Love and Other Things I'm Bad At, page 10
“Oh, um . . .” I had to think. “About a year, I guess. No, wait. Ten months.”
He seemed sort of surprised that I didn’t know, exactly. Then he bolted into the men’s room and that was the end of it. Very weird guy. Can’t talk about much except “college’s best interests.”
Later on, Bellarina finally went to sleep in the hotel suite, so Dad and I ordered in calzones (mine without cheese), which is what we always do together, and sat around talking. Somehow, God help me, we got on the topic of “my relationship.”
“Courtney, you’ll find out a lot about Grant in the year you’re apart.”
“Years, Dad,” I said. “It’s going to be four years.”
“Oh.” He rubbed the side of his nose. “Well. That’s a long time. Who knows what will happen.” He made it sound incredibly tragic, like we were doomed. And maybe we are. And if we are, it’s all my fault. I could have stayed home. Why was it so important for me to go 1,000 miles away? Just because Alison did it, in the opposite direction, and I must always copy her? Because I didn’t want to live at home and knew Mom would make me? Because I was afraid I’d be stuck in same rut, with same job, same friends, forever?
Nothing wrong with ruts. Wagons would never have crossed plains without them.
Then again, if wagons hadn’t crossed the plains, buffalo would still be around in the thousands and millions, not fighting for existence.
But then I might not exist.
Going to sleep now. Must stop this wagon train of thought immediately.
10/8
Finally got up the nerve to tell Dad over our good-bye brunch that I needed some extra spending money because my credit card limit wasn’t very high and I might be getting sort of near it. I said it while Bellarina was screaming and banging her spoon and throwing food, so that I’d seem like the good child, the easy child. We visited a Tyme machine before they left for the airport. I came home with $200 and scrambled eggs in my hair.
Very exciting news in cafeteria tonight. The student association is chartering a bus to take anyone who wants to cough up $20 to Madison next weekend—we’ll leave Saturday morning, come back Sunday at noon. Hurray! I’m going to see Jane! When I called to tell her, she was totally excited.
Grant called tonight. It was really fun because I kept making him laugh even though he doesn’t really know Dad (except for hanging out at graduation party) or Thyme and her snooty parents or anyone in the Ozone End Zone group. At the end of our talk he said, “I’m really proud of you, Courtney. It sounds like things are going really well.” Afterward I realized he hadn’t said much about his weekend. Was it good? Bad? Indifferent? What did he do? I don’t remember. Did he say? Did I monopolize the entire conversation? Maybe I should call back. But I have too much homework left to do before tomorrow.
10/9
Can’t believe what happened at work today. First, a group of men from some office all came in at the same time to order meat rolls, kept asking me what my favorite menu item was, kept making “knock knock” jokes, asked me if I thought the Brat Blankets were as good as the bacon bit Bacles.
“Sure,” I said. “They’re . . . wonderful.” If you like food involving casing, that makes you think of meat grinders, and slaughterhouses.
Oh God. Just realized something. Grandpa would be so happy if he knew I was in charge of the Best Wurst Bagels Ever team. All those years of lecturing me and showing me barbecue techniques for keeping burgers pink and juicy while at the same time killing E. coli. . . . Meanwhile I was trying not to spew on the lawn figurines. It was all actually paying off. Disgustingly.
Anyway, finally got the annoying guys through the line when Dean Sobransky came in. Either he’d just heard about our exciting new menu (and it’s true, the line has gone out the door for these Brat Blankets) or he was continuing his plan to spy on me and watch my every move and turn me in to campus authorities before I succeed in changing the school name.
I guess Dean S. didn’t know I worked there and was very surprised to see me. So he ordered a few items and started stammering something about how my BF job must help me “make ends meet,” with “your little one at home to consider.”
“What? You have a baby?” Mark/Marc/Marque asked. “How adorable.”
“You never mentioned that. I thought you lived in the dorm,” Ben said. Looking totally shocked and defrauded.
My face burning. Me trying to pretend it was because I was standing too close to steam table. “I do live in the dorm,” I said. “And I don’t have a baby.”
“But I saw you on Saturday. And you know, it’s appropriate for students to be parents as well as children. And—oh, she’s the spitting image of Courtney,” Dean S. went on.
“That’s because she’s my dad’s stepdaughter’s—wait a second, we’re not even related by blood. She doesn’t look anything like me!”
“Courtney, what’s this I hear? You’re a single mom?” Jennifer asked as she rushed over to horn in on the conversation from hell. “You never mentioned that! You need family health insurance coverage, you need company-credit day care, you need some of our bagel teething rings—”
“No! My stepsister. She has a baby,” I explained. “My dad brought her—the baby—for Parents Weekend, because my stepsister was home sick, and that’s who you saw me holding.”
Jennifer and Ben and Marque all stared at me, like they were trying to figure out if I was telling the truth or not.
“Guys! If I had a baby, don’t you think I would have mentioned her by now?” I asked.
“Um. Well. No,” Dean S. murmured.
“See, people here don’t really, um, talk about stuff like that,” Jennifer said. “Which is okay!”
People here are so weird.
10/10
Can I leave for Madison tonight? I am so embarrassed! There was an article about me in the school paper today, about the CFC protest last week (yes, the paper’s notoriously slow about getting the word out) (or maybe Dean S. made them “hold the story” until now?). There was even a little picture of me, leading the chant. Why couldn’t they use my school ID photo when I had hair, when I was vaguely attractive? Then again, real politicians don’t think about these things. I should really be more serious about this.
“Next time you’re getting your picture in the paper, you should really let me give you a makeover,” said Julie, a girl on the hall, when I saw her in the cafeteria. “I used to work at a cosmetics counter.”
“Oh?” My voice wavered as I realized she was really insulting me.
“I’m only saying that because I want you to win. I once set my sister’s hair on fire by using hairspray in an aerosol can while I was smoking,” she said. “Those cans are so dangerous, they definitely should be banned.”
1. We clearly need to better explain what our cause is.
2. I won’t ever let her give me a makeover.
LATER . . .
Just got back from taking a shower. When I went in, Tricia was standing at sink, brushing her teeth with battery-powered toothbrush. I said hi, trying to be civil. Which was useless. She gave me the cold shoulder, like I’m all of a sudden a terrible, horrible person, because I want to get rid of CFC sweatshirts. Oh yes. I really should do some jail time for that.
Then I had turned off the shower but I was still standing in the shower stall, drying off, when I heard Gretchen and Peña come in and discuss how the school was even more political than they’d hoped, how they admired me for taking a stand, and how everyone needs to get involved at a grassroots level. (Does that include a grass football-field level?)
Then I was walking down the hall when I heard Tricia telling Brittany and Kirsten how “It’s like, I don’t know how it’s like where she’s, like, from? But Courtney has no like morals?”
Never knew I could cause so much controversy.
10/11
Dean S. made his usual visit to our hallowed cubicles this afternoon. He was wearing giant snow boots and kept stopping to ask everyone if they’d taken precautions for the coming freak winter storm. Seemed in a holly-jolly mood to me. Or he was, until he saw me.
“Courtney, I forgot you worked on Wednesdays,” he said, his face getting that purplish look again.
Does he have a crush on me or something? No, impossible. But that’s how he acts sometimes. Too uncomfortable to be alive.
So he mentioned the CF Courier article about me and asked did I really mean what I said?
“Um, what did I say?” I asked. Because I barely remembered the reporter interviewing me. In fact I don’t think she did. She’s a member of the group and just sort of roughly quoted us.
“That no school today should be allowed to have the initials of a banned substance,” Dean S. said. “Do you really believe that?”
“Well,” I said, racking my brain. “You don’t see schools with the initials DDT. Or TCE. Or even PCP.”
“I think you mean PCB,” Dean S. said.
“Right. Whatever,” I said.
“No, but—but—” Dean S. sputtered as he tossed his leather gloves up to the ceiling and caught them. “We’re talking about a reputation. We’re talking about a hundred and thirty-seven years of history,” he said.
“And we’re talking about destroying the ozone layer and promoting things that contribute to that,” I said.
Then it got ugly.
Dean S. shoved his gloves into his pocket and came closer to me. “Weren’t you interested in transferring at one point?” he asked. “Because I’m not sure you’re going to be happy here, Courtney. And I could get you accepted at another college with a good reputation. I could find you a financial offer.”
It was like getting threatened by the Mafia! “You mean, an offer I couldn’t refuse?” I asked. I couldn’t believe it. Dean S. wanted to get rid of me. I didn’t know whether to be scared, or just damn impressed with myself. I was an instigator!
Then Wittenauer wheeled over in his chair. “You know, Dean Sobransky, you’ve always been so supportive of an open discussion of the issues. I’m really surprised to hear you talk that way. What’s going on?” School mascot was completely coming to my rescue.
Dean S. cleared his throat. “Well, Walter, it’s like this.”
I nearly fell out of my cubicle. Walter Wittenauer? And I thought I had it bad with my V.D. initials? My life was cake. No wonder he was hiding under a mascot costume!
Dean S. and WW got into an in-depth discussion of issues facing Cornwall Falls, universities in general, the world. I joined in whenever it seemed appropriate. Ended with one of those famous statements that never made any sense to me, that we’d all “agree to disagree.”
Still, have to look over my shoulder, make sure Dean S. isn’t trying to boot me out of school.
10/12
I don’t believe this. When I got back from class this morning, hiking through snowdrifts, Mary Jo, earliest riser of them all, was still in bed. She was crying. I asked her what was wrong. She said Joe broke up with her. That idiot! Joe, I mean. Like he can do better than Mary Jo! He should be grateful she spent even one day with him, let alone a month or so. And the worst part of all is the stuff he said to her when he did it. He told her that he wasn’t attracted to her anymore, because she was sort of overweight. What?! She is not! And maybe he could have thought of that before ordering extra cheese and meat on every pizza they ever ordered. I’m so furious! I want to kill him. But I don’t believe in killing, or at least I thought I didn’t—until now. She’s not overweight, and even if she were, she’s a great person, if you like that kind of person, so who cares?
“I’m going to call Ed and your other brothers right now. They can come down tonight and kick Joe’s butt.” I grabbed the telephone. I also made Mary Jo look outside at the pretty snow and drink hot chocolate I made for her. “What’s your home number?”
“What? Don’t call them!” Mary Jo said.
“But you have to. Just imagine them showing up at his dorm room.” I stared at her family portrait, all the tall, beef-raised guys perched on a giant tractor. “They’d stand in the doorway and he’d probably faint. It would be so perfect.”
“But they wouldn’t come just to do that,” Mary Jo said.
“Sure they would!” I told her. “Big brothers are way into sticking up for their little sisters. Not that I know, but I’ve seen my little brother stand up for me. Anyway, all they’d have to do is carry something dangerous. Like a farm knife or something.”
“A farm knife? What’s that?” Mary Jo laughed.
“That’s not important. The key thing is to make him as miserable as he’s making you,” I said.
Mary Jo just sat there looking at me like a scared bunny rabbit. That’s when I realized that she didn’t have a sister or a best friend like Beth, and didn’t understand how these things were done. You get furious together, you plot revenge, you talk about things you’re never ever going to actually say or do.
“He’s right, you know,” she said, sounding pathetic. “I should probably go on a diet.”
“What? But you’re not overweight!” I said.
“I am,” Mary Jo said. “Look, I’ve got farmer’s flab.” She pinched her waist. There was like one millionth of an inch of extra skin.
“Mary Jo. You’re being ridiculous,” I said. “He was trying to think of some dumb reason he could use to break up with you. That’s what they always do.”
“They do? How many guys have you gone out with?”
I was giving her the impression that I was quite the skank, I guess. I explained that I wasn’t a skank, but that I’d gone through one bad breakup and had seen a bunch more.
Mary Jo looked at me blankly. “Skank? Is that like the past tense of skunk?” she asked, and we both cracked up laughing.
But then Mary Jo started crying again about 2 minutes later and I really needed to think of some way to cheer her up. Field trip to Farm Supply? Buy her a new mane comb? Kill Joe for her?
Grant called tonight and after I talked to him for a while, he talked to Mary Jo for a couple of minutes. She told me what he said—he was being super-nice to Mary Jo on account of her heartache and the fact she’s so blue. (She has been playing sad CDs all day, and I’m starting to talk like Martina McBride.)
He really can be so sweet. He can talk to anyone. While they were talking, I remembered when he helped me after Dave dumped me last year, how he listened to me babble about hating all guys and how they were all scum. And he didn’t even take it personally.
10/13
7:00 P.M. Mom just called. Extremely frantic. Her book club is meeting at the house, and Oscar ran away when the house got too full of strangers. (He has set limits. 7 is fine; 8 is terrifying.) She hasn’t found him yet, and Bryan isn’t home because he’s out with Beth, they’re studying together.
I got so jealous of Beth and how she still gets to be with her boyfriend, even if it is my brother. I wonder how it would be if Grant and I got to study together. We probably wouldn’t get enough done. So okay, we’d just hang together for an hour or so, like a sort of pre-study or post-study thing, and—
“Courtney!” Mom said. “Are you listening to me? What am I going to do about Oscar?”
“He’ll come back,” I predicted. “He’s probably hiding under the bushes in Mr. Novotny’s yard. Go check.”
Mom walked outside with the phone and called him. Nothing. “Oh, I wish Grant were still around,” she said. “I could really use him right now.”
“Mom,” I said. “Don’t even tell me about needing Grant, okay?”
Well, at least I made her laugh.
I’ve got to leave for the movies now.
LATER . . .
Mom just called back. She found Oscar. Actually she and this guy Richard from her book club, the one who’s in love with her, only Mom doesn’t care, found him. Richard is this really, really nice guy who won’t pick a book when it’s his turn unless Mom also likes the book. And he insists on bringing food to the house whenever it’s Mom’s turn to host. Richard = total devotion. Mom = total insanity. The guy is good-looking, about 50, and as far as I can tell is bucks-up. What is the deal with that? Mom would rather get involved in a torrid chat-room affair. I sent her a clipping about a murder where a wife hooked up with a guy on the Internet; husband followed wife to the motel where they were meeting, shot everyone including himself. All Mom said was that it didn’t apply to her because she wasn’t married anymore.
Meanwhile, I went to this French film, part of on-campus foreign film series. Dreadful, depressing, subtitles. Felt intelligent. Felt really bored, also. Afterward Thyme insisted on discussing it. I had to pretend I’d actually watched the whole thing instead of sitting there daydreaming about going to movies this past summer with Grant, and daydreaming about leaving town tomorrow for Madison. Can’t wait to see Jane. Can’t wait to be around other people.
10/14
“Courtney, you’ve lost weight! You’re so skinny!”
That was the first thing Jane said when I got out of the van at the UW Student Union, staggering a little because I’d been scrunched up in the back.
“Look—you’re not even strong enough to walk!” Jane said.
“I am, too,” I said as I gave her a big hug. Then I explained what happened: the bus didn’t show up like it was supposed to. We had 2 cargo vans, and that was it. People were literally fighting for seats, until they decided to have a lottery. I don’t think I’ve ever prayed so hard for anything in my life, except maybe that they wouldn’t serve chicken at my graduation party. So they’d given away almost all the seats except for this one in the way, way back—and that was mine. Practically under the luggage.
Jane said the first thing we had to do—after lunch—was go find some clothes in my actual size at the thrift shop. I guess I hadn’t noticed, but now that I’m back in civilized society, and Jane has a full-length mirror, I guess I am looking sort of like a 14-year-old boy with my baggy look and short hair. “You’re like a stick. Haven’t you been eating?” Jane asked.
He seemed sort of surprised that I didn’t know, exactly. Then he bolted into the men’s room and that was the end of it. Very weird guy. Can’t talk about much except “college’s best interests.”
Later on, Bellarina finally went to sleep in the hotel suite, so Dad and I ordered in calzones (mine without cheese), which is what we always do together, and sat around talking. Somehow, God help me, we got on the topic of “my relationship.”
“Courtney, you’ll find out a lot about Grant in the year you’re apart.”
“Years, Dad,” I said. “It’s going to be four years.”
“Oh.” He rubbed the side of his nose. “Well. That’s a long time. Who knows what will happen.” He made it sound incredibly tragic, like we were doomed. And maybe we are. And if we are, it’s all my fault. I could have stayed home. Why was it so important for me to go 1,000 miles away? Just because Alison did it, in the opposite direction, and I must always copy her? Because I didn’t want to live at home and knew Mom would make me? Because I was afraid I’d be stuck in same rut, with same job, same friends, forever?
Nothing wrong with ruts. Wagons would never have crossed plains without them.
Then again, if wagons hadn’t crossed the plains, buffalo would still be around in the thousands and millions, not fighting for existence.
But then I might not exist.
Going to sleep now. Must stop this wagon train of thought immediately.
10/8
Finally got up the nerve to tell Dad over our good-bye brunch that I needed some extra spending money because my credit card limit wasn’t very high and I might be getting sort of near it. I said it while Bellarina was screaming and banging her spoon and throwing food, so that I’d seem like the good child, the easy child. We visited a Tyme machine before they left for the airport. I came home with $200 and scrambled eggs in my hair.
Very exciting news in cafeteria tonight. The student association is chartering a bus to take anyone who wants to cough up $20 to Madison next weekend—we’ll leave Saturday morning, come back Sunday at noon. Hurray! I’m going to see Jane! When I called to tell her, she was totally excited.
Grant called tonight. It was really fun because I kept making him laugh even though he doesn’t really know Dad (except for hanging out at graduation party) or Thyme and her snooty parents or anyone in the Ozone End Zone group. At the end of our talk he said, “I’m really proud of you, Courtney. It sounds like things are going really well.” Afterward I realized he hadn’t said much about his weekend. Was it good? Bad? Indifferent? What did he do? I don’t remember. Did he say? Did I monopolize the entire conversation? Maybe I should call back. But I have too much homework left to do before tomorrow.
10/9
Can’t believe what happened at work today. First, a group of men from some office all came in at the same time to order meat rolls, kept asking me what my favorite menu item was, kept making “knock knock” jokes, asked me if I thought the Brat Blankets were as good as the bacon bit Bacles.
“Sure,” I said. “They’re . . . wonderful.” If you like food involving casing, that makes you think of meat grinders, and slaughterhouses.
Oh God. Just realized something. Grandpa would be so happy if he knew I was in charge of the Best Wurst Bagels Ever team. All those years of lecturing me and showing me barbecue techniques for keeping burgers pink and juicy while at the same time killing E. coli. . . . Meanwhile I was trying not to spew on the lawn figurines. It was all actually paying off. Disgustingly.
Anyway, finally got the annoying guys through the line when Dean Sobransky came in. Either he’d just heard about our exciting new menu (and it’s true, the line has gone out the door for these Brat Blankets) or he was continuing his plan to spy on me and watch my every move and turn me in to campus authorities before I succeed in changing the school name.
I guess Dean S. didn’t know I worked there and was very surprised to see me. So he ordered a few items and started stammering something about how my BF job must help me “make ends meet,” with “your little one at home to consider.”
“What? You have a baby?” Mark/Marc/Marque asked. “How adorable.”
“You never mentioned that. I thought you lived in the dorm,” Ben said. Looking totally shocked and defrauded.
My face burning. Me trying to pretend it was because I was standing too close to steam table. “I do live in the dorm,” I said. “And I don’t have a baby.”
“But I saw you on Saturday. And you know, it’s appropriate for students to be parents as well as children. And—oh, she’s the spitting image of Courtney,” Dean S. went on.
“That’s because she’s my dad’s stepdaughter’s—wait a second, we’re not even related by blood. She doesn’t look anything like me!”
“Courtney, what’s this I hear? You’re a single mom?” Jennifer asked as she rushed over to horn in on the conversation from hell. “You never mentioned that! You need family health insurance coverage, you need company-credit day care, you need some of our bagel teething rings—”
“No! My stepsister. She has a baby,” I explained. “My dad brought her—the baby—for Parents Weekend, because my stepsister was home sick, and that’s who you saw me holding.”
Jennifer and Ben and Marque all stared at me, like they were trying to figure out if I was telling the truth or not.
“Guys! If I had a baby, don’t you think I would have mentioned her by now?” I asked.
“Um. Well. No,” Dean S. murmured.
“See, people here don’t really, um, talk about stuff like that,” Jennifer said. “Which is okay!”
People here are so weird.
10/10
Can I leave for Madison tonight? I am so embarrassed! There was an article about me in the school paper today, about the CFC protest last week (yes, the paper’s notoriously slow about getting the word out) (or maybe Dean S. made them “hold the story” until now?). There was even a little picture of me, leading the chant. Why couldn’t they use my school ID photo when I had hair, when I was vaguely attractive? Then again, real politicians don’t think about these things. I should really be more serious about this.
“Next time you’re getting your picture in the paper, you should really let me give you a makeover,” said Julie, a girl on the hall, when I saw her in the cafeteria. “I used to work at a cosmetics counter.”
“Oh?” My voice wavered as I realized she was really insulting me.
“I’m only saying that because I want you to win. I once set my sister’s hair on fire by using hairspray in an aerosol can while I was smoking,” she said. “Those cans are so dangerous, they definitely should be banned.”
1. We clearly need to better explain what our cause is.
2. I won’t ever let her give me a makeover.
LATER . . .
Just got back from taking a shower. When I went in, Tricia was standing at sink, brushing her teeth with battery-powered toothbrush. I said hi, trying to be civil. Which was useless. She gave me the cold shoulder, like I’m all of a sudden a terrible, horrible person, because I want to get rid of CFC sweatshirts. Oh yes. I really should do some jail time for that.
Then I had turned off the shower but I was still standing in the shower stall, drying off, when I heard Gretchen and Peña come in and discuss how the school was even more political than they’d hoped, how they admired me for taking a stand, and how everyone needs to get involved at a grassroots level. (Does that include a grass football-field level?)
Then I was walking down the hall when I heard Tricia telling Brittany and Kirsten how “It’s like, I don’t know how it’s like where she’s, like, from? But Courtney has no like morals?”
Never knew I could cause so much controversy.
10/11
Dean S. made his usual visit to our hallowed cubicles this afternoon. He was wearing giant snow boots and kept stopping to ask everyone if they’d taken precautions for the coming freak winter storm. Seemed in a holly-jolly mood to me. Or he was, until he saw me.
“Courtney, I forgot you worked on Wednesdays,” he said, his face getting that purplish look again.
Does he have a crush on me or something? No, impossible. But that’s how he acts sometimes. Too uncomfortable to be alive.
So he mentioned the CF Courier article about me and asked did I really mean what I said?
“Um, what did I say?” I asked. Because I barely remembered the reporter interviewing me. In fact I don’t think she did. She’s a member of the group and just sort of roughly quoted us.
“That no school today should be allowed to have the initials of a banned substance,” Dean S. said. “Do you really believe that?”
“Well,” I said, racking my brain. “You don’t see schools with the initials DDT. Or TCE. Or even PCP.”
“I think you mean PCB,” Dean S. said.
“Right. Whatever,” I said.
“No, but—but—” Dean S. sputtered as he tossed his leather gloves up to the ceiling and caught them. “We’re talking about a reputation. We’re talking about a hundred and thirty-seven years of history,” he said.
“And we’re talking about destroying the ozone layer and promoting things that contribute to that,” I said.
Then it got ugly.
Dean S. shoved his gloves into his pocket and came closer to me. “Weren’t you interested in transferring at one point?” he asked. “Because I’m not sure you’re going to be happy here, Courtney. And I could get you accepted at another college with a good reputation. I could find you a financial offer.”
It was like getting threatened by the Mafia! “You mean, an offer I couldn’t refuse?” I asked. I couldn’t believe it. Dean S. wanted to get rid of me. I didn’t know whether to be scared, or just damn impressed with myself. I was an instigator!
Then Wittenauer wheeled over in his chair. “You know, Dean Sobransky, you’ve always been so supportive of an open discussion of the issues. I’m really surprised to hear you talk that way. What’s going on?” School mascot was completely coming to my rescue.
Dean S. cleared his throat. “Well, Walter, it’s like this.”
I nearly fell out of my cubicle. Walter Wittenauer? And I thought I had it bad with my V.D. initials? My life was cake. No wonder he was hiding under a mascot costume!
Dean S. and WW got into an in-depth discussion of issues facing Cornwall Falls, universities in general, the world. I joined in whenever it seemed appropriate. Ended with one of those famous statements that never made any sense to me, that we’d all “agree to disagree.”
Still, have to look over my shoulder, make sure Dean S. isn’t trying to boot me out of school.
10/12
I don’t believe this. When I got back from class this morning, hiking through snowdrifts, Mary Jo, earliest riser of them all, was still in bed. She was crying. I asked her what was wrong. She said Joe broke up with her. That idiot! Joe, I mean. Like he can do better than Mary Jo! He should be grateful she spent even one day with him, let alone a month or so. And the worst part of all is the stuff he said to her when he did it. He told her that he wasn’t attracted to her anymore, because she was sort of overweight. What?! She is not! And maybe he could have thought of that before ordering extra cheese and meat on every pizza they ever ordered. I’m so furious! I want to kill him. But I don’t believe in killing, or at least I thought I didn’t—until now. She’s not overweight, and even if she were, she’s a great person, if you like that kind of person, so who cares?
“I’m going to call Ed and your other brothers right now. They can come down tonight and kick Joe’s butt.” I grabbed the telephone. I also made Mary Jo look outside at the pretty snow and drink hot chocolate I made for her. “What’s your home number?”
“What? Don’t call them!” Mary Jo said.
“But you have to. Just imagine them showing up at his dorm room.” I stared at her family portrait, all the tall, beef-raised guys perched on a giant tractor. “They’d stand in the doorway and he’d probably faint. It would be so perfect.”
“But they wouldn’t come just to do that,” Mary Jo said.
“Sure they would!” I told her. “Big brothers are way into sticking up for their little sisters. Not that I know, but I’ve seen my little brother stand up for me. Anyway, all they’d have to do is carry something dangerous. Like a farm knife or something.”
“A farm knife? What’s that?” Mary Jo laughed.
“That’s not important. The key thing is to make him as miserable as he’s making you,” I said.
Mary Jo just sat there looking at me like a scared bunny rabbit. That’s when I realized that she didn’t have a sister or a best friend like Beth, and didn’t understand how these things were done. You get furious together, you plot revenge, you talk about things you’re never ever going to actually say or do.
“He’s right, you know,” she said, sounding pathetic. “I should probably go on a diet.”
“What? But you’re not overweight!” I said.
“I am,” Mary Jo said. “Look, I’ve got farmer’s flab.” She pinched her waist. There was like one millionth of an inch of extra skin.
“Mary Jo. You’re being ridiculous,” I said. “He was trying to think of some dumb reason he could use to break up with you. That’s what they always do.”
“They do? How many guys have you gone out with?”
I was giving her the impression that I was quite the skank, I guess. I explained that I wasn’t a skank, but that I’d gone through one bad breakup and had seen a bunch more.
Mary Jo looked at me blankly. “Skank? Is that like the past tense of skunk?” she asked, and we both cracked up laughing.
But then Mary Jo started crying again about 2 minutes later and I really needed to think of some way to cheer her up. Field trip to Farm Supply? Buy her a new mane comb? Kill Joe for her?
Grant called tonight and after I talked to him for a while, he talked to Mary Jo for a couple of minutes. She told me what he said—he was being super-nice to Mary Jo on account of her heartache and the fact she’s so blue. (She has been playing sad CDs all day, and I’m starting to talk like Martina McBride.)
He really can be so sweet. He can talk to anyone. While they were talking, I remembered when he helped me after Dave dumped me last year, how he listened to me babble about hating all guys and how they were all scum. And he didn’t even take it personally.
10/13
7:00 P.M. Mom just called. Extremely frantic. Her book club is meeting at the house, and Oscar ran away when the house got too full of strangers. (He has set limits. 7 is fine; 8 is terrifying.) She hasn’t found him yet, and Bryan isn’t home because he’s out with Beth, they’re studying together.
I got so jealous of Beth and how she still gets to be with her boyfriend, even if it is my brother. I wonder how it would be if Grant and I got to study together. We probably wouldn’t get enough done. So okay, we’d just hang together for an hour or so, like a sort of pre-study or post-study thing, and—
“Courtney!” Mom said. “Are you listening to me? What am I going to do about Oscar?”
“He’ll come back,” I predicted. “He’s probably hiding under the bushes in Mr. Novotny’s yard. Go check.”
Mom walked outside with the phone and called him. Nothing. “Oh, I wish Grant were still around,” she said. “I could really use him right now.”
“Mom,” I said. “Don’t even tell me about needing Grant, okay?”
Well, at least I made her laugh.
I’ve got to leave for the movies now.
LATER . . .
Mom just called back. She found Oscar. Actually she and this guy Richard from her book club, the one who’s in love with her, only Mom doesn’t care, found him. Richard is this really, really nice guy who won’t pick a book when it’s his turn unless Mom also likes the book. And he insists on bringing food to the house whenever it’s Mom’s turn to host. Richard = total devotion. Mom = total insanity. The guy is good-looking, about 50, and as far as I can tell is bucks-up. What is the deal with that? Mom would rather get involved in a torrid chat-room affair. I sent her a clipping about a murder where a wife hooked up with a guy on the Internet; husband followed wife to the motel where they were meeting, shot everyone including himself. All Mom said was that it didn’t apply to her because she wasn’t married anymore.
Meanwhile, I went to this French film, part of on-campus foreign film series. Dreadful, depressing, subtitles. Felt intelligent. Felt really bored, also. Afterward Thyme insisted on discussing it. I had to pretend I’d actually watched the whole thing instead of sitting there daydreaming about going to movies this past summer with Grant, and daydreaming about leaving town tomorrow for Madison. Can’t wait to see Jane. Can’t wait to be around other people.
10/14
“Courtney, you’ve lost weight! You’re so skinny!”
That was the first thing Jane said when I got out of the van at the UW Student Union, staggering a little because I’d been scrunched up in the back.
“Look—you’re not even strong enough to walk!” Jane said.
“I am, too,” I said as I gave her a big hug. Then I explained what happened: the bus didn’t show up like it was supposed to. We had 2 cargo vans, and that was it. People were literally fighting for seats, until they decided to have a lottery. I don’t think I’ve ever prayed so hard for anything in my life, except maybe that they wouldn’t serve chicken at my graduation party. So they’d given away almost all the seats except for this one in the way, way back—and that was mine. Practically under the luggage.
Jane said the first thing we had to do—after lunch—was go find some clothes in my actual size at the thrift shop. I guess I hadn’t noticed, but now that I’m back in civilized society, and Jane has a full-length mirror, I guess I am looking sort of like a 14-year-old boy with my baggy look and short hair. “You’re like a stick. Haven’t you been eating?” Jane asked.
