Chapter 6

 “What? Wait, I didn't say I wanted to DO Jeremiah Jones, I just said I lost my notes by his statue."

 In a corner of her mind, Lizzie thought her words sounded funny, but she pressed forward. "I don't even know what he's famous for. I...I...well..."

 Her protest didn't seem to have any impact on Mr. Thompson who kept on moving down his list of names. She tried two three other times to interrupt, but it was like he, or anyone else in the class, couldn't hear her.

As the selection process was wrapping up (there were only five people after Lizzie), Shanice caught Lizzie's eye. She had a strange expression on her face and she was grabbing her throat.

Jeez Louise. Right, I'm miserable, I've got such a stupid topic my life is over, and now my best friend is continuing to make fun of me. This has been one bad day.

 She glanced back at Shanice again. Her friend was still focused on Lizzie. She was wide-eyed and moving her hand from her mouth then pointing to her ears and shaking her head.

What is she tying to tell me?

Lizzie found out later, almost as soon as class was dismissed.

"Jeremiah Jones? What were you thinking?"

It was Shanice calling to her as she stormed across the parking lot.

"He's just a big black dude in a bad suit. And he's been dead for what a hundred years? Two hundred years? Girl, you’re crazy. And what was with your mouth opening and closing and nothing coming out? That was freaking me out. Were you cursing at Mr. Thompson in silence like?"

Lizzie stopped and faced Shanice.

"I never even thought about doing Jones. I tried to tell Mr. Thompson that I lost my list of subjects BY the wood carving of Jones, but apparently all that came out was the Jones part."

"That's weird. How's your voice now?"

"Duh! You're talking to me now aren't you? And you heard me in French class last period during the Halloween skit. It's like there's no problem at all."

"So what are you going to do? Why don't we go back inside now, and you can tell Mr. Thompson there was a mistake and you want to do someone else?"

"No way, he already hates me," said Lizzie turning away from the school and heading down the sidewalk toward home. "Besides I thought about it, and I can't think of anyone good that I could do. All the good ones are gone."

"Or ruled out," added Shanice catching up. "What's up with you and Dennis Borden anyway? He loves to torment you, doesn't he?"

Lizzie eyes became black dots of furry as the moment replayed in her head. "I'll show you torment next time I see him in the playground. There won't be any doubt about what I have to say. They'll hear me calling him down way across town in Victoria Park.

The girls walked along Willow Street in silence. The wind was chilly.

Anyone going out for Halloween on the weekend will have to wear a jacket under their costume or they'll freeze to death, thought Lizzie.

Shanice must have been thinking the same thing.

"Have you got you costume finished? My Mom sewed me a cat costume. It's a little lame, but if I put on enough make-up no one will know it's me."

"My Dad says I'm too old to go trick-or-treating,” Lizzie replied sadly. “I've got to give candy out at the door."

"Bummer. Does he know like everyone in the class still goes out? It's free candy."

"I've told him, but he gives the old I-don't-care-what-everyone-else-is-doing speech. It's old, but at least it's not about basketball."

Within a few hundred steps they were at the foot of the Jones carving.

Lizzie looked up at it. It was at least four metres tall and painted with some kind of yellow protective coating. Lizzie studied the man's long forehead, his bushy moustache and the sharp lines of his uniform while Shanice fidgeted with her backpack and applied yet another layer of lip gloss. She noticed once again that the paint on the right boot had been rubbed away by those looking for luck.   There was a brass plaque bolted to the base of the tree. It was much smaller than the one honouring Portia White plaque in front of  Zion.

"Can I tell you something? she asked Shanice without looking away from the carving. "You have to promise not to tell anyone. Pinky-swear?

Shanice, always anxious for some kind of gossip, nodded and moved closer to Lizzie. The locked pinky fingers.

Lizzie held her breath and blurted out what she had been thinking all afternoon. "I know it sounds crazy, but I didn't choose him. It's like he chose me."

"Say what?" said Shanice, pulling her pinky away. She grabbed Lizzie's shoulders and turned her so she could look at her. "What do you mean he chose you? In case you didn't notice he's just wood."

She knocked hard on a pant leg.

Shanice continued, "It's a wood carving. It can't wink and it can't choose. It can't come to life. Have you been reading Pinocchio and you now think you're Geppetto?"

"I didn't think you'd understand," said Lizzie sadly, her head lowered. She waited for half a second and then turned and walked away.

She didn't see Shanice throw up her arms and stomp away, but her nose caught the faintest smell of peppermint.