Class - Cecily Von Ziegesar [97]
“I’ll see you,” he said.
He opened the door and closed it quietly behind him. The Gatzes were waiting for him, all smiles and bear hugs.
“Yeah, see you, Pinkie.” Tragedy yawned and fell asleep.
23
Sleep and wakefulness are active states controlled by specific groups of brain structures. The body does its repair work during sleep, restoring energy supplies and muscle tissue. If you happen to be recovering from an ecstasy and ether bender, there’s lots of repair work to be done.
Tom had passed out facedown on his bed, in his clothes, just before nine o’clock on Saturday night. It was now four o’clock on Sunday afternoon. Deep within his cerebral cortex he detected a rhythmic knocking sound that was too loud and too fast to be the beating of his own heart. His toes twitched. He flexed his ankles. Then he rolled over and opened his eyes. Sun streamed in through the windows. The air smelled like burnt toast.
“Tom?” Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock. “Tom?”
He lay on his back, blinking up at the ceiling. His lips felt like they’d been caulked shut. His nasal passages felt like they’d been worked with a plumber’s snake.
Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, knock. “Tom?”
What day was it? he wondered. He remembered the play, which had gone well, he thought. His parents were there, or maybe that part had been a dream. They’d taken him and Shipley out to dinner to that fishy place on the river. He’d eaten lobster. He’d worn a bib. Right now his stomach felt hollow and sour. Maybe he was allergic to lobster.
Knock, knock, knock, knock. “Tom? Are you in there? I’m going to come in now. The door’s not locked.”
Professor Rosen opened the door and stepped into the room, looking like she’d just gotten back from cross-country skiing. Her gray wool kneesocks were pulled up over the legs of her brown wide-wale corduroy pants. Her red Gore-Tex jacket was tied around her waist, and she was still wearing her sunglasses and a purple ski hat. She took a moment to scrutinize the scattered paint tubes and brushes, the drying canvasses, the paint-spattered floor, Nick’s upturned bed, and Tom’s prone form.
“Tom,” she said sharply. “Didn’t you hear me knock?”
Tom pushed himself up on his elbows. “Where’s Shipley?” He sat up and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “Man, what is that burning smell?”
One side of Professor Rosen’s mouth twitched upward in a grim half smile. “Your parents came by to check on you early this morning, but they didn’t want to wake you. They had to get back to New York. I promised them I’d stop by and see how you were doing later on. Your dad wanted me to be sure you got some studying time in before exams.”
Tom blinked and looked at his wrist. His watch wasn’t there. He’d taken it off for the play. “So it’s Sunday,” he said.
“And that burning smell is the smoke from the yurt your friend Nicholas built out back. It burned down this morning,” she said.
“Holy fuck!” Tom glanced at Nick’s upturned bed and frowned. “Nobody, like, burned up inside it or anything, did they?”
“No.” The professor walked over to Tom’s desk chair and picked up the blue bath towel that was draped over the seat. She tossed the towel at Tom. “Why don’t you take a shower? I’ll see if I can find Shipley. Meet me outside the dorm in twenty minutes. I’ll take you guys out for some food.”
Tom picked up the towel. “Isn’t the dining hall still open for breakfast?”
The professor gave him another one of her half smiles. “Tom, it’s after four. The dining hall won’t be open until dinner at six.”
Shipley burst into the room as Tom was staring out the window at the black ring of yurt ash in the deep, white snow. Water dripped from his freshly showered body onto the floor.
“Tom!” she cried, thrusting a gigantic cup of Starbucks coffee in his direction.