Two-Way Street (17 page)

Day Three, 7:56 a.m.

“Dude, I’m sorry,” B. J. says. “It’s all my fault.”

“It isn’t your fault, really,” I say, sighing. “It’s mine. I set up the situation, so I can’t be pissed at you when I have to deal with the fallout.” I’m in my hotel room, on the phone with B. J., and I just finished recounting the night’s activities.

“Well, look on the bright side,” he says. “At least now you don’t have to worry about her finding out. She already knows.”

“Yeah, that makes me feel much better,” I say sarcastically, looking around the room to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything. Courtney and I are supposed to get back on the road soon. Although she hasn’t called me since this morning’s four a.m. phone call, so who knows.

“I just mean,” B. J. persists, “that maybe now you can make things right.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, sitting down on the bed. To make matters worse, I have developed a horrible headache, and was forced to buy a travel pack of aspirin at the front desk, which cost me five bucks.

“I mean you have nothing to lose now,” B. J. says. “You can try to get her back without worrying about her dad and all that shit. You guys can really deal with what’s going on, instead of some fucked-up fake shit.”

“Yeah,” I say, sighing. “Maybe. But she was pretty rip-shit last night.” My call waiting beeps. “That’s her,” I say.

“Good luck,” B. J. says. I click over.

“Are you going to tell me where you are now?” I ask. I open the packet of aspirin and step into the bathroom to fill a glass of water. I feel hung over, even though I’m not.

“Are you leaving to come and get me immediately?” she asks, all bossy like.

“Yes, Courtney, I’m leaving immediately,” I tell her, sighing. It’s hard to balance a glass of water, the aspirin, and my phone in this tiny hotel bathroom. “Now can you tell me where you are?”

“Let me hear you actually leaving,” she demands. “I’m not telling you where I am until you actually leave.”

“How the hell are you supposed to know that I’m actually leaving?” I ask. I drop one of the aspirin into the sink. “Shit,” I swear, grabbing it before it makes it down the drain.

“What’s going on?” Courtney asks.

“Nothing,” I say. “Now will you tell me where you are?” I look at the aspirin and wonder how many germs are on it and if I’ll die just from putting it in my mouth. I wonder what’s worse—having a headache or eating this bad aspirin.

“I want to hear you leaving,” she says.

“Again, how can you hear me leaving?” I definitely need this aspirin if she’s going to be acting like this all day.

“I want to hear the door close behind you.”

I slam the bathroom door shut. “There,” I say. “Now tell me.”

“How do I know that wasn’t just the bathroom door?” she asks suspiciously.

“You don’t,” I say. “But you were the one who came up with the criteria of how to know I was actually leaving, so don’t get mad if your method isn’t foolproof.” I turn on the water and rinse my aspirin off, figuring an aspirin that’s been rinsed off is better than an aspirin that hasn’t. Besides, if it weren’t for Courtney, I probably wouldn’t even have thought twice about the germs. She has this uncanny need for germfree environments and I think it’s rubbed off on me.

“I can hear you running water!” Courtney says. “Unbelievable! Although I can’t say I’m surprised, since you have proved yourself to be totally untrustworthy.”

“Hey, do you know anything about germs in sinks?” I look at the aspirin questioningly. I really, really want that aspirin.

“What do you mean?” she asks.

“I dropped some aspirin in the sink and I want to know if it’s okay to take it.”

“Why can’t you just throw it out and take another?” she asks, exasperated.

“Because I bought one of those travel packs that only has two pills in it,” I say, still looking at the offending aspirin. Whatever. I pop it in my mouth with a copious amount of water.

“Just buy another travel pack,” she says. “I wouldn’t take it. It probably has sperm on it.”

“Why would it have SPERM on it?” I ask, horrified. I open my mouth and look in the mirror, but it’s too late. I’ve already swallowed it.

“Because I saw an exposé once on
20/20
about hotel rooms, and they’re all covered in sperm,” she says.

“Fine,” I lie. “I’ll buy another travel pack. Now I really am leaving, so tell me where you are.”

“I’m at the Bellevue Motel,” she says. “It’s—”

“I know where it is,” I say, sighing. We were at the same fucking motel. This whole time, we were in the same building. “I’ll meet you outside in two minutes.” I slide my cell phone shut and look at myself in the mirror, wondering what’s more likely—me, dying from hotel bathroom germs, or Courtney ever forgiving me.

Day Three, 11:13 a.m.

I can’t believe he swallowed that disgusting pill. (Like it wasn’t totally obvious.) I can’t believe he was in the same hotel as me. I can’t believe he told me he loved me. I can’t believe I’m still on this trip.

We’re in Jordan’s car, on the road, and we haven’t spoken for three hours. The vibe in the car isn’t exactly bad. It’s almost a relief, like a bunch of tension has been released, and now we can just drive.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” I announce.

“Okay,” Jordan says. Half an hour later, we pull into a rest stop. I’m beginning to hate rest stops. I feel like I spend half my life in a rest stop. Or in a rest stop bathroom.

I use the bathroom quickly, and try not to think about how gross it is that I’ve been using public bathrooms way too much lately. Although if Jordan took that aspirin, he should definitely be more concerned about his germiness than I should. And good luck getting anyone to kiss him at college. I’m going to tell everyone he took a random, germ-infested sperm pill. Disgusting.

I wash my hands and dry them with a roll of suspect-looking paper towels, figuring drying my hands with gross paper towels is better than not drying them at all.

My phone rings. Jocelyn.

“Hey,” I say, balancing the phone against my shoulder and tossing the paper towel into the overflowing garbage can.

“Courtney, B. J. just told me what happened,” she says. “I am so, so sorry. Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” I say, sighing. I look at myself in the mirror over the sink. My eyes are a little bloodshot and my hair’s a little messy, but other than that, I don’t look like someone whose world is falling apart.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I’m sure I will, at some point,” I say. “But right now, I just want to get off this trip and away from Jordan. I’m so mad, Joce.”

“Yeah,” she says. “I understand, but it’s…” she trails off.

“But it’s what?” I ask. “Don’t even tell me you’re taking his side.” What a traitor.

“No, I’m not taking his side,” she says. “I’m just saying, you have to remember that things aren’t always completely black and white, Court.”

“Yeah, well, it’s black and white that he lied to me.” I feel myself starting to get mad again. I pull a brush out of my purse and start fixing my hair. Now that I’m single again, I need to look hot. So that hot, honest college guys will want me.

“Did you know he’s the one that insisted you guys still go on the trip?” Jocelyn asks.

I stop brushing. “He did?”

“Yeah,” Jocelyn says. “Your dad didn’t want you to. But Jordan convinced him.”

“How do you know that?” I ask softly.

“B. J. told me.”

“But why would Jordan do that?”

“Because he wanted to spend time with you.” I don’t say anything. “Listen,” she says. “I’m not saying what he did was right, Court. I’m just saying don’t turn your back on things just because you’re hurting. Try to at least think about his side of it.” She hangs up, and I slide my phone back into my purse.

When I walk out of the bathroom, I almost bump into Jordan, who’s standing against the soda machine.

“Watch it,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I almost bumped into you.”

“Courtney,” he says, taking my hand. I pull away. “I want to talk about this.”

“We’re not talking about anything,” I say, walking toward the exit. “We’ve talked about it enough.”

“We haven’t talked about it at all,” he says, following me.

“And that’s enough,” I say. And it is. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to deal with it. My phone starts ringing again, and I check the caller ID. It’s my dad.

“Ignore it,” Jordan says. We’re in the parking lot now, standing near his car. I look at him. “Ignore it,” he says again.

“I’m supposed to ignore
him
, but you expect me to talk to
you
?” I say, crossing my arms. That makes no sense. One of them is just as bad as the other.

“Yes,” he says.

“Why?” I ask.

“Because he’s your dad, and he’s always going to be in your life, so it can wait,” he says. “But if you and I don’t deal with this now, we might end up getting into a situation that can’t be repaired.”

“It already can’t be repaired,” I say, feeling myself starting to tear up. This is why I didn’t want to talk about it. Because I don’t want to have to deal with this right now. I don’t want to cry. I don’t want to get upset. I’m enjoying the very numb, very comfortable, very avoidant feeling that I’m having right now.

“It can,” he says. “Courtney, I love you.”

“Don’t say things like that,” I say, turning around and trying to open the door to his truck. But it’s locked. “It’s not fair.”

“What isn’t?” he asks, studying me. “What’s not fair? Telling you how I feel?”

“Open the door for me,” I say, determined not to break down.

“No,” he says. “I want to talk about this.”

I don’t say anything, because I know if I do, I’m going to start crying. And I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry. We stand there for a minute, me in front of the passenger door of his truck, my back to him, him standing behind me, holding the keys. Finally, he opens the door.

“Thank you,” I say, launching myself into the car. Only twelve more hours and then this trip will be over. I lay my head against the back of the seat and pray I can fall asleep.

Day Three, 7:45 p.m.

Courtney doesn’t say one word to me for the rest of the trip. We drive almost straight through to Boston, only stopping to go to the bathroom and grab snacks at a gas station. For the last six hours or so, she sleeps, probably because she didn’t last night. Neither did I, but crazily enough, I don’t feel tired.

“Court,” I say when we finally pull into the front parking lot of school. “We’re here.”

“Mmmm,” she says, opening her eyes slowly. I’m half hoping she doesn’t wake up so that I’ll have an excuse to touch her, to gently shake her awake, but she rubs her eyes and sits up.

There’s a throng of people milling around, parents, students, all trying to find their dorm rooms. Jesus Christ. It looks like fucking Grand Central Station. I figured getting here so late would spare us most of the craziness, but apparently not.

“How was your nap?” I ask. She looks cute, her hair rumpled from sleep, her cheek red from where it was pressed against the seat.

“Can you help me with my stuff?” Courtney asks, ignoring my question. She reaches into the backseat, grabs her sweatshirt, and pulls it on.

“Yes,” I say. “Court, listen, I don’t—”

“Jordan,” she says, holding her hand up. “I can’t deal with this right now.”

“But if we don’t—”

She opens the car door and jumps down into the parking lot. After a second, I pop open the back of my truck, and then follow her around to the back of the car.

A perky blond girl holding a clipboard and wearing a maroon polo shirt emerges from the crowd before we have a chance to start unloading any of the stuff. “Hello!” she says. “I’m Jessica, part of your welcome orientation committee. Do you need help finding your dorm?”

“No, thanks,” Courtney says. “I know where my dorm is. I mapped it all out during my tour in the fall.”

Jessica’s face falls, but she recovers quickly. She turns to me. “What about you?” She gives me a dazzling smile.

“No, thanks,” I say. “I’m cool.” I open the back of my truck, sending Jessica the silent message to go away. I want to be able to talk to Courtney before we go our separate ways, and Jessica’s screwing up the plan.

“Well,” she says, acting like we’ve made some sort of huge mistake by not taking her help. “Here are your welcome packets, map, etc.” She hands us each a huge stack of papers. Courtney and I take them obediently, even though I know I’m going to lose half this shit by tomorrow. “Do you have any questions?”

“No,” Courtney says. She starts tapping her foot.

“No,” I say.

“Then let me explain a little bit to you about how our meal plan works. You won’t have to worry about it tonight of course, because—”

“Listen,” Court starts. “We said we didn’t want to hear any of this.” She takes a step toward Jessica. Whoa. She must be really pissed off if she’s cutting off the orientation committee chick. Wasn’t her whole thing about getting oriented?

“Um, Jessica, listen,” I say, deciding to step in before anything can get out of hand. I can’t have Courtney fighting some girl in the parking lot, no matter how hot that would be. “We’ve had a really long drive, we’re both tired and cranky”—Courtney raises her eyebrows—” and we just want to get to our rooms. So, thanks, really, for all your help, but we’ll come and find you if we need anything.”

“Okay,” Jessica says, still sounding uncertain. She opens her mouth like she’s about to say something else, glances at Courtney, and then changes her mind. She turns around and disappears back into the crowd.

Courtney reaches up and pulls a blue suitcase out of the truck and sets it down on the pavement.

“‘Thank you, Jordan, for saving me from the scary orientation girl,’” I recite.

She ignores me and continues to unload her stuff. Okay, so apparently, trying to lighten the mood isn’t the way to go. Check.

I decide to try and make normal conversation. “You have a lot of stuff,” I try. “Seriously.” I set a huge box down in the parking lot. “What do you have in here?”

“My books,” she says. She reaches up and gathers her hair into a ponytail, then slides a hair tie around it with her other hand.

“Why would you bring books to college?” I ask her. “You know they give you books, right?” I mean it as a joke, but she gives me one of those looks, one of those “You’ll never understand me” looks, so I decide it might be better to keep my mouth shut until we’re done unloading everything. We spend the next half hour making trips back and forth to her dorm room. I was kind of hoping she’d want to start setting stuff up, maybe let me hang around for a while, but she just deposits stuff in a pile on her floor, presumably to deal with later. By herself.

I realize that once we’re done unloading the stuff, I’m going to have to leave. So I take my time, but there’s only so much and finally, all of it is in Courtney’s room.

“Thanks,” she says. She’s standing in the doorway of her room, and I’m in the hall, and she starts to shut the door.

“Court, are we going to talk about this?” I ask, putting my hand on the door so that she can’t shut it. Well, she can shut it. Just not without breaking my hand. Hmm. On second thought, I drop my hand.

“No,” she says. “We’re not.”

“I understand you’re mad,” I say. “But I want to talk about it, make you understand.”

“I already understand,” she says simply. She shrugs.

“You’re upset now,” I say, starting to become frantic. “I know that. But you need to just take a breather, I think. Take a break from me and from the trip. You’re tired.” I realize once I leave this room, I won’t have anything to look forward to. No trip with Courtney. No seeing her every day in math. It’s over. We’re at college now. “Let’s have breakfast tomorrow. Before orientation. I know you don’t want to miss it.” I smile at her then, to let her know it’s okay, that I’m making a joke.

“Jordan,” she says. “Please leave.”

And then she shuts the door.