Class - Cecily Von Ziegesar [43]
The boys nodded their heads dutifully.
“Good, good.” The professor removed her script from her purse. “Listen, I have a date tonight, so let’s make this quick. There’s less than eight weeks till showtime. I’d like you to read through the entire play, from start to finish. That way you can get a feel for the buildup of energy. Just get into the groove and let the words slide off your tongues. I bet you’ve even memorized a lot of it already.”
Adam pursed his lips. The only time he remembered getting “into the groove” was when he’d sat on his sofa at home holding Shipley’s feet and fantasizing about what it would feel like to hold the rest of her.
Tom guzzled another few quarts of milk and cracked open his script. “I’ve been to the zoom,” he read.
“It’s zoo,” Professor Rosen corrected him. “I believe it’s been mentioned on numerous occasions that this play is called The Zoo Story?”
Tom ran his hands over his hair and gritted his teeth menacingly. “I’ve been to the zoo. I said, I’ve been to the zoo. Mister, I’ve been to the zoo!”
Adam glanced up from the script. Perhaps Tom was right for the part after all. Perhaps Tom was a more nuanced actor than he’d first thought. “You’re a lucky man,” he muttered.
Tom looked confused. “Am I on the wrong page?”
“Just stick to the script,” Professor Rosen advised.
Adam cleared his throat and read his line. “I’m sorry, were you talking to me?”
Tom gritted his teeth. “I need more milk.”
Professor Rosen sighed and handed him the jug of milk. “Why don’t you finish that off and start again from the beginning.”
Tom tossed his head back and guzzled the milk. He smacked his lips and wiped them on the back of his hand. “I’ve been to the zoo,” he began, sounding even more guttural and crazy than before.
Professor Rosen clapped her hands together. Her jade earrings jangled. “Yes!” she cried excitedly. “Yes!”
“Er. Ahem,” Adam coughed politely into his hand. At the end of the play he got to stab Tom in the gut with a plastic knife. He couldn’t think of anything more satisfying. “Are you talking to me?”
10
Why take the job when she didn’t need the money? Shipley wasn’t sure how to answer that question. Perhaps it was a matter of fitting in—most of the students at Dexter had some sort of job—or maybe she just needed to do something on her own, independent of Tom. She hadn’t even told him where she was going.
“Babysitting?” She could hear him chuckle as he tried to hide her clothes so she couldn’t put them back on. “Fuck that.”
She shivered as she headed to her car, wishing she had worn a coat. It was five-thirty and already almost dark. She wasn’t due at Professor Rosen’s house until six, but because it was her first time babysitting, she thought it might be a good idea to arrive early and get acquainted with the baby before its parents left.
The car was in its usual cockeyed spot, keys on the tire. The same person who’d stolen it that first week of school had kept on stealing it, but they always brought it back when the tank was empty. Shipley’s father had taught her to buy gas when the tank was a quarter full, so she kept on dutifully filling it, only to see the car disappear once again. Of course she could have just kept the keys on her Dexter key chain instead of on the tire, but she was terrified of losing them, thus risking the need to call home. The years she’d waited for a car. The years she’d waited to leave home.
Sometimes the stranger left notes: This car could use a bath. Wiper fluid!! Sorry, I smoked all your cigarettes. Left rear tire feels low. Sometimes the stranger left a present: a particularly pretty pink leaf, a pack of Juicy Fruit, DownEast magazine, a Snickers bar. She liked to pretend the stranger was her ex-husband. She’d left him for Tom. Neither one of them wanted to give up the car in the divorce, so they’d decided to share it. He’d drive around, listening to her music, finishing off her old, stale coffee, missing her. And every hastily scrawled note or thoughtful little token he left behind