Two-Way Street (18 page)

One Day After the Trip, 9:03 a.m.

The first full day of college is overcast and gray, which is not a good omen. Bad starts and all that. I’m a big believer in the fact that the weather of the day can totally dictate how the day is going to go. So far (at least for today), this theory has been proven true.

First, I had eighteen new messages waiting for me on my voice mail when I woke up this morning. Jocelyn (“I’m worried about you, call me when you’re ready.”), my mom (“Courtney, honey, I want you to call me when you get this.”), my dad (“Call me, we need to talk about this.”), Lloyd (“It was kind of weird the way you left like that, Courtney, and I’m mad and worried.”), and finally, Jordan (“Courtney, please call me, I love you.”). I deleted all of them, then realized that was a horrible plan, as all it did was clear out my voice mail and leave me available to receive new messages.

Second, my roommate hasn’t arrived yet, so I was stuck walking to the orientation breakfast by myself. The whole way over, all I saw were groups of twos, threes, fives, eights. It seemed like everyone had friends but me. Which was bad enough. But now that I’m here, I realize I don’t know
anyone
. Not one single person. Well, except Jordan, but I’m really, really, hoping I don’t run into him today. Or ever again. In my life.

I grab a plate off the pile at the end of the buffet table and load it high with eggs, pancakes, and fruit. I figure if I’m not going to be talking to anyone, then I’m going to have to keep myself busy by eating. A lot. I wish I’d brought my book. But then wouldn’t I look like the loser who has to bring a book to the first day of college? If I’d known that navigating the social landscape of college was going to be so crazy, I never would have been in such a hurry to get here.

I grab an orange juice off the table of beverages, and very carefully make my way to the end of an empty table.

But once I set my stuff down, I’m stopped by a boy wearing a black T-shirt and a pair of jeans.

“Uh-oh,” he says, shaking his head. He looks visibly upset, like someone’s just told him his dog is sick, or that he failed a test.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“It’s just that…” He sighs. “You’re sitting at the table where the orientation committee is supposed to sit.”

“Oh,” I say. “I’m sorry.” I grab my plate and start to stand up. Leave it to me to sit in the one spot I’m not supposed to. I turn around and scan the dining room, but the tables have filled up fast, and there’s not another empty one. Which means I’m going to have to sit with someone else. A stranger. I try to decide between a table full of girls who look like they walked off the cover of a magazine, or two girls sitting by themselves with about twenty piercings between the two of them. The pierced girls would probably be nicer, although the magazine girls look like they could have an in on the cool things to do around here. Although, God could be trying to play a trick on me for judging people on their appearances, and it could be the other way around.

“I’m afraid it’s not that easy,” the orientation guy says. He sighs again and runs his fingers through his short blond hair.

“What isn’t?” I ask. A girl wearing a blue sequined tank top sits down with the magazine girls, nailing the last seat. Crap.

“It’s just that if you sit at a table you’re not supposed to during orientation, that’s a disciplinary infraction.” He starts flipping through the papers on his clipboard.

“What do you mean, a disciplinary infraction?” I ask, swallowing hard. This is just great. My first day of school—actually not even official school, just orientation—and I’m already in trouble. I wonder how many disciplinary infractions you can get before you get kicked out. And if it’s going to go on my permanent record. I thought at college you were supposed to have more freedom. Apparently not, if you can get in trouble just for sitting at the wrong table.

“What’s your name?” the guy asks.

“Courtney,” I say. “Courtney McSweeney.”

“I’m Ben,” he says. He holds out his hand. “Nice to meet you.” He winks.

“Hold on,” I say, my eyes narrowing. “Am I really in trouble?”

“No,” he says, laughing. “You’re not in trouble.”

“So you were just messing with me?”

“Yes,” he says. “But only because I wanted to know your name.” He smiles, and now that I’m not worried about disciplinary infractions, I realize for the first time how cute he is. Tall, blond hair, green eyes, and a really nice smile.

“Okay,” I say. “So now you know my name.”

“I do,” he says, nodding. “And you know mine.” He leans in closer to me. “Now, I’m not really supposed to do this, but, do you want to have breakfast with me? Usually we don’t let the freshmen sit at the orientation table, but I’ve taken up all this time talking to you, and now there’re hardly any seats left.” He gestures toward the crowded dining area.

“Sure,” I say. “I’ll sit with you.” He pulls out a chair for me, but I hesitate. “Hey, Ben?” I ask.

“Yeah?”

“Do you listen to rap music?”

“Rap music?” he asks, looking confused. “No. Alternative rock. How come?”

“No reason,” I say. I sit down in the chair he’s offered and Ben sits down next to me.

One Day After the Trip, 9:23 a.m.

Courtney is sitting with a guy. Some dude who’s on the orientation committee. How skeezy is that? Hitting on freshmen when you’re on the orientation committee. It’s like hitting on students when you’re a teacher. Definitely not cool.

“Hey,” I say, turning to my roommate, a guy from Queens named Ricardo. Ricardo’s a cool dude, one of those guys who you can tell is always going to know what’s going on. Which means at some point this semester, we’ll probably get in some trouble, but, hey, that’s the price you pay. “What’s the deal with tonight?”

“It’s gonna be sick,” Ricardo says. He takes a piece of toast and dips it into his over-easy eggs. There weren’t over easy eggs on the buffet, but Ricardo conned one of the dining room workers into making him one. “There’re no upperclassmen on campus yet except for the orientation committee, which means it’s going to be all freshmen.” He smiles at me and gives me a knowing look. I pretend like I know what he means, even though I really have no idea. Does Ricardo have some knowledge of statistics pertaining to freshmen girls giving it up?

I glance over at Courtney, where she now appears to be writing her phone number down on the back of a napkin for the guy.

“Define ‘sick,’” I say.

“Tons of chicks, tons of booze,” he says. “It’s like the official kickoff to partying in college. And the girls here,” he adds, looking around the dining room, “are unfuckingbelievable.”

He’s right, too. The girls here are amazing. Much hotter than the ones in high school. And there’s a lot more of them to choose from.

I step away from the table for a second, pull out my cell, and dial Courtney’s number.

“Hey,” I say into the phone. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m done. I don’t want anything to do with you, so you don’t have to worry about it. I’m not going to call you anymore.” I snap my phone shut with a satisfied click and start thinking about what I’m going to wear to the party.

“So these girls are going to head over there with us,” Ricardo says later that night. He’s standing in front of the mirror, gelling his hair. From what I can tell, Ricardo spends a lot of time in front of the mirror. “You, my friend,” he says to his own reflection, “are spades.”

“What girls?” I ask. I’m riffling through my suitcase, trying to find a clean shirt to wear to the party. One of the problems with packing my shit so late was that I didn’t have time to worry about if my clothes were clean or not. Therefore, I have a lot of dirty clothes in my suitcase, which is why I haven’t bothered to put them in my dresser or hang them up. Why fold them when I’m just going to have to wash them anyway?

“These chicks I met at one of the orientation icebreakers,” he says. The whole freshman class spent the afternoon playing lame icebreaker games, like “three truths and a lie” in an effort for everyone to get to know each other.

“Hot?” I pull a black button-up out of my suitcase and give it the smell test. Definitely not. I throw it back in.

“Smokin’,” he says. “They’re roommates, friends from high school. It’s always good when the girls are friends.” Ricardo picks up a bottle of cologne from his dresser and gives himself a spray.

“Jesus, that shit’s strong,” I say, backing away.

“It’s Diddy’s new cologne,” he says. “It’s a total pussy magnet.”

“Oh.”

“Anyway,” he says, giving himself another spray. “I figure we can head over with Chelsea and Krista, lay the groundwork. And then if it doesn’t work out, we can ditch them when we get there.”

This guy’s good. I hold a long-sleeved blue shirt up to my nose. Not the best, but it’ll do. I pull it over my head, slide my feet into my Timberlands, and sit down on the bed.

“What time’s this thing start?” It’s already eleven.

“Usually things don’t get going until around eleven,” Ricardo says. He’s making weird faces at himself in the mirror, pushing his lips out like a fish.

“What are you doing?” I ask him.

“Getting ready.”

“What’s that thing with your lips?”

“I read about it in some magazine. It supposedly gets your pheromones racing, so chicks want you.”

“Cool.” My roommate is an insane person. I don’t have too much time to think about this, though, because there’s a knock on the door.

“The girls,” Ricardo says, opening the door. “Come in, come in.” He ushers them into the room. For an insane person, Ricardo definitely knows his women. They’re both blonde with big boobs. One’s wearing the shortest skirt I’ve ever seen, and the other one is wearing a top that exposes her midriff. I realize I haven’t hooked up with anyone since I’ve been with Courtney. And now that Courtney and I are broken up, I can hook up with one of these girls. Maybe both of them. I feel myself starting to get turned on.

“I’m Jordan,” I say.

“Chelsea,” one says.

“Krista,” the other one says. I’m never going to be able to tell them apart.

We head over to the party, and Ricardo makes it easy for me by latching on to the taller one (Krista, I think), and so I drop back and start talking to Chelsea. I’m starting to think that for all of Ricardo’s weirdness, he and I might get along just fine. Unlike B. J., he has play. Ricardo obviously knows the first rule of the double hookup, which is that when two guys are out with two girls, you immediately pair off in an effort to let the girls know a hookup is definitely expected.

Chelsea and I do the required small talk on the way to the party. I find out she’s from Boston, an elementary education major, and really, really likes to party. I know this because she says, “Do you like to party?” and I say, “Yeah, I guess,” and she says, “Well, I really, really like to party.”

By the time we get to the frat house, the festivities are in full swing. There are people all over the place—outside, inside, on the porch, on the lawn. It seems like the whole freshman class is here.

I grab two cups of beer from the keg and take them over to where Chelsea’s waiting for me by the door.

“Here,” I say.

“Thanks.” She takes a few huge gulps. Whoa. This girl doesn’t fuck around.

“So what dorm are you in?” I ask.

“I live off campus,” she tells me, and then smiles. The strap of her bra is showing. Red. Hot.

“No shit,” I say. “How’d you manage that?”

“My parents pay for everything,” she says. “They feel guilty that they’re never around, so they make up for it by trying to give me everything I want.”

“That sounds sweet,” I say, wondering if she’ll give me pointers on how I can finagle that situation for myself. My parents already give me pretty much whatever I want, but making my mom feel guilty is very appealing.

We talk for a little longer, and drink even more, and half an hour later, I’ve got quite the buzz going on. I can’t stop looking at her bra strap. This girl is seriously hot. I wonder if it’s because she’s a college girl. But that really makes no sense, since until a few months ago, she wasn’t in college, and it’s unlikely that she’s morphed into a hottie in just a few months.

“Hey,” she says, leaning into me. “We can probably get out of here now, if you want.”

Her lips are a few inches from mine, and I can feel my body responding to hers. She smells like beer and perfume and something sexy. “Yeah,” I say, leaning back into her. “What did you have in mind?”

“We could go back to my place,” she says.

“Go back to your place?” I ask.

“Yeah,” she says. “And watch movies. I have a flatscreen and tons of DVDs.” For some reason, Courtney’s face flickers across my brain, but I push it away. Fuck Courtney, I think. This chick is hot. The thing with Courtney is over. I take another sip of my drink, figuring if I can just get a little more buzzed, I’ll be fine.

“That sounds cool,” I say. “Just let me tell Ricardo.”

I start making my way through the crowd, and finally find Ricardo standing by the keg with his arm around a brunette. I’m impressed. Anyone who comes to a party and then hooks up with a different girl than the one he brought, has to have serious game.

“I’m leaving,” I say. “I’m going back to Chelsea’s apartment.”

“Sweet,” he says. “Nice one, bro. I’ll catch you later.”

But when I turn back around, I see Courtney in the corner, talking to that guy she was with at orientation. She’s leaning against the wall, and he leans in to whisper something in her ear. She throws her head back and laughs, her hair falling down around her face. My stomach feels like it’s in my throat, and then someone walks in front of me, blocking my view.

“Hey,” Chelsea says, grabbing my arm. “There you are. I was wondering what was taking you so long.” She leans into me again. “Are you ready to go?” I can feel her breath against my ear, and her chest against my shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” I say to Chelsea. “I…I can’t go with you.”

And then I walk out of the party, down the street, and back to my dorm.