Love And Other Things I'm Bad At Part 13

Hate them both.

Must call Jane now and tell her I lost the bet. Beth hooked up with someone before Thanksgiving. GRANT!

Will this day never end? Worst day of my life and it won't end.

Here is what Grant said. I think. I was so mad and hurt that my hearing was going in and out, like bad radio reception.

They were drunk at the Homecoming party. And after they called me, they drank more, and they kept talking about me, and how much they missed me and how great I was. And then they were drinking more punch. And Beth was talking about how much she missed Bryan, and . . .

Oh, ick. I can't continue to write this down in MY journal. It's so . . . I don't know. Humiliating? Tawdry?

Mary Jo keeps asking if I'm all right. We ran out of tissues about two hours ago and my face is getting raw from using cheap dorm TP to cry into. No, I'm not all right, isn't it obvious?

She went out and came back with a pack of Twizzlers from the vending machine in the bas.e.m.e.nt. "I'll call my brothers and ask them to beat up Grant. Okay?"

"No," I said. "Just leave me alone!"

Like licorice and farmers could help me now. I don't think so.

LATER . . .

Grant just called again to try to explain what happened. Mary Jo, Thyme, and Annemarie, who've been huddling around me for the past hour, all left to give me some privacy.

Okay, so. Grant and Beth were at Homecoming. I wasn't.

"Yes, I know I wasn't there, but if you even attempt to say that this is somehow my fault-"

"Courtney, I didn't say anything like that," Grant said. "I wanted you to be there, and you weren't, but I understand."

"Well I don't," I said. "I really can't listen to this." I hung up all of a sudden. Then I wished I hadn't, because I had to know the story and until I did, I was going to obsess endlessly. So I called him back and said "What?"

"Courtney, don't be so mad. Please, I can't stand hearing you so mad at me," Grant said. He started saying all these really sweet things and I started crying so then I had to hang up again. It's like I can only handle this 1 or 2 minutes at a time.

"So have you talked to Beth yet?" Grant asked the next time I called.

"No, and I don't plan on it," I said. "Why? Did you want to make sure your stories match up before you said anything to me?"

"There's no story!" Grant said. "Nothing happened, Courtney. Nothing serious. I mean, nothing at all. Not really."

How many times can you say "nothing" without having it become so incredibly obvious that it's SOMETHING?

"See, Beth and I-" he tried to say the next time.

"What? There's a you and Beth now?" Oh my G.o.d. I really needed some Pepcid AC if he was going to continue. A whole box of it. Maybe two.

"Courtney, come on. You know me. You know I'd never do anything-"

"Tom told me that you and Beth made out at a party, at Homecoming. You kissed her, you . . ." G.o.d. What had he done? Did I want to know? Wasn't it all over between us, anyway? If so, couldn't I hang up without hearing this?

So I did.

Grant called back. "Before you hang up, I just want to say that I'm not going to call you again tonight. But please, Court. You've got to forgive me! I . . . I'm so sorry, and it didn't mean anything to me. You're the one who matters, okay?"

I "matter?" What does that mean?

Hung up, opened door, let Thyme, Mary Jo, Annemarie back into room. I just want to wake up tomorrow and pretend today didn't happen.

11/13.

6:15 A.M. Oh c.r.a.p. Just woke up. It wasn't a dream.

8:00 P.M. Jane is here. She drove all the way from Madison and even skipped her cla.s.ses today and is spending the night to help me deal with all this. (I called in sick to BF. Mark/Marc/Marque asked what was really wrong and I burst out crying, told him whole gory story.) Jane hasn't talked to Beth yet, but she said she doesn't believe anything serious really happened.

Over lunch, which I couldn't eat, I laid out the evidence. First you gather the evidence, then you prosecute. It was like being on Law & Order, except I was nowhere near as pretty as that woman lawyer with the dark brown hair, esp. with my growing-out crew cut. I had a feeling I needed her help on this case, but, oh well. I told Jane what I thought, and what I knew.

She nearly fell off her chair. "You know, maybe you're right," she said. "Not about any of that conspiracy theory stuff. But maybe they were still attracted to each other. Subliminally, you know."

"Jane!" I screamed. "Don't say that!" The woman is taking two psych cla.s.ses and suddenly thinks she knows everything?

"But you said it," she reminded me. "And I think you're onto something. It doesn't mean that they actually wanted to betray you, but maybe they couldn't help themselves-"

I raised my eyebrow and glared at her. "Don't even start with that. They could have just, you know. Unlocked their lips and walked away." I dropped my head onto the table and started crying again.

"Courtney, it's going to be okay. You'll be fine. You're strong. And look-maybe we don't know the whole story. I bet there's something we don't know."

"Like how I'm supposed to get on with my life?" I asked.

"I'll talk to Beth about it," Jane said. "Let's not rush to judgment."

"Oh, yeah, let's not do that. Just because my boyfriend and my best friend slept together . . . I wouldn't want to judge them or anything."

"They didn't sleep together!" Jane said. "It was a kiss, only a kiss. It was probably only a peck on the cheek. And we're getting our information from the Tom, remember? He exaggerates everything. I mean, some girl smiles at him, and he'll go around telling everyone they did it in the computer lab." She smiled uneasily. That's what happened to her when she first came to Bugling Elk.

She tried to get me to calm down by taking me on a drive through the country, past many many cows, and buying me a cute little basket of apples and a caramel apple and some honey. Then she insisted on going into cutesy gift shops and buying me cutesy barrettes to clip my hair with. Actually looks sort of stylish now. But who cares? Not Grant. Not me.

11/14.

This morning after Jane left, I packed a duffel and went to the motel where the Greyhound bus stops. I have like $40 to my name and was prepared to spend it all. Turned out there were about 4 hours until the next bus. The lady behind the desk looked like she was about to phone the authorities because I looked completely unbalanced. But I waited. I don't know where I thought I was going. Something vague involving Phoenix, going to my dad's. Not that he'd be much help. I didn't know where to go. I just didn't want to be stuck at CFC and I didn't want to be back home.

So I sat in this really lame waiting area and after an hour, the lady behind the desk came out and started telling me about the Runaway Hotline, and gave me a brochure on suicide prevention, and I realized I really did have to stop sobbing in public. Very embarra.s.sing. Also realized that I was turning into my dog, Oscar. Bolting at first sign of trouble.

I poured my heart out to this lady over a cup of instant decaf. I told her how I loved Grant and how Beth knew that, and how just because she was upset about not dating my brother anymore, she didn't have to choose Grant to get over Bryan with, okay so maybe they did have a thing before he and I got involved, but that was just physical attraction, and since when was that more important than love?

"I hate to tell you, honey," she said. "But a lot of times, it's the most important thing."

I asked for the suicide brochure back, and a refund on my ticket, and decided to walk back to campus.

The thing is that if I had a car, I'd be gone by now. That's probably why Mom wouldn't let me have the Taurus, she knew something like this would happen. She's never believed in relations.h.i.+ps working out. Why didn't I listen to her? Never gave her credit for being brilliant.

Why didn't I listen to myself? I was not supposed to get involved with anyone. I swore I wouldn't. But no, Grant had to force himself into my life, even though I made it totally clear I was not interested in seeing anyone. Such a Grant thing to do. Pushy, insistent, rude.

My favorite person in the entire world.

Formerly known as Superior.

Now known as Inferior.

11/15.

Yes, so, okay, things can get worse. Not much I guess, but still.

I went to work this afternoon, but only so I could try and sneak in some phone calls to Mom, Alison, and Jane. Had only gotten to Alison (who was being really sweet and supportive) when Dean S. materialized beside my cubicle. He was actually carrying one of those paddleball things and whacking the rubber ball on a string all over the place.

I hung up the phone and tried to smile at him. "Hi, Dean Sobranksy."

"Courtney," he said, the red ball flailing wildly close to my head. "Your event on Sat.u.r.day was really out there."

At first I didn't even know what he was talking about. I had completely forgotten about the fact I had even done something fun on Sat.u.r.day, before I found out that what's-his-name and what's-her-name had ruined my life.

Dean S. started on this extremely-polite-yet-still-a-rant about how he certainly appreciated the creative process more than anyone, and that perhaps I didn't know that he was the Dean of Arts & Sciences at the college where he used to work, before this position became open, but couldn't I see that my friends and I were ruining what was a really fine year for Cornwall Falls in terms of academic and athletic achievements and- The whole time he was talking, I was getting more and more choked up, because the last thing I needed was him yelling at me on top of everything else.

"I'm sorry!" I finally burst out. "But I'm not responsible for anything that happened last weekend!" Tears started streaming down my face. So embarra.s.sing.

"But, uh, Courtney, you were there," Dean S. said. "You were dressed like a can of deodorant." Stopped playing with the stupid paddleball and started trying to edge away from my desk.

"I'm not talking about a protest, who cares about a dumb meaningless protest," I wailed, or something to that effect.

"Oh? Are you giving it up, then?" Dean S. started to get excited.

I shook my head as I mopped my eyes with Kleenex.

"But you might cut back. Is that what you're saying?" Dean S. asked hopefully.

"Can't you see that I'm upset?" I asked.

He didn't say anything for a minute. Then he asked if I heard about the weather front coming in-it might be very windy, so I should take care to bring an extra coat, did I have something that kept out the wind but also kept in the warmth, did I own any Gore-tex etc., etc., blah blah blah.

The fact that he refused to ask me what was wrong made me want to tell him more. The next thing I knew I was pouring out my heart to him, describing whole heinous scene of Grant cheating with Beth, Beth cheating with Grant, everyone cheating on Courtney.

Dean S. looked like he couldn't get out of there fast enough. So much for sympathy to student affairs. He didn't say one word in sympathy, or get me a new tissue when I soaked the last one on my desk.

But then he silently picked up all my a.s.signed index cards for the day and distributed them to other people, and he said I could go home and asked if I wanted someone to go with me. Very nice offer, but I said no. Then, as I was leaving, I saw Wittenauer watching me. Gave him a pathetic little wave and ran out. Too embarra.s.sing, because I would have told him everything, too, and don't enough people know already?

In retrospect: would I have wanted to hear Dean S.'s opinion? Probably not. He'd say something about how I was too "mat-oor" to be getting upset over a boy. I wish. Why must I always be getting so distraught over them, though? First Dave, now Grant. They end up stealing days, weeks of my life, because I become unable to do anything but mope and cry. Not worth it.

11/16.

Dear Courtney, I know you'll want to delete this as soon as you see who it's from. I don't know how I can make it up to you. I should never have kissed Grant, I should never have spent any time with him that night, I was too on the edge because of me and Bryan breaking up. So I made a

huge mistake. And now I've ruined the best friends.h.i.+p I've ever had. It wasn't planned, and it's not anything that would ever happen again. We kissed, and that's it. Grant pushed me away and said, "This is wrong!" He's a great guy, he loves you so much. And I wish I'd never gone to that party. Love, Beth

Have to take down all the photos on my bulletin board. Especially the ones with Beth and Grant in the same shot. Have to take those outside and burn them in the approved smoking area.

LATER . . .

Not going to cla.s.ses. Sitting in lounge watching Montel. Today's topic is "Teen Girls Who Remind Me a Lot of Beth." They're all backstabbing s.l.u.ts who ruined other people's lives, like for instance sleeping with best friend's boyfriend.

Maybe I should write to Montel, see if I can get on the show. Not that I've ever enjoyed having my dramas played out in public. I mean, I got plenty of that in high school.

Which reminds me. Does everyone at Bugling Elk know about the Grant and Beth fling? Of course they do. The Tom does not know the word "secret" or "discretion."

Here is us on Montel, here are our running blurbs: "Courtney: Won't forgive her ex-best friend even if she begs."

"Beth: Begging for forgiveness."

"Courtney: Still saying no."

Then Grant would come out after listening backstage and the audience would boo him. And he'd look shocked because he hasn't been booed in his entire life. (Except for when he was short and skinny when young and got picked on, but that's jeering, not booing. Anyway this is a fantasy, so who cares.) Grant would probably wear the s.h.i.+rt I gave him for his birthday. He's that cruel.

Montel would hold my hand while I sobbed and spat out the details. One problem with this: I don't know the details. And I can't know them. Ever.

11/17.

Ben and Marque-no, wait. New name tag today. Now Marcus. Jennifer is furious because he's using up all the label-maker tape. Maybe I'll change my name, too. What variations are there on Courtney? Court . . . not? Cortland-like the apple?

Anyway, Ben and Marcus insisted we go straight to a party from work, as I was being far too much of a downer. Marcus doing everything possible to make me laugh. Kept grabbing customer comment cards and writing comments about the customers on them, like: "Your s.h.i.+rt and those pants? I don't think so."

"You know what would really cheer you up? A malt," Marcus said.

"It's like ten degrees out," I said.

"Yeah. Like that matters. I'll be right back."

"If you think about the temperature here, you'd never go out and do anything," Ben told me while he was gone. "Don't worry, you'll adjust."

Can I just say that I'm really tired of trying to adapt and adjust?

Marcus came flying through doors five minutes later with 3 giant cups from Koffee Kitchen, one for each of us. "Oh, wait-you're not supposed to have milk, are you?" he said as he handed mine over.

"Give me a straw," I said. "Now."