View from Saturday (9781439132012) (15 page)

Mrs. Olinski laughed. “Were you really?”

“Yes, I was. I'll tell you about it. I'll spare no detail.”

Mrs. Olinski laughed. “Then, by all means, Noah, you must come along.”

Noah grinned. “I have always wanted to ride in a handicapped van. All my life, I have wanted to see how a disabled person like yourself applies the brakes and steps on the gas.”

Mrs. Olinski said, “I don't exactly
step
on the gas.”

“There you go!” Noah said. “This is precisely what I would like to see. I would precisely like to see exactly how you
apply
the gas.”

Mrs. Olinski said, “That is either the most honest or the most dishonest answer I have ever heard. I must notify the bus driver that I'll be driving you four souls home.”

Why did she say that? She was smiling. Did she know that we were The Souls? Did she know? Noah caught my eye and quickly changed the subject. “You'll have to take Ginger home, too, Mrs. Olinski. If you don't mind, of course. You don't have to have any special fittings in the van to transport animals. It's a good thing, too. Now, if Ginger were a seeing-eye dog …”

Mrs. Olinski interrupted. “Noah,” she said, “run down to the bus and tell Mrs. Korshak that I will be along in a minute. I have a message for her.”

“I'd be happy to give her that message, Mrs. Olinski.”

“I'm sure you would, but the message involves permissions that I, not you, have the authority to give.” Noah started down the row of yellow buses, and Mrs. Olinski followed.

There had been a moment backstage when I had been tempted to allow Arnold to eat the drugged treats. That had
been the same moment that I thought it would be satisfying to get even with Froelich and Knapp. But then I was able mentally to separate Froelich from Knapp and Arnold from both of them, so I slipped over to the props table, scooped up all the poisoned treats, and put them in my right pocket. At the same time I substituted Ginger's wholesome treats—treats I had taken from Nadia's shopping bag—from my left pocket.

The drugged treats were still in my pocket.

Ethan, Nadia, and Ginger had not yet come out of the auditorium. Noah and Mrs. Olinski had gone to speak to Mrs. Korshak. I stood alone. There was something I wanted to do. When Knapp had started that ruckus, I had momentarily regretted my decision to save Arnold. I was still so angry that I was about to violate one of the cardinal rules that Gopal had taught me.

I walked out onto the street so that no one on the sidewalk would notice as I made my way down the line of buses waiting—headlight to taillight—by the curb. Beyond them was the line of cars waiting for pickups. Traffic could go only one way, and no one was allowed to make a U-turn, so even those cars that had already picked up their riders were stuck, waiting for the buses to load.

Gopal had taught me that magicians never reveal the secrets of their trade to laymen. Gopal always said that magicians who were interested in letting people know how clever they were were not really magicians. “Don't ever destroy the wonder,” Gopal had said. “Let your magic show you off, not you show off your magic.”

I knew that Hamilton Knapp would find out soon enough that Arnold, not Ginger, had been chosen for the
afternoon's performance. He would find out soon enough that his trick had not worked. I knew that I should never reveal to Hamilton Knapp that I had saved Arnold from the fate he had meant for Ginger. I knew all of that. Yet I moved toward the Vet in a Van. Dr. Knapp was behind the wheel, waiting for her turn to pull out. I walked around the back of the van onto the sidewalk on the passenger's side. I tapped on the window and motioned for Ham to roll it down. I reached into the open window. He pulled away from me but said nothing.

“What's the matter?” his mother asked.

“Your son has something growing out of his head,” I said as I pulled two bacon-shaped doggie treats from his ears. “I think these belong to you,” I said as one by one I dropped the rest of the drugged biscuits on his lap. I turned and walked away.

I was glad that I had chops. Gopal would forgive me.

T
he deadline for choosing an academic team was the Tuesday following the winter holiday. The other homeroom teachers were ready by Thanksgiving. They had held mini contests in their classrooms and had selected the winners of those. They had ready answers for anyone who asked how they had chosen their teams. In the teachers' lounge, Mrs. Sharkey, who taught sixth grade math, accused Mrs. Olinski of being dictatorial, and Ms. Masolino, who taught music and who did not have a home-room at all, hinted that she was lazy. Mrs. Olinski did not take kindly to these remarks. Her voice quavering, she answered her critics. “I have my reasons,” she said, even though she knew she didn't. Something stronger than reason was having its way with her, and she didn't know what that was either.

Mrs. Laurencin, Epiphany Middle School principal, called Mrs. Olinski into the office one afternoon and quietly warned her that she better have a good answer for the parents of any high honor roll student who didn't make her team. Mrs. Olinski said, “By the time they get to sixth grade, honor roll students won't risk making a mistake, and sometimes
to be successful, you have to risk making mistakes.” Mrs. Laurencin agreed with her but warned her that that would not be a very popular reason. “Furthermore,” Mrs. Olinski added, “sometimes we even have to risk making fools of ourselves.” Mrs. Laurencin never approved of that answer either.

Even though Mrs. Olinski could not tell why, she could tell when she decided not to hold try-outs. It was on a Saturday in late October, some time after four o'clock. She had been correcting social studies papers and had just finished reading Noah Gershom's essay on the First Amendment when the thought flew into her head. She would appoint her team, the way the president appointed his cabinet. She made her decision. Just. Like. That.

She chose Noah right away, and almost immediately after, she thought of Nadia and Ethan. They looked like strong candidates. She would watch them and see.

In the weeks that followed, she became more convinced of their being right for the job. She had not yet officially notified any of them because she wanted to make all four appointments at the same time, and the fourth was causing problems.

She had been considering asking Hamilton Knapp—yes,
that
Hamilton Knapp. Although he was naughty, he was also smart, and bad boys had always held a certain charm for her. But each time something told her he was the right choice, something else told her he was wrong. So she held back.

While she waffled between asking Ham and not asking him, she never gave a thought to asking Julian Singh. He was smart (or else his English accent made him seem so).

And he was sophisticated (or else his English accent made him seem so). But Julian Singh was too far off the mainland. He was an island unto himself, definitely not a team player. Ham Knapp was a leader. Ham Knapp had friends. But Julian stood alone. Just as he had stood alone the first day of school at the blackboard in front of the word
CRIPPLE
.

On the day that Epiphany Middle School was invited to attend
Annie
, Mrs. Olinski had driven her van to the high school and had arrived ahead of the school bus. She waited at the foot of the steps as the kids filed out. She saw Julian Singh push his way forward and then scurry down the steps and out of sight. He had disappeared into thin air. She didn't want to call into thin air and look to all the world (and all the other teachers) as if she had no control of her class. Mrs. Olinski was annoyed with Julian Singh. Once inside the auditorium, she had looked for him again but had been unable to spot him before the house lights dimmed, and the show got under way.

Then Sandy appeared on stage, and the clapping and the chanting
Arf! Arf! Arf!
had started in the section of the auditorium where her class was seated. From where she had been sitting, in a handicapped space by the exit, she could not see who had started it, but she knew one of her students was responsible. She knew it, and she was angry. Mrs. Olinski had a great tolerance for mischief, but she had no patience for malice. This was not mischief. There is a playful quality to mischief. This was malice. There is a mean quality to malice. Someone in her class was terribly mean.

When the lights went on, and Mrs. Reynolds stormed on stage to scold the audience, Mrs. Olinski was able to wheel herself around to examine her students. With a sick
feeling in her stomach, she scanned them one at a time. Like the cursor on a computer screen her eyes moved from the first row to the second, then stopped. Her pulse quickened. She knew. She had no proof, never would have proof. But she knew. She knew who had started the ruckus.

And she knew then that she would not, could not, ask Hamilton Knapp to be the fourth member of the team.

And that is when she went to tea at Sillington House.

Margaret Draper Diamondstein must have been waiting at the window. No sooner had Mrs. Olinski stopped her van than her old friend came rushing out the door. She was wearing a jogging suit but no coat. The wind was whipping off the lake, and she hugged her upper arms and stamped her feet as she waited for the door to open. Margy Diamondstein reached up into the van, and Eva Marie Olinski reached down out of it, and they hugged.

Then a voice said, “Hi, Grandma.”

It was Ethan.

Margaret asked, “Ethan? Is that you?”

“Yeah. Me. Ethan.”

“Come on down out of that van and let me see you,” she said. Ethan stood in front of her, looking enchantingly awkward until Margaret pulled him to her. Eva Marie Olinski saw his arms hanging limply at his side, his wrists hanging below his cuffs like meter sticks showing how much he had grown since the jacket was new. Ethan slowly lifted his arms and fit them around his grandmother's waist as she rested her chin on the top of his head. She closed her eyes and absorbed the blond waxy smell of his hair before she stood him at arm's length. “You've grown since summer,” she said.

“I have. I know,” he answered, and shot his arms out of his sleeves showing several inches bare above the wrist bones. “Would you believe, only a month ago, these covered my fingertips?”

Margaret laughed and said, “No, Ethan, I would not believe.”

“Just testing.”

Nadia waited until they had backed away from each other before saying, “Hello, Margaret.”

“Nadia!” Margaret said. “What a surprise. Is Eva Marie—Mrs. Olinski—your teacher, too?”

Nadia replied, “Yes, Margaret. Yes, she is.”

At that moment a slender man with heavy gray eyebrows came out of Sillington House, holding his knuckles to his hips as he looked over the scene. He saw Nadia and sprinted over, calling, “Nadia! Nadia!” He hugged her close and then kissed the top of her head several times until Ginger wedged her way between them. “I had no idea I'd see you this afternoon.”

Nadia said, “Ginger is a star, Grandpa. She is excellent.”

Her grandfather replied, “I have no doubt about that. After all, Ginger is a genius. And we're going to see her tomorrow night. We're all going. We're going with your mother.”

“I know,” Nadia said, looking very pleased. “I know.”

Eva Marie Olinski watched Margaret Draper Diamond-stein hug her grandson. The new Mrs. Diamondstein was dressed in a jogging suit. A turquoise jogging suit.
Turquoise!
She had always regarded the color turquoise, like shocking pink and chartreuse, as the color equivalent of the word
ain't:
quaint when seldom used but vulgar in great doses. As
she watched Margaret hug her grandchild and Izzy hug his, her mental censors and her customary good manners started shutting down. She could not stand it another minute. She was on the verge of screaming with pain and rage when she felt her wheelchair begin to move. She felt herself being pushed toward the front porch of Sillington House.

Eva Marie Olinski was so blinded by jealousy that she had not noticed Mr. Singh come out. From behind her chair his voice floated down upon her in soft waves. “I have prepared a tea,” he said.

A
tea?
she thought. Yes, a tea. It was that time of day. It was four o'clock.

“The others will join us shortly.” Eva Marie Olinski turned around and at eye level saw a long blue apron. Her eyes traveled upward and saw a black beard, a broad white smile, a pair of amber eyes, a white turban. Saved by a genie, she thought.

Mr. Singh maneuvered her wheelchair to a table in the back of the dining room. Without asking, he ceremoniously poured tea into a delicate china cup.
Cream?
No.
Sugar?
No.
Yes, it is best to drink tea without.
And she did. She drank unhurriedly. Before her cup was empty, she felt something lift from her shoulders. Was it jealousy or injury? Was it anger? Was it all of the above? She replaced her emptied cup in its saucer. She waited. She was calm.

Margy and Izzy joined her at the table, and she drank another cup of tea and ate a cucumber sandwich, taking four bites out of a patch of bread so trim she could have swallowed it whole. She hardly heard what Margaret and Izzy were saying. She did not interrupt, and soon she was listening, first out of politeness—for courtesy was the first of her
civilized senses to return—and then out of interest, genuine interest.

She looked around the room and saw the four children, Ethan, Noah, Nadia, and Julian sitting at a table on the far side of the room. They were talking among themselves and drinking tea. They did not interrupt one another, Mrs. Olinski thought, how unusual. There were nods and smiles and obvious pleasure in one another's company. Mrs. Olinski thought, how unusual to find four sixth graders who listen to one another sympathetically, unselfishly. How curious. How
courteous.
Mrs. Olinski thought, when people come to tea, they are courteous. She thought, I believe in courtesy. It is the way we avoid hurting people's feelings. She thought that maybe—just maybe—Western Civilization was in a decline because people did not take time to take tea at four o'clock.