Class - Cecily Von Ziegesar [66]
“Nice earmuffs,” she called out. “Hey, Shipley, have you seen Adam?”
“He’s in the auditorium. They’re just finishing up.” Shipley thought it best not to explain that she had barely spoken to Adam. Tragedy would not approve.
“Good.” Tragedy smoothed down the flyer. “Then he can drive my ass home.” She cocked an eyebrow at Shipley. “Unless you guys want to give me a ride.”
Eliza snorted. Shipley glared at her. “Sorry, my car’s…unavailable.”
Tragedy slung her hand through the roll of tape like a bracelet. “Okay. Well, see you Saturday,” she said. “And don’t forget to bring a blanket. It’s supposed to be warm as summer.”
Tragedy’s long legs propelled her toward the Student Union. Shipley stared after her. Eliza went over to examine the flyer.
“It’s a party,” she said. “Saturday night. The flyer’s sort of old-fashioned. It’s kind of cute. It says there’s going to be refreshments and horseshoes and sheep-tipping.” She giggled. “It also says to bring a date.” She turned back to Shipley. “Who’re you gonna bring?”
16
Even the most bucolic college suffers from bouts of nerves, when tension takes hold and rocks its pretty brick buildings on their foundations. This biannual occurrence is also known as review week. Students slog through cram sessions or camp out in the library in a vain attempt to acquire an entire semester’s worth of knowledge in only seven days. If they’d cut class or slacked off and forgotten to read certain critical texts, this is their opportunity to catch up.
Clusters of students could be found huddled in Dexter’s Starbucks café, madly quizzing each other and pumping themselves full of caffeine.
“Describe the events of D-Day.”
“What is the area of the region bounded by the curves y = x2 and y = 1?”
“Briefly describe one of Little Hans’s dreams or fantasies from Freud’s famous study.”
“Define Logos, ethos, and pathos.”
“Which type of mineral deposits are segregated by density?”
Becky, Kelly, and Brianna, that inseparable threesome from the all-girls dorm, had promised each other to give up carbs until break. These unlucky girls had fallen prey to the dreaded Freshman Fifteen. Their pink sweatshirts clung to their newly fleshed-out forms, the hems stretched and frayed from being tugged down unflatteringly over the rear ends of their obscenely tight jeans.
“I could kill for a scone right now,” Becky would moan, staring into the glass case at Starbucks.
“Be strong,” Kelly would tell her loyally.
“Only one more week,” Brianna would remind them. “Think how much better those scones will taste after exams are over.”
“Think how thin we’ll be,” Kelly would add.
“Maybe Lucas will notice me then,” Becky would say miserably.
“Quiet!” someone would shout. “Can’t you see we’re studying here?”
Apart from pastries, academics seemed to be the only thing on everyone’s mind. Well, almost everyone.
Portraiture I’s open studio began at 4 P.M. on Saturday, only an hour before curtain time for The Zoo Story. Most of the paintings hanging in the cavernous art studio were nudes of Eliza in all manner of erotic poses. Eliza had expanded her job description from model to wine steward for the occasion. Her heavy black boots resounded on the wood floor as she tromped around the studio pouring white wine into plastic cups.
Candace and Andrew Ferguson stood in front of their son’s gigantic portrait of his girlfriend. They’d driven up from Bedford that morning and had arrived on campus only minutes before.
“Is that a squid in her hair?” Mrs. Ferguson whispered to her husband. “And why are her teeth blue? Or are those her fingers?”
Mr. Ferguson furrowed his bushy gray eyebrows. “Where’s Tom?” he demanded.
“His play starts in an hour. I’m sure we’ll see him after,” Mrs. Ferguson soothed. “Here’s his girlfriend now. Be nice,” she warned. “She’s probably embarrassed to have her naked body all…rearranged like this. Especially in front of us.”
Tom’s mother was under the assumption that Shipley had already seen Tom’s painting. Not so.
“Hello.” Shipley kissed each of Tom’s parents on the