Dyan Sheldon - Away for the Weekend

“Oh, right … something really good…” Well, that’s a relief.

“See, the thing is, I’m a finalist in this really major fashion competition?”

Of course. He might have guessed. Fashion. Well, it wouldn’t be chess.

There’s a congratulatory rattle of applause from the girls (except for Beth Beeby who stares blankly ahead with the constipated look on her face that means she’s worrying about something). The boys whistle and cheer, and someone shouts out, “Way to go, Gab.”

Gabriela beams, pushing back a wayward strand of hair, pleased yet modest. When the display of support dies down, she picks up where she left off. “You know, to discover the designers of the future?” Given the way he dresses, Gabriela isn’t sure that this is something Mr Sturgess can understand, but she gives him a hopeful smile. “So anyway, this weekend they announce the winners at a big presentation. In LA. They’re putting us up at this totally fabulous hotel, The Xanadu? And there’s going to be a real fashion show where they model our clothes, and we’re meeting designers and retailers and all kinds of professionals, and we’re visiting this hot studio.” She pauses, briefly, for air. “It’s going to be awesome.”

“Well, congratulations, Gabriela. That’s—”

“So you see, Mr Sturgess, I’m like not going to be able to do the homework for Monday. You know, because I’m going to be so busy?”

“I see.” Gabriela is far from stupid, but she is pretty much the poster child for lazy. Mr Sturgess doubts that she’s ever read one of the assigned books from cover to cover. (Assuming, that is, that she’s ever read more than the cover.) She looks up plots and critiques on the Internet, and watches the movies. And she is possibly the least motivated student he has ever taught. Gabriela has less interest in her academic subjects than a leopard has in playing the harpsichord, and the only reason she does as well as she does is because she gets everybody else to help her. Especially the boys. There was a time when it was the Three Rs that were important, but all that Gabriela cares about are the Three Cs – Cosmetics, Clothes and Celebrity. He suspects that if coming to classes didn’t give her the opportunity to wear a different outfit every day, she would never show up. In this, however, Edward Sturgess is being slightly unfair. He would be surprised to learn that while it’s true that Gabriela has never read an entire assigned novel, she has read over a dozen books on the history of fashion. The simple fact is that Gabriela doesn’t want to clutter her mind with unnecessary information. She thinks of her brain as being like a closet – a large walk-in, floor-to-ceiling closet, but a closet nonetheless. To pack it with things she’ll never have any use for (things, for example, like calculus, the string theory, the works of William Faulkner) would be like filling your closet with bathing suits, sandals and sundresses when you live in Alaska. “Well … I certainly don’t want to appear churlish…”

Churlish is not a word found in Gabriela’s closet, but it doesn’t sound good. “Oh please, Mr Sturgess…” She doesn’t actually clasp her hands in prayer but she somehow gives the impression that she does. “All my other teachers are letting me have an extension.”

Of course they are. Mr Sturgess isn’t the only one who finds it hard to use the “N” word around Gabriela Menz.

“Well, if all your other teachers are giving you extra time—” He breaks off as, out of the corner of his eye, he sees another hand – this one pale and unadorned, the fingernails resembling not exotic butterflies but a field attacked by locusts – tentatively raised just above head level. “Yes, Beth?” Beth Beeby is more or less the anti-Gabriela Menz. If motivation were money, Beth would be a billionaire. She is not just the best student in his class, but the best student in every class she has. Hardworking, conscientious, punctual and diligent. If she were a railroad, every train would always be on time. Beth is the girl most likely to succeed – and, he thinks, cynically if automatically, drop dead by thirty-five. “Don’t tell me you want an extension, too?”

That’ll be the day they turn hell into an ice rink.

Everybody’s laughing too much for Edward Sturgess to hear the sound of skates hastily being strapped on to cloven hooves.

Until now, it had never occurred to Beth to ask any of her teachers to let her hand her homework in late, even though, remarkably enough, she, too, is going away for an extremely busy and very important weekend. Beth doesn’t make excuses. Excuses, she believes, are for losers and underachievers. Beth always gets her work in on time no matter what – even if she’s ill, even if the electricity has been turned off again – and is used to staying up half the night, finally falling asleep still fully dressed with her head on her desk. Why should this weekend be any different? Every minute of it has been planned by the organizers – from the welcome dinner tonight to the presentation on Sunday – but that should still leave plenty of time for homework. According to the letter she received, the nights are free for socializing and relaxing, neither of which Beth does. Of course she has friends and they do things together (go to a museum, a play, a movie, a classical concert or a special exhibit), and last summer she went to a camp for gifted teens for a very long month – but that’s not what most people mean by socializing or relaxing. They mean parties and barbecues and ball games and things like that. Beth hasn’t been to a party since she was five (she threw up on one of the house plants because of the stress of playing musical chairs and had to be sent home). She doesn’t even relax when she’s asleep.

When Gabriela asked Mr Sturgess for a special dispensation just to go to a fashion weekend, Beth could hardly believe what she was hearing. A fashion weekend? Was she serious? Yes, apparently she was. And Gabriela doesn’t think a fashion weekend’s frivolous? Good grief, it practically defines frivolity! Though Beth is fairly certain that Gabriela does nothing but talk about clothes every day of her life, the idea of going all the way to Los Angeles to do that for an entire weekend is nothing short of ludicrous. With all the problems there are in the world, it makes fiddling while Rome turns to charcoal seem like responsible behaviour. People are starving, wars are raging and the planet is dying – but Gabriela Menz’s greatest ambition is to make sure we don’t run out of handbags or shoes. It was then that Beth started feeling worried. Should she ask for an extension, too? She’s already close to vibrating with anxiety about the weekend. In case it doesn’t go well. In case she doesn’t win. In case the other contestants are more sophisticated and knowledgeable about popular culture than she is – like last summer’s gifted campers. She can already feel a migraine simmering like a brew of newts’ eyes, frogs’ toes and adders’ forks in a cauldron behind her forehead. It couldn’t hurt to take some of the pressure off, could it? She can still take her book bag, but if it turns out that she doesn’t have time or she gets one of her attacks and has to go to bed, then at least she’ll know that she won’t be penalized if her homework’s incomplete. Beth has been known to cry inconsolably over an A-. Though at the moment what she feels is that she may be sick. It’s all the tension and anticipation. She won’t be able to wait until everyone leaves to ask Mr Sturgess privately, as she normally would. She has to get to the girls’ room. Quickly.

And so Beth cautiously raises her hand.

“Yes, Beth?” Mr Sturgess looks over. He smiles. Kindly. “Don’t tell me you want an extension, too?”