Class - Cecily Von Ziegesar [20]
“I’ll have wine,” Eliza said.
“Me too,” Shipley agreed.
“A wise choice.” Tragedy arranged this morning’s batch of chocolate chip cookies on a plate and presented it to her guests. She liked to bake. It helped relieve the boredom. “Let me guess. You guys are freshmen and you bagged the overnight?”
“Kind of.” Hat Boy shoved a cookie into his mouth. “I’m Nick.” He pointed at the beefy guy seated across from him. “That’s Tom.” Then he pointed at the blonde. “That’s Shipley.” Finally he pointed at the girl with the bangs. “And that’s Eliza.” He swallowed the cookie and reached for another one. “Sorry if we’re acting wacko. We’re pretty stoned.”
So that was their problem. Tragedy removed the blue teddy bear from her apron pocket—a weird accessory, even for her. Then she grabbed a tall Coca-Cola glass and filled it to the brim with red wine. “Adam’s going to be in your class.” She handed the glass to Shipley and poured another one for Eliza. “He was too cheap to sign up for orientation though.”
Adam uncapped a beer and took a gingerly sip. “I would have had to pick $150 worth of blueberries to pay for it,” he told his sister. He noticed Shipley was staring at him and instantly regretted any mention of picking blueberries.
“That’s a lot of blueberries,” Tom observed with his mouth full of cookies. He’d never eaten anything so good in his entire life. He could actually taste the cocoa beans in the chocolate chips. He could taste the sunshine that had shone down upon the heads of the chickens that had laid the eggs that were in the batter. The cookies were life-changing.
A large gray cat swaggered lazily through the kitchen, licking her chops. Yellow fly tape hung from the ceiling like an ornament, festooned with dead flies. The air smelled of blueberry jam and freshly baked cookies.
Shipley sat directly opposite Tom, sipping her wine with rhythmic precision. She was glad she’d already peed.
Eliza bit the rim of her glass. Any minute now she’d hear the roar of a chain saw and heads would begin to fly.
“Hey, we should play a drinking game or something,” Tragedy suggested.
“Please, no,” Adam groaned. Tragedy always had the worst ideas.
They played Bullshit with two decks of cards. Tragedy called “bullshit” every hand, which was annoying, but meant that they all got very drunk. Six bottles of wine and a case of beer later, Shipley lay on the living room sofa with her head in Tom’s lap and her feet in Adam’s, watching Tragedy and Nick dance to the Gatzes’ collection of Bee Gees albums. The operatic wails of the brothers Gibb sounded almost futuristic, even though the music had come out almost two decades ago. Eliza knelt on the floor next to the coffee table, staring at the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. The Scooby Doo marathon continued to play on the muted TV. Scooby and Shaggy tiptoed around a deserted amusement park, their teeth chattering noiselessly. It was two o’clock in the morning. The sheep would be waiting for their grain at six.
“Plum,” Tom said, gazing down at the side of Shipley’s head. “That’s what color I’d start with if I were going to paint your hair. Everyone thinks blond hair is yellow, but it’s really not.”
“Mmm.” Shipley had never been this intoxicated. She’d long given up trying to speak. Way down at the other end of the sofa she could feel Adam’s knuckle brush against her bare foot. She closed her eyes.
The next song was a slow one. Rather than attempt an awkward promlike slow dance, Tragedy and Nick knelt down beside Eliza to help her with the puzzle.
“It’s from the Mensa Society,” Tragedy told them. “I joined just for fun. It’s a picture of the first landing on the Moon and it’s got eighteen hundred pieces—eighteen hundred and only four corners. I’ve been doing it for almost a week and I lost the cover of the box with the picture on it so now I’m really screwed.” She grabbed the piece Nick had just picked up. “Hey, gimme that. That’s Neil Armstrong’s thumb.” She pressed the piece into place. “One small step for womankind!”