearing a bow.

“Man, I can hardly believe it,” says Will. “We actually made it. We graduated!”

Claudelia picks up a nacho from her plate. “Is it me,” she wonders, “or has this year gone really fast?” It seems to her that it was only yesterday they were sitting by the pool and Georgiana was complaining about going back to school, and now it’s all over.

Though that is not the way it seems to Asher. “I don’t know about fast.” There were some parts of the year that seemed to Asher to move so slowly they were standing still. For instance, the day of the demonstration. Just the wait at the police station for his father to pick him up and the conversation that followed lasted a couple of years each. Long, unpleasant years. “But I suppose that at least it’s been pretty interesting.”

Will flicks a potato chip at Asher’s head. “
Interesting?
Is that what you call it? Asher Grossman, future president of our nation, is filmed defying the government, and you call it
interesting
?”

“I wasn’t defying the government.” Asher throws the chip under the table to Dunkin. “I was participating in it.” A point that Albert Grossman accepted the way we all accept bad weather. Just as he’s accepted the fact that instead of working in his law firm this summer Asher will be working at the community centre. Albert, of course, is hoping his son isn’t serious about not studying corporate law after all, and is just going through a phase. Even he, in his rebellious teens, spent two weeks in India. “But maybe ‘different’ would be a better description of this year.”

“Well, my year was definitely interesting,” says Marigold. Asher wasn’t the only one to get his picture in the paper. Marigold’s exposure wasn’t national, of course (and not filmed), but the article in the local paper went a long way to making her mother forgive her for running off with her car and upsetting her like that. In fact, Eveline later said that if she’d known why Marigold was behaving so badly she would never have been upset in the first place. This, of course, isn’t true but it is the closest her mother has ever come to admitting she might be wrong. Marigold smiles. “Didn’t I say that placement would broaden my horizons?”

Byron laughs. “And the great thing is, you’re still your old, sunny, optimistic self.”

Marigold laughs, too, but for a different reason. “Yeah, well, I kind of think I got lucky. I mean, everything worked out OK, but it didn’t have to.” It could have been a disaster. She could have failed to get anywhere with Sadie. She could have been so defeated by Sadie she gave up before a month was out. She might never have found Sadie under that porch. Sadie could have been inspired by a different show and been somewhere a lot worse. “Things don’t always turn out the way you expect them too.”

“Tell me about it,” says Georgiana. As far as a year of firsts goes, no one can beat her. OK, Asher broke the law and Marigold suddenly turned into Action Girl, but Georgiana did something she never thought possible. On the Saturday when Alice Einhorn called to tell her that if she wanted to say goodbye she better hurry, instead of freaking out, Georgiana went straight to St. Joan’s. She arrived in time to have Mrs Kilgour snap at her for crying. “What are you making such a fuss about? You know I don’t like a fuss.” Georgiana was holding Mrs Kilgour’s hand when she died. It turned out, however, that Mrs Kilgour had one more surprise up her sleeve. She had named Georgiana as her next of kin, which meant that Mrs Kilgour’s ashes were released to her. She and Byron took them and Mr Kilgour’s ashes to New York, and threw them over the side of the Staten Island Ferry. “But you know what?” says Georgiana. “When stuff doesn’t turn out how you expect, that’s not always a bad thing.”

“No,” says Asher. Nothing is turning out the way he thought it should. And certainly not the way his father wanted. “But everything is copasetic anyway.”

“Watch it, dude…” Will shoots another potato chip at him. “You’re starting to sound like Marigold.”

Their laughter causes Dunkin to wag his tail in his sleep.

Dyan Sheldon is the author of many books for young people, including
Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen
;
One or Two Things I Learned About Love
;
The Crazy Things Girls Do for Love
;
Tall, Thin and Blonde
; and
My Worst Best Friend
, as well as a number of stories for younger readers. American by birth, Dyan lives in North London.