Night School Read Online Free PDF Page B

thought it conquered. In disgust, he saw himself still wall-crawling. With a distinct effort, he forced himself not to walk as if something were chasing him.
    Regardless of how skinny and featherweight he was, Ned felt he had feet of cement. His feet were born heavy enough to throw into the ocean and drown him. He did not know how to be light and easy. And he was quite sure that you got somewhere with girls only if you were relaxed. How did you do that? The mere fact of being with a girl meant it was impossible to relax.
    Mariah and Autumn.
    He tried to picture himself actually inviting one of those girls to go somewhere with just him, Ned.
    This was so scary he could actually feel the water closing over his face, as the cement on his feet yanked him to the ocean floor.
    Ned didn’t aspire to be like Andrew with girls. That would have been Olympic. Ned would just like to have a girl of his own. He pretended that he could sit next to Mariah or Autumn and actually flirt. (Whatever flirting was.) His only real hope was that they would actually call him by name. Few did. He wasn’t worth it. A nod or a “hey” or a flickering-away, half-smile was the most Ned ever got.
    He hardly noticed how unlit the corridor was and never glanced into the library. He was completely absorbed by his own shortcomings. That was, of course, one of his own shortcomings.
    Andrew popped a head out of a classroom and waved, to show Ned where they were meeting. Ned waved back, but Andrew had already vanished. Story of my life, thought Ned; they never even give me a chance to answer.
    Ned didn’t see the door through which he passed. He was far too busy scouting out the expressions of the other kids in the class, Were they glad to see him, too? Just once, he wanted people to look up when he came in, and be glad that he had joined them.
    What I would do, thought Ned, to make these people glad to see me.
    “Welcome,” said the instructor.
    The room was very dark.
    Darkness crawled under Mariah’s skin like slugs under dead leaves. Darkness shifted position inside her, like a colony of poisonous insects building nests.
    She did not want to be welcome here. She did not want to be the kind of person that the instructor would be glad to see.
    Not that Mariah could see. She could not even see Andrew. The four of them had blended into the dark like furniture in unused rooms. Mariah’s thoughts seemed even more unreal than usual, as if her own brain just replayed tapes of itself.
    I no longer exist, thought Mariah. I am just the imprint of myself.
    Andrew felt like the negatives of photographs. He was not a real person, but a future picture of one: Right now, he was frosty and gleaming where he ought to be dark, and dark where he ought to be color.
    He held the camcorder in his lap, but did not try to focus it. He couldn’t even focus his mind right now, never mind a film.
    His utter delight with his discovery in the car mixed with the fear that sifted through the room, and like opposite electrons, his fear and joy canceled each other. He was no emotion at all: He was neutral.
    This is good, thought Andrew Todd. A reporter must always be neutral. To have no emotion at all is good. This is just the kind of Night Class I need.
    The four students were visible in a moonlit way. Gray and black silhouettes. It was romantic, thought Autumn. Sort of like opening a valentine in the dark. Not so much night class as dusk class.
    Autumn could hardly even see the instructor. He, she, or possibly it stood before them like darker dark; a more knowing, experienced dark. Autumn wanted to make it the class cheer: Go, dark!
    There were but four chairs in the room, and no desks, so there had been few choices in seating. The row was straight across. When she turned, Autumn saw the others’ profiles all in a row. Closest to her, Ned’s was misshapen: nose too big, forehead too broad, chin too awkward. Andrew’s was classic, while Mariah’s was perkier and more childish