Class - Cecily Von Ziegesar [37]
“The guys in our class are going to be Ghostbusters,” the first girl explained. “And we’re going as sexy ghosts.”
“Wow.” Shipley was only half listening, distracted by something thumbtacked to Professor Rosen’s door. It was the sign-up sheet for The Zoo Story, Edward Albee’s one-act play. Professor Rosen was directing. First Year Students Only! the sheet read. Extra Credit! A single signature was scrawled across the sheet in green ink—Adam Gatz, it read.
“Aren’t you dressing up?” one of the girls was asking. “There’s going to be a party in the Student Union with a haunted house and everything.”
Shipley blinked. She was aware of the fact that by holing up with Tom in his room she was missing out on most of Dexter’s social offerings. Did Adam go to these things? She hadn’t spoken to him since the welcome barbecue. Would she have seen him dancing at Oktoberfest or pounding hard cider during Apple Cider Week had she not been with Tom? Maybe he even had a girlfriend by now—the Apple Cider Queen.
Eliza stepped out of Professor Rosen’s office. “The professor will see you now,” she announced, sounding absurdly formal. “Hey, are you guys, like, planning a pajama party?” she joked. “Thanks a lot for not inviting me.”
The three girls rolled their eyes. “See you later,” one of them told Shipley before stalking off down the hall with her two friends in tow.
Eliza rolled her eyes in return. She hated those girls and their pink sweatshirts so much she hadn’t even bothered to learn their names. She was pretty sure they hated her too. It occurred to her that if the Office of Student Housing and Campus Life had placed Shipley in that same triple in Sloane, she’d be mincing around in a pink sweatshirt right now, shouting out dumb cheers and doing the splits during rugby games. Even if Shipley and Eliza weren’t friends, the mere fact that they were roommates had opened up a whole new world to Shipley, one where light pink was evil and irony ruled.
Shipley stood up and waited for Eliza to let her pass.
“She’s in a foul mood,” Eliza warned, which was a lie. Professor Rosen only had one mood: bitchily condescending.
Shipley frowned. “But you guys sounded like you were having fun.”
Eliza rolled her eyes again. Shipley was so gullible. “What a maniac,” she said, and stepped aside.
Shipley pushed open the door and entered the tiny, crowded office, still unsure of whether Eliza was calling her a maniac or their teacher. Professor Rosen sat at her desk, thumbing through a ragged, pen-worn address book.
“Ah, Shipley,” she said, looking up. She indicated the small wooden chair beside the desk. An orange fondue pot squatted beneath the chair, long forks poking out in all directions. A red Radio Flyer tricycle was pushed into one corner of the office and a cardboard model of a moose head was tacked to the wall. On the desk was a picture of Professor Rosen kissing someone dressed as an Egyptian pharaoh. “Sorry for the clutter. Have a seat.”
Shipley crossed her legs and clasped her hands together. This was her chance to win Professor Rosen over. She waited patiently while the professor shuffled a pile of manila folders around until she found Shipley’s. She removed a piece of paper from the folder and read it, her lips moving silently.
It was the poem Shipley had written in class last week. The assignment—write a short poem about a member of your family—had annoyed her at first. Did it have to be so personal? Why couldn’t they write about the changing seasons or migrating geese or their favorite pair of boots?
“I didn’t make the last name connection until I read this,” Professor Rosen said. “I remember your brother. He only showed up for one class.”
Shipley nodded. The last thing she wanted to discuss was Patrick. But then she shouldn’t have written a poem about him.
“How’s he doing anyway?” The professor sounded genuinely concerned.
Shipley wasn’t sure what to say. She hadn’t seen Patrick since 1988. “He’s great,” she enthused.
Professor Rosen frowned. “Really?”
Shipley shrugged her shoulders. “We don’t really stay in touch.” She shifted