Class - Cecily Von Ziegesar [71]
Tom had just finished his long dog monologue. Now he and Adam were fighting over the bench. Tom pushed Adam and Adam fell on the floor.
Shipley squeezed Tom’s mother’s hand. “Watch out!” she cried. “He’s got a knife!”
Everyone in the audience craned their necks to look. A few girls giggled. Eliza nudged Shipley with her elbow. “None of this is real, stupid,” she whispered in Shipley’s ear. Tom was a surprisingly kickass actor. His voice didn’t even sound the same. And Adam was pretty decent too.
The knife was on the floor. “Pick it up,” Tom taunted Adam. “Pick it up and fight with me.”
Shipley covered her eyes with her free hand. Her heart was racing. She peeked through her fingers. Adam bent down and picked up the knife. She began to shake uncontrollably at the thought of Adam stabbing Tom. She held her breath. Oh, it was perfect. It was just what she wanted! No, it wasn’t. Oh, God, what was wrong with her? Her whole body trembled violently and she let out a yelp of nervous laughter.
Tom lunged forward and impaled himself on the knife. This was the scene he’d been worried about. A packet of fake blood was taped to his stomach. He felt the cold redness ooze out of the packet, staining his shirt. He gagged, staggered backward, and fell against the bench. Adam ran offstage. Tom was dying. The lights came up. The play was over.
The audience rose to its feet, hooting and applauding. Blanche stuck her pinkies into her mouth and wolf-whistled. From inside his hemp cocoon, Beetle let out a jubilant squawk.
Tom’s mother squeezed Shipley’s forearm. “He was marvelous, wasn’t he?” she cried. “Oh, I’m so glad we came!”
“Bravo!” Tom’s father shouted. “Bravo!”
“Atta boy!” Ellen Gatz yelled loudly from the back.
Up in the lighting booth, Nick sneezed his approval. His aim with the spotlight wasn’t the best, but he’d managed to muddle through.
Tom lay where he’d fallen, having blacked out once more. Professor Rosen led Adam back onstage to take a bow.
Adam knelt down to murmur in Tom’s ear. “Hey. Time to get up.”
Tom remained where he’d fallen. Shipley covered her mouth with her hand. He never could handle the sight of blood. Had he fainted for real?
Tom could see himself as a baby, crawling around in his mother’s flower beds. He saw the baseball his father had given him for his tenth birthday, signed by Reggie Jackson. He saw the French toast he and his brother made for his mom every Mother’s Day. They put nutmeg in the syrup. He saw his driving instructor, with the ridiculous rack. He saw his cap and gown from graduation. They moved their tassels from the right side to the left after Principal Doogie Howser handed out the diplomas. Man, that dude was small. He saw Shipley take off her clothes and get into bed. She kissed his lips, his ear.
“Get up, Tom,” Adam said again. “The play’s over. We’re done.”
Tom reeled back to semiconsciousness. The crowd roared as he got on all fours and climbed unsteadily to his feet. His white shirt was stained red. His eyes were slits, his face ashen, his entire body drenched in sweat. He slung his arm around Adam’s waist, staggered sideways and slung his other arm around Professor Rosen’s shoulders. Supporting Tom on either side, the professor and Adam bowed together before dragging him offstage.
Shipley was clapping so hard her hands hurt.
“That was pretty good,” Eliza allowed. “Although I’m not so sure what it says about your taste in men.”
“Bravo!” Tom’s father called out once more. “Bravo!”
17
Second best to earning a lot of money and spending it is finding a lot of money and spending it. Patrick had taken the car three nights ago and still hadn’t returned it. Lucky for him, his sister had left her wallet on the front seat