Bursting Bubbles (3 page)

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.

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 placement 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.”

“I don’t want to argue with you, Dr Kilpatiky.” In fact, Marigold doesn’t like arguing with anyone. Ever. “But I do think they need something much more basic.” She gives a light, non-argumentative laugh. “You know, Richard Scarry, not Richard Ford. Or phonics. That’s it. They need someone who knows phonics.”

“I appreciate that, ideally, this is a job for qualified teachers, but I’m afraid there isn’t any funding for that. Everyone who works in the programme at Half Hollow is a volunteer.”

The summer sky begins to darken ever so slightly. “But that doesn’t mean I should be one of them.” You might think that Marigold is so determined to get her old placement back because her friends won’t be able to visit her at the tutoring programme as they did at the library, but that isn’t actually why. There are, in fact, two reasons why she doesn’t want to change. The first is that Marigold doesn’t really want to deal with children. She has one sister, eight years older, who lives in Australia, which means that the only time she’s ever been around little kids was when she was one. The second is that Marigold really doesn’t like anything unpleasant or depressing. She wants the world and everything in it to be bright, shining and pleasant, if not actually filled with music and joy. She has never been to Half Hollow but she knows that, compared to Shell Harbour, it is virtually a slum. Busted. Depressing. Children from a busted, depressing slum aren’t going to be bright, shining, pleasant or filled with music and joy. What they’re likely to be is dysfunctional, difficult and miserable. “I’ve never taught anyone to read, Dr Kilpatiky. So sending me there just isn’t the best deployment of resources.”

The principal’s nose twitches some more. “This isn’t a career we’re talking about here, Marigold; it’s a few hours of community service. I’m sure the library will survive without your input. Just as I’m certain that the tutoring programme will benefit from it.” She pushes back her chair and gets to her feet.

Marigold stays seated. “But Dr Kilpatiky—”

Dr Kilpatiky is already at the office door. “Marigold, I do have some other things to do before I can go home…”

With less speed than a slow loris moving from one tree to the next, Marigold stands up and crosses the room. “I really think this is a big mistake,” she says as at last she reaches the door.

“I know you do,” says Dr Kilpatiky. “And if it’s the end of civilization as we know it, you can most certainly blame me.”

Georgiana
and Will sit at a window table of the Bay Cafe, recovering from the traumas of the first full week of school – though the way Will eats it is more like he’s refuelling than recovering.

From the expression on Georgiana’s face as she watches him chomp on his sandwich you might think that what he’s actually doing is dismembering a very small bird with his bare hands – a parakeet, or, possibly, a wren – and tossing the tiny feet onto the table.

“It’s nice to see your appetite hasn’t been affected,” says Georgiana.

Will gazes at her over his seeded bun. “By what?”

“By what?” Georgiana tilts her head to one side and frowns. “I’m sorry. Was I dreaming? I thought today was the day the community placements were handed out.”

“Yeah. And?” Will wipes ketchup from his mouth with his napkin. “It’s not like we’re being sent into combat.” He spears a few fries with his fork. “We always do community service. We just didn’t get to pick for ourselves this year, that’s all.” Which apparently bothers him about as much as not getting to choose the day’s weather.

Georgiana stirs her coffee as if she’s trying to dig a hole in the bottom of the cup. “I’m glad it was such a non-event for you, Willem. But, personally, I feel like I’ve been ambushed. I can’t believe Dr Killjoy’s done this to me.”

“To
you
?” Will’s voice is slightly muffled because his mouth is filled with fried potato. “What’d she do to you?”

“What do you mean, what’d she do?” There is nothing muffled about Georgiana’s voice. It rings through the cafe like a very large bell. “You know what she did. She deliberately gave me a placement she knew I wouldn’t want.”