Two-Way Street (5 page)

Jordan unbuckles his seat belt and turns off the car. “Let me walk you to the door,” he says.

“Oh, no, that’s okay,” I say, hopping out before he can protest. The last thing I want is some random awkward moment at my door, where he’s trying to weasel his way into my house so he can attempt to devirginize me. I turn around and look back at him in the car. “Thanks again for breakfast, Jordan.”

“My pleasure,” he says.

“So, um, see you in school on Monday,” I say, realizing it’s true. I will see him in school on Monday. Which is weird. Thinking about seeing him in school, I mean.

“See you,” he says, and I slam the car door. He waits until I’m safely inside before starting his car back up and pulling out of my driveway. I watch him from my living room window, wondering what the hell just happened, and how I ended up going out to breakfast with Jordan Richman.

Day One, 11:56 a.m.

We haven’t said a word to each other for the past two hours. I’m starving, but I can’t really admit it now, since I pitched such a fit about not wanting to eat before. But really, I could go for a burger. A huge one, dripping with mayonnaise and ketchup. I’ve been turning pages of
The Catcher in the Rye
for the past two hours without actually reading any of it. I know, how lame. The good thing is that since I’ve read the book so many times, it doesn’t matter, because I already know what’s going on.

My mix CD is still playing. This is the third time it’s repeated, and even I’m getting sick of the songs. But I figure if Jordan’s making an effort to be nice, I’m not going to turn it off. I mean, it’s either listening to these over and over or putting rap on, and that’s so not going to happen.

It’s kind of strange, being in the car and not saying anything to each other. It’s like some kind of suspense movie. Or like being in an alternate universe, where we’re not really Jordan and Courtney, but some other people who don’t talk to each other.

My stomach grumbles really loudly, and I see Jordan smirk. But not in a mean way. More in a “isn’t that cute” kind of way. For a second, I feel a pang in my stomach, almost like I’m going to cry, but then I start to get a little mad. He doesn’t have the right to make a “isn’t she so cute” face at me.

“Whatever,” I say. “Like your stomach never grumbled.”

“It’s just funny,” he says.

“I don’t see why.”

“Because you’re obviously hungry, and yet you haven’t said anything because you’re afraid to not stick to the itinerary, because if we go off it even a little bit, you’ll think you’ll have ‘lost’ or something. And you hate to lose.”

“That’s not true,” I say, even though it totally is. Well, sort of. It’s not that I think I’ll have lost, it’s just I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of thinking he was right. Besides, the itinerary says we’re going to stop in another hour and a half, and I can certainly wait until then. I just won’t think about it. La, la, la. Not thinking about burgers.

“It is true,” he says matter-of-factly. “You’d rather starve than give me the satisfaction.”

“Whatever,” I say. “I’m not hungry at all.”

Two minutes later, he pulls into a rest stop. “There,” he says, putting the car in park. “Now technically you didn’t give in, and yet we can still eat.” He smiles, his brown eyes sparkling. “And I’m hungry, too.”

I’m about to protest, but instead I just pull my seat belt off and slide out of the car. I feel like I want to cry again, which is so, so, ridiculous. I mean, it’s not like we were even together that long. Four months is nothing. Four months is like, less than a lot of those reality TV shows. And those people live together. And then probably never talk again. Plus, what about people who get divorced? Like people who are married for ten or fifteen years, and then never speak again? Some of them even go on to get married to other people. And then someone’s like, “Hey, whatever happened to your first husband, Harry?” And they’re like, “Oh, Harry, yeah, I forgot about him. I’m not sure. I think he might be running a casino in Vegas.” People come and go, in and out of each other’s lives like it’s nothing. So I don’t know how/why this should be a big deal.

I follow Jordan into the rest stop, which is really quite awkward. I can’t walk next to him, because that’s very, you know, couple like, but walking behind him is weird, too, because then it’s like I’m not walking next to him on purpose, which may lead him to believe that he’s actually affecting me, which I definitely don’t want. For him to be affecting me, I mean. Or, for him to think that. Because he obviously
is
affecting me.

When we get inside, he heads to the Burger King line, and I go to Sbarro. I actually wanted Burger King, too, but there’s no way I was going to stand in that wicked long line with him while we tried to make conversation. Or worse, just stood there in silence. I brought my book in with me, so hopefully while we’re eating, I can read and he can just eat and look at the ground.

I order a sausage calzone before I realize that I should probably get the grilled chicken salad, since now that I have no boyfriend, I need to make sure I don’t get really fat. I’ve been eating a lot lately, and with the freshman fifteen probably a given, I need to make sure I at least make some kind of effort to eat healthy. If I didn’t know better, I would have started to think I was pregnant, what with all the food I’ve been eating. But I know I’m not, because Jordan and I never actually did it. The only time we came close was in Miami, right before we broke up. Thinking about that night makes me feel sick, and I almost throw my sausage calzone into a nearby trash can on my way to pick a table. But then I realize that if I don’t have any food, Jordan’s going to wonder why, and then what will I say? “Because I’m too upset about you dumping me to eat.” I don’t think so.

Despite the long Burger King line, Jordan’s already sitting at a table when I get there, and so I slide in across from him.

“Hey,” he says, unwrapping his Whopper. “What’d you get?”

“Sausage calzone,” I say, putting the straw into my diet Coke. I reach into my bag and pull out my book.

“You’re kidding, right?” Jordan says, raising his eyebrows.

“No,” I say. “I really did get a sausage calzone.” Why would I kid about that?

“I mean the book,” he says. He takes a bite of his burger and licks his lips. I look away quickly, because a wave of heat has started between my legs and is now moving its way up my body. How ridiculous. That I’m getting turned on just from watching him lick his lips. Especially since he’s such an asshole.

“What about it?”

“You’re going to read your book at lunch?”

“Yeah, that was the plan,” I say.

“Lame,” he says, shrugging. He takes the top off his soda and takes a big drink. Jordan never uses a straw. He says it’s because he can’t get enough soda that way. I used to think it was cute. Apparently I still do, because I’m still getting hot just looking at him.

“Why is it lame?” I ask, frowning.

“It’s just kind of rude.” He shrugs again.

“Yeah, I don’t think we should get into a conversation about what’s rude and what isn’t,” I say. “Or who’s ruder. Because I have a feeling I’d win that argument.” He shifts in his chair uncomfortably. Good. I cut a piece of my calzone and pop it into my mouth. I look down at my book and try to concentrate on the words.

Suddenly Jordan’s cell phone starts playing “Baby Got Back” again. He checks the caller ID, frowns, and then sends it to voice mail without answering it.

“Don’t not answer it on account of me,” I say. “It doesn’t bother me at all.”

“I thought it did,” he says. “In the car, you acted like it did.”

“Well, it doesn’t here,” I say, chewing and swallowing, even though the calzone tastes funny in my mouth. “In the car, you shouldn’t talk on your phone, but here, it’s okay. Besides, I’m reading.” I force down another bite of calzone, and turn a page in my book.

“It wasn’t important,” he says.

“Whatever.” I shrug.

“If it was, I would have answered it,” he says. He takes another bite of his burger. And licks his lips again. My stomach does a flip.

“Good,” I say. “Because I would hope that you wouldn’t not answer a call from your girlfriend just because of me.” Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Why would I say that? Why would I bring up the dreaded
G
word? It reverberates around us, like an echo. Girlfriend, girlfriend, girlfriend. We’ve never talked about his new girlfriend. Actually, since we broke up, we haven’t really talked at all. Okay, stay calm. La, la, la, pretending I didn’t say anything.

“It wasn’t my girlfriend,” he says, looking right at me. I practice making my face a complete blank. Like I’m in one of those poker tournaments and there’s a million dollars on the line, and if my face betrays my emotions, then I’ll lose it all. I look straight ahead. Think of things that don’t make me emotional. Um. Spanish tests. Baseball. Pink shoes. Actually, I love pink shoes.

“Oh,” I say, because someone has to say something. “I just want you to know that you don’t have to not answer it because of me. If, you know, she does end up calling.” I am so smooth.

“Thanks,” he says, looking confused. “Aren’t you hungry?” He looks at my sausage calzone, and since I don’t want him to think I’ve lost my appetite from thinking about his skanky girlfriend, I down the whole thing even though it tastes disgusting. The sausage is rubbery, and the cheese tastes like plastic.

“Wow,” Jordan says. “You really were hungry.”

“Yup,” I say, taking a big sip of my drink. “Good calzone.” Not.

And then I do something that is so totally ridiculous, but I can’t stop myself. It’s one of those things that you know you shouldn’t do, but you have to. Kind of like at the prom, when I had spent fifty dollars to get my nails done (those really cute acrylics that look real if you get the expensive kind), and while Jocelyn and I were in the bathroom reapplying our lipstick, one of my nails seemed a little loose, so I pried it off with a nail file. It was a really stupid idea, because I had to go around for the rest of the week with one nail missing. But I couldn’t stop myself. And that’s how it is right now.

“So,” I say, “how are things going? You know, with, um, your girlfriend?” I try to say it like I’m asking because I want him to be happy, but I’m afraid it comes out more like I’m prying. Since I just downed my whole calzone, I take a sip of my soda so I’ll appear nonchalant.

“Fine,” he says, shifting in his seat.

“Good,” I say. “I’m glad.” My stomach lurches, and I don’t know if it’s all the greasy food or the fact that I’m thinking about Jordan with another girl.

“Yeah,” Jordan says. “And, uh, I guess, you and Lloyd?”

“What?” I say.

“You and Lloyd,” he says. “You guys are like a thing now?”

“Yeah,” I say, “we’re a thing now.” Oh. My. God. I cannot believe I just said that. Me and Lloyd are so not a thing. Well, I guess we’re as much of a thing as you can be when you make out with someone in your room. Oh, my God. Am I slut? I think I’m a slut. I mean, who lets some random guy go up their shirt when they’re in love with someone else? Not that Lloyd is really all that random. I mean, I’ve known him forever. And lusted after him for just as long. So maybe it was good that I got it out of my system. Because like I said, hooking up with Lloyd was…strange. But maybe that’s just because we weren’t used to each other. I don’t really have much to compare it to, except for Jordan. And the first night he and I hooked up was weird, because it was so random. But then it got better. The hooking up, I mean. Because we got used to each other. Maybe Lloyd and I just have to get used to each other?

“Wait,” I say. “How’d you know that Lloyd and I were a thing?”

“B. J. told me,” he says.

“How does B. J. know?” I ask, rubbing my temples with my fingers. I’m starting to feel light-headed. Is this how celebrities feel, having their secrets splashed across the tabloids and wondering how the hell everyone found out?

“I guess Lloyd left some kind of comment on your MySpace profile,” Jordan says, shrugging, “that led B. J. to believe you two were a thing.”

I haven’t checked my MySpace since last night, before I let Lloyd grope me. Although it wasn’t really groping. It was more like…I dunno, stroking? Eww, that sounds so nasty. And it wasn’t. Nasty, I mean. It just wasn’t amazing, like it is with Jordan. Lloyd was kind of tentative, like he wasn’t sure what he was doing. Not like I do. Know what I’m doing, exactly. Besides, you’d think that Lloyd would have taken the lead, since I know for a fact he’s not a virgin and I am. Although not by my choice. I start thinking about that night in Miami with Jordan again and I really do feel dizzy.

“What did it say?” I ask, trying to make the room stop spinning.

“What did what say?” Jordan asks, frowning. He takes the last bite of his burger and licks his lips again. Can he STOP DOING THAT? Really, how much can one person lick his lips?

“What did the MySpace comment say?” I take a small sip of soda in an effort to calm my stomach down. Isn’t that what soda is supposed to do? Make your stomach calm down? Actually, I think that’s just ginger ale. Flat ginger ale.

“You don’t know?”

“I haven’t been online since last night,” I say. “My laptop was already packed.” I mean it to come out as kind of a dig, like I was all packed up and he wasn’t, but it comes out like I’m panicked.

“I’m not sure.” Jordan shrugs, and balls up the paper that his Whopper was wrapped in. He’s not sure? He’s not sure? That’s ridiculous. How can he not be sure? As soon as B. J. was like, “Lloyd left Courtney a MySpace comment and I think they’re a thing,” Jordan should have been like, “Why, what did it say?” That’s what I would have done.

“Oh.” My stomach is on fire now, but I’m ignoring it. “Well,” I say, standing up. I stretch my arms over my head like I don’t have a care in the world. “I’m going to the bathroom, and then we’ll get back on the road, sound good?”

“Sure.” He stands up and starts to gather the trash from our table and put it on the tray. I walk toward the rest rooms, but as soon as I’m out of Jordan’s sight, I pull out my cell and dial Jocelyn.

“Hello,” she says, sounding groggy.

“Hi!” I say. “It’s me.”

“Oh,” she says. There’s a muffled noise on the line, like she’s rolling over.

“Are you sleeping?” I say.

“Yes,” she mumbles.

“Oh,” I say. “Well, listen, I need you to do something for me.”

“What?”

“You need to check my MySpace page for me.” I look over my shoulder, fearful Jordan might head for the bathrooms when he’s done picking up the garbage and see me standing outside, talking on my cell. I walk quickly toward the bathrooms just in case, figuring I can talk as easily in there and not arouse suspicion.

“Now?” Jocelyn asks, sighing. “Honey, no one has left you any comments this morning, trust me. It’s too early for that.” She yawns.

“It was last night,” I say. “Lloyd left me a comment last night.”

“What?!” she screeches, sounding fully awake. I hear another mumbled noise, and then the sound of her computer booting up. “What does it say?”