Class - Cecily Von Ziegesar [76]
She escorted Tom’s parents out to their car and kissed them good-bye. Despite Tom’s behavior, it was nice to have gotten to know them a little better.
“We’re at the Holiday Inn,” Mrs. Ferguson said. “Tell Tom to call if he needs anything.”
“I will,” she said, and waved them good-bye. It was only nine o’clock. Adam’s party would just be getting going. She could drink a beer, maybe smoke a few cigarettes, maybe talk to Adam for a while. She might even try a game of horseshoes.
She walked across the quad to retrieve her car and found that it was gone. Tears sprang to her eyes as she stalked across the road again and into her dorm. Just inside the door was a white campus phone. She picked up the receiver, scanned the laminated campus directory that was nailed to the wall, and dialed the extension she was looking for.
“Dexter Security,” a gruff voice answered.
“Yes,” Shipley said evenly. “I’d like to report a theft. It’s my car. It’s been stolen.”
18
The sun had set at five o’clock and the air was seized by the balmy stillness of an approaching storm. By seven the temperature had dropped to forty-five degrees. Now that it was past nine, it hovered just above freezing. Adam sat in the yellow rocking chair on his front porch, hands stuffed into the pockets of his ski jacket. That afternoon Eli had bought three kegs and put them on ice in the oversized watering trough in the barn. Hoping to keep their visitors away from the house, Tragedy wrote “KEG” in black marker on a fence slat, with a big arrow pointing to the barn.
Tragedy’s hokey but suggestive promise of “refreshments and horseshoes” had worked. The lawn was littered with cars, and the barn was heaving. Adam liked the idea that the party was happening despite him, the invisible host. All anyone really needed was a place to go and something to drink. It was the guests who created the atmosphere, set the tone, kicked off the series of random events that would inevitably follow.
A lone black crow cawed its warning from the roof of the barn. Then the tinkling sound of music filled the air. It was the Grannies, playing “Eyes of the World” from inside the barn.
“Sometimes we live no particular way but our own.
And sometimes we visit your country and live in your home.”
Adam rocked in his chair, waiting with forced patience. She will come, he told himself, she has to come. Even if she was with Tom, she might steal a moment to talk to him. He could show her his room, his dad’s welding shop. Girls liked stuff like that.
“Hey, loser!” Tragedy shouted at him from the open barn door. “What the fuck? You want a beer?”
The barn made Nick sneeze, but it felt good to be off campus, especially after the tedious hell of review week and the nerve-wracking job of managing the lights for Professor Rosen’s show. He’d been so intent on doing a good job he’d even refrained from getting high—all day—which was a first for him.
Sea Bass and Damascus were manning the kegs. Eliza watched as Damascus lay down on the floor at his friend’s feet and put the tip of a red plastic funnel—the kind used for oil or gasoline—into his mouth. Sea Bass picked up the long rubber hose and dispensed beer into the funnel.
“Hey, you know what I really want for Christmas?” Sea Bass said while his friend was furiously swallowing. “A blender. You know, so we can make cocktails and, like, fruit smoothies, right in our room?”
The keg glugged and sighed. Damascus swallowed and swallowed. Finally he smacked Sea Bass in the leg, indicating that he’d had enough. Sea Bass tossed the tap aside. Damascus sat up and let out an enormous burp.
“Your turn,” he said, handing the funnel to Nick.
Nick shook his head. “No way, man.” He picked up a plastic cup and filled it halfway with beer. Dust motes rose up from the barn floor. He sneezed, spraying snot all over the keg. “Can’t lie down. Hay fever.”
“Here, I’ll take it.” Eliza swiped the funnel out of Damascus’s hands and