What the girls don't like is that Alvin appears to be unworried by the whole ordeal. His head is lowered as he jogs swiftly behind them down the corridor, but his glinting eyes peer intently forward, and he seems to bear on his face a soft, self-indulgent smile.
Now Tracey and Sarah are already freaked out and Alvin's expression does nothing to revive their courage or confidence. Now you've all seen them teen slasher flicks, and you're familiar with this kind of girl, a bit preppy-ish, naive, propensity to scream at not much provocation, but with a strange lack of common sense; the type of girl who will go down to the basement. It helps if they're all-American, cheerleader-ish, cliquey, tasteless. You know the kinda thing.
The girls get to a door. They rush inside and immediately fling their weight against it, spluttering and anxious, barricading against Alvin. Dragging heavy pieces of furniture to jam under the handle. Alvin on the other side almost running into the door.
Alvin takes a few steps back and tries a forceful rush at the door, then a hefty kick, then with all his strength tries to shoulder his way through, battering aside the door. All his exertions were accompanied by inarticulate yelping shrieks through the door, though the girls kept their nerve and, pressing themselves against the handle, succeeded in keeping it secure.
Alvin tries another tack. Go for the sympathy vote. "Please, please let me in. It's only me, it's me Alvin". Exaggerated mock-frightened voice, pitiful tones. "You know me, it's only Alvin!". There he stood, pleading sorrowfully through the flimsy wooden door, trying not to break into a grin.
No comments:
Post a Comment