Two-Way Street (11 page)

76 Days Before the Trip, 10:10 a.m.

“I think I might be in love with her,” I tell B. J. in unstructured on Thursday morning. It’s the last day of school, and we’re sitting the library, going over the review sheet for our AP Bio final.

“You are not in love with her,” B. J. says. He leans back in his chair and rubs his temples.

“I am,” I say. “I’m in love with her. I haven’t told her yet, but I’ve been thinking it.” It’s true, too. Over the past two months we’ve gotten really close, and in the past month, I’ve started to think it. There have even been a couple times, especially when we’re getting off the phone at night, or when I’m leaving her house that I want to say it. But I haven’t yet, because I’m not sure if she feels the same way, and I don’t want to freak her out.

“That is insane,” B. J. says. “You can’t be in love with her.”

“Why not?”

“A myriad of reasons,” B. J. says. I try to keep in mind this is the same guy who was dressed as a leprechaun the night he first hooked up with his girlfriend.

“Such as?”

“You haven’t had sex.”

“So?”

“So, sex is very important to a relationship,” he says. “How do you know you love her if you haven’t had sex with her?”

“Not even dignifying that with a response,” I say. The weird thing is, even though Courtney and I haven’t had sex, I haven’t thought that much about it. I mean, I have thought about having sex with her, of course, and I definitely want to, but I haven’t thought much about the fact that we’re not having it. It’s just something I figure will happen when it happens. Courtney’s a virgin, so obviously I’m not going to rush it.

“Okay,” B. J. says. He leans back in his chair and stretches his arms behind him. “How about the fact that you weren’t supposed to get attached to her? Dude, her dad is banging your mom. If she finds out you kept that from her, you are so fucked.”

“I’m sure she’ll understand,” I say, a knot of uneasiness starting in my stomach. She won’t understand. Courtney has this thing about trust. And if she knows I lied to her, she’ll break up with me immediately.

“Dude, you have to tell her,” B. J. says. “I would never keep something like that from Jocelyn.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. B. J. and Jocelyn hooked up more or less around the same time Courtney and I did, but for some reason, I get super annoyed when he tries to imply that the relationships are the same. From what I can tell, he and Jocelyn have sex a lot. As in, every single day. Sometimes multiple times. They spend a lot of time together, but they don’t really do anything. Except have sex. I’ve never even really seen them talk. Unless they’re setting a time to meet up later so they can have sex.

The bell rings and we file out of the library and into the hall. “I know I have to tell her,” I say. “But her dad is freaking me the fuck out.”

“Don’t be afraid of that shit-sucker,” B. J. declares. “You need me to have a talk with him?”

“Nah,” I say. “I’ll figure it out.” But as I leave B. J. in the hall and walk in to take my English final, I have no idea how I’m going to do that.

76 Days Before the Trip, 12:23 p.m.

“You had sex with him?” I say to Jocelyn, trying not to spit out my Sprite. Why she would wait until I took a drink to announce she had sex with B. J. is beyond me. Maybe because it’s the last day of school. So she feels the need to start the summer with a huge confession.

“When did this happen?”

“You mean when was the first time?” she asks, frowning.

“There’s been more than one time?” Is it possible she means more than one time in one night? Don’t boys need time to, uh, recharge? Not that I would really know much about that. The recharging, I mean. Or the sex in general.

“Yes,” she says, then leans in conspiratorially, since we’re in the cafeteria and all. “I think I might be a little addicted to it.”

Great. My best friend is a sex addict. And not only that, she’s addicted to doing it with B. J. Which is a mental picture I’m really trying to keep out of my head. Not that B. J. is ugly or anything, but still. It’s B. J.

“Well,” I say. “I’m going to have sex with Jordan.”

“Courtney!” Jocelyn exclaims. Her eyes widen and she puts down her fork, which she’s been using to eat french fries off my tray. I have no idea why she doesn’t just pick them up and eat them, but she won’t. She spears them with a fork and then dips them in the little cup of ketchup that came with my lunch.

“What?” I ask.

“You cannot have sex with Jordan.”

“Why not?” I ask. “I actually can. I mean, my body is capable of doing it.” I think it is, anyway. Although I do remember reading somewhere that if you don’t have sex for a while, your virginity actually grows back, and it can be hard for you to do it again. Not that that’s my situation, since I haven’t had sex before. But maybe if you wait too long, it gets harder to do it. But that’s insane, right? Besides, I’m seventeen, not thirty.

“Well, of course your body is capable of doing it,” Jocelyn says, rolling her eyes. She flips her hair over her shoulder and studies me seriously. “Courtney, you can’t undo this. It’s not like buying a new shirt.”

“I know that,” I say, rolling my eyes right back. “And the thing is, it doesn’t scare me.” It doesn’t. I want to be with him. I love him.

“Oh, my God,” Jocelyn says. “You love him.”

“No, I don’t,” I say, as if the thought of me being in love with someone is so totally ludicrous. Which, in a way, it kind of is. Here’s the weird thing—before I met Jordan, I kind of thought I would never be in love. Like, ever. It just seemed totally far-fetched that I would find a guy who would fall in love with me and take care of me and everything. But I did. I’m in love with him.

“You do!” Jocelyn says. “You love him. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t even be considering sleeping with him.” Damn. That’s what happens when you have a friend who knows you really, really well. You can’t get away with pretending to be someone you’re not.

“Does he love you?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” I say slowly, thinking about it. “I think he does.”

“Think is not good enough, Court,” she says. “Do you really want to sleep with someone if you don’t know they love you?”

“It’s not like that,” I say, frowning. “I love him. Isn’t that enough?”

“Not really,” she says. “This is a huge decision, Courtney. You have to make totally sure this is what you want. Because it’s something that’s forever.”

“What about you and B. J.?” I ask. “How come it’s okay for you guys?” This sounds like a sex double standard. How come she’s allowed to do it and I’m not? I’m not going to say anything, but sometimes I wonder if her and B. J. even really like each other. They never do anything except drink and make out. And now, apparently, have sex.

“Different situation,” she says. She pulls a tube of lip gloss out of her purse and lines her lips. “Want some?” she asks, extending the tube to me. “It would be really cute on you.”

I take it and dab a little on my lips, marveling at the fact that she can intersperse talking about sex with talking about lip gloss. How can she be so cavalier? Is this what happens after you have sex? You just talk about it like it’s nothing? That makes me nervous for some reason, to think that something that’s such a big deal now could end up being nothing in the future. Although I guess it’s to be expected. Like, look at the girls on
Sex and the City
. They did it all the time.

“How is it a different situation?” I roll the lip gloss around my lips, wondering if it makes me kissable.

“Because we’re different people,” she says. “I don’t know if you can separate the emotional from the physical.”

“Why would I want to do that?” I ask, frowning. Who does that? Separates the emotional from the physical? I guess sociopaths, maybe. And I guess Jocelyn is now claiming to do it, too, although I never pegged her for a sociopath.

“Because if you don’t, you could end up getting really, really hurt,” she says. “Listen, I’m not trying to discourage you. But you just have to make sure this is what you want to do.”

“It is,” I say. And I really do feel like it is. I want to have sex with Jordan. And when we go to Miami next month, I’m going to.

Day Two, 1:31 p.m.

“Did you not hear me?” I hiss into the phone. “He’s starting to talk law enforcement.”

“I don’t understand how this could have happened!” Jocelyn’s annoyed. “I’ve been so careful.”

“Well, apparently you haven’t, because he told Jordan someone’s been following him since yesterday, and that he was going to call the police.” I’m sitting in Jordan’s TrailBlazer at a Burger King right off our route. Jordan’s inside using the bathroom and getting us food. I told him I wanted to wait in the car since it’s raining, but really I wanted to call Jocelyn and warn her about B. J.’s revelation.

“You have to stop,” I say. I look out the back window to see if Jordan is coming out of the restaurant yet, but I don’t see him. “Stop right now.”

“I can’t stop yet!” Jocelyn says. “It’s too early. Maybe I could borrow my sister’s car…Did he say how he figured out someone was following him? Maybe I just have to change my technique.”

“I don’t know how he figured it out.”

“Can you ask him?”

“Ask who?”

“Jordan!”

“No, I can’t ask him! What would I say? ‘Can you tell me how B. J. found out he was being followed, because it was Jocelyn and she wants to know if she needs to switch cars or just change her stalking technique?’” Oh, my God. Jocelyn is delusional. This is exactly why hooking up with people is not a good idea. Once you’ve crossed that line it just makes you insane. You start doing things normal people would never, ever do. Where the hell is Jordan with the food? I’m hungry again. Which is weird. Is it possible that since I was throwing up all day yesterday, I’m trying to eat enough food for two days? Hmm.

“Maybe there’s nothing going on,” I say. “Maybe B. J. really is just going to the places he says he is.”

“Courtney!” Jocelyn gasps. “Please tell me you are not that deluded! Guys are never doing exactly what they say they’re doing.”

“Why not?” I say. “Maybe some are doing exactly what they say they’re doing.”

She snorts. “Listen, do what you can,” she says. “And let me know if B. J. calls back.”

I hang up the phone and lean my head against the headrest. We’re about two hours away from Middleton and Lloyd, which is making me nervous. I’m trying to play it off to Jordan like I’m wicked excited, while inside I feel like I’m going to explode. I have no idea how this is going to go down.

The driver’s-side door opens and Jordan gets into the car, juggling a drink carrier and two bags of food. I take one of the bags out of his hand.

“Thanks,” he says. He sets the other bag down carefully between us, pulls my soda out of the carrier, and hands it to me.

“You needed two bags?” I ask incredulously. I peek inside and inhale the scent of the food. It smells good. And greasy. I love grease. Grease makes me happy. I am only going to eat half of my food, though. Just half. So that my stomach doesn’t get all sketched out.

“No, but there was a mix-up and somehow I got someone else’s order, too.”

He shrugs and pulls out a container of fries.

“Did you tell them?” I ask without thinking.

“Of course I told them,” he says, rolling his eyes. “They let me keep it.” Right. I’ll bet Mercedes or whatever the hell her name is doesn’t question Jordan’s morals when it comes to fast food that’s been given to him.

“Cool,” I say nonchalantly, shrugging my shoulders. Jordan’s cell phone starts playing “Baby Got Back” again, and he ignores it.

“Going to answer that?” I ask.

“Nope,” he says cheerfully. He opens a container of chicken tenders and pulls open the packet of honey mustard that comes with them. I hate honey mustard. It seems like such a bad idea. Honey and mustard together. Who could like that?

“You don’t have to feel weird about answering it,” I say. “I told you.”

“I don’t,” he says. He takes a chicken tender and dunks it into the honey mustard. Something about that makes me sad. Because all the little things about him, like the way he loves honey mustard and the way he always forgets the cheese on my burger, aren’t mine anymore. It’s weird that everything can be the same, that he can go on liking honey mustard, and yet everything is different.

“So, uh, the whole B. J. thing,” I say, trying to distract myself from my impending condiment sadness. Honey mustard is so not a good reason to be upset. Orphans in Africa, drunk drivers killing innocent people, even not getting into your safety school (for me it was Florida State) are all good reasons to get upset. Chicken tenders sauces are definitely not. I try not to think about it, and instead focus on the fact that Jocelyn is insane.

“What B. J. thing?” He reaches into the bag and pulls out a napkin. He wipes his hand with it and sets it on his lap.

“With him calling the police or whatever. Do you think he’s really going to do that?”

“I dunno.” His phone starts going off again, and my sadness over the honey mustard is suddenly annoyance that he won’t answer the call. Why won’t he answer it? It’s either because he’s trying to look cool by not or he’s trying to protect my feelings. Does he really think I’m that upset by the whole breakup? I mean, I am, but I’ve given him no reason to think I would be. Have I? I wrack my brain, trying to determine if there’s any way he could know how upset I am.

“Would you answer your phone?” I snap.

He reaches in his pocket, pulls it out, and makes a big show of turning it off.

I roll my eyes. “Whatever. Listen, we need to talk about the schedule.” Our schedule is now completely screwed up. We were supposed to be in North Carolina by now.

“What about it?”

“It’s all screwed up. We need to reevaluate it.”

“It’s not that screwed up.” He shrugs. “We’ll be at Middleton by tonight, and we’ll leave tomorrow. Obviously we won’t be able to visit for that long, but we won’t be that far off the schedule.”

Suddenly, I’m struck with a brilliant idea. Maybe I can convince Jordan that we can’t stop at Middleton, because IT WILL MAKE US LATE FOR ORIENTATION. That would be perfect. I could call Lloyd, tell him that we can’t make it because we’re way behind schedule, and then I wouldn’t have to deal with the whole thing.

“Well,” I say slowly, pretending that I’m thinking about it. “Maybe we shouldn’t stop.”

“What?” Jordan asks, frowning. He takes another tender and dips it in the honey mustard. I resist the urge to reach over and take it out of his hands and throw it out the window. Honey mustard is obviously not good for my mental state.

“I just mean with the schedule the way it is and everything, it might be better if we just drove straight through.”

“But it’s not going to throw us off that much. If we don’t stop, we’ll actually be ahead of schedule.”

God, why is he being such an ass? And since when is he such an expert on the schedule? He didn’t even read the damn thing. Does he really need to contradict everything I say?

“Besides,” he goes on, “I thought you’d be happy to see Lloyd.”

Right. “I am,” I say. “But we need to stick to the schedule, too.” This should be a perfectly reasonable explanation. I mean, he knows I’m totally anal retentive.

My phone rings before I can come up with a better response, and I check the caller ID. Lloyd. Lovely.

“Aren’t you going to answer that?” Jordan asks, grinning.

“Of course,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“Hey,” I say into the phone. “What’s up?” I think “What’s up?” is a very good, neutral phrase to be saying to Lloyd under the circumstances. Like, I could totally see myself saying it to a boyfriend, so Jordan will be convinced that something really is going on with Lloyd, but at the same time, it’s also something you can say to a friend, so Lloyd won’t be all, “Oh, wow, Courtney must be in love with me.”

“Hey,” Lloyd says. “I’ve been trying to call you for a while.”

“Really?” I say, trying to sound innocent. I know he’s been calling. I just turned my phone off.

“Yeah,” he says. “It kept going right to voice mail.”

“I don’t know why,” I say, still trying to sound innocent. “It’s raining here, so…”

“It’s raining where?” he says, sounding confused.

“Where we are,” I say, trying to sound deliberately vague.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“It may have been messing with my cell reception.”

“I don’t think that has anything to do with it, Courtney,” he says. Well, duh. Why would rain be messing up my cell reception?

“I don’t know,” I say again. Jordan shifts on the seat next to me and takes a loud sip of his soda.

“You don’t sound right,” Lloyd says. “Is Jordan giving you a hard time?”

“Uh, no,” I say, “He’s not.”

Jordan stops with a fry halfway to his mouth. “I’m not what?” he asks, frowning.

I shake my head at him and hold up my hand, trying to act like it’s not important. Which, true to what’s been going on, makes him just want to know more. “What did he say?” Jordan demands. He reaches over and turns off the radio.

“Nothing,” I mouth at him, and turn it back on. He turns it off. I turn it on. “Quit it,” I say.

“What’s going on?” Lloyd asks again through my phone.

“Nothing,” I say to Lloyd. “We’re just having a little problem with the radio. You know, because of the storm.”

“You guys are listening to the radio?”

“Well, not right now,” I say, which is true. Jordan’s turned it off again, and now he’s maneuvering his body, trying to get closer to me so that he can hear what Lloyd is saying.

“Not right now what?” Lloyd asks.

“We’re not listening to the radio right now,” I say. “Because we’re having problems with it because of the storm. Jordan has satellite.”

“Figures.” Lloyd snorts. Lloyd hates the fact that Jordan is kind of spoiled. Which really makes no sense, because Lloyd himself is quite spoiled. In fact, his parents just bought him a brand-new Mustang for graduation. Which he can’t even use, since he can’t have a car at school. So now his brand-new car is just sitting in the garage, probably getting used by no one. I wonder if Lloyd would let Jocelyn drive his car. There’s no way B. J. would recognize it.

“Anyway,” I say. “I’m going to let you go now, but I’ll call you when we get close.”

Jordan, seeing that the conversation is about to end anyway, reaches over and moves the volume up to almost full blast. Rap music comes blaring out of the speakers.

I reach over and very calmly turn off the radio. “Jordan,” I say, “would you please refrain from turning up the music like that when I’m on the phone? I’d really appreciate it.”

“HELLO?” Lloyd says much too loudly, now that the radio is off.

“Yeah,” I say. “Sorry about that.”

“I don’t understand why you guys are listening to music,” Lloyd says.

“What do you mean?”

“I thought you were dreading this trip,” he says.

“I was,” I say. What does that have to do with listening to music?

“
Was
as in past tense?” Lloyd asks, sounding quite like a jealous boyfriend. I’m not stupid. I know Lloyd isn’t jealous about me, per se, but more about the fact that I’m with Jordan.

“No,” I say. “I am not having a fun time on this trip.” I am still dreading it, although that really makes no sense, because there’s nothing to dread anymore, since I’m in the middle of actually taking part in it.

“You’re not having a good time?” Jordan asks, sounding surprised.

“Why does he sound surprised?” Lloyd asks.

“I am having a horrible time on this trip,” I say to Lloyd. Which isn’t exactly a lie. I mean, I’ve spend a good part of it with food poisoning, listening to Jordan talk to his new girlfriend, dealing with the fact that Jocelyn is possibly going to get a restraining order taken out against her, and listening to rap music. It’s been bad. “Now I will call you when I get close.”

“I can’t wait to see you, Court,” Lloyd says, his voice softening.

“I’m excited to see you, too,” I say, a twinge of guilt rising up in me as I realize this might not exactly be the truth. But I don’t know if it’s exactly a lie, either. After all, even if this whole hooking-up thing doesn’t work out, Lloyd has always been my friend. So it will be nice to see him and hang out. I click off my phone.

“You’re having a horrible time?” Jordan asks, looking hurt.

“Can we not talk?” I say. I open the bag my food is in and pull out a french fry.

“Why not?” he asks, sounding hurt again. “Now we can’t even talk?”

“No.” I take a bite of my fry, which is now cold. Surprisingly, for some reason this makes it taste better. I love fast food. I take a sip of my diet Coke and eat another fry.

“We can’t talk, ever, for the rest of this trip?”

“Yes, we can talk for the rest of this trip, I’m not stupid. I know it would be impossible to not talk for the rest of this trip.”

“So what you’re saying is we can talk, but we can’t?”

“Look, it’s not that hard to figure out,” I say. “We can talk about normal things, like the route we’re taking, the schedule, toll money, etc. But no, like, chatting.” These fries are so good. I take out a packet of ketchup and look for somewhere to squeeze it. I hate ketchup directly on my fries. I’m definitely more of a dipper. Jordan hands me his empty chicken tender container wordlessly, and I squeeze the packet of ketchup into it.

“Thanks,” I say.

“So thanking me is allowed?” he asks.

“Jordan, stop. You know what I mean.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he says. He sounds pissed. Why is he pissed?

“Why are you pissed?” I ask.

“I’m not pissed.”

“Well, you look pissed. And you sound pissed.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“Okay,” I say, knowing that he is. Jordan can never admit when he’s pissed. I don’t know why. It’s like this thing, where if he admits to you that he’s angry, he’s lost or something. Although I think he’s just that way with me. Or maybe with girls. I wonder if he’s like that with his new girlfriend.

“I just don’t think you should be listening to every little thing Lloyd tells you to do,” he says.

“I’m not,” I say.

“Okay,” he says, not sounding like he means it.

“Seriously, I’m not. I just think it would be better if we don’t talk much.” I shrug.