𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑: 𝐈 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐱𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭 𝐑𝐨 𝐫𝐲.
~~~~~~~~~~
As luck would have it, I could not, in fact, just walk on over to the bank and have a nice chat with Jacquelyn Scieszka about the description of demolition that would soon follow if we didn't put a stop to Count Olaf and his stupid rice pilaf.
Okay, here's how it went when I asked Aunt Strauss.
Me: "Hey, can I go to the bank today?"
Aunt Strauss: "The bank? What for?"
Me: "I wanna make an account for my money."
Aunt Strauss: "Maybe . . . I'll check my schedule and see when I'm free to take you there."
Me: "Oh, there's no need for that. I can do it myself."
Aunt Strauss: "No need? Rory—you're 12! You need a parent or guardian to help set up your account!"
Dam the laws. How the Hades was I, a minor, supposed to change the course of this timeline and live my ASOUE life if the laws kept hindering me like hounds?
I decided to wait until Aunt Strauss had another court case to attend. The day came soon, which I figured out by waking up to her spending the morning preparing a lamb leg for the Baudelaires, as I clearly remembered. RIP, you beautiful creature, your sacrifice shall be honored. The image of a goat wearing a wreath and angel wings fluttered in my brain annoyingly. I kicked it out and replaced it with my morning musical song— Who Will I Be by Demi Lovato.
Yeah I like Disney, sue me.
"Oh, good. You're up," she noted without looking up. "Could you be a dear and help prepare the mint jelly?"
I grunted and rubbed my eyes, which was the Morning Rory way of saying "Sure, but I only half heard you 'cuz I'm only half up."
Then, I trudged over to the couch and flopped on, splaying my legs on the backrest of the couch as my had hung from the edge. Upside down, I watched Aunt Strauss continue her work on the lamb leg for about three more minutes before she stopped and turned to me.
Oh crap, she's giving me one of her looks. What did I do?
"Rory, I asked you to prepare the mint jelly," she repeated.
I blinked. "Oh . . . you meant now."
She gave me another look.
I groaned and flipped off the couch in an awkward front flip. I won't lie, I twisted my right knee and my left ankle doing that, but no way was I going to submit to the pain.
Fifty minutes of limping and mint jelly-making later, Aunt Strauss and I had finished with me finally understanding what mint jelly tasted like. My final statement was that it was not bad, but not a favorite.
Aunt Strauss clapped her hands with joy at our accomplishment while I just sat on the only clean part of the table left. "Watch the lamb for me, will you, dear? I'll just go get my things and we'll just pop on over to Count Olaf's to give this to the Baudelaires, and I'll be on my way to court."
"Why do I have to come, then, if I'm not coming with you to court?" I asked with a yawn. I knew Olaf was just going to eat that beautifully cooked lamb anyways and I wasn't even going to get to see the Baudelaires.
"Why don't you go and ask him if you can play with the children?" she suggested innocently.
I withheld a snort. Count Olaf, allow me inside his house so that I could see his abusive treatment of the Baudelaire children? Not a chance in hell.
Still, I followed her to his dilapidated house and tried to stop frowning because Aunt Strauss kept telling me it wasn't polite to look so judgmental in front of anyone we didn't know. Still, I squinted at the horror movie-looking house and screamed mentally at how dumb people were to think this was a suitable environment for three kids—especially with one being a baby!
I had to get to the bank and warn Jacquelyn quickly and the Baudelaires out of there. But wait, wouldn't that mean the Baudelaires would leave to Mr. Monty's mansion? Damn, if only I could follow them . . . but hey, I knew it was not going to be so easy. Because of the idiocy of these adults—and my aunt's innocent obliviousness—something was bound to go wrong.
Well I always did like a challenge and this seemed a worthy one.
Aunt Strauss motioned for me to ring the doorbell since she was holding the tray of lamb with both hands. I rang and nearly jumped out of my skin at the creepy sound it emitted.
Count Olaf, in all his ugliness, opened the door. He looked even worse up-close. Similar to his TV show version, but the unibrow was much more defining, his hair looked more like a clown's, and he was taller than I expected .
Or maybe that last bit was just because I was short.
He raised an eyebrow at Aunt Strauss. "You look a little old to be a Girl Scout. And you look a little too young."
I raised an eyebrow back, silently challenging him as I let Aunt Strauss speak. "I'm Justice Strauss," she said.
"Doesn't ring a bell," he replied.
"We're your neighbours," she explained anxiously. "We . . . we live across the street."
"You've done something different with your hair?"
Aunt Strauss nudged me, nodding to the man.
I sighed and played my part.
"May I come in and see the Baudelaires?" I asked, oozing fake politeness from my gritted teeth.
"This is about the children?" he asked in faux-confusion. "I apologize for the noise. I told them to cry using their inside voices."
"What?" Aunt Strauss said in shock.
"Hmm?"
Should I say it? No, no, I needed to make Count Olaf believe that I was just a little kid for now . . .
I can do it, I told myself. I can do it . . . ARGH, BUT I'M ONLY HUMAN!
"Why would you leave them during such an emotional moment like this?" I asked. He looked at me in confusion.
I continued. "They need all the support they can get right now from their new guardian."
He recovered fast, I'll give him that.
"Oh, I'm letting them settle in," he lied. Only one of us bought that fib. Guess who?
"Oh that's . . . nice of you," Aunt Strauss said.
He ignored her comment, curling his lip at my defiance. "Shouldn't she be at kindergarten or something?"
I felt my cheeks go red, hot with embarrassment. "I'm twelve!"
"Rory!" Aunt Strauss admonished.
After that, I waved good-bye to my aunt and waited until she was out of my eyesight before running back inside and grabbing the backpack I'd prepared for myself in case . . . well, best not to think about it.
The bank wasn't too far away. I didn't have Google maps, but there was a surprise helpful map at one of the many bus stops I passed. I would have tried to get a bus to take me, but I didn' t get an allowance from Aunt Strauss and I wasn't about to steal any.
Nobody much paid attention why I was in a bank by myself. I guess nobody really does pay attention to kids.
I scanned the desks with receptionists and found the secretary I was looking for. She looked like she fit right in, a totally normal lady. Certainly not like someone part of a secret organization.
Well, that was a good thing, I guess. Wouldn't be good if she looked suspicious.
I approached her desk and tapped on the glass. She looked up, a little surprised that a kid was there instead of an adult.
"Hello," Jacquelyn Scieszka said. "How do you do, young lady?"
"I'm good, thank you," I said. "But I need to speak with you about a very fragile . . . dilema."
Jacquelyn suddenly looked very alert and stopped with her typewriter. I bet she was wondering how I knew about VFD.
I stood on my tip-toes and, my voice a whisper, added, "Please, the Baudelaires need you."
She stood up and smoothed her skirt out. With a glance at the clock into the room, she sighed, as if preparing for something.
"I have a break for fifteen minutes," she told me. "Let's make every minute count."
While she led me outside the building to the nearby park, I couldn't help but remember how Count Olaf got to her first and how his bald henchman tied her up.
"Speaking of count," I began as we crossed the road, "we need to talk about their guardian, Count Olaf."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
𝐀/𝐍: 𝐒𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭.
𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐁 𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐲.
𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐡? 𝐄𝐚𝐬𝐲 , 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐀𝐥𝐠𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐚 𝐭𝐨 𝐆𝐞𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐲.
𝐄𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡 ? 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐝, 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈'𝐦 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫.
𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡 ? 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐣 𝐜𝐡!
𝐆𝐲𝐦 ? 𝐭.
𝐇𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 ? 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐰𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚 𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐠𝐥𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐜 𝐨𝐟 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝧭𝐢𝐨 𝐬 . 𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐮𝐠𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡.
𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐘 !
𝐈 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧 . . . 𝐖𝐇𝐘?!?!
𝐖𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐳 𝐨𝐧 𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐲, 𝐲𝐨 𝐮 𝐠𝐮𝐲𝐬.
𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐛𝐞 𝐛𝐞 𝐮𝐩𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐈 𝐈 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐦 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐲.
𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐮𝐩 𝐢𝐬 𝐌𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥 𝐕𝐞𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐈 𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈'𝐦 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐡 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤.
—𝐌𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟖