Two Parties, One Tux, and a Very Short Film about The Grapes of Wrath (28 page)

It certainly has. I'm not sure whether he is nervous or has simply stored up several weeks' worth of pompous energy. He talks without pausing for forty-five minutes and then dismisses us with “Please come prepared to discuss the first forty pages tomorrow,” which is Curtis code for “Tomorrow we are having a pop quiz.” He then turns back to the board to write his notes for the next class.

“Welcome back,” Louis grumbles as he leaves. It sounds like sarcasm, but it's honest in its own way.

I had been practicing my “I heard about your mother and I'm glad that she's recovering” line, but I'm not sure I can get it out. Curtis, finished scrawling on the board, turns around and seems to be surprised to find me standing there. He smiles at me and nods. I smile back—at least I think that's what my face is doing. It is, for a moment, like
we're talking but we aren't saying anything. He picks up his chalk, like he just thought of something new to write, and I pick up my backpack and move toward the door.

Dr. VandeNeer

The man looks so sincere. White hair, cut short with no signs of a creeping forehead or encroaching baldness, early sixties, large, but he carries his weight well. He exudes warmth and trust. An ordained minister and CEO of a successful day school, Dr. VandeNeer has chosen his vocations well.

With everything that's happened, I'd almost forgotten that I still hadn't had my audience with the headmaster so that he could pass judgment on my crimes. His assistant, who is much more polite than Sorrelson's, casually approached me in the hallway on my way into chemistry to let me know that the doctor had been away and was sorry we didn't get a chance to talk last week, but if I could come to the office during lunch, he would have time to meet with me. Mariel, in a quiet show of sympathy, does the entire lab by herself without my input while I sit on a chair and try to dredge up some emotion at my impending punishment. I am so burnt out from the weekend that I'm not sure I even care what happens to me next.

When I go to the office at lunch, David is waiting for me.

“Why are you here?” I ask.

“I made half of the film,” he says.

“But you weren't the one who turned it in as an English project.”

“I believe you are in trouble because of the content, not the fact that it was a shitty substitute for a three-to-five-page paper on
The Grapes of Wrath
. I helped with the content.”

“You don't have to do this.”

“Actually,” he says, “I do.”

Dr. VandeNeer invites us into his office, three sides of which are covered from floor to ceiling in dark maple bookshelves, filled neatly with books that might have been chosen for the deep, rich colors of their spines, but I suspect that he has actually read most of them. No book jackets, all hardbacks. His desk is just this side of imposing, with enough paper and scattered correspondence to make it acceptably active, a true working space but also spare: solid, oak, no computer, a plain black phone. I check to make sure the phone has buttons, half expecting a rotary dial.

He wears a gray cashmere sweater, no stains, no dog hair, over a pale blue oxford shirt tucked neatly into gray slacks. Unscuffed loafers complete the ensemble. Not a hair out of place, no lunch remnants in his teeth. The one flaw in his appearance is a clearly visible booger hanging from the hairs in his left nostril. This commands my attention for the entirety of the interview. It's hard to concentrate on what he is saying, or at least it would be if what he's saying weren't so shocking.

“Are you here as legal representation or moral support?” he asks David.

“Neither. I helped make the video. Mitchell didn't tell anyone that because he didn't want to get me in trouble. We were supposed to turn it in together, but I chickened out.”

Dr. VandeNeer looks at David carefully without speaking. He's not angry and he isn't accusing David of lying, but his eyes are probing for a truth he knows he hasn't heard yet. Then he smiles, as if he now has the answer he was looking for.

“I apologize for not attending to this matter sooner,” he tells us in a smooth Southern drawl. “Mr. Sorrelson gave me the DVD last week. I quite enjoyed your cartoon. Is it easy to make copies?”

“You enjoyed our film?” David asks.

“I thought it was hysterical.”

“You weren't offended?”

He smiles warmly and his breath comes out in a half chortle. “Was it meant to be offensive?”

God, he's good at this.

“Not to you. Possibly to Steinbeck,” I volunteer.

“He's dead, you know. Makes him an easy target.” Dr. VandeNeer raises his eyebrows and laughs again, making the booger dance a little, but it hangs on. Sensing my discomfort, he continues, “The Adam and Eve sequence is clearly modeled after Hieronymus Bosch's
The Garden of
Earthly Delights
—quite clever but a mite obscure even for honors English. Not many high-school students are familiar with fourteenth-century medieval painters.”

“Bosch is Mr. Wallman's favorite painter,” I find myself explaining. I don't mention that he uses that painting as an example in his lecture about sex and violence throughout history.

“I'm sure he was honored that you included it. I see, Mitchell, that Mr. Sorrelson spoke to your parents already and that they expressed support for your project. I believe that your mother called it ‘damn creative,' and recommended posting it on the school Web site. I don't believe Mr. Sorrelson followed up on that suggestion. I hope you appreciate that you have great parents.”

“They're, yeah, great.” This is hard to admit, even to an adult.

“Your mother could be a little kinder toward our baseball umpires, but she has a lot of spirit. I see her often at the games. And I believe your dad was taking care of Mr. Curtis's mother. We are all appreciative of how wonderful he has been during such a difficult time for one of our best teachers.”

The man has done his homework.

Dr. VandeNeer picks up the notes from the Judicial Board meeting. “Let's see, the other questionable scenes were: a macabre sewing machine incident—well, that should have pleased the Bible-thumpers. Adam as a sinner
is hardly revolutionary, although Christianizing Kafka is an interpretive stretch.”

I'm too proud of his assumption that we were interpreting anything to respond.

“And, although the sacrifice of Isaac on a pile of required summer reading is a rather unfair commentary on our English curriculum, it hardly qualifies as blasphemy in this context. It was wise of you to avoid any crucifixion scenes—then you'd be up a creek—but frankly I can't see anything remotely wrong with the cartoon except …”

He pauses. I hold my breath. Things are going so well that the “except” catches me by surprise.

“I'd have to disagree with Mr. Curtis's A–. As far as I can tell, with the exception of a rather contrived dust bowl scene, this cartoon has absolutely nothing to do with
The Grapes of Wrath
, certainly no more than it would have if you had turned in a sequence of angry grapes doing ballet. But, as policy, the administration does not interfere with grades, and granting you an A– is well within Mr. Curtis's purview. I am curious, however. Did you actually read the book?”

At least we can both honestly answer yes.

Lunch

“He gave you an A–! I can't believe that.”

Rather than being happy that we escaped any serious
disciplinary action, David is just pissed that I made a better grade than he did on the assignment.

“Wallman only gave us a B+ on it.”

“Maybe Curtis secretly hates Steinbeck too.”

When we enter the lunchroom, M.C. is sitting alone at our table. She scoots her chair over and I sit beside her. David sits opposite us and unpacks his lunch. M.C. steals his apple, but he doesn't complain.

“So what happened?” M.C. asks.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“He liked it. He thought it was funny. He wants us to make him a copy.”

M.C. starts to giggle and David actually smiles.

“So that's it?” she asks.

“I guess so.”

M.C. takes a bite of her apple, shifts it to her left hand, and reaches down to hold my hand. “I tried to call you yesterday,” I tell her. “Your brother said that you were grounded for life.”

“Originally they grounded me until I turned twenty-one or entered a convent, whichever came first, but they relented after I calmly and rationally explained the difference between being
on
a bed and
in
a bed, and I swore to them on a stack of Bibles that all the essential parts of my dress were still intact when we were discovered. That and several hours of crying and begging pretty much did the
trick. I think that it helped that I was with you. They think you're harmless.”

Maybe. Okay, definitely. Safe, harmless. Just what every seventeen-year-old boy wants to be.

“I'm still a little bit grounded. I've almost convinced them to let me ride home from school with you, assuming I wear a chastity belt and am kept under strict supervision, but I can't go out for two weeks. I mean, that's assuming …”

“Yes, I would.”

M.C. smiles and lays her head on my shoulder.

“Are you in any trouble at all?”

“I don't think so. I think my parents are just happy that I did something normal for teenage boys.” My mother's take on the weekend's escapades had been a little out of character. She seemed elated that I was found in bed with my sister's best friend. Maybe she's just relieved it wasn't Danielle. Carrie isn't nearly as thrilled. She hasn't spoken to me at all since she heard. She'll get over it.

There's a short silence. M.C. is thinking. “Were they worried that you were gay?”

I hadn't thought about that. I look across at David, who is watching all of this with a look of slight amusement on his face. “I don't think so. Just pathetic.”

David smiles. “It's okay. I already told her. I stopped by her house yesterday.”

“He brought me flowers,” M.C. says happily.

“I felt badly about leaving her at the prom.” I had forgotten that I wasn't the only one who'd been abandoned by a date. Counting Ryan's date and Nicole, there was a lot of dumping going on. I wonder if that happens a lot at proms. “I assume Danielle brought you flowers too?” Still the same smile.

“She has spent the whole day hiding from me. I'll have to talk to her at some point.”

“No rush,” says M.C.

I look over at David. I know that there's more we have to talk about, but maybe today we can just eat lunch.

“Are you going to eat all of that sandwich?” I ask.

“Yes,” he answers. And he does.

For a project this long in the making, I am bound to forget to thank someone, but there are a few people I have to mention. First of all, the original members of my writing group, Laurie Faria Stolarz, Lara Zeises, and Tea Benduhn, not only gave great feedback but also mentored me through this process. They are also all great writers—check out their books. I have also been blessed with a fabulous agent in Rosemary Stimola and amazing editors—Jill Davis, Michelle Nagler, and Caroline Abbey. A special thank you to Bert Harrill and David Brakke for their friendship. Without the encouragement and support from my friends and family (siblings, parents, babysitting in-laws, e-mailing niece), this novel would still be in boxes on the attic floor, so I need to thank you as well. As for Kat, Lev, and Theo—I can't even begin to list all of the ways I'm grateful to have such an incredible family and how lucky I feel when I wake up to another day with you, so I'm just going to say I love you and leave it at that.

Copyright © 2008 by Arthur Steven Goldman

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner
whatsoever without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief
quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Quotes on pages 36–39 from
The Grapes of Wrath
by John Steinbeck published by
Penguin Great Books of the 20
^th
Century

Quote on page 135 from
Ghostbusters II

First published in the United States of America in August 2009
by Bloomsbury Books for Young Readers
E-book edition published in August 2010
www.bloomsburykids.com

For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to
Permissions, Bloomsbury BFYR, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10010

The Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edition as follows:
Goldman, Steven.
Two parties, one tux, and a very short film about the Grapes of Wrath/
by Steven Goldman.—1st U.S. ed.
p. cm.
Summary: Mitch, a shy and awkward high school junior, negotiates the difficult social situations he encounters, both with girls and with his best friend David, after David
reveals to him that he is gay.
ISBN-13: 978-1-59990-271-5 • ISBN-10: 1-59990-271-0 (hardcover)

[1. Friendship—Fiction. 2. Interpersonal relations—Fiction. 3. Dating (Social customs)—Fiction. 4. Homosexuality—Fiction. 5. High schools—Fiction. 6. Schools—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.G56924Tw2008         [Fic]—dc22         2008011587

ISBN 978-1-59990-817-5 (e-book)