Free Ordinary People by Judith Guest Page B

failing.
    Beth is awake, waiting for him, her hair loose about her shoulders. She reaches up to put her arms around him, all tawny, smooth skin, those gray eyes with thick lashes, silent and insistent. She leads tonight, and he follows, moving swiftly down that dark river, everything floating, melting, perfect, and complete. Afterward, she slides away from him, and her hair, soft and furry against his shoulder, smells sweet and fresh, like wood fern. He buries his face in it, still hungry. “Let me hold you awhile.”
    But she is tired. She curls away from him; pushes him gently from her, in sleep. He rolls to his back, hands under his head, staring upward. Other Saturday nights, lying, waiting after sex, for the comforting sound of a car door slamming, and whispers of laughter under the windows. And earlier, at the beginning of the evenings, the endless jokes, the hassles over clothes Hey, that’s my sweater! The hell it is, possession is — hey, Dad, what’s possession? Possession is gonna get your head broke — now give it to me! And sounds of a struggle and fiendish, sadistic laughter Take it, fag, it’s a fag sweater, you’ll look great in it and more laughter You oughta know!
    He will not be able to sleep tonight for hours; another side effect of drinking too much. It condemns him to wakefulness. Without expectation of anything—of a car, of whispers or laughter. Resigned, he keeps watch and continues to listen.

9
    A surprise quiz in trig. He takes his seat, the mimeographed sheet in his hand, his stomach pulling nervously. He wills himself not to panic. I know this stuff. I know it.
    Across the aisle from him sits Suzanne Mosely. They have known each other since grade school. What is she doing in here? She must have flunked it, too, last year. He watches as her pudgy fingers grip the pencil. Her brow is furrowed; her mouth pinched. It makes him ashamed of his own fear. She has always had trouble in math, could take it from now until the world ends and it won’t help. He looks up. Mr. Simmons is staring at him. Guiltily he looks down at his paper.
    Given: reduction formulas
sin θ = - sin (-θ)
cos θ = cos (-θ)
    Stay calm. It will come don’t think about anything else just the problem easy does it confidence.
    Halfway through the test his pencil point snaps. He straightens up; lets out his breath with a sigh. Not hard. It is not as hard as he thought it would be. His back is tense, and he rubs it, stretching. He goes to get another pencil from the box on Simmons’ desk. No pencil-sharpening during a quiz, that is one of the unbreakable rules.
    Simmons looks up. “Everything okay, Jarrett?”
    He nods, returning to his seat. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Suzanne’s paper. Cross-outs everywhere. The poor kid. He knows what that feels like. What did she take this course for anyway?
    There are five minutes left in the hour when he hands in his paper. He leaves the room, taking up a spot against the lockers as he waits for the bell to ring. Down the hall, the smoking lounge overflows with people let out of class early. He does not go down there. He has nothing to say to anyone. Suzanne comes out and leans against the wall. Her head is bent over her books. She is wearing a dark skirt, a brown sweater that’s too tight. God, she’s so fat. Has she always been that fat? He doesn’t remember it. Hunched over, huddled against the wall, her hair stiff, like brown cotton candy. A lion’s mane around her face. Pretty. She was pretty in junior high.
    She is staring at him now, and he straightens up Shit she is crying The tears are spilling down her cheeks. He stands there helpless, watching.
    “What are you looking at?”
    She clutches her books against her breasts as he moves toward her.
    “Hey. It’s only a stupid test.”
    She glares at him. “You can say that. You passed it. My dad’s going to kill me. God, why am I so dumbl I work and work at it and it’s all a jumble....”
    “It’s just