Two Parties, One Tux, and a Very Short Film about The Grapes of Wrath by Steven Goldman Read Free Book Online Page B

people sometimes have right before they fall asleep.” David then does his imitation of a myoclonic jerk. I look around to see if anyone is watching.
    â€œDon’t do that again. You look like you’re having a fit.”
    David shrugs. “Three inches farther and you would have nailed him in the gonads.” He then smiles. “So, I thought you were going to ask him.”
    â€œI didn’t want to do it in front of everyone. I’ll go back at break.”
    At break, I find Curtis in his room, sitting at his desk reading a copy of
The New Yorker
. Doesn’t he have papers to grade or something? Is it legal for him to read a magazine during school hours? He looks a little startled when I knock on the open door. Maybe he isn’t used to talking to students outside of class. Maybe I’m nervous.
    â€œCan I talk to you about the paper … the paper that was due today, the
Grapes of Wrath
paper?”
    â€œI know which paper was due today. No, you can’t have an extension. It has been on the syllabus since thebeginning of the semester.” He returns his attention to his magazine.
    â€œI … um, don’t need an extension.” At least not if you buy this idea. “I don’t know if you know this about me”—you don’t, almost no one does—“but I’m interested in Claymation and I have been making films. Claymation films.” Films, not cartoons. “I had this idea while reading
The Grapes of Wrath
”—or at least looking at the cover—“that I could, well … what I tried to do was capture something about the novel … I made a film and I have been working on it for a while and …”
    I have his attention. He has now closed
The New Yorker
and would be looking me in the eyes, if I actually looked up. He seems oddly alert, like a small rodent that’s heard a sudden noise. His nose might have twitched. He is really trying to figure out what it is I am trying to say. In class he rarely lets anyone finish a sentence. He gives the constant impression that he already knows whatever you were about to say and has already decided that it isn’t worth listening to.
    â€œI can tell you are trying to tell me something, or possibly ask me something.”
    â€œAsk. I was asking.”
    â€œAnd this film, about the book …”
    â€œIt’s a sort of project.”
    â€œInstead of a paper.”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œSure.” He smiles. I stand there and stare at him. Seeing how I haven’t responded, he continues, “I like initiative and creativity. I’d be happy to watch a … Claymation …?”
    â€œLike Gumby. A cartoon, sort of.”
    â€œSounds great. Do you have it with you? Because, whatever it is, it is still due today.”
    I pull it out of my bag. He looks at the cover and hands it back to me.
    â€œI can shift things around a little, why don’t we show it on Friday right after we wrap up the
Grapes
unit?”
    I’m not quite prepared for this reaction. “Do you want to preview it first?”
    â€œNo, I trust you.”
    â€œOkay, thanks,” I say, and walk slowly back to my locker, thinking, “No. Don’t trust me.” I have made a seven-minute cartoon with naked clay figures being tortured in various ways and I am about to turn it in as an essay on Steinbeck. I don’t feel particularly trustworthy. Maybe I could change schools. Maybe I could convince my parents to move. We could go to a new state. Oklahoma. We could move to Oklahoma.
    â€œSo what did he say?”
    M.C. seems to be standing between me and my locker. I am used to seeing her Post-it notes above my lock, which are her way of letting me know she expects David to give her a ride home, but I’m not used to seeing her stand here in person. I have never asked why I get the notes and notDavid, but I assume it has something to do with my being Carrie’s