“Courtney!” Jocelyn gasps. “Please tell me you are not that deluded! Guys are never doing exactly what they say they’re doing.”
“Why not?” I say. “Maybe some are doing exactly what they say they’re doing.”
She snorts. “Listen, do what you can,” she says. “And let me know if B. J. calls back.”
I hang up the phone and lean my head against the headrest. We’re about two hours away from Middleton and Lloyd, which is making me nervous. I’m trying to play it off to Jordan like I’m wicked excited, while inside I feel like I’m going to explode. I have no idea how this is going to go down.
The driver’s-side door opens and Jordan gets into the car, juggling a drink carrier and two bags of food. I take one of the bags out of his hand.
“Thanks,” he says. He sets the other bag down carefully between us, pulls my soda out of the carrier, and hands it to me.
“You needed two bags?” I ask incredulously. I peek inside and inhale the scent of the food. It smells good. And greasy. I love grease. Grease makes me happy. I am only going to eat half of my food, though. Just half. So that my stomach doesn’t get all sketched out.
“No, but there was a mix-up and somehow I got someone else’s order, too.”
He shrugs and pulls out a container of fries.
“Did you tell them?” I ask without thinking.
“Of course I told them,” he says, rolling his eyes. “They let me keep it.” Right. I’ll bet Mercedes or whatever the hell her name is doesn’t question Jordan’s morals when it comes to fast food that’s been given to him.
“Cool,” I say nonchalantly, shrugging my shoulders. Jordan’s cell phone starts playing “Baby Got Back” again, and he ignores it.
“Going to answer that?” I ask.
“Nope,” he says cheerfully. He opens a container of chicken tenders and pulls open the packet of honey mustard that comes with them. I hate honey mustard. It seems like such a bad idea. Honey and mustard together. Who could like that?
“You don’t have to feel weird about answering it,” I say. “I told you.”
“I don’t,” he says. He takes a chicken tender and dunks it into the honey mustard. Something about that makes me sad. Because all the little things about him, like the way he loves honey mustard and the way he always forgets the cheese on my burger, aren’t mine anymore. It’s weird that everything can be the same, that he can go on liking honey mustard, and yet everything is different.
“So, uh, the whole B. J. thing,” I say, trying to distract myself from my impending condiment sadness. Honey mustard is so not a good reason to be upset. Orphans in Africa, drunk drivers killing innocent people, even not getting into your safety school (for me it was Florida State) are all good reasons to get upset. Chicken tenders sauces are definitely not. I try not to think about it, and instead focus on the fact that Jocelyn is insane.
“What B. J. thing?” He reaches into the bag and pulls out a napkin. He wipes his hand with it and sets it on his lap.
“With him calling the police or whatever. Do you think he’s really going to do that?”
“I dunno.” His phone starts going off again, and my sadness over the honey mustard is suddenly annoyance that he won’t answer the call. Why won’t he answer it? It’s either because he’s trying to look cool by not or he’s trying to protect my feelings. Does he really think I’m that upset by the whole breakup? I mean, I am, but I’ve given him no reason to think I would be. Have I? I wrack my brain, trying to determine if there’s any way he could know how upset I am.
“Would you answer your phone?” I snap.
He reaches in his pocket, pulls it out, and makes a big show of turning it off.
I roll my eyes. “Whatever. Listen, we need to talk about the schedule.” Our schedule is now completely screwed up. We were supposed to be in North Carolina by now.
“What about it?”
“It’s all screwed up. We need to reevaluate it.”
“It’s not that screwed up.” He shrugs. “We’ll be at Middleton by tonight, and we’ll leave tomorrow. Obviously we won’t be able to visit for that long, but we won’t be that far off the schedule.”
Suddenly, I’m struck with a brilliant idea. Maybe I can convince Jordan that we can’t stop at Middleton, because IT WILL MAKE US LATE FOR ORIENTATION. That would be perfect. I could call Lloyd, tell him that we can’t make it because we’re way behind schedule, and then I wouldn’t have to deal with the whole thing.
“Well,” I say slowly, pretending that I’m thinking about it. “Maybe we shouldn’t stop.”
“What?” Jordan asks, frowning. He takes another tender and dips it in the honey mustard. I resist the urge to reach over and take it out of his hands and throw it out the window. Honey mustard is obviously not good for my mental state.
“I just mean with the schedule the way it is and everything, it might be better if we just drove straight through.”
“But it’s not going to throw us off that much. If we don’t stop, we’ll actually be ahead of schedule.”
God, why is he being such an ass? And since when is he such an expert on the schedule? He didn’t even read the damn thing. Does he really need to contradict everything I say?
“Besides,” he goes on, “I thought you’d be happy to see Lloyd.”
Right. “I am,” I say. “But we need to stick to the schedule, too.” This should be a perfectly reasonable explanation. I mean, he knows I’m totally anal retentive.
My phone rings before I can come up with a better response, and I check the caller ID. Lloyd. Lovely.
“Aren’t you going to answer that?” Jordan asks, grinning.
“Of course,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“Hey,” I say into the phone. “What’s up?” I think “What’s up?” is a very good, neutral phrase to be saying to Lloyd under the circumstances. Like, I could totally see myself saying it to a boyfriend, so Jordan will be convinced that something really is going on with Lloyd, but at the same time, it’s also something you can say to a friend, so Lloyd won’t be all, “Oh, wow, Courtney must be in love with me.”
“Hey,” Lloyd says. “I’ve been trying to call you for a while.”
“Really?” I say, trying to sound innocent. I know he’s been calling. I just turned my phone off.
“Yeah,” he says. “It kept going right to voice mail.”
“I don’t know why,” I say, still trying to sound innocent. “It’s raining here, so…”
“It’s raining where?” he says, sounding confused.
“Where we are,” I say, trying to sound deliberately vague.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“It may have been messing with my cell reception.”
“I don’t think that has anything to do with it, Courtney,” he says. Well, duh. Why would rain be messing up my cell reception?
“I don’t know,” I say again. Jordan shifts on the seat next to me and takes a loud sip of his soda.
“You don’t sound right,” Lloyd says. “Is Jordan giving you a hard time?”
“Uh, no,” I say, “He’s not.”
Jordan stops with a fry halfway to his mouth. “I’m not what?” he asks, frowning.
I shake my head at him and hold up my hand, trying to act like it’s not important. Which, true to what’s been going on, makes him just want to know more. “What did he say?” Jordan demands. He reaches over and turns off the radio.
“Nothing,” I mouth at him, and turn it back on. He turns it off. I turn it on. “Quit it,” I say.
“What’s going on?” Lloyd asks again through my phone.
“Nothing,” I say to Lloyd. “We’re just having a little problem with the radio. You know, because of the storm.”
“You guys are listening to the radio?”
“Well, not right now,” I say, which is true. Jordan’s turned it off again, and now he’s maneuvering his body, trying to get closer to me so that he can hear what Lloyd is
saying.
“Not right now what?” Lloyd asks.
“We’re not listening to the radio right now,” I say. “Because we’re having problems with it because of the storm. Jordan has satellite.”
“Figures.” Lloyd snorts. Lloyd hates the fact that Jordan is kind of spoiled. Which really makes no sense, because Lloyd himself is quite spoiled. In fact, his parents just bought him a brand-new Mustang for graduation. Which he can’t even use, since he can’t have a car at school. So now his brand-new car is just sitting in the garage, probably getting used by no one. I wonder if Lloyd would let Jocelyn drive his car. There’s no way B. J. would recognize it.
“Anyway,” I say. “I’m going to let you go now, but I’ll call you when we get close.”
Jordan, seeing that the conversation is about to end anyway, reaches over and moves the volume up to almost full blast. Rap music comes blaring out of the speakers.
I reach over and very calmly turn off the radio. “Jordan,” I say, “would you please refrain from turning up the music like that when I’m on the phone? I’d really appreciate it.”
“HELLO?” Lloyd says much too loudly, now that the radio is off.
“Yeah,” I say. “Sorry about that.”
“I don’t understand why you guys are listening to music,” Lloyd says.
“What do you mean?”
“I thought you were dreading this trip,” he says.
“I was,” I say. What does that have to do with listening to music?
“Was as in past tense?” Lloyd asks, sounding quite like a jealous boyfriend. I’m not stupid. I know Lloyd isn’t jealous about me, per se, but more about the fact that I’m with Jordan.
“No,” I say. “I am not having a fun time on this trip.” I am still dreading it, although that really makes no sense, because there’s nothing to dread anymore, since I’m in the middle of actually taking part in it.
“You’re not having a good time?” Jordan asks, sounding surprised.
“Why does he sound surprised?” Lloyd asks.
“I am having a horrible time on this trip,” I say to Lloyd. Which isn’t exactly a lie. I mean, I’ve spend a good part of it with food poisoning, listening to Jordan talk to his new girlfriend, dealing with the fact that Jocelyn is possibly going to get a restraining order taken out against her, and listening to rap music. It’s been bad. “Now I will call you when I get close.”
“I can’t wait to see you, Court,” Lloyd says, his voice softening.
“I’m excited to see you, too,” I say, a twinge of guilt rising up in me as I realize this might not exactly be the truth. But I don’t know if it’s exactly a lie, either. After all, even if this whole hooking-up thing doesn’t work out, Lloyd has always been my friend. So it will be nice to see him and hang out. I click off my phone.
“You’re having a horrible time?” Jordan asks, looking hurt.
“Can we not talk?” I say. I open the bag my food is in and pull out a french fry.
“Why not?” he asks, sounding hurt again. “Now we can’t even talk?”
“No.” I take a bite of my fry, which is now cold. Surprisingly, for some reason this makes it taste better. I love fast food. I take a sip of my diet Coke and eat another fry.
“We can’t talk, ever, for the rest of this trip?”
“Yes, we can talk for the rest of this trip, I’m not stupid. I know it would be impossible to not talk for the rest of this trip.”
“So what you’re saying is we can talk, but we can’t?”
“Look, it’s not that hard to figure out,” I say. “We can talk about normal things, like the route we’re taking, the schedule, toll money, etc. But no, like, chatting.” These fries are so good. I take out a packet of ketchup and look for somewhere to squeeze it. I hate ketchup directly on my fries. I’m definitely more of a dipper. Jordan hands me his empty chicken tender container wordlessly, and I squeeze the packet of ketchup into it.
“Thanks,” I say.
“So thanking me is allowed?” he asks.
“Jordan, stop. You know what I mean.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he says. He sounds pissed. Why is he pissed?
“Why are you pissed?” I ask.
“I’m not pissed.”
“Well, you look pissed. And you sound pissed.”
“Well, I’m not.”
“Okay,” I say, knowing that he is. Jordan can never admit when he’s pissed. I don’t know why. It’s like this thing, where if he admits to you that he’s angry, he’s lost or something. Although I think he’s just that way with me. Or maybe with girls. I wonder if he’s like that with his new girlfriend.
“I just don’t think you should be listening to every little thing Lloyd tells you to do,” he says.
“I’m not,” I say.
“Okay,” he says, not sounding like he means it.
“Seriously, I’m not. I just think it would be better if we don’t talk much.” I shrug.
“Because of Lloyd.”
“Can you get off the Lloyd thing?”
“Why?”
“Because I already told you, it has nothing to do with Lloyd.”
“Well, it’s a little weird that you were fine until you talked to Lloyd, and now all of a sudden you don’t want to talk to me.”
I snort. Does he really think we were fine this whole time? Has he not noticed the fact that there is this very weird tension between us, due to the fact that he dumped me two weeks ago for some other girl?
“What?” he demands.
“Nothing,” I say. “I think it’s just kind of funny that you think we’re fine.”
“I don’t see why we can’t be,” he says. “People break up and stay friends, Court.”
“True,” I say. “But I don’t really want to be your friend.” It’s true. I don’t want to be his friend. I want to be his girlfriend or nothing. I feel a lump rising in my throat and I take a sip of my soda in an effort to push it back down. I can feel Jordan watching me, so I open up the fast food bag and take out my Whopper. I peel off the paper and take a bite of the burger. He remembered the cheese this time. I look at the burger and promptly burst into tears.
the trip jordan
Day Two, 1:50 p.m.
“Dude, it’s Jocelyn,” I say, looking over my shoulder nervously, just waiting for Courtney to get out of the Burger King. Could this trip be any more fucked up? Seriously. Courtney bursts into tears, something about cheese on her burger (which I know I remembered, because I knew if I didn’t, she was going to flip the fuck out). She ran into Burger King crying, and I stood outside the bathroom, yelling in to her and looking like a freak. She kept telling me to go away, so finally I did, and now I’m waiting in the car for her to come out. The weird thing is, all I can think about is that song by Digital Underground, the one with the lyric “I once got busy in a Burger King bathroom.” I think I have it on a mix CD in here somewhere.
“This isn’t Jocelyn,” B. J. says, sighing. “It’s Jordan. Dude, try to play a better trick than that. You sound nothing like her. Plus your number came up on my caller ID.”
“No,” I say, feeling like I’m living in some sort of weird alternate reality. “Jocelyn is the one who’s following you.”
“Why would Jocelyn be the one who’s following me?” B. J. asks, sounding thoroughly confused. Again, I’m struck by his ability to be very insightful and smart about some things and then totally clueless about others. Maybe he’s one of those idiot savants.
“Because she wants to know where you’re going, obviously,” I say. I crane my neck to get a look at the Burger King. Still no sign of Courtney. I’m giving her five more minutes, and then I’m going back in there. What is it with me and the women’s bathroom?
“Why would she want to know where I’m going?” B. J. asks, sounding even more confused. “Wait, how do you even know this?”
“Because Courtney was asking all these questions about who was following you, and about how I should try to con
vince you not to call the police because it was probably nothing.”
“So?”
“So obviously she was saying that because it’s Jocelyn, and they don’t want you calling the police and getting her in trouble, and/or finding out it’s her.”
“Did you just say ‘and/or’?”
I don’t respond.
“Why would Jocelyn be following me, though?” B. J. asks again. “She knows where I’m going. I tell her every second where I’m going to be. I check in.”
“Maybe she doesn’t believe you,” I say. “Maybe she’s following you because she wants to make sure you really are where you say you are.”
“That’s ridiculous,” B. J. says. “Why would I lie about where I’m going?”
“She doesn’t trust you,” I tell him. “I have to go.”
“Why wouldn’t she trust me?” he demands. “I’m totally trustworthy.”
I try not to point out that not only does B. J. tend to get caught doing things and then lie about them, he also has an extremely impulsive personality, which makes him do things spur of the moment. Like dress up as a midget. Or cheat on his girlfriend. Not that B. J. has ever cheated on Jocelyn. Not that I know of, anyway.
“Listen,” I say, “I gotta go. But it’s definitely Jocelyn. You should talk to her.”
“Hmm,” B. J. says, sounding unsure. I want to be a good friend, but I really can’t deal with this right now. I slap my phone shut and head inside to rescue Courtney from a women’s bathroom for the second time in twenty-four hours.
courtney before
33 Days Before the Trip, 6:57 p.m.
“This house,” I say, “is amazing.” I take a soda out of the refrigerator, pop the top, and pour half of it into my glass. I can’t believe I’m in Miami. It feels exotic for some reason, just saying that.
“It is pretty awesome,” Jordan says, sitting down next to me at the bar. I hand him my glass and he takes a sip of my drink.
“So what’s this place like tonight?” I ask. Jordan, B. J., Jocelyn, and I are going to the beach, then out to dinner, and I want to make sure I’m dressed appropriately.
“What do you mean?” Jordan asks. He hands me back my soda.