Shouldn't You Be in School? (All The Wrong Questions)

by Lemony Snicket

Caviar is the eggs of a fish, usually a sturgeon, black and shiny and served on small pieces of toast at parties to which you are not invited.

You cannot have a really terrific library without at least one terrific librarian, the way you cannot have a really terrific bedroom unless you can lock the door.

Stain’d-by-the-Sea’s only librarian—or, as he called himself, sub-librarian—was terrific because he was kind and helpful without being irritating or bossy. This sort of person is an endangered species, almost extinct.

“Well, if you’re content,” Qwerty said, as a moth escaped his attack, “I’ll excuse myself and let you be. That young woman looks like she might need my help.” I stood up too quickly. Even when reading two things at once, I had been thinking of something else entirely. The something else was a girl, taller than I was or older than I was or both. She had curious eyebrows, curved and coiled like question marks, and she had a smile that might have meant anything. Her eyes were green and her hair so black it made caviar look beige, and in her possession was a statue that was blacker still. The statue was of a mythical creature called the Bombinating Beast, and it gazed out through hollow, wicked eyes at all the trouble gathered around it. The girl’s father was in trouble, captured by Hangfire, and she had tried to save him by doing favors for the Inhumane Society, so now she was in trouble too. I had promised to help her, but I hadn’t seen the girl or the statue in quite some time. The girl, and the promise I’d made, hovered in my head no matter what I was reading, and her name hovered in my ears like the song she played on an old-fashioned phonograph, and on a music box that her father had left behind. I didn’t know what the song was, but I liked it. Ellington Feint. Ellington Feint. Ellington Feint. It’s probably not her, I told myself, as I hurried to the entrance of the library, and it wasn’t.

“The business section might have exciting secrets, but it’s very boring to read.” “That’s probably why they hide the secrets there.” “Maybe so. It was difficult to stay awake while I was reading it.” “Maybe you should have had some coffee.” “Not I, Snicket. I don’t drink coffee. You’re thinking of that girl who caused all the trouble with that statue.” “I guess I am thinking of her,” I admitted. Ellington liked to sit at the counter of an establishment called Black Cat Coffee, on the corner of Caravan and Parfait. She often had her coffee very late at night and stayed there to watch the sun rise. “Well, I wish you’d stop,” Moxie said sourly.

Feast your eyes, Snicket.” My eyes tried to feast but they nearly starved.

“Do you have any fire?” he repeated. “We are in fact here to investigate a case of arson,” Theodora said, “but that is a secret I am not to reveal.” The man frowned impatiently and pointed to his cigarette to show what he meant. The cigarette sat tucked in his mouth, hanging over his beard, unlit. “Oh!” Theodora said. “No, I’m sorry, I don’t have any matches.” The man turned his eyes to me and I shook my head. I did in fact have a box of matches in my pocket, but I don’t think adults should be encouraged to smoke.

Theodora nodding seriously at Sharon the way one adult has nodded at the nonsense of another adult since the first adult walked on the earth.

“Hangfire,” Sharon repeated with a frown. “What do you know about him?” “Not much,” Theodora said. “He’s violent and treacherous. You know the kind of man I mean.” “Yes, I do,” Sharon said, with a nervous smile. Kellar started typing again. “I had a boyfriend like that in eighth grade.” “Me too!” Theodora was using a tone of voice I hadn’t heard from her before. I regret to say that I’d have to describe it as a squeal.

“We’ll assign this case extra-crucial status,” Theodora said to Sharon, using an expression that meant absolutely nothing.

“Sorry,” I said, “is it my turn? I have a long list of things I’d rather not do.”

Stewart Mitchum was the officers’ son, and I did not really want to send him my regards. I could not think of anything I wanted to send him that would be accepted for delivery.

A top-drawer education is a very high-quality one, but the highest-quality anything in the world wouldn’t fix Stew.

The whole thing was gibberish. Only a babbling buffoon would think it made any sense. “This is starting to make sense,” Theodora said,

From the outside Hungry’s didn’t look like anything special, and inside it didn’t either. Certainly there wasn’t anything special about the owner, Hungry Hix, a bitter woman with little patience for young people. What was special about the place was Jake Hix. He was a young man, but old enough to have a sweetheart and a job. The sweetheart was Cleo Knight, the brilliant chemist, and the job was cooking up the food at Hungry’s. It is possible that his genius was more impressive than Cleo’s, and in my case he gave away the food for free, as my funds were limited, a phrase which here means that Theodora didn’t give me an allowance.

I knew how I looked when I looked at Kellar. I’ve seen how people look at me when they have no idea what I’m talking about.

I should have kept worrying, though, because when I stopped worrying about the case, somebody else solved it. They solved it incorrectly and dimwittedly and disastrously, which is to say they didn’t solve it at all. But solving a mystery is like naming a dog. If enough people call it one thing, that’s the name that tends to stick.

You should only snap your fingers if you do it well. It’s the same with surgery, or driving a forklift.

If you’ve never had buttermilk and you’re curious what it tastes like, good for you and don’t be.

I looked up and down the block and tried to think of where I might go. The library, I thought. There’s work to be done, books to be read. But you can’t go there under these circumstances. Think, Snicket. Where else feels like home in this fading, frightened town? My feet knew before my head did. In ten minutes I was at the corner of Caravan and Parfait. Black Cat Coffee was always the same, every time I was there. It was still just one room, long and narrow like a train car. There was still an enormous counter where you could sit and think. There was still a player piano in the corner, tinkling music that was sad but not weepy. There were still three buttons—one marked A that opened the hatch in the ceiling and lowered the staircase so you could reach the attic, one marked B that fired up the machine that made fresh bread, and one marked C that controlled the shiny equipment that brewed coffee, dark and strong, that I never drank. But there was no button to make Ellington Feint appear. It was a rare day that I didn’t go to Black Cat Coffee, just on the off chance she might be sitting at the counter. The place was usually empty, but whenever I saw someone at Ellington’s favorite spot, with a cup of coffee steaming next to them, my heart raced to think it was her even as my eyes told me that it was someone else. This day was no different.

“Are you saying that being a criminal is a matter of opinion?” I asked. Qwerty smiled, but it was sad around the edges. “No,” he said. “It’s a matter of handcuffs,”

Terrible fires resemble terrible people. They are unpredictable. They are selfish. They are deadly and ruinous. And no matter where they are prowling, no matter what treachery they are cooking up, they have something in common. They can be stopped.

The women had probably been dancing. I did not want to think about what Theodora looked like when she was dancing. You shouldn’t either.

They were probably hitting the town. I hoped it was hitting them back.

“I don’t like talking to you like this,” I said. “It’s like you’re a ghost.” “Look around,” she said, with a gesture around the Far East Suite. “Look at everything in plain sight. The bed, the table, every object you see has likely been in the world longer than us, and they’ll still be in the world when we’re gone. It is the things that have a history, L. Compared to them we are ghosts.”

“Are you close to finishing the formula?” Cleo shook her head. “Not as close as I’d like to be.” “You’ll get there,” Jake said, and patted her hand. “I know you will.” “Don’t distract the driver, Hix,” Cleo said, but she was smiling. I smiled too. It is good to see people happy with one another. It is a glimpse of a world in which everyone is that way. A happy world might be boring, I told myself, but watching Jake grin at Cleo grinning at Jake grinning at Cleo and back again, I thought it was worth the risk.

“Do you know why he calls himself Hangfire?” I asked. “Villains always choose spooky names,” Jake said. “It was weeks before I thought to look it up in the dictionary,” I said. “It refers to something that takes a bit of time before it works. It usually describes explosions or blastings. But people use it in other circumstances, too. It can describe a slow-acting poison, or a tree that weakens for years before it falls. There’s a brand of old-fashioned phonograph called Hangfire, because it has a mechanism that allows the needle to hover over the record until the exact moment you want the music to play.”

There are more of us, I told myself, than there are of them. But this is something all children say about all adults at one time or another, and it never seems to do any good.

S. Theodora Markson was on the floor of the Far East Suite, picking up glitter with her bare hands. She did not look up when I opened the door. I noticed that the yellow polish on her nails was almost gone. Here and there were little bits of it, but the rest of it had been scratched away. I felt the same way.

“And then some friends of mine were abducted under the threat of violence and forced into a van.” I knew better than to call them associates in front of Theodora, whose definition of “associate” was “someone who has completed our organization’s formal training.” My definition was more useful. “Did you get the license number of the van?” “I don’t need the license number,” I said. “I know who was driving, and I know where it was going.” One of Theodora’s hands opened, and I could see the glitter she’d piled up inside it. Nothing else moved. “What are you going to do now?” she asked finally. “The abductors thought nobody would come after them,” I said. “They were wrong. I’m going to rescue them.” “You can’t,” my chaperone said, on the floor. “The case has been solved, Snicket. I’ve packed up my things, and I expect you to do the same. We are leaving Stain’d-by-the-Sea on the next train.” “You’re wrong,” I said. “I’m not wrong. I’ve packed my suitcase.” “You have enough wrong to fill fifty suitcases and a garment bag,” I said.

If you have a bruise you do not want it touched, but everyone who cares about you will want to touch it, in the hope of somehow making it better.

“What did they do to you?” I asked. “I think you can see for yourself,” she said. “They struck you.” “They struck a deal,” she corrected. “We leave town and you don’t have to go to that school.”

Theodora frowned. “You’re making the wrong choice, Snicket. As your chaperone, I am obliged to warn you of this.” “And as your apprentice, I am obligated to remind you that I am under your supervision. You can’t leave town without me.” “I’ll drag you out of here if I have to.” “You and your gal pal?” I couldn’t help saying, and pointed at the splinters of yellow on her fingernails. “You may not be able to trust your friends, but I can trust mine.” “You’re unsupervised, Snicket,” she said, as if Unsupervised were my first name. “I might be required to stay in town, but I’m not required to go wherever you are going.” “I wouldn’t ask you to go with me,” I said. “I only work with competent associates I can trust.”

We parked and lay low for a few days, but our stomachs were growling.” “No food at home?” “Our father is still very ill,” Squeak squeaked. “Let me take care of you,” I said, and walked behind the counter. “You can’t do that!” Hungry said. “This is my place! It’s private property!” “What it is is a kitchen,” I said, “and these are hungry people. Hungry people should be fed. It takes some people a long time to figure this out, so you think about it and have a seat. I’ll make enough for everybody.”

A root beer would have made it better, but Stain’d-by-the-Sea just didn’t seem to have one. Not even one lonely bottle. There is no justice in this town, I thought, letting the pots soak.

“Aren’t you forgetting the dishes?” she asked. “Absolutely not,” I said. “I’ll remember the dishes as long as I live.

I couldn’t answer, so I didn’t. The eyes blinked at me and I heard the pitter-pat pitter-pat on my mask and felt drops on my skin. The rain had finally begun. I took it personally.

“Are you awake?” I asked me, but it wasn’t me who was talking. It hadn’t been all along. I turned my head and ached and blinked and found myself staring into a pair of green eyes. They blinked below a pair of eyebrows curled up like question marks, and after she blinked, the girl gave me a smile that might have meant anything. “Lemony Snicket,” she said. “Ellington Feint,” I said. Her hair was black again—last I’d seen her it had been blond, so she could disguise herself as Cleo Knight. It was longer now, and twisted into two skinny braids that looked like sleeping snakes. “Don’t call me Ellington Feint,” she said, and put down a handkerchief she was holding. It was knotted to hold something that she’d put under my nose to wake me up. “Here I’m using a different name. I’ve registered at the Wade Academy under the name Filene N. Gottlin.” “That’s scarcely believable,” I said. “I changed the letters around in ‘Ellington Feint’ so my assumed name would be an anagram of my real one. I suppose you could think of a better one?” “Lifelong Intent,” I said. “Entitling Felon. No Flint Gentile. I’ve been thoroughly trained in anagrams.

Ellington had crossed to a scuffed door and had pressed her ear against it, listening. I didn’t hear anything, but as I listened I realized I was lying in Ellington’s bed, with her blankets tucked tightly around me. It was a strange feeling, to be tucked into her bed. I don’t know how to describe it. I’m not sure anyone could.

“I thought I heard him coming,” Ellington said. “Who?” “Stew Mitchum. He polices these hallways day and night with a cigarette in his mouth and a smirk on his face.” “There’s boys like that at every school.” Ellington gave me a small smile and walked over to the window. “I saw him attack you,” she said, gesturing to the binoculars, “but he didn’t have the strength to drag you inside. He went to get help and I took a chance and snuck out.” “Thank you for rescuing me,” I said, and put the washcloth back on my forehead. I could feel a bump growing there, like a cake rising in the oven, but I wasn’t thinking about the bump. I was thinking about Ellington Feint, dragging me to her room. She was stronger than Stew Mitchum, or maybe she just wanted something more than he did. Or maybe, Snicket, I thought to myself— “Thank you for bringing back my phonograph,” she said, “though I’m afraid it got smashed up as badly as you did.” “I’m sorry to hear that,” I said,

She brought out an object I had seen once before. It was about the size of a deck of cards, with a tiny funnel and a small crank that she wound quickly before putting it on the pillow next to me. It played a melody I always liked to hear, whether from her phonograph or from this small thing, the music box her father had given her. “Two birds with one stone,” Ellington repeated, over the tinkly music. “My father always hated that expression. He said nobody should be throwing any stones at any birds.” “He sounds like a very gentle person.” “He is. He doesn’t belong in a place like this.”

Everyone tells you it’s all right to cry, but not enough people say it’s all right if you don’t want people to know.

I closed my eyes and took a gulp of coffee. It tasted like a hot, melted tire. I was embarrassed at the noises I made when I sipped it. I opened my eyes to see if Ellington had noticed and saw she was laughing at me. “That’s not nice,” I said. “You’re right and I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just good to see there’s one thing I’m better at than you are.” “I think you’re better at everything,” I said. I hoped the second sip would be better. It wasn’t. “I keep lurking around this mystery, but you walked right into the heart of it. I don’t know how you find the nerve to do the things you’ve done.” “I only have the nerve,” she said, “because I know you’re always close behind me.” We sipped coffee. It was still awful, but there was something wonderful about sitting together and sipping even the bitterest of beverages.

You cannot wait for an untroubled world to have an untroubled moment. The terrible phone call, the rainstorm, the sinister knock on the door—they will all come. Soon enough arrive the treacherous villain and the unfair trial and the smoke and the flames of the suspicious fires to burn everything away. In the meantime, it is best to grab what wonderful moments you find lying around.

Take your shoes and socks off, Snicket.” “Why?” “Shoes make an awful racket in the hallways,” she said, “and the floors are too slippery for socks.” “I’ll take my chances,” I said. Ellington gave me a quizzical look as she kicked off her own shoes. Her toenails, I noticed, were painted as black as her fingernails, although they looked more startling on her slender feet. “If you attract attention, it could ruin our only chance to defeat Hangfire. Take off your shoes and socks.” I hesitated, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Are you bashful, Snicket?” “I’m not bashful.” “Do you have ugly toes? I promise not to say anything about them.” “My toes,” I said, with as much dignity as I had lying around, “are perfectly normal, thank you very much.” “Then what is the problem?” “There isn’t one,” I said, and I quickly pulled off my shoes. I had to lean down to do it, and I had another opportunity to look at the object under the bed as I peeled off my socks and dropped them to the floor. It felt good to get them off. They were wet from the rain. But taking my shoes and socks off left my ankles bare, and Ellington stared hard at one of them. “Oh,” she said. “Oh,” I agreed. She leaned down and ran a finger along the tattoo on my ankle. To most people it looked like an eye, but hidden in the eye were three initials. They were not hidden to Ellington. She spelled them out with her fingernail on my skin. “V.F.D.,” she said. “Yes.” “Volunteer Fire Department.” “Yes.” “That’s another secret o...

The hallways of the Wade Academy were tricky for sneaking, but I’d had a very demanding sneaking instructor. Our final exam began early in the morning, with our instructor entering a small cabin in the middle of the woods and sitting blindfolded in a folding chair. The woods were full of crackly dead leaves, and the floor of the cabin was covered in fragile glass figurines. To pass the class we had to sneak up on him by midnight. When he arrived at the cabin that morning, the entire class was waiting for him. I’d snuck into his office the night before and shared the location of the cabin with the rest of the students so we could sneak up on him before he even arrived. I received the top grade in the class and a three-month suspension.

At least half of the janitors you encounter in your life are working for the enemy.

There were no schoolchildren to be seen. There was only Ellington Feint and there was only me. Ellington was good. She led the way on tiptoe, and could flatten herself against the wall for a long time without getting fidgety or bored. Her face remained calm as she led me through a maze of hallways and staircases. The only sign she was nervous was from her slender fingers, which kept moving up to fiddle with one of her braids. That left the other braid for me to fiddle with, but I did not think that was appropriate.

Only Ellington was enjoying her coffee, and I think she was also enjoying watching us not enjoy ours.

“I got the job the way anyone gets an important job at school,” Ellington answered. “I’ve been behaving sickeningly well.”