Jilly-Bean (Jilly-Bean Series # 1) by Celia Vogel Page A

laughing-stock.” He stopped and looked abruptly around the room, but everyone was evading his gaze, looking away or at the carpet, afraid to acknowledge that there might be some truth to his words. He ran his fingers gingerly over the top of his head; “This could ruin my political career,” he whispered under his breath. Ah, thought Jillian, now the truth comes out; he cares more about his precious career than poor Mr. Mueller. She remembered that Mr. Paradis was an important man in politics. He had fancies of becoming prime minister of Canada one day.
    Numbly, Olivia asked, “Do you think we'll be implicated in any of this?”
    “How could you talk like that? No one is going to be 'implicated' in anything,” retorted Mr. Crossland matter-of-factly.
    “Are you kidding me?” exclaimed Mr. Paradis. “The authorities will have questions about these goings-on if— if John should happen to— I can't even say the word— die.”
    Adam interrupted him, “and who would be the murderer: Satan?”

Chapter Five

    In the days leading up to her high-school graduation and dance, Jillian could barely think of anything else. She was in a state of keen anticipation, agonizing not only for herself but also for her mother, who would look at her with anxious, troubled eyes, worried that her daughter was about to embark on a new phase of development— adulthood— or that maybe there was a curse lurking just around the corner and about to claim her. Jillian hurried about the house, humming under her breath. Her nights were enlivened by vivid dreams, and when she awoke the next morning, she was certain they foretold future events or solved some life riddle.
    Friday afternoon: a warm scent of wet summer grasses wafted through the auditorium of Humberview High School. The metal doors had been propped open to give some air to the throng of parents and children crammed into such a small space. Even so, the air in the small auditorium had become stifling hot; most people were fanning themselves with their programs. The graduates, sitting in the first two rows, were wearing black gowns and caps, looking more like comical figures or what Amelia Hartmann laughingly referred to as the Humberview High black ghosts. Sitting behind them in fold-out metal chairs were the relatives and friends of the graduates, who had pushed and thrust their way along the aisles and squeezed and bumped past each other; their chat and laughter echoed into the far reaches of the school corridors and basement.
    For Jillian, the ceremony passed like a blur tinged with sadness. With a smile and a warm handshake Principal Bennett handed her the Grade Twelve diploma, wrapped in a red ribbon and bow. Jillian's four years of high school seemed so brief a period, and now they were over. Her teenage years were gone.
    The night of the party finally arrived. She tried on the new red dress she had bought specially for the dance at Holt Renfrew for an obscene sum of money one Saturday afternoon, shopping with her friends Amelia and Annie, then removed it, because it seemed over the top. It simply didn't suit her. She remembered a pale yellow dress, with a sash of red floral and green petal appliqués, gathered at the waist, that was hanging in her bedroom closet and which she had worn the year before to a family wedding in Vancouver. Hastily she took it out, put it on and critically looked at herself with a feeling of thoughtful expectancy; the dress was snug at the waist but puffed out at the hips and consequently gave the impression of curves that she knew she didn't have. A new improved me! she thought. She shook out her hair so that it fell in wisps around her face. Peering closely into the mirror, she critically studied her face and on closer inspection ... was that a pimple?! Still? She started to fret; how could she cover something so obvious and red? Her mind went back to the awkward dances in middle school and high school: the hot gymnasium, pitch black except for dim