Love And Other Things I'm Bad At Part 27

"May I help you?"

"Is this Active Environmentalism?" I asked.

He chuckled, while the rest of the cla.s.s just laughed loudly. At me. "No, but you are close," he said. "This isn't a phys ed cla.s.s. If you're interested in that, the gym is due west-" He lowered his gla.s.ses and pointed toward the mountains.

I cleared my throat. "I'm Courtney Smith," I said. "I just-I'm a late addition to the cla.s.s."

"Late. I'll say." He glanced at the clock. "Find a seat promptly, Ms. Smith."

I had to slink across the front of the room to the one empty seat, then I had to wait for the two guys who were using it as a footrest to move their feet.

Let's just say they both needed a fresh pair of dude sandals. Mandals?

After cla.s.s, could not even reach professor to talk to him. Giant crowd surrounding his desk would not let me in. Felt like I was at a casting call for Environmental Idol and he was Simon.

9/18.

I was crossing Mulberry on the way home from cla.s.s when a dude on a bike went past me so quickly that it left a breeze behind. Then he stopped on the other side of the street and just stood there. Waiting for me.

Great, I thought. Now what?

Then he took off his helmet. It was Grant.

Panic attack began.

"What's up?" he asked when I got closer. Like we saw each other all the time.

Deep breath, deep breath, shallow breath, hyperventilating. "Not much," I kind of exhaled. I'm only struggling to get settled into a new school and living in a place I only found because of you, when rightfully you could and should hate me. "You?" I asked. All casual-like.

He told me that he was headed home and that because we live on the same block he was waiting for me so we could walk together. I'd been here 4 days already and he hadn't come by to see how I was yet. If he hadn't nearly run me over with his bike, would he have made a point of stopping over, or not? I wanted to ask him that, but knew I couldn't.

"So," I said, and I thought I had a follow-up line to that, but I found out that I actually didn't. "Nice . . . street."

"Yeah. It is. You know, it's close to campus, but it's pretty quiet. Unless all my housemates are home."

"Uh, which house is yours?" I asked.

"Um, that one." He pointed to a brick house. Which was actually right beside the brick house where I was living.

"You said you lived on the same block. That's not 'on the same block.' That's next door!"

"Sure, but that's a minor technicality." He shrugged and looked kind of embarra.s.sed. And then he laughed and looked slightly mortified.

"Grant! How could you not tell me this before now? How did you not come over and help me move in? And what about Oscar?"

"Oscar?"

"He moved in, too, or are you deaf?"

"Seriously?"

See, Grant and Oscar used to be pals. In fact, when Oscar went missing, as he always does, Grant was the one who helped look for him. Grant was the one who usually found him. He'd drop everything for that silly dog.

Now they were neighbors and he hadn't even noticed? Where had he been? Or had he felt too awkward about us to come over?

"I guess, you know, I've been working later, studying late and stuff. I really hadn't heard him."

I can't figure this out. Did he want me to live next door to him? Of all the places in town? Or did he have to think it over? Was he ever going to tell me? If I hadn't called him back, would he have called me?

Was he embarra.s.sed because he wanted me to live next door, because he never got over me? Or was he playing hard to get, kind of?

My head was spinning with questions as we got up to the house. I opened the door and Oscar bolted out of the yard, right into Grant, almost knocking him off his bike. He started making that funny whimpering sound-Oscar, not Grant, I mean-and it suddenly dawned on me. I'd heard those sounds before! It meant that Grant had stopped by before. He'd visited Oscar but not me. And that hurt, like, a lot. And the fact he was even kind of lying about it-wow. Things were very strained.

While Oscar was licking Grant's face, a bit too lovingly I might add, I ventured, "Just so you know, I'm, uh, still seeing Wittenauer."

Grant stopped snuggling with Oscar long enough to give me a look that could stop traffic, whatever that means, and said, "Just so you know, I still don't care."

Ouch. How long had he been saving up that line? Since last March? "Oh?" My voice warbled.

"Because we're just friends now."

"Friends. Right."

Not sure how I am supposed to adjust. But I don't get that feeling around him that I used to get, like a hundred ants were running up and down my body (not in an annoying way but in a good way), so I guess I am doing OK.

Suddenly my phone started ringing. Not just any ring. The CFC fight song.

Grant stared at me because I wasn't answering it.

"It's, um, Wittenauer," I said.

"Don't let me stop you." He stood up, gave Oscar one last rub behind the ears, and wheeled his bike over to his garage.

Weird. We have never lived this close to each other. Now we don't date anymore and we're next-door neighbors. The kind that probably need a fence between them.

Forgot about Grant and talked with Wittenauer.

Practically made out on the phone.

Some calls are best taken in the privacy of one's bas.e.m.e.nt bedroom.

9/19.

Got back from brunch with Dara and Shawna (cinnamon-roll toast = yum) and found a dead bird on my bed.

Thanks, DeathKitty. Thanks so much.

This is how my weekend is going, in case anyone is wondering. Which they're not. Because they're all having fun watching Wittenauer aka Corny leap around and cheer at soccer game. I heard.

Well, at least I found out how DeathKitty got her name.

She used to have a sister kitten. (I'm not sure if Dara was joking about this. She has a weird sense of humor.) Also, she's taken out several birds and about a dozen mice. No doubt she's working her way up to defenseless mutts with epilepsy. Killers don't discriminate.

Maybe I need to get Oscar a dog sitter, someone to check up on him while I'm gone, because it's not like I can stay inside the house all the time-I'll miss college.

On the other hand, I should be realistic. How is a 15-pound cat going to bring down Oscar? By hissing?

Found out how Dara and Shawna became friends-they were roommates in a quad last year. They were supposed to be sharing this house with their mutual friend Tobie, but she moved in with her boyfriend in an apartment two weeks before school started. So that's how I ended up getting her spot.

Shawna wants to major in Elementary Education. Dara is majoring in English and minoring in "getting out of here in three years."

"What's so bad about this place?" asked Shawna at brunch. "You've been saying stuff like this for, like, a whole year. Getting annoying."

"What's so bad? Look at that woman over there. She's wearing Wranglers. I mean, what even is a Wrangler? And what's with his cowboy boots? And look. Agh." She sank down in the booth. "That guy has a horseshoe pattern vest."

"Maybe you should major in fas.h.i.+on?" I suggested.

"It's the West. People have, like, ranches here," Shawna said. "Get over it. Get over yourself."

Dara looked completely shocked that Shawna had stood up to her.

"So," I said. "Who wants more coffee?"

Years of dealing with my parents' arguing have given me special skills.

9/20.

Met with Smoothie Stop manager yesterday. First thing he said was "Hey, I remember you from Truth or Dairy."

"You do? Me?" This is weird running into people who knew me from Denver. Was it a good thing or a bad thing? Felt kind of like a celeb.

"Yes, don't you remember me?" he said.

I stared at him for a second. He looked like he was about 25, wearing a ball cap with the Smoothie Stop logo, and a T-s.h.i.+rt and jeans. He wasn't good-looking; he wasn't bad-looking. He was slightly generic, if that makes sense. In other words . . . forgettable. At least, to me.

"I used to work day s.h.i.+fts before you came in the afternoon after school," he said. "I was in night school. Business administration." He held out his hand for me to shake. "Guy Nicollet."

"Right, right!" Now I remembered. What I remembered was that he usually left before I got there and Gerry would get mad at him because it was not the smooth(ie), painless transition he wanted. Sometimes he'd leave half an hour early, and that was eventually why Gerry fired him.

"So, how's it going, Courtney? What finds you here in the Fort?"

Wasn't it obvious? "Here for school," I said, and as I explained what had happened over the past few weeks, I looked at the menu and surveyed the place to see if it was somewhere I'd want to hang out for 1520 hours a week. After my experience at Bagle Finagle last year, I can't be too careful about accepting another part-time job. That one had been way too challenging, at least when you factored in personality disorders.

I couldn't help thinking that lots of things were similar to Truth or Dairy, from the smoothie recipes, sizes, and combos to the frequent sipper cards to the cups and even the store's logo.

Plus, Smoothie Stop not only offered smoothies but also had a menu section called Sundae Stop-just like Truth or Dairy. (Beth and I used to fight over those dumb cowhide print vs. green hemp ap.r.o.ns.) The freezer case was divided between healthy fruit options and the high-fat gluttony of chocolate-chocolate chip. It was torture for a person who couldn't decide if she wanted to be a health nut or a high-in-fat pecan nut.

A person like me.

But since when have I ever s.h.i.+ed away from torture? (Besides not running with my mom and Sterling.) I dive right into difficulty. Conflict is my middle name. Which is a lot better than Von Dragen.

We talked for a while-I guess technically it was an interview-and he asked if I could start next week. Which I can, so I will. If it doesn't work out I can always bail, right?

On the one hand, I don't want to condone the fact that it seems like he stole all his ideas from Gerry, and Gerry should probably be getting a cut of the profits. On the other hand, I need a job unless I want to get by on my so-called allowance from Mom, which is a mere pittance.

Guy said he might need me to work the late-night s.h.i.+fts. They're open late, like midnight, for the late-night study crowd. (It's not far from the library.) He said they usually get a rush on energy-boost drinks, and showed me some questionable-looking prepackaged brownies that felt like bricks. "Top sellers with the late-night study crowd. Maximizing our profit percentages," he said.

I probably ought to be in the late-night study crowd, trying to catch up in all my cla.s.ses, instead of selling them snacks.

9/21.

Wittenauer and I spent all day-all day-on the phone or messaging.

He brought me to a meeting.

I brought him to the library.

We shared lunch.

It was a virtual date, but with actually zero contact. Did not enjoy that aspect.

He said the cutest thing, though. He said he was thinking about transferring here. As if Corny, Mr. Legacy Student, could transfer in his senior year. But he laid out the whole scenario and made it sound like it could happen. He said he's always wanted to be a s...o...b..ard hound since watching the Olympic half-pipe.

"It's not like that every day," I reminded him. "That's, like, vacation."

"It could be every day," he said. Then he mentioned he was not doing very well in his cla.s.ses so far. That he was thinking it might be time to take a leave of absence.

"What? It's only September. You have months to pull your grades up."

"You would think so," he said, getting all distant for a second.

Wait a second. He was distant the whole time. He was 1,000 miles away.

9/22.

Freezing cold today. Snowing in the mountains. Went out for lunch (despite impending financial doom; we are Generation B after all) to this place called the Pythagorean Theorem Cafe. Bunch of equations on the walls. Shape mobiles. Sandwiches named after, well, mathematicians, I guess? Like I would know. But it was a near-vegan's heaven. I could get anything I wanted. I could pay $12, which would kill my food budget for the week, but it would be lovely vegan food and fresh-squeezed organic juices.

"They put sprouts on everything. I hate sprouts," Dara said while we were in line. She was wearing her hair in little miniponytails on the back of her head, and cool eyegla.s.ses. She always wears dresses with leggings and boots or ballet slip-ons. I look hopelessly boring beside her.

So she hates sprouts. What does she even like? I haven't found out yet. I know she doesn't like: Mountains Fresh air Exercise Suns.h.i.+ne Non-bloodred lipstick Colors Sandals Fleece Lending me her car Green tea Ramen noodles Fruit Fruit smoothies Oscar Sprouts Me, possibly "So, why don't you just, like, order something without the sprouts?" asked Shawna.

"Because when I asked them to hold the sprouts last time, they gave me this look, like, look at the freak, like I'm unnatural," said Dara.

"That's because, like, you are unnatural," said Shawna.

"Shut up," said Dara. "And stop saying 'like.'"

"Just because you don't, like, like the word like, or know how to even like anything, that's not my fault," Shawna said.