33 The Bethany File

The Bethany File Three months later, Geoffrey was preparing for his first date-not-a-date-type thing with Bethany. He was wearing his best and only suit again—even though it was smaller on him now, owing to a misunderstanding with the washing machine—and clutching a bouquet of the wiggliest worms that he could find in the orphanage's barren gardens.

"Stop sweating," said Timothy Skittle crossly. "You're going to get water marks all over my paperwork." "Oh, ah, sorry," said Geoffrey. He used the worms to wipe his forehead. "It's just, ah, well, I'm not sure how these date-not-a-date things are supposed to work." "I wasn't asking for your life story," said Timothy. "Stop fretting and start filing." Geoffrey had spent the day trying to distract himself from his pre-date-not-a-date nerves by being as helpful as possible around the orphanage. He had already vacuumed the loos, reorganized the spatulas, fed the stray rats, alphabetized the toothbrushes, and sung Amy Clue and her teddy bear, Miss Lillipie, a moving lullaby—and now, in desperation, he was helping Timothy with his paperwork.

"I can't believe that beast refused to vomit me out a file sorter," grumbled Timothy. "Everyone else in the neighborhood said it was such a friendly creature, but by the time I got to the fifteen-story house, it was rude, slithery, and horrid." "Oh, ah, it'll be back to being really nice soon. Well, soonish. Bethany and Mr. Tweezer are trying to help the beast become something rather brilliant," said Geoffrey. "Fat lot of good that does me," said Timothy. He let out a self-pitying whimper as he looked at Geoffrey's handiwork. "Please be more careful with those papers, Geoffrey—look, you've put half of them in that file the wrong way round! There's no point in you being here if I'm going to have to redo all your work."

"No, no—please let me help!" said Geoffrey. He looked up at the clock above Timothy's desk and saw that he had at least another two hours before he was due to meet Bethany—another two hours that he'd spend fretting and sweating, if he didn't have something else to distract him. "I promise I'll do better." "Fine," said Timothy. He lifted a wobbling pile of files and plopped them in front of Geoffrey. "You can get to work on those. If there are any sheets that Miss Fizzlewick didn't sign, hand them over to me." For the first ten files or so, the distraction sort of worked. But then Geoffrey's doubts and anxieties started creeping in. Geoffrey was a boy who spent his life in a perpetual state of nervousness, but this

evening he was even more nervous than usual. There seemed to be so very many things that could go wrong. Bethany might call to cancel before the date-not-a-date even began. When they got there, the film could be sold out, or the popcorn could be poisoned, or the cinema ushers might be pompous and cruel. Maybe the film itself would be awful—a total betrayal of everything that the Sergeant Tortoise comics were about—or, even worse, he and Bethany might have a disagreement about it. And maybe the disagreement would cause their whole friendship to crumble. Not only would Bethany refuse to go on another date-not-a-date thing, but she might even refuse to see him ever— "You've got worms all over that file!" said Timothy. "I can't file worms, Geoffrey!"

"Oh, ah—sorry, I used the wrong hand," said Geoffrey. He apologized to each of the worms before scooping them back into his bouquet. "Won't happen again, I promise." Geoffrey moved on to the next file. He was almost certain that, in spite of his promise, his mind would drift back to the date-not-a-date. But the file captured his attention, because it happened to be the one that belonged to Bethany. Geoffrey felt almost guilty looking through it, like he was rummaging through someone's diary. He was just about to move the file onto Timothy's side when something caught his eye. Several pictures of the mustachioed man, the mustacheless woman, and the scowling baby Bethany came tumbling out. The