Two-Way Street

  I was on the phone with Jordan, and I clicked over to the other line, and when I came back, Jordan was like, “Was that Polo Boy?”

  And I was all, “Who?”

  And Jordan was like, “Nothing.”

  Apparently he and B. J. call Lloyd “Polo Boy” and he accidentally let it slip. He thought I’d be pissed, but I wasn’t. At the time, I actually found it really, really funny. But now, looking at all the shirts hanging up in Lloyd’s closet, something about it is kind of…disturbing. Does he not like any other shirts? Does he even have any other shirts? I think I saw him in a T-shirt once. When we were in the same gym class.

  “So I see you unpacked all your clothes,” I say, running my hands down the line of shirts in the closet.

  “Yup,” he says. He’s sitting on the bed, and I know I’m supposed to probably go sit down next to him, but I’m afraid if I do, he might start trying to kiss me or something, and I really, really don’t want that to happen. I’m hoping that maybe if I hang out with him a little longer, I’ll start feeling more comfortable. This is, after all, the very first time we’ve hung out since we hooked up. And hooking up with him couldn’t have been that bad. I mean, it went on for a while. We were making out for at least an hour or two, and I can’t see myself doing that if it was really, really bad.

  “Cool,” I say. For some reason, I can’t stop looking at his shirts. Or touching them. I’m, like, stroking his shirts right now. Over and over, like some sort of shirt pervert.

  “Come sit down,” Lloyd says, patting the spot on the bed next to him.

  “Okay,” I say uncertainly. I sit down next to him.

  “So what do you want to do tonight?’ He takes my hand in his, and interlaces his fingers with mine. I don’t know what to do. I have no plan. I figured Jordan would be hanging out with us, at least for a little while, and that I would have to pretend to be interested in Lloyd when I really wasn’t. But now, I realize that was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever thought in my life. Jordan and Lloyd don’t like each other. Why would we all hang out?

  “Uh, I don’t know,” I say, looking around the room. I realize I’m supposed to sleep here tonight, and suddenly, I feel like I’m going to throw up.

  “Maybe just hang out here,” Lloyd says. His index finger is now making circles on the back of my hand. I try to slide out of his grip without him noticing, but I think he thinks I’m stroking his hand, because he grabs it. Hard. Normally, I like a guy who knows what he’s doing, but this feels, um, kind of weird.

  “Or maybe we could go somewhere,” I say. “Like to a movie.” Actually, wait, bad idea. Visions of dark movie theaters and Lloyd rubbing my hand definitely does not make me feel comfortable.

  “A movie sounds good,” he says. His mouth is against my neck now, and I can feel his breath while he’s talking. Which you think would feel good, but for some reason, I’m now thinking of Lloyd as being Polo Boy, defined only by his polo shirts, and therefore, his breath has now become polo breath. I am definitely about to have another breakdown.

  “Or!” I say. “You could show me the campus.” A walking tour sounds good. A walking tour sounds very safe, something high school kids do with their parents. Something that we’d have to be standing up to do. Although I suppose people do kiss and make out (and have sex?) standing up. But it would be in public. So it would be limited.

  “You really want to see the campus right now?” Lloyd asks. He turns my head toward his and kisses me. He’s kissing me. Right now, his tongue is in my mouth. I’m kissing him back. It doesn’t feel horrible, but it doesn’t feel right either. It’s like we have no kissing chemistry or something.

  “Lloyd,” I say, breaking away. “I think we should go somewhere, I mean, we have the whole night to…” I’m trying to figure out a way to say “hook up” without actually saying “hook up” when I suddenly realize that I don’t have to hook up with him. Jordan is gone. I don’t have to pretend to want to hook up with Lloyd.

  “I’m sorry,” Lloyd says, talking into my neck. “I don’t want you to think I just want to mess around.”

  “Oh, that’s okay,” I say. In a way, it actually might be better if he does just want to hook up. Because then, when I tell him it can’t happen, he won’t be that upset. It won’t be like there are feelings involved or anything. He’ll just be like, “Oh, okay, I’ll just find some other girl to hook up with. La, la, la.” And then we can go back to being friends. Friends that have kissed. And made out a little. And then visited each other at college, where someone decided they didn’t want to hook up anymore. Hmmm.

  “Because I really do like you, Courtney,” he says. “I never told you this, but when you were with Jordan, it made me realize that I’ve had feelings for you all this time.”

  “Oh.” Great. I look at Lloyd, and suddenly, I feel like a horrible person. What am I doing? Messing with my best friend’s head so that I can make some guy who made up a fake girlfriend jealous? That’s completely and totally insane. It’s like I don’t even realize who I am anymore.

  “Lloyd, listen,” I say. “I can’t stay here.”

  “What do you mean?” he asks, looking confused. He takes my hand again.

  “I just can’t stay here,” I repeat. I feel like I’m suffocating. I’m thinking about Jordan making up the MySpace girl, and being here with Lloyd, and I just can’t take it. I need to get out of there. Immediately.

  “What are you talking about?” he says.

  “This,” I say, gesturing. “I just…I can’t. I’ll call you later.” I pick up my bag, sling it over my shoulder. I need to get outside. Fast.

  Lloyd calls after me, but I ignore it, and once I get outside, I feel much better. I take a deep breath. That was the right thing to do. I couldn’t stay there, especially after he told me that he liked me. That would have been cruel. And horrible. But now I realize I have no plan. I don’t know where to go, where to stay, or what to do. I head back to Jordan’s car, figuring at least that’s sort of a central location. And maybe he’ll be hanging out there for some reason, and I’ll just be able to weasel my way into spending the night in his brother’s room.

  But when I get to where Jordan’s car was parked, he’s not there. And his car is gone.

  the trip jordan

  Day Two, 6:43 p.m.

  I’m sitting in a motel down the street from Middleton contemplating my life when my cell phone rings. It’s B. J., and I want to ignore it, but from what I could tell, he was at some party and he might need help. Not that there’s anything much I can do from North Carolina, but still. He could have alcohol poisoning or something. Plus, if he’s not in any kind of trouble, I’m going to bitch him out for telling Jocelyn I told him she was the one following him. How is it that I am away from home, and yet I still have all this drama? I’ve spent the past half an hour on the computer in the lobby, on Courtney’s MySpace page, reading the comment Lloyd left her, and then scrolling back through ALL her comments, trying to find some clue of exactly what happened. Did they have sex? I checked his page, too, but she hasn’t left any comments for him since they hooked up. Although ominously enough, he’s changed his “relationship status” from “single” to “in a relationship,” which is slightly suspect. The information age is so psychotic—without the cell phone and Internet, I would be drama free right now.

  “Yeah,” I say into the phone, hoping my tone conveys the idea that I’m pissed, but will still help him if he’s dying.

  “’Sup, kid?” B. J. asks. He doesn’t sound like he’s alcohol poisoned. I kick my shoes off and sit down on the hotel room bed. I hate hotel rooms. There’s something unreal about them, and temporary, like you’re on borrowed time or something.

  “Nothing,” I say, making sure to keep it short.

  “Listen,” B. J. says. “I’m drunk.”

  “Okay.” He’s talking, which means he can’t be too drunk. So he’s probably calling to apologize. I’m upset that he didn’t call until he was shit-faced, but I gu
ess a drunken apology is better than no apology at all.

  “I have to tell you something,” B. J. says, sounding nervous. I consider telling him I already know, but then decide it’s more fun to make him squirm for a while.

  “Oh, yeah? What’s that?” I pick up the remote and turn on the TV. That’s another thing about hotel rooms. You have to pay ten dollars to order movies. Movies should come with your hotel room. It should be a perk, like the pool.

  “First, let me just say that I’m really, really sorry,” B. J. says.

  “Mm-hmm,” I say. I flip through the channels, wondering if the Devil Rays game will be on TV in North Carolina. I turn to ESPN, but for some reason, they’re showing the Cardinals game, which makes no sense, since the Cardinals play in St. Louis, and Tampa is much closer to North Carolina than St. Louis is. I wait for the little bar at the bottom of the screen to show the game update.

  “And I want you to know that I wasn’t thinking when I did it. It’s just that Jocelyn really had me by the balls.”

  “Okay,” I say, sighing. Tampa’s losing 4–0 to the Yankees. Fucking Yankees. I’m actually glad that the game isn’t being shown now, because if I was watching it, I’d get pissed.

  “So,” B. J. says. “Uh, the thing is, that I kind of told Jocelyn about the MySpace girl.” Pause. “But don’t worry, she’s not going to tell anyone,” he adds quickly.

  “You told her what about the MySpace girl?” I ask, sighing. This MySpace girl is really starting to become a pain in my ass. It’s impossible to remember what I’ve told people about her. It wasn’t as simple as just telling Courtney I had a new girlfriend. I had to tell other people as well, to get the word out. In fact, the only one who knows the truth about the whole thing is B. J. I didn’t plan the MySpace girl well enough—I should have written down all her vital stats, so that I could keep track of who I told what to. I wonder if I should stage a MySpace breakup.

  “I told Jocelyn about her,” B. J. repeats.

  “Yes, B. J.,” I say, forcing myself to keep my patience because I know he’s drunk. “But what did you tell Jocelyn about the MySpace girl?” Fifty bucks says whatever he told Jocelyn, Courtney already knows. Those two tell each other everything.

  “I told her the truth about her. About how you made her up.” I’m sure I’ve misheard him.

  “I’m sure I’ve misheard you,” I say, muting the television. B. J. is not that stupid. He wouldn’t do something so ridiculously stupid. Would he? I think about all the stupid things B. J. has done in the past, and suddenly, I feel sick.

  “Now, don’t start freaking out,” B. J. says, sounding nervous again, because I’m sure I sound like I’m about to flip the fuck out. “Jocelyn said she wasn’t going to tell Courtney.”

  “And you believed her?” I ask incredulously. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?” I add, borrowing a line from my brother. “They tell each other everything! Every single thing! Courtney probably knows how big your dick is!”

  B. J. gasps. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m yelling or because Courtney might know how big his dick is. Probably a little bit of both.

  “I can’t believe you told her!” Suddenly, I’m irate. This uncontrollable anger is coming over me, and I think it’s everything—the whole situation with my parents, my brother kicking me out of his dorm, being in this fucking hotel room when the Devil Rays are losing to the Yankees, the whole situation with Courtney and the MySpace girl…I’m pissed off. More pissed than I’ve ever been in my life. And at that moment, Courtney’s dad decides to beep in on my call waiting.

  “What!” I say when I get to the other line. I don’t even bother telling B. J. to hold on. Either he’ll figure it out or think I hung up on him. Either way is fine with me.

  “Hey,” Frank says. He always acts like we’re the best of friends, which could quite possibly be the most annoying thing about him.

  “What do you want?”

  “I just wanted to check in, see how the trip is going,” he says. “I tried Courtney’s cell phone, but she’s not answering it.”

  “It’s over,” I say, not realizing I mean it until the words are out of my mouth.

  “What is?” he asks, sounding confused.

  “I’m telling her the truth.” And with that, I hang up on both B. J. and Courtney’s dad, shut my cell phone off, and head out of the motel to find Courtney.

  courtney the trip

  Day Two, 7:19 p.m.

  I don’t know what else to do, so I head over to Jordan’s brother Adam’s dorm. Maybe I could tell them Lloyd and I are fighting? Or that he proposed to me, and when I said I wasn’t ready to get married, he kicked me out of the room. Hmm. It’s going to be challenging, trying to come up with an explanation that makes sense as to why I have nowhere to sleep tonight.

  Adam’s building has the same swipe card system as Lloyd’s did, but for some reason, there are no people coming in and out. Maybe Lloyd’s building is like, the party building, where people are just coming and going all the time. And Adam’s building is the studious building, and all the kids are in their rooms studying.

  A girl in a pink tank top and tons of eyeliner walks up the steps, and I try to follow her into the building, but she turns around and gives me a death glare. I am a master at the death glare (I perfected it even more just for this trip), but this girl is really, really good.

  “You can’t come in without your card,” she says.

  “I forgot my card,” I say.

  “You forgot it?” She tosses her hair over her shoulder.

  “Yeah,” I say. “I forgot it in my room.”

  “Not my problem,” she says and starts shutting the door. “Go to the student center and get a temporary.” And then she shuts the door in my face. God, I hope she’s not leading the prospective student tours around this place. Who would want to go to school here? So far, I know three people here. Lloyd, Adam, and Pink Shirt. Lloyd is currently pissed off at me because I won’t hook up with him, Pink Shirt was just a bitch to me, and one time, Jordan’s brother told him he should break up with me because I had no tits. This place is so great.

  I pull out my cell phone, which for some reason is on silent. Oh. From when I made that big show about putting it on silent when Jordan dropped me off here. So that Lloyd and I could hook up. I take a deep breath and contemplate what I’m going to say. Something to make it look like I ditched Lloyd? But then I realize that this whole time, this whole game I’ve been playing about the Lloyd thing is kind of pointless. Because I was hoping to make Jordan jealous by using Lloyd to make him come to his senses—i.e., realize MySpace Mercedes was a total slut, while I, on the other hand, was so obviously desired and cool that I was moving on at the speed of light. But now that I know the MySpace girl is made up, it kind of ruins it. He just doesn’t like me. Or love me. So it doesn’t matter if I have a boyfriend or not, because he doesn’t care.

  I feel like I’m going to cry, so instead of calling Jordan, I follow the signs to the student union and order a pink lemonade, which I drink while sitting on a bench outside and trying to figure out how long I have until it gets really dark and I’m forced to do something. My cell phone rings. It’s my dad.

  “Hey,” I say, trying to sound like everything’s fine. Must not sound like I am stuck with no place to spend the night after getting attacked in Lloyd’s dorm room. Okay, not really attacked. More like accosted. But still. I can’t let my dad know I have nowhere to sleep.

  “Hey, honey,” he says, and something in his voice makes me nervous.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “Listen, Courtney,” he says. “I have something that I need to tell you.”

  before jordan

  17 Days Before the Trip, 6:23 p.m.

  “I’m breaking up with her tonight,” I tell B. J. We’re on the phone, and I’m waiting for Courtney to come over to my house. “I can’t keep doing this. It’s ridiculous.”

  “Okay,” B. J. says uncertainly. “But I don??
?t understand why you can’t just tell her.”

  “I could just tell her,” I say. “But the thing is, B. J., what if she’s never supposed to find out? What if this thing with her dad and my mom runs its course, and what she doesn’t know isn’t going to hurt her unless I tell her?”

  “Well,” B. J. says, “if she’s never going to find out, then why would you break up with her? It’s not going to hurt anyone. Especially if she’s going to start giving it up. Don’t give up a piece of ass just to spite your face.” He sounds smug.

  “I’m not even going to address that,” I say, leaning back in my chair and running my fingers through my hair. “This is going to be bad.”

  “Damn straight,” B. J. says. “I hope she doesn’t go psycho.”

  “Thanks,” I say sarcastically. “You’re such a good friend.”

  “Hey, I’m here for you, bro,” he says. “But I think you’re making a mistake.”

  “She loves me,” I say. “And I can’t be with someone who loves me when I’m lying to her. I’d rather have her hate me for thinking I’m a typical male asshole than by keeping something so important from her.”

  “Does she know it’s going to happen?” B. J. asks.

  “I told her we needed to talk tonight,” I say, swallowing around the lump in my throat. “So I think so.”

  “You’re a better man than I am, dude,” B. J. says. “And may the force be with you.” He clicks off, and I stare at my phone incredulously, partly because the fact that my conversation with B. J. is over means I’m going to have to deal with this whole Courtney thing, and partly because my best friend is quoting Star Wars when I’m in the middle of the biggest romantic crisis of my life.

  Five minutes later, Courtney knocks on the door to my room. “Come in,” I say, putting up an away message on my instant messenger that simply says “Away.”

  “Hey,” she says. She’s wearing a pair of red-and-white-checked shorts and a strappy red tank top. I can see the straps of her bra peeking through, and her hair is up in one of those sloppy ponytail/bun things girls always wear. She looks sexy.