The Common Thread
Chapter Three
"Mrs. Wilmont just announced what the spring play's going to be," Phyllis said to Victoria as they walked into the science room.
"Mmm." Victoria opened her notebook.
"You'll never guess what it is."
"I bet I won't."
Phyllis folded her arms. "Come on, Vic. You're smart, you're talented, and you'll get into Georgetown even without that scholarship."
"Right. My father may be rich, but he's not that rich."
"You're quite humble, also."
"Thanks." Victoria sighed and sat down. "So what's the play?"
"The Sound of Music."
Victoria raised her eyebrows. "I thought we couldn't do that. Something about the royalties."
"Supposedly an anonymous donor paid what the school couldn't."
"Would the 'anonymous donor' be Amanda Biltman's father?"
"Bingo. The rumor is that if Amanda doesn't get the part of Maria, he'll stop payments on the check."
"Well, he's gonna have to, because you're gonna get that part."
"Why, thank you," Phyllis said in a cultured accent. "And now, I believe I'll summon my limousine to take me to journalism." She waved in perfect Queen Elizabeth style and strode off into the crowded hallway.
It was strange, Victoria thought, that she and Phyllis had become friends. Yes, they were both sarcastic and semi-annoying, but other than that, they were complete opposites. Phyllis was very active in all the fine arts--choir, drama, photography, and on and on and on. She'd once remarked that if it contained culture and a possibility of fame, she was in. Her prime goal was to be a Hollywood photographer--"after I finish being a brilliant director, that is."
Victoria, on the other hand, wasn't in anything that could be deemed extra-curricular. She was deeply involved with her studies and never wanted much of a social life. She wanted to be a doctor, preferably at Boston General.
So how had the two become friends?
The exact moment it happened couldn't really be determined. In tenth grade, they'd been assigned to work together on a math project about statistics. The assignment was to create a simple question (like "What came first, the chicken or the egg?"), ask fifty people the question, and present the statistics. They'd asked all the sophomores if they supported the United States's military presence in Vietnam. Fifty-nine percent supported it, thirty-eight percent were against it, and three percent were unsure (or didn't care either way). Their project proved to be the most provoking, and earned them a trip to the principal's office to explain that no, they weren't trying to be arrogant to the United States government. That incident proved that the two, different as they might have been, were obviously meant to be best friends.
"Hey! Vic!" shouted Mel Varden. "Catch!" He threw an eraser at her.
"Grow up." Victoria threw it back at him.
"Ooh, get a load of her. So high and mighty."
"Look, I'm trying to get ready to actually learn about something I'm going to use in life, and eraser throwing isn't it."
"Really?" interrupted Jake Smith. "I thought Georgetown had a course for that."
"Eraser Throwing for the Snobbish and Horse-Faced," added William Barrymore.
"Why are you three neanderthals in here anyway?" Victoria shot back. "I thought you'd be somewhere where you could congregate with your own kind."
"And where would that be?" Melvin asked.
"Oh, the science lab with the formeldyhyde frogs."
Jake snorted back a laugh and was rewarded with glares from Mel and William.
Mr. Breagan entered the room with a mighty cough. "Let's take our seats, folks. Now, before we begin, I'd like to ask you all if you remember the Korean War?"
Victoria rolled her eyes. "Mr. Breagan, given that none of us were alive at that time..."
"Witty," Cameron Phillips commented from the back of the room.
"Enough." Mr. Breagan coughed again. "Anyhow, today we have a guest speaker who was in that very war as a nurse at a mobile army surgical hospital, also called a MASH. Let's give a warm welcome to Miss Josephine Bigelow."
Half-hearted applause scattered throughout most of the class, except for Norman Chase, Cameron, and William, who climbed on top of their desks and roared their approval.
"Idiots," Victoria muttered. "One of them's going to-"
Clunk.
"-fall."
Norman let out a howl.
"Now this is exactly why I do not want people standing on the desks." Mr. Breagan crossed his arms. "I hope Mr. Chase has given you an accurate example why you are to follow that rule."
"THE SCHOOL SUPPLIES ARE TRYING TO KILL ME!"
Josephine poked her head into the room. "Is everything all right in here?"
"We've had a little accident," Mr. Breagan said.
She surveyed the damage. "I should say." Focusing on Norman, she asked, "Can you move?"
"Maybe." Norman pulled himself up into a sitting position. "I'm gonna sue the school."
"No you're not," said Mr. Breagan. "Now get back in your desk and give Miss Bigelow the respect she deserves."
"Yes sir," said Norman. He set his desk upright and crawled into it.
Victoria opened her notebook and settled back in her desk. The woman took her place behind the podium and began to speak, but Victoria didn't comprehend the words. All she could think of was how familiar the woman was. Had she seen her somewhere before? In a picture, maybe?
"When I was in Korea, stationed at a mobile army surgical hospital, I recieved some of the best training of my life. Nothing could have prepared me for how to handle soldiers with hunks of metal imbedded in their stomachs. It was, as one of our doctors so accurately put it, 'meatball surgery.'"
Victoria dropped her pen.
"Spastic much?" William muttered.
"Meatball surgery," Victoria repeated. She raised her hand. "Miss Bigelow?"
"Yes?"
"Which MASH unit were you stationed at?"
"The 4077th."
That was it. That's where Victoria had seen this woman. It had been in old photographs at her house. And...
Oh God.
An engagement announcement.
A/N: So sorry for the delay on this, but things got hectic...and then there were finals (fun fun), and...aieeee. Please forgive me?