Stork Raving Mad(9)

“But that would mean starting over!” Ramon exclaimed.

“Sadly, yes,” Dr. Wright said. She didn’t look sad. She looked as if this was the most fun she’d had since outgrowing childhood pastimes like pulling the wings off flies.

“But I got permission,” Ramon said. “I submitted about a million forms two years ago.”

Dr. Wright reached down and opened her purse. She pulled a couple of things out of it—a matching wallet and a worn pale-blue Caerphilly College envelope that had been folded in half. She located her target: a small electronic gadget. She stuffed the wallet and the envelope back in her purse, then began clicking buttons on the electronic device—presumably making notes of their conversation.

“Now,” she said, glancing up from her PDA or whatever it was, “to what forms are you referring?”

“I don’t know.” Ramon shrugged. “The forms the department secretary told me to submit. They were all on that stupid blue paper.”

Not helpful. All official Caerphilly College papers were printed on a tasteful pale-blue paper stock, theoretically to make them stand out from other, less exalted papers. Which it would if the college didn’t send out such a blizzard of official papers that every professor’s desk was covered in blue snowdrifts.

But criticizing the blue paper wasn’t very smart. For all we knew, Blanco and Wright could have been on the committee that came up with the idea. Ramon should be more diplomatic. In fact—

“Do you have a copy of this alleged permission?” Dr. Wright was saying.

“I don’t know,” Ramon said. “If I did it’d be back in my room. Look, can’t this all wait till after my show? I’ve got a rehearsal in five minutes and—”

“Ah, yes, the show,” Dr. Wright said. She turned to Dr. Blanco. He looked blank for a moment. She frowned and made an impatient gesture.

“Oh, yes,” he said. “The show.” He turned to Ramon. “I have the unfortunate duty to inform you that the show cannot continue. Regrettably, the administration has determined that the show contains offensive and unsuitable material.”

“We’re canceling it,” Dr. Wright said.

“Canceling it!” Ramon echoed.

“That’s crazy!” the woman student said, and then clapped her hands over her mouth and ran back into the kitchen, as if hoping not to be noticed.

Didn’t Ramon realize he shouldn’t be talking to these two by himself? I had to do something before he got even deeper in trouble, but the brain wasn’t cooperating.

“Wait!” I shouted. They all turned to look at me, and both the jackals took a step back. Ramon merely looked anxiously at my protruding abdomen. In fact they were all staring. I glanced down to see one of P’s feet outlined perfectly against the tautly stretched fabric of my maternity blouse.

I shoved him back into a more comfortable position, while frantically trying to think.





Chapter 4


“Is there some problem?” Dr. Wright asked.

I couldn’t come up with anything to say that would rescue Ramon, so I decided to stall. I grabbed the back of a chair and tried to look faint. It wasn’t a stretch. I started breathing as shallowly as I could, trying to keep the perfume reek from triggering a sneeze.

“I hate to interrupt your discussion, but I’m feeling unwell,” I said. “I need someone to help me. I—I—achoo!”

Both professors flinched.

“If you have an infectious disease,” Dr. Wright said, “it’s highly inconsiderate to expose others to the possible contagion.”

I wanted to tell her that it was equally inconsiderate to wear so much perfume that you polluted every room you entered, but I decided that wouldn’t be politic.

“What I have isn’t contagious,” I said. “I’m sensitive to strong odors. Side effect of pregnancy. I must be reacting to all the seafood Señor Mendoza is cooking. Mr. Soto? Would you mind helping me?”

Looking even more anxious, Ramon gave me his arm. I leaned on it heavily and steered him back to the kitchen.

“Should we call a doctor?” he asked, as I sank into a chair in the kitchen. The noise level dropped as at least half the people in the kitchen turned to stare at me.

“I’m fine,” I said. “Or as fine as anyone can be when she’s swollen to the size of a Panzer tank. You, on the other hand, are in deep—um, big trouble. You shouldn’t be talking to these people by yourself.”

“You mean I need a lawyer or something?” he said, sounding incredulous.

“It might come to that, but right now—quick, someone find Professor Waterston!”