The Party Read Free

schedule already.”
    Sara wrinkled her nose. She could do a lot with her nose. She had the same control over it that most people had over their mouths. This did not mean, however, that it was an unusually large nose. Sara was cute. By her own estimation—and Sara could be as ruthless on herself as she was on everybody else—she rated an eight on a scale of one to fourteen. In other words, she was slightly above average. She had rustcolored hair, cut straight above her shoulders, hazel eyes, and a slightly orange tan that somehow got deeper in the winter. Because she frequently wore orange tops and pants to complement her coloring, Jessica told her she looked like Halloween.
    “Political science,” Sara said. “And we’ve got this al liberal exvet for a teacher. He was in Vietnam id slaughtered little babies, and now he wants us selling the communists hydrogen bombs so he can have a clear conscience.”
    “He sounds interesting.” Jessica didn’t believe a word of it. “Come on, let’s get there before the bell rigs. I’m already four days late.”
    The teacher’s name was Mr. Bark, and Sara hadn’t been totally off base in her analysis. The first thing the man did when they were all seated was dim the lights and put on a videotape of a nuclear attack. The footage as from the big TV movie The Day After . They fetched a solid ten minutes of bombs exploding, forests burning, and people vaporizing. When the lights were turned back on, Jessica discovered she had a headache. World War III always depressed her. Plus he wasn’t wearing her glasses as she was supposed ; watching the show had strained her eyes. Sitting to her right, Sara had put her head down and nodded off. Jessica poked her lightly, without effect. Sara continued to snore softly.
    “I hope my purpose in showing this tape is clear,” Mr. Bark began, leaning his butt on the edge of his desk. “We can talk on and on about how incredibly destructive nuclear weapons are, but I think what we have just seen creates an image of horror that will stay with us a long time, and will remind us that above all else we can’t allow the political tensions of the world to reach the point where pushing the button becomes a viable alternative.”
    If Sara hadn’t been lying about his being a vet, then Mr. Bark hid it well. He didn’t look like someone who had seen battle. In fact, he looked remarkably like a plump, balding middleaged man who had taught high school political science all his life. He had frumpy gray slacks, blackrimmed glasses, and an itch on his inner left thigh that he obviously couldn’t wait to scratch.
    Jessica poked her friend again. Sara turned her head in the other direction and made a low snorting sound.
    “One Trident submarine,” Mr. Bark continued, raising one finger in the air for emphasis, striding down the center of the class, “has the capacity to destroy two hundred Soviet cities. Think about it. And think what would happen if the captain of a Trident sub should go off halfcocked and decide to make a place in history for himself, or to put an end to all history. Now I know most of you believe that the failsafe device the president has near him at all times controls—”
    We should have had someone else pick us up at the airport.
    Mr. Bark paused in midstride, suddenly realizing he didn’t have Sara’s full attention. Impatience creased his wide fleshy forehead. He moved to where he stood above her.
    “She had a late night,” Jessica said.
    Mr. Bark frowned. “You’re the new girl? Jessica Hart?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “And you’re a friend of Sara’s?”
    “Yes, sir,”
    “Would you wake her, please?”
    “I’ll try.” Jessica leaned close to Sara’s head, hearing scattered giggles from the rest of the class. Putting her hand on the back of Sara’s neck, she whispered in her ear, “You are making fools of both of us. If you don’t wake up this second, I am going to pinch you.”
    Sara wasn’t listening. Jessica