“Same thing,” Andy said with disgust, angry with him for acting like a fool. Debbie and Chris walked away, shaking their heads. “Look, Shelly,” Andy said, his tone softening, speaking to Shelly as if he were an awkward little brother, “you’re my roommate and I like you . . . most of the time. But you gotta quit doing these things! Now, I set up this date for you, didn’t I?”
Shelly remained silent, like a sullen child who was being scolded for misbehaving.
“Didn’t I?” Andy persisted, leaning closer to him.
“Yeah . . .” Shelly said, morosely.
“So don’t embarrass me,” said Andy. “Just relax, be yourself!”
Shelly pushed the mask back up on his head. “Would you be yourself if you looked like this?” he said miserably.
There was actually nothing wrong with the way he looked, except that he was very overweight, which gave his body and his features a round and pudgy softness. His light brown hair was very curly, and while he wasn’t ugly, by any means, his poor self-image gave him sort of a hangdog expression that telegraphed his own unhappiness with the way he looked to others. And when Shelly was unhappy, Shelly ate, and the more he ate, the heavier he got, the more his unhappiness increased. It was a vicious cycle. Frustration led him to seek gratification in food, which only made the problem worse and led to more frustration and size double-extra-large.
Disappointed with reality, Shelly found escape in fantasy. Movies were his drug. He saw several each week, often going to two or three in a row on weekends. At first, it had been enough merely to sit inside a darkened theater and watch another reality unfolding on the screen, but as he got older, he became more and more involved with his fantasy world that he preferred so much to his own.
He became a walking encyclopedia of movie trivia. He read up on the art of filmmaking and learned about camera techniques, special effects, and makeup. He became an expert on who was doing what in films, always staying at the end of every movie to see the credits and remember who had done the editing, the special effects, the stunt work, the music, and the costuming. He began to experiment with theatrical makeup and latex molding and soon everyone he knew became exposed to the many faces of Shelly Greenblatt. The drama club at school was not enough to give vent to his creative impulses; the whole world became his stage. The only problem was, he often did not know when to stop.
He and Andy had been roommates since they had started college, and although Andy knew Shelly well enough to understand him and make allowances for his behavior, it was often extremely frustrating trying to make excuses for the way he acted. He often wished Shelly wouldn’t try so hard. He had hoped that taking Shelly with them on this weekend would help him to unwind a bit and drop the goofball act. He had even asked Debbie and Chris to fix Shelly up. Yet now it looked as if the whole thing might have been a bad idea. The pressure was apparently making Shelly very nervous, he acted like a nerd. Andy hoped the weekend wouldn’t turn into a disaster.
They walked up the front steps onto the porch of the white house and Chris rang the bell. Shelly hung back slightly, looking like an inmate about to walk his last mile on death row. The door was opened by a middle-aged Hispanic woman who spoke to them with a slight accent.
“Yes?” she said, eyeing them cooly.
“Hi, Mrs. Sanchez,” Chris said, with a smile. “I’m Chris. We’ve come to pick up Vera.”
“She’s not going,” Mrs. Sanchez snapped, and slammed the door in their faces.
They exchanged startled glances. They had absolutely no idea what had caused such a reaction. From inside the house, they heard Vera and her mother shouting at each other in rapid Spanish.
“What’re they saying?” said Chris, glancing uncertainly at Debbie.
Debbie shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know,” she said. “I flunked Spanish.”
They were about to leave when the door opened once again and a striking, raven-haired twenty-year-old in a form-fitting blouse and tight shorts came out onto the porch, carrying a knapsack over her shoulder. Shelly’s eyes bulged.
Vera smiled awkwardly, slightly embarrassed at the scene she knew they must have overheard. “Hi, everybody,” she said. “What’re you looking at? Let’s go.”
“Is everything all right?” said Chris.
Vera shrugged. “You know, just your basic, old-fashioned mother problems. So, which one’s my date?”
Shelly stepped out from behind Andy. “Hi,” he said sheepishly, practically shuffling his feet.
“You’re Shelly?” Vera said, unable to hide her disappointment.
He sighed apologetically. “Sorry.”
That’s what I get for agreeing to go out on a blind date, thought Vera. Her mother had been outraged at the idea: not only was Vera going out on a date with a boy she’d never even seen before, she was going away for the weekend! Vera’s mother was very traditional and she thought that the whole thing was scandalous. She had forbidden her to go, which of course had been a sure way to guarantee that Vera went, no matter what. Now it was too late. If she backed out now, her mother would never let her hear the end of it. Like it or not, she was stuck with this guy for the whole weekend. The expression on her face clearly mirrored her thoughts.
Andy rolled his eyes. Debbie had been right. This wasn’t such a great idea. Why had he insisited on bringing Shelly along? The weekend was going to be death.
“Hey!” Debbie shouted, pointing. “The van’s on fire!”
Smoke was billowing out of the windows in the van. They ran across the street and threw open the door,
