Class - Cecily Von Ziegesar [41]
Tom hadn’t noticed before what a perfect fall day it was. The leaves were gold and crimson and hot pink, and the fading sun slid down the hill behind campus like a giant egg yolk. As they walked, the hair on the backs of his hands took on a lovely coppery sheen. Wills walked directly in front of him, his tie-dyed skirt swaying back and forth, his long platinum hair bouncing liquidly in the late afternoon light.
“Nice,” Tom observed, allowing Liam to take his hand. Grover started to skip. The toes of his dirty bare feet were painted with silver nail polish. He played a cheerful Irish-sounding ditty on the harmonica strapped around his neck, accompanied by some enthusiastic chest beating and overall strap jangling. Grover liked to make noise, which made sense, given that he was the Grannies’ percussionist.
A jogger strode up behind them. His long brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail and his cheeks were sunken and sallow. A maroon Dexter basketball shirt flapped from his bony shoulders as his sinewy arms and legs pumped away. Besides the shirt, he sported a pair of those flimsy Dexter running shorts with the built-in mesh underwear that no full-grown man would ever wear, and white Asics running shoes with no socks. The thing was, this guy wasn’t full-grown. In fact, he looked like he was shrinking as he ran. When they were shoulder to shoulder, the jogger turned to look Tom square in the eyes, not accusing or threatening, but penetrating Tom’s very soul and mind-melding with him. A powerful chemical odor pervaded the air. If Tom weren’t on E, he would’ve been freaked out.
“That guy eats only Granny Smith apples,” Liam explained in a whisper as the jogger pulled away from them. “You know how the grocery store puts wax on the apples to make them shiny? Well, he scrapes the wax off with the file on a pair of nail clippers because he doesn’t want to ingest the extra calories.”
“He’s very pure,” Wills added from up ahead, his voice bulging with admiration. “All he does is apples and ether.”
“We should hit the Pond and go for a swim!” Grover shouted gleefully, puffing on his harmonica a few times for emphasis. He stopped in his tracks and pulled a pack of Doublemint gum from the chest pocket of his overalls. “It’s seriously minty,” he said as he doled out pieces to each of the boys.
They continued to walk. Tom unwrapped the gum and stuffed it into his mouth. It tasted unbelievably fresh. His jaw thrilled with the act of chewing.
“Come on. Who’s up for a swim?” Grover said again, skipping backward down the road.
“I’m not ready to get wet yet,” Liam murmured, gripping Tom’s hand even tighter. “Get wet yet,” he repeated, smiling goofily.
“Neither,” Tom agreed, chewing hard on the gum. They were walking faster now. He could feel it in his legs. It felt awesome, he felt awesome. “What I really want to do is paint something,” he continued, licking his lips and quickening his stride. He didn’t have to stick to what they were painting in Portraiture. He could paint the leaves if he wanted to. He could paint the sky!
“I’m burning up, son,” Wills called out to Grover, who was skipping and leaping and prancing ahead of them. “A swim would be good.”
A green road sign loomed up ahead. ENTERING HOME CITY LIMITS. POPULATION 9,847.
“There’s no place like Home,” Liam declared, rubbing the earflap of his hat against Tom’s burly shoulder.
A white Dodge minivan drove by, slowing to avoid Grover’s flailing arms and legs. Tom gave the driver the thumbs-up, and the driver gave Tom the thumbs-up in return. It was Professor Rosen.
The van stopped. On the rear bumper was a sticker that read SONA SI LATINE LOQUERIS. Professor Rosen stuck her head out. “Hey, Tom. Need a ride to rehearsal?”
Tom had forgotten all about rehearsal. He dropped Liam’s hand and walked toward the van.
“Hey, what’re you doing, man?” Wills demanded.
“Come on,” Tom called. “She