By Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]
Chapter Eight "Noises Off"
Monday was their first day of school together for Sarah and her cousin.
At the bus stop, everyone wanted to know all about Abbey, and made a great fuss of asking her all about herself. Abbey deflected many of the questions. She didn't want to discuss the real reason why she and her little brother had been sent to her aunt and uncle's house out in the country. It was bad enough to have to face the reality that her parents were separating, and in all likelihood would wind up getting a divorce, let alone have to discuss it with all the new faces at the bus stop.
When the bus topped the last hill, Abbey could see Ridgefield High School squatting at the bottom of the slope. It was a shambling red brick structure, untidy in a country way it seemed to her, and not at all like the trim sandstone titan of a high school she attended in the city. Abbey and Sarah parted ways soon after they entered the building, since Abbey was a grade lower than Sarah. Sarah pointed her politely toward her first classroom, with a friendlier parting than she could have managed on Saturday, and then headed off to her own first class.
Sarah floated through her days in a haze of routine. She was still feeling bewildered by the events of the weekend. They had left her with the emotional thinness of a wet page. Granny Pansy's soup and a good long time before the fire may have gotten the chill out the children's bones, but the air of sinister mystery that Sarah's time at the well had left her with was harder to shake. As Sarah made her way from class to class, she'd pass other members of the choir. Disappointed instructors shook their heads, or sneered with condescension when Sarah had no homework to hand in.
The week skirled by without many changes or much trouble. There were increased reports of unrest among the dockworkers, but that was about it. Sarah spent most of the week in a drifting daze, looking forward only to Friday's choir practice. Sarah had not forgotten, but she had repressed Bart's threat of expulsion from the choir. She was inattentive to Abbey's progress during her first week, and they didn't talk on the bus. When Friday came, it was the same as the rest of the week had been. During lunchtime, Sarah and Abbey ate together at the same table, along with two of Sarah's friends, and a new friend Abbey had made.
"The school is just tremendous!" gushed Abbey. "I mean, the homey old corridors, the creakity chairs, they way everyone seems to know everyone else's family. And the janitor looks just like an extra from a set of Oliver Twist!"
"It'll do, I suppose," said Sarah.
"So, Abbey," came the first question, from Betsy. "What part of town did you and your folks move into?"
"We haven't all actually moved in just yet," Abbey artfully dodged.
"We live over by the canning works, where the sardine boats put in to dock."
"Abbey's staying with my family for a while, Betsy," interrupted Sarah, adding sarcastically, "we live above the town, with a good view of the inlet from the second floor."
Betsy looked as if this answer wasn't at all satisfactory, but since she couldn't imagine why anyone would move in with the Tones' in the first place, she couldn't think of a follow up question. Missy Quicknass, who often played with Sarah, was arranging her cheese sandwich, cranberry cake, McIntosh apple, and half pint of milk into one of her famous "food pyramids."
"My Mom always says, it's not where you live, its who you love that makes the difference in life," she said, just as she manged to get the half pint of milk to balance back at the top after having taken a precarious sip from it through a straw.
"So, you're finding your way around all right, Abbey?" asked Sarah, who felt bad knowing that she had done little enough herself to help Abbey and Dar get their bearings, let alone feel at home.
"Oh, yes," replied Abbey. "Shelly's been the greatest help. She's escorted me from class to class, even if she wasn't in it, and had to run all the way to the other end of school to get to her class. I can't believe my luck! And she introduced me to each of the instructors personally, so they knew just who I was. Although, most of them already knew because Granny Pansy had phoned the school last week to say that Dar and I were coming."
"Really? Well, Shelly, take a bow!" said Betsy. Sarah silently agreed, but knew it would be rude to say so, and besides, she was starting to feel guilty that she hadn't thought to extend the same courtesy to her own cousin as a complete stranger had managed. Maybe her teachers weren't just ganging up on her. Maybe they were right, that she was being lazy and "under-performing" her potential. Sarah was starting to long for choir practice at the end of the day out in the fresh air.
"Abbey's over stating things a bit, I'm afraid. You're really being silly, Abbey. I've just done the minimum."
"Well," said Abbey. "I don't think so. And I really appreciate it."
Shelly, whose flame red hair was caught back in a large blue ribbon, had a good portion of string beans, and a toasted ham sandwich on her plate. The latter was a specialty of Mrs. Carmine who worked at the lunch counter. She had been creatively filling up kids with nutritional meals for three generations of Treashurstaneians.
"Sarah," Abbey began, "I've got some really exciting news..." But Abbey's announcement was interrupted by a noise from the far side of the cafeteria.
"Hey!" cried Bart from over by the window. "Look outside! Its the strikers! There's trouble down by the quay."
All the kids abandoned their meals and rushed to the windows. "What is it? What can you see?" cried a voice from the back of the crowd.
"About a million police cars," said Bart, who was standing on the sill. "They're waving their clubs around like they're on a seal hunt!" The large patch over Bart's left eye didn't seem to diminish his relish for a good set-to. "They're gonna clobber those lazy sods!"
A moment later, Mr. Plimsoul appeared. He was on cafeteria watch that week, and was the sole court of appeal for disputes that might arise during lunchtime at the school.
"Bart, you'll have to curb your tongue when speaking of the laboring masses of Traeshurstaene. And the window sill is no place for feet." Bart jumped down reluctantly from the sill, but was secretly glad that his misbehavior hadn't merited a detention. "I'm certain that our local constabulary is up to the task of maintaining order in our fair town. Now, your job is to eat a healthy lunch so that you are ready to learn."
Mr. Plimsoul was making his way back to the cafeteria door as all the kids were moving back to their seats. He passed Sarah on his way, and noted, "I recommend a second helping for you, my dear. Your teachers are reporting that you're having a peculiarly challenging week. Perhaps a little afterschool study detention is in order for you."
Mr. Plimsoul had never directly addressed Sarah in her life, and yet he seemed to know all about her--down to how her week was faring scholastically. "Oh, no, Mr. Plimsoul. I can't. I've got choir practice right after school today."
"Currently, that is true," said Mr. Plimsoul, and glided back toward the door as smoothly as a wheeled statue.
"Currently?" exclaimed Missy, once it seemed that Mr. Plimsoul was out of earshot. "What can that mean?"
"I'm afraid to find out," said Sarah.
The bell at the end of the final class rang with what Sarah would have sworn was an audible relief. She sprang from her chair in Algebra, sped down the corridor past a flurry of notices and explanatory artworks describing the circulatory system, and how the lungs ferry oxygen into the bloodstream. Did you know that blood is red because its rusty? When blood mixes with the atmosphere, it oxidizes, just like the steel on the side of a ship.
She was just about to race out the door to the choir practice bus, when she saw out of the corner of her eye a blaringly bright Ridgefield vest ballooning above a knot of kids. It was Mr. Hecatomb and the choir! He was making some sort of brief announcement, and they started shuffling down the corridor away from the buses. What could this mean? Sarah started down after the group, and heard the buses outside the school begin to head off with their loads of relieved school children.
Mr. Ridgefield's voice was barking around the corner, directing the choir here and there, as Sarah barreled into the music room--and right into Bart Hecatomb's back.
"Ow!" exclaimed Bart, regaining his balance, and coddling his eye. "It's not like you need to be rushin' in here, Miss Silvery Tone."
Sarah stiffened. Was Bart going to strike her? "Um, sorry," she mumbled.
"Well, all right," said Bart, hushing her. "I don't care. Just get away from me."
Bart seemed not to recall that it was Sarah who had beaned him the Saturday before in the woods. He turned his back to her, and paid attention to his Father's instructions.
"Today we have a new member in our choir," Mr. Hecatomb announced. "Come here, lass." Mr. Hecatomb pulled at someone's arm who what standing behind big Betsy. "This, ladies and gentlemen, is Abbey Darlington. She's from the city for at least until Christmas and will be singing all the carols and holiday numbers with us."
The children applauded politely, and Missy even called out "Good job!" to Abbey. "Yes, well, fine enough, my little ones," continued Mr. Hecatomb, "but of especial note is that Abbey fills a desperate need in our choir--for a contralto." The children around Sarah glanced her way. Sarah had a good range, but it was mostly at the alto end, which strained the choir upward. Having a contralto in the choir meant that all the songs would be easier for everyone to sing, and that Sarah would have much less to practice, and maybe no solos.
"All right. Places everyone."
"Why can't we practice outside like we usually do?" Sarah asked. "Its nice outside."
"Well, the ground's bound to still be soaked from yesterday's storm, for one thing. And, I suppose you're all bound to find out about this as soon as you're home anyway. The principal is worried about your safety with the dockworker troubles. One of the workers was killed in clashes with the police this afternoon, and there's rumor of a riot after dark, a town-wide protest. They're calling it: 'Cwyr Mirhannon, Our Rebellion.'" That didn't seem to make complete sense, but was accepted without question by the choir. "And, I'll need to speak with you after practice today, Sarah."
Great, thought Sarah. This day is going from bad to worse.
END OF CHAPTER EIGHT