“Yes,” Jocelyn repeats. “Jordan told him.”
“And how did Jordan know?”
“I guess he figured it out because you were telling him to tell B. J. not to call the police.”
“Really,” I say, contemplating this revelation.
“Mm-hmm,” Jocelyn says. More splashing. “But listen, that’s not the best part.”
“What’s the best part?” I ask, not really seeing what was so good about the first part. Jordan looks over at me curiously. Ha. Like I’m really going to clue him in on what’s going on. I like making him squirm. Also, since the traffic isn’t moving, it isn’t really like he can do anything about the fact that I’m making him uncomfortable. He just has to sit there.
“So after B. J. caught me and I confessed, we had this really long talk,” Jocelyn says. Her voice sounds kind of slurred, like she’s been drinking. More splashing and music in the background. I love the fact that my friends are off having an end-of-summer party with drinks and swimming and music and I’m stuck on the road trip from hell. So not fair.
“That’s great, Joce,” I say, meaning it. “You and B. J. should be able to talk about things more openly. I think it’ll really help you to feel more comfortable with the situation.”
“So, listen,” she says, sounding kind of nervous. “I have to tell you something that he told me. He told me so that I’d feel more like I could trust him.”
“You mean like a secret?”
“Yeah,” she says, sounding nervous again. “Exactly like a secret.” I wrack my brain for what kind of secrets B. J. could possibly have. A criminal record? No, he wouldn’t keep that a secret. When he burned our class year into the school lawn and almost didn’t graduate, he bragged about it to anyone who would listen, including two girls he’d never met that happened to overhear us talking about it one night at a random ice cream stand. An STD? Nah, Jocelyn would be freaking out. And she doesn’t sound freaked out.
“Okay,” I say, wondering how she could possibly think it’s a good idea to put a start to her new, trusting relationship with her boyfriend by telling me a secret he told her not to tell. But I don’t tell her this, because I kind of want to know the secret.
“Now, I know it’s probably not the best idea to tell you, you know, since we’re now having an open, honest, communication based on mutual trust and respect,” she says, sounding kind of like Dr. Phil. It’s hard to take her seriously, though, because even though she’s talking like she understands the psychobabble she’s spewing, I can still hear the sounds of the party in the background, including a male voice that’s yelling, “LET’S GET FUCKED UP!” over and over again. This is being met by cheers of “Woooo!”
“Then why are you?” I ask.
“Hold on,” she says. “I’m going inside the house, it’s getting loud out here.”
“Okay,” I agree. I roll down my window.
“What are you doing?” Jordan asks. “The AC is on.”
“I want some air,” I tell him.
“How can you possibly want some air?” he asks, frowning. “The AC is on. It’s hotter outside than it is in here.”
“I didn’t say I was hot,” I say. “I said I needed some air.” The guy in the car next to us is apparently so fed up with the traffic that he’s gotten out of his car and is rummaging around in his trunk. He emerges with what looks like travel Scrabble, and looking satisfied, slams his trunk shut.
“I can’t believe we forgot to bring our travel games,” Jordan says, I guess thinking he’s funny.
“Hello!” I yell into the phone. No response. How long does it take to get into someone’s house? I can still hear the sounds of the party in the background, so I know she didn’t hang up. Maybe she dropped her phone. “Helllloo!” I yell again, thinking maybe she’ll hear me and come back.
“Why are you yelling?” Jordan asks.
“Because Jocelyn put me on hold and she hasn’t come back yet.”
“Well, there’s another person in this car. So try not to yell.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say. “Is my yelling bothering you?”
“Well, yes,” he says. “Besides, it’s not like you’re in a big rush to get her back on the phone, right? You’re not doing anything important. We’re sitting in traffic.”
“Wow,” I say. “You’re so astute, Jordan. I love how totally insightful and good you are at reading situations.”
He looks away then, and I yell, “HELLLOOO!” into the phone once more.
“Oh, hi,” Jocelyn says, sounding breathless. “Sorry about that. I couldn’t figure out how to open the back door, so I had to walk all the way around the house, and it took a while.” I want to ask her why she didn’t just talk to me while she walked, or at least pick up the phone to give me a status report, but I don’t.
“Anyway,” I say.
“Yeah, anyway, I’m inside now.”
“Good.”
“Yup.”
“So…”
“Oh right! The secret. Okay, so I know I probably shouldn’t be telling you.”
“Probably not,” I agree. “But before we get into it, who was that yelling ‘Let’s get fucked up!’ like that over and over? Just out of curiosity, I mean.”
“Oh, that was B. J.,” she says. “He’s getting drunk tonight.” I think it’s a great sign that they’re celebrating their newfound, trusting relationship by getting drunk and blabbing each other’s secrets, but I don’t say this. I’m not one to pass judgment on anyone’s relationships.
“Oh, okay.”
“Anyway, I know I shouldn’t tell you, but the reason I am is because it’s kind of about you. Well, indirectly anyway. And I do want to be loyal to B. J., I really do, but you’re my best friend, and if you found out from someone else, and then you found out I knew and didn’t tell you, you’d probably be pissed. And chicks over dicks, you know?”
“Okay,” I say, starting to get worried. I don’t like Jocelyn finding secrets out that have to do with me from B. J., because inevitably they’re going to involve Jordan. And the fact that I just had a breakdown in a public rest room makes me very nervous about my mental state.
“Okay,” she says. “B. J. told me that Jordan made up the MySpace girl.”
“What do you mean?” I ask. My heart is beating really fast all of a sudden, and I wonder if Jordan can hear it.
“The girl he supposedly met on MySpace? That he dumped you for? He didn’t dump you for her. He made her up.”
“Why would he do that?” I ask.
“I have no idea,” she says, but even as she’s saying it, I know the answer. He did it as an excuse to break up with me. He knew it would be easier if he had a reason, something concrete that would at least give me some sort of answer. And this whole time, I’ve been making myself feel better by thinking up horrible attributes to Jordan’s new girlfriend, telling myself she’s a slut, and someday he’ll realize what a huge mistake he’s made.
The truth is, he just doesn’t love me.
the trip jordan
Day Two, 5:06 p.m.
Courtney is making me extremely nervous. Whatever the fuck is going on in her phone conversation cannot be good. I’ve already figured out that she knows I tipped B. J. off to the whole Jocelyn thing, which makes me slightly annoyed. When I told him, it was so she wouldn’t get in trouble, not so he could go and tell her how he found out. He had to know she was going to come back and tell Courtney. What was he thinking?
The traffic inches slowly forward, and Courtney sits next to me in silence. When we get to Middleton twenty minutes later, the vibe in the car is not any better. I wish Courtney would just talk to me and tell me how pissed off she is, but that’s obviously not going to happen.
Add that to the fact that I have four missed calls on my phone, all from Courtney’s dad, who I have most definitely decided is the craziest motherfucker that I know. Seriously, his shit is whacked. I used to think maybe B. J. was the craziest person I know, but now I realize t
hat B. J. only does crazy things, and that there is a definite difference between acting crazy and being crazy. And Courtney’s dad is the latter.
Since we’ve been stuck in traffic, and Courtney’s been giving me the silent treatment, I’ve come up with a great plan for our time in North Carolina. It consists of one part: Stay away from Courtney and Lloyd, and hang out with my brother only. This is going to be slightly problematic, since I’m not sure how Courtney is going to feel about me just dropping her off at the gates of Middleton. If they even have gates.
I pull the car into the visitor parking lot and switch off the car. “Well,” I say. “I guess this is it.”
“What do you mean?” she asks, frowning.
“I mean, I guess this is it. This is where we part ways.”
“Part ways?” she asks, and it could be my imagination, but for some reason she looks almost panicked.
“Yeah, you know,” I say. “Part ways, leave each other, go in different directions.”
“Why would we do that?” She bites her lip and looks out the car window.
“Why wouldn’t we? I’m sure you want time alone with Lloyd, and really, I don’t want to be around that shit.” Whoops. Shouldn’t have said that out loud. Last thing I need is for her thinking I want her back. Even though I do. Actually, not true. I never wanted to break up with her. But whatever. Semantics. “Lloyd and I aren’t exactly BFFs, if you know what I mean.”
She nods. She’s probably thinking about the time Lloyd and I almost got into a fistfight.
“So!” I say cheerfully. I pull the keys out of the ignition. “I’ll open the back so you can get your stuff.”
“Great!” she says. She pulls out her cell phone and makes a big production of turning it on silent. I guess so her and Lloyd won’t get interrupted while they’re hooking up.
“Just make sure you close the truck when you’re finished,” I say. I grab my black duffle from the back and sling it over my shoulder.
“That’s all you have?” she asks. “I mean, that’s all your bringing? For the overnight.”
“Yeah, that’s all I’m bringing for the overnight,” I say.
“Well, I have a lot more than you,” she says pointedly. If she thinks I’m going to help her carry her stuff, she’s definitely mistaken. I like to consider myself a nice guy, but I draw the line at helping my ex-girlfriend bring her stuff up to some guy’s dorm room. That’s insane. Especially since it’s pretty obvious that she’s planning on sleeping with him.
“Of course you have a lot more than me,” I say. “You’re a girl. But take your time getting whatever you need. Just make sure you close the back when you’re done. I’ll meet you here tomorrow at eight, and we’ll get back on the road, all right?”
“Yeah, okay,” she says, not sounding okay with it at all. A look of hurt passes across her face briefly as I turn away, and it’s almost enough to make me turn around, but then I think about Lloyd and the MySpace comment, and I keep on walking.
My brother, Adam, lives in a single room in Gluster Hall, where he’s an RA. We’re not super close, and I’m not sure why that is. I think it might have something to do with the fact that we were so spoiled growing up, that it made it easy not to have to interact. My parents bought us everything—video game systems, DVDs, cell phones, toys, whatever we wanted. Which means there wasn’t a lot of time spent sitting around, reading books or hanging out, making forts and trying to amuse ourselves with imaginary games.
I knock on his door and he opens it wearing a pair of boxers and a T-shirt.
“Dude,” Adam says, squinting at me. “Are you fucking kidding me?” If you knew my brother, you’d know this isn’t really strange. He talks like this a lot, in random questions that make no sense. “Are you fucking kidding me?” is actually one of his favorites.
“What’s up, bro?” I ask, and contemplate pulling him into a hug. We’re not usually very touchy-feely, but he is my brother and I haven’t seen him in a while. Before I can decide if this would be appropriate, I catch a whiff of pot coming from his room. I look at him again. His eyes are bloodshot and he has a half-grin on his face. That’s just great. The asshole is high.
“Dude, are you fucking kidding me? Right now?” he repeats.
“Uh, no,” I say. “I guess not. But it’s, uh, good to see you.” I realize he’s blocking the door, so I take a step closer to him, in an effort to show my intent to actually get into his room. Although I’m sure once I get in there, I’m going to start getting a pot buzz by default.
He still doesn’t move out of the way, and I bump into him awkwardly. For the first time, I realize he’s not wearing any shoes. I know this because I step on his foot.
“You’re not coming in,” he says, putting his hand up.
“What do you mean?” I ask, confused.
“Why didn’t you tell me about Mom?” he asks, and I realize he’s not only high but pissed. Psychotically, scary pissed. His eyes are rimmed in red out of anger, not just from pot. I thought pot was supposed to make you mellow.
“What do you mean, ‘tell you about Mom?’” I ask, automatically reverting to avoid-and-deny mode.
“About Mom having an affair, about how she’s leaving Dad for someone else,” he says, and this time he bangs his fist against the door. I take a step back.
“I didn’t know,” I say quietly, which is only a half lie. I knew she was having an affair, but I didn’t know she was going to leave my dad. Suddenly, I feel like someone’s punched me in the stomach.
“That’s bullshit,” he says, leaning against the door frame. “That’s bullshit and you know it. She told me you knew. She told me you caught them.”
“I did,” I say, “But I didn’t know she was going to leave Dad because of it. She acted like it wasn’t a big deal, like it was a random thing that was going to stop.” In reality, I knew this wasn’t true. My mom had said that to me, but it was pretty obvious that’s not what was going on. I figured maybe she just needed time to end it—I mean, let’s face it. Courtney’s dad is one fucked-up motherfucker. I didn’t know exactly what was going on, but I knew there was a chance he could have been making it difficult for my mom the way he was making my life difficult.
“So that made it okay not to tell me? Jesus, Jordan!” He runs his fingers through his hair and looks at me like he can’t believe my obvious stupidity.
“It wasn’t mine to tell,” I say. “It was up to her to tell Dad, it wasn’t my place.”
“You’re right,” he says. “At first. But this shit has been going on for months, Jordan. Were you ever going to tell anyone?” Suddenly, he seems very coherent and not like he’s been smoking pot at all, which scares me. My brother is quite a bit bigger than me, but it’s not like I think he wants to fight me. We’ve been in fistfights before. Nothing major, just little scrapes that started out over something dumb and then escalated to the point where we would rough each other up a bit. But now, he doesn’t even seem like his words are motivated by anger. It’s something else—almost like a hatred.
“I don’t know if I was going to tell anyone,” I say.
“That’s great,” Adam says and then slams the door in my face. I stand there for a minute, staring at the door and trying to calm down. Then I pick up my stuff and head back out to my car. When I get there, Courtney and her bags are gone.
courtney the trip
Day Two, 5:19 p.m.
I can do this. I can pretend I like Lloyd. I’ve been in school plays before. Well, not since junior high, and even then it was just a bit part that was akin to being in the chorus. I didn’t have any actual lines or anything. But still. I had to act through my facial expressions.
I’ve been standing outside Lloyd’s dorm for about ten minutes, my pink duffle bag slung over my shoulder and my cell phone in my hand. I want to call him, really I do, but for some reason, I can’t. Technically, I can’t get into the building unless he comes down to get me, since they have some sort of swipe card system to get in
the dorms. I guess it’s for security reasons, although there have already been two helpful students who have offered to swipe me in. So much for secure dorms.
“Courtney?” I turn around and there’s Lloyd, standing behind me.
“Oh!” I say. “Hi! I was just about to call you.” I hold up my cell phone, to prove my point. It’s not like I’m lying. I really was about to call him. Or at least, I was about to try to call him. And effort should count for something.
“I came down, just in case you couldn’t find the dorm.” He wraps his arms around me and I lean into his body. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he murmurs into my hair. I bury my face into his neck and try to make myself feel something, anything for him. I wrack my brain for all the things I loved about him while I lusted after him for the past six years. His arms, which I always thought were really buff, now just feel…I don’t know, hard. Okay, not the arms, not the arms. Hmm. I used to spend a lot of time thinking about kissing him. But now that I’ve actually kissed him, I can’t really think about what it would be like anymore, because I’ve already done that. And it wasn’t bad exactly, but it wasn’t great either. Nothing like kissing Jordan.
“I’m glad I’m here, too,” I say, sort of meaning it. I don’t know what’s going to happen with Lloyd and I, but being out of that car can only be a good thing.
“Let’s get your stuff inside,” Lloyd says. He takes my pink duffle bag, and I follow him into the dorm.
Two hours later, I feel like I might want to kill myself. It all started when I got a glimpse of Lloyd’s closet. For some weird reason, Lloyd must have decided that when he unpacked all his stuff, it would be a good idea to start with his clothes. Actually, not all his clothes, but just his polo shirts. So now his room is pretty bare, but his closet, which is open, has all these polo shirts hanging in it. For some reason, this seems weird to me. I keep thinking about this one time when Jordan called Lloyd “Polo Boy” by accident in front of me.