Bursting Bubbles (5 page)

“No, it isn’t. I’m telling you, they won’t be able to tell it didn’t come from the school. They’ll just think there was some glitch in the system. That kind of thing happens all the time. That’s why firms like my dad’s have an IT guy on the payroll.”

“Asher.” Claudelia puts her hands on his shoulders as if this will help him understand what she’s trying to say. “They will find out. At some point, someone’s going to look in their file or whatever and wonder how Asher Grossman turned into Claudelia Gillen.”

“Maybe,” he concedes. “Maybe there’s a tiny subatomic-particle kind of chance that that’ll happen. But even if it does, it’ll be too late by then. Nobody’s going to bother switching us around again. It’ll be a
que será, será
situation.”

“No, it won’t, because it’s not going to happen. I’m not getting involved in one of your great ideas. What about Will? At least he’s a guy.”

Asher shakes his head. “Will won’t do it. He likes raking leaves.” This is only half of the truth. The other half is that Claudelia isn’t the only one who doesn’t want to get involved in one of Asher’s great ideas. Will got in trouble for letting Asher use Dunkin in his Halloween costume. “But it’s not like we’re doing anything wrong,” insists Asher. “Fair’s fair, Claudie. You got my placement. We’re just putting things back the way they should be.”

“Oh,
your
placement. I’m sorry.” She sounds as sorry as a drone bomber. “I guess I forgot you owned it. I guess you must have the deed in your safe.”

Asher pretends to laugh. Hahaha. “You know what I mean. My dad set that placement up. Mayor Duggin did it as a special favour.” Working in the mayor’s office may not be an internship in DC, but it’s a step in the right direction. Asher’s father thinks he should consider a career in politics. It’s what he would do, if he had his life to live over. “It’s part of my professional strategy.” Just about everything Asher does – the classes he takes, the grades he gets, his hobbies, interests and extracurricular activities – are part of his “professional strategy”. “Working in the mayor’s office is going to look a lot more impressive for law school than working in the community centre.”

“Not if you wanted to work for the ACLU, it wouldn’t.”

“But I don’t want to work for the ACLU. Corporate law, that’s what I want.”

Claudelia sighs. Two of the things she likes about Asher are that he is ambitious and he is focused. Everyone else, including herself, is about as focused and ambitious as a dust mote. There are times, however, when they are also two of the things she likes least about him. This is one of those times. “Your dad must know someone high up in the school system. Couldn’t he get your placement changed?”

The simple answer to this question is: yes, of course he could. Albert Grossman knows someone high up in every system in the country – bankers, businessmen, generals, administrators, judges, politicians. In this instance, he is a friend of the superintendent of schools.

“I don’t want to bother him with this.” One of the things Asher likes about Claudelia is that, unlike Georgiana (who’s a major drama queen) and Marigold (who could find something good to say if they were all on a sinking ship in an ice storm), she’s so logical. Though today it’s a quality he’s finding annoying. “He’s really busy right now.”

Claudelia makes an um-duh face. “Oh, please. That’s like saying water is wet. Your dad’s always busy. He probably works in his sleep.”

He would, if he slept more than a few hours a night.

“Which is why I don’t want to go to him with something this dumb. I want to handle it myself.”

Handling things himself has been a recurring topic of conversation between Asher and his father lately. Albert Grossman has high expectations of his son. Indeed, when Asher talks about “my professional strategy” he really means his father’s, planned almost as soon as Asher was born. Albert Grossman is extremely successful, but Asher is going to be more extremely successful – perhaps even President (or, at the very least, in the Cabinet or Senate). Which is why he’s decided Asher needs to take more responsibility for himself. Act with the maturity and dignity of his calling. Dr Kilpatiky wasn’t the only one disappointed by Asher’s choice of Halloween costume, though for different reasons. It didn’t bother Albert that his son bought some second-hand clothes in the charity shop (washed three times then dry-cleaned) and tied a bandana around Dunkin’s neck. Impersonating the much less fortunate didn’t offend his sense of moral rightness. Albert Grossman is a lawyer, not a spiritual leader. What bothered him was that Asher misjudged what the principal’s reaction would be. He should have known better. In the future, that kind of mistake could cost him an election.

“So maybe you should get Byron to help you.” Claudelia laughs. “He’s the computer wizard. Maybe he can hack into the school’s system for you. Change the placement at source.” Claudelia is joking.

But Asher isn’t. “He won’t do it.” She should have known he’d already asked Byron. Asher is nothing if not efficient. “He thinks he’ll be arrested.”

She shrugs. “Then I guess you’re going to be working at the community centre.”

Asher doesn’t want to work at the community centre. He’s never actually been in a community centre, of course, but he has no trouble picturing it. There will be fluorescent lighting, fourth-hand furniture and one of those gigantic coffee urns that no one ever washes properly. The place will be filled with do-gooders being chirpy and wearing cheap clothes, middle-aged women doing Pilates and T’ai Chi, and kids who can’t read or have nowhere else to go. With poor people; people who don’t try hard enough or work hard enough to succeed. People who don’t want to work, don’t want to succeed; who just want handouts. People things happen to, not people who make things happen. His father wouldn’t want him to work in the community centre, either. What does that have to do with corporate law? With the people who do make things happen? His father will be disappointed in him. He’ll think that it’s Asher’s fault; that he didn’t make enough of an effort; that this is what he gets for being immature and annoying Dr Kilpatiky. The last thing Asher wants is to disappoint his father.

“You never know.” Claudelia smiles like a pat on the shoulder. “Maybe the centre won’t be that bad.”

“Oh, it will be that bad, that’s guaranteed,” says Asher. “It’s in Queen’s Park, Claude. Queen’s Park is so busted it’s like the graveyard of hope.”

Claudelia suggests that that might be why they have a community centre. “You know, because people need help?”

“It used to be a supermarket. A small one.” Asher says this as if it’s conclusive proof of just how bad the placement is going to be. “I checked it out online.”

Of course he did. Asher wouldn’t buy a ballpoint pen without checking it out online first.

“And that means what?” asks Claudelia. “It was a supermarket, not an abattoir. An abattoir could have some really bad vibes from all that blood and screaming animals. But a grocery store? What’s the problem? You’re afraid of finding an expired can of peas?”

“You know, you could be a little more sympathetic,” says Asher. “This is really hard for me.”

“And you could be a little more like Marigold,” says Claudelia.

Even Asher can’t help but smile at that. “You mean grow my hair and wear short skirts?”

Claudelia nods. “And nail polish. Colour-coordinated to match what you’re wearing. And fake lashes.”

“OK, I can do the polish, but I draw the line at the eyelashes. I don’t know how she sees through those things, they’re like awnings. One day they’re going to fall into her soup and she’s going to choke to death.”

“Seriously, though,” says Claudelia when they stop laughing. “I think you should. Not the skirts, but her attitude. She doesn’t want to teach reading any more than you want to help out at the community centre, but she’s not acting like it’s the biggest tragedy anyone’s ever experienced in the history of civilization. She’s just making the best of it.” This time Claudelia does pat him on the shoulder. “I know this is hard for you, Ash, but you’re not making it any easier.”

“Yeah, but it’s different for Marigold,” argues Asher. “It doesn’t really matter to her what she does.”

It is different for Marigold. She gets good grades without staying up till three in the morning and falling asleep over her homework. She doesn’t have to be the best at everything she does; she’s happy enough to be good. She has no interest in being even a minor town official, never mind President of the United States.

“You mean because she’s not an obsessive workaholic?”

“No, Claudelia, that isn’t what I mean.” Asher is starting to feel as if he’s dealing with a difficult witness. “Because she thinks life’s some kind of buffet. You try a little of this and a little of that, and if you wanted salmon but they only have herring, you have herring. She doesn’t have a career strategy like mine.”

“Asher,” says Claudelia, “even Napoleon Bonaparte didn’t have a career strategy like yours.”

Asher doesn’t smile this time.

“And, anyway,” she continues, “just because you’re focused doesn’t mean you can’t float with the tide now and then. Give yourself a break.”
And everyone else
, she thinks.

“I have a goal trajectory,” says Asher. “You don’t float when you have a goal trajectory. That’s like trying to get to Istanbul by getting on the first plane you see and hoping that’s where it’s going.”

“I just think that you shouldn’t go into this expecting the worst.”

“I’m not. I don’t think it’s going to be like a high-security prison in Texas. That would be the worst. Or in South America. A high-security prison in South America, that would definitely be the pits.” Asher watches a dog trot across the road. “What I think it’s going to be is boring. Probably irritating, too. And I know for sure that it’s going to be pointless.”

“For your goal trajectory.”

“For everything. It’s not going to be any use to me, but it’s no use to these losers, either. Like my dad always says, you can’t help people who won’t help themselves.”

Claudelia is saved from having to argue any more by the alarm on Asher’s phone going off.

“I have to get a move on,” says Asher, “or I’ll be late for my fencing class.”

“Right.” She leans over and kisses his cheek. “See you tomorrow.”

Asher broods about the placement on and off for the rest of the day. His father is in Washington doing something very important. Should he call him and ask for his help? He was told not to. That’s how important whatever his father’s doing is. He was told that if there’s an emergency he should call Albert’s assistant and that she would pass on the message. Unless Asher’s arrested; then he can call his father directly. So maybe he shouldn’t bother his dad. The housekeeper’s out for the night, so Asher blitzes himself a pizza in the microwave and sits in front of the TV in his room to eat it. His father’s probably in a meeting. Sometimes his meetings go on for days. At ten o’clock, Asher finally breaks down and decides to call. Then imagines his father’s face, serious and disappointed. This is not taking responsibility. This is not handling things himself.

He disconnects before it starts to ring.

Marigold’s
mother is in a good mood this morning. This is as big a relief to Marigold as not seeing any white people riding through their territory would have been to the Lakota two or three hundred years ago. Eveline Liotta is delicate. She has a sensitive nature and is easily stressed out. She spends a lot of time in bed.

Her mother is another reason why Marigold acts more like the goodwill ambassador from the planet Perfect than a normal, moody teenager. Living with Eveline is like living in the shadow of an active volcano. There is nothing that can’t upset her (including absolutely nothing). She may hide it from the outside world, but her family knows that her cheerfulness is as fragile as a glass ball in a hurricane. She can lose her temper over the smallest things – the wrong look, the wrong greeting, a dish left on the table, a bar of soap left in a sink. She can suddenly burst into tears because the mail is late or she’s spilled something on her blouse or it happens to be Tuesday and raining. She can get one of her migraines because the washing machine broke or her lunch plans were cancelled. Life – and every person and every thing in it – is always disappointing her. Her husband and her daughters are either pitted against her or letting her down. No matter what they do, it’s never enough. No matter what they give her, they should have given her something else. No matter what they say, they should probably have kept their mouths shut. Marigold’s father suffers the most. If the Liottas’ marriage had a historical equivalent it would be the Hundred Years War (with Mr and Mrs Liotta on opposite sides, of course). The only day when they don’t have a fight is the day when they don’t see each other. Which is the reason Marigold doesn’t like to argue. She gets enough of that at home.

Marigold’s father spends a lot of time working – either in the office, or out with a client, or away on business. Since Marigold doesn’t have the advantage of somewhere else to be, she tries hard to keep a low profile and do nothing to upset her mother. And to always pretend – even after the worst tantrum, argument or tears – that nothing is wrong. Just as her mother does.

This morning, however, Mrs Liotta is genuinely happy. Marigold can tell the difference. She’s making pancakes and laughing along with the audience on the breakfast show she watches. Marigold glances out the window as she sits down. Her father’s car is in the driveway. She wasn’t woken up by fighting, so that must be a good sign.

Mrs Liotta puts a plate in front of Marigold, then takes the seat across from her. “You’re working in the library this afternoon, aren’t you?” she asks. “Would you like me to pick you up?”

“Thanks, but that’s OK.” Marigold hasn’t told her mother that she is no longer working at the library because she knows that her mother won’t like the idea of her volunteering in Half Hollow any more than she does. Possibly less. Half Hollow is not her mother’s kind of town; she has heard her joke with her friends that the only professionals who live there are the police. “It’s not that far. And anyway someone usually gives me a ride home.”