Free School of Fear by Gitty Daneshvari Page B

passage of time. Three paintings of English bulldogs decorated the mint green walls. Oversized golden candelabras,
     covered in wax and dust, stood at the heads of the formally set table just below a crooked chandelier. Pink and white rose-patterned
     china sat atop the lace tablecloth.
    “This is the dining hall. I’m sure it’s much nicer a room than you are used to eating in, but don’t fret, I’ve Scotchgarded
     the walls in case of any food fights. Not that I am encouraging that, because I certainly am not. Or if I am encouraging it,
     I am also denying that I am doing so.”
    Lulu ignored Mrs. Wellington’s remark on slinging food and focused on the obvious. “The table is only set for seven. What
     about the other students?” she asked loudly.
    “The cats eat outside due to the strange aroma of their cuisine. I describe it as liver and barbecue sauce with a splash of
     garlic. I find it terribly unappetizing, but you are more than welcome to sample it yourselves.”
    “Not the cats, the other human students,” Lulu said while watching Mrs. Wellington closely. “Please tell me there are other
     people here… .”
    “Ms… .”
    “Punchalower.”
    “Of course, Lulu. I am happy to inform you that there are no other contestants. This summer it will be very, very cozy — just
     the four of you,” Mrs. Wellington said with a wink at Lulu.
    “What? But the brochure had all those kids running around,” Garrison said with shock. “I was counting on others!”
    “That is what you’d call false advertising. Perhaps when the summer is finished you’ll write a letter to the board of camps
     to complain. And please do not let the board’s hypothetical status deter you,” Mrs. Wellington said.
    Theo was dismayed that not only had Mrs. Wellington winked at Lulu, but her lips didn’t shift in color at all when speaking
     to Garrison. Maybe she only disliked him.
    “Now then, back to the dining hall. Meals are served at eight AM , twelve PM , and six PM . The crows caw eight times at eight AM , twelve times at twelve PM , and six times at six PM . They are a bell tower of sorts. As long as you know how to count, there shouldn’t be much confusion,” Mrs. Wellington said
     with an eye on Garrison.
    “What? I know how to count,” he mumbled defensively.
    “Good, perhaps you can do that for the talent section of the pageant,” Mrs. Wellington said to Garrison before turning to
     the others. “We take after-dinner tea and dessert in the drawing room, but all other food must be consumed in here. As you
     see, the walls are decorated with Mac’s predecessors, Milk, Cookies, and most recently Cheese. Poor little Cheese,” Mrs. Wellington
     blustered while looking at the chocolate brown bulldog stoically posed in the portrait. “Very sad, very sad indeed. Let’s
     all bow our heads in mourning for a moment, and then you may take your seats.”
    After a few seconds, Mrs. Wellington lifted her head and dabbed her red eyes with a delicate lace handkerchief.
    “I’ll check on Schmidty and Mac in the kitchen.”
    Mrs. Wellington passed through an oval archway with a beaded curtain that led to the kitchen. The children eyed the table,
     noticing a sterling silver bowl with the name “Macaroni” on it. Before they could exchange any sort of meaningful glances,
     Mrs. Wellington stormed back into the room, assuming her seat at the head of the table.
    “The food shall be arriving momentarily. Please place your napkins on your laps and all elbows off the table,” Mrs. Wellington
     instructed, sitting abnormally straight in her chair. “Beauty queens never slouch,” she continued with a glance at Lulu. Madeleine
     waited for the old woman to look her way, but she didn’t. Adding insult to injury, Lulu didn’t even appreciate the compliment,
     mouthing “whatever” in response.
    Schmidty carried six plates of grilled cheese and tomato sandwiches to the table with the aptitude of an experienced waiter.