Love and Other Things I'm Bad At (12 page)

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.

“Sure,” I said. It was just that the cafeteria pickings for vegetarians are woefully slim. But I supplemented. Constantly. “Of course I’ve been eating, Jane, don’t be ridiculous.” But when I thought about it, not that much, really, except Twizzlers, plain bagels, and chocolate soymilk. Hm. Maybe I am a 14-year-old boy.

Jane took me to an Indian restaurant. All delicious. All stuff that I absolutely couldn’t get in Wauzataukie. Felt like I was in heaven, or at least a colder facsimile of Boulder. We drank coffee, talked and talked, walked up and down State Street, bought cheap earrings and cool boots, and then Jane drove me to this place called Ella’s, where she insisted I order something called the #1. Turned out to be a pound cake sundae, with vanilla ice cream and hot fudge and whipped cream. “Jane,” I said. “You know I can’t eat this.”

“I saw you eat a banana split this summer at work,” Jane reminded me. “So break your rules again—do it for me, Courtney. We have to fatten you up.”

“I’m not a cow,” I said. She made me sound like I was getting ready for the slaughterhouse and wouldn’t fetch a good price at auction.

“You’re not anorexic or something dumb like that, are you?” Jane asked as she stirred sugar into her coffee. “Because we all made a pledge to each other that we’d never go down that road.” She hit her spoon against the table. “Oh, no. I forgot how bad you are at keeping your pledges.”

“I am not,” I protested, as my mouth literally watered.

But Jane looked really worried. And the sundae looked really good. But I couldn’t, I told her. But then I did.

And it was delicious.

Perhaps it’s time to reevaluate my survival strategy. Instead of being vegan, I could be a lacto-vegetarian. Let’s face it, eggs and milk are easier to find around here than alfalfa and seaweed.

“Anyway, I’m not bad at pledges,” I told Jane. “Grant and I pledged to make our relationship work, no matter what. And we’re doing it.”

“Mm.” Jane took a sip of coffee but didn’t say much else.

“What?” I asked. “Our relationship is surviving just fine.”

She stared at these little Beatles marionette things that were dancing around, near the ceiling.

“Aren’t we?” I asked, waving my spoon in front of her face. “Or do you know something I don’t?”

“Hey, I don’t know anything,” Jane said. “I just think it’s kind of unrealistic to assume you can be exclusive for an entire year when you’re not together. Your relationship might be fine,” she said. “But are
you
?”

I might have just been getting woozy from the sundae, but it sounded like she was being really critical. Of me and Grant. What’s to criticize? Not me. Not Grant. So is there something else I should know about or worry about?

JANE HERE:

Hi, journal. Haven’t talked to you lately, but want you to keep an eye on your owner/creator. Very worried about Courtney. Short hair, gaunt, looks pale. Wonder if it’s because she misses Grant? Romantic, but stupid (sorry, Court, but
you
come first). Or it could just be major Vitamin D deficiency; no milk, no sun. Well, either way, Courtney, you need to put on some pounds. You’re supposed to gain the freshman fifteen, not
lose
it. Very worried about Beth, also. She goes out almost every night, cracked up her mother’s car that one time, is getting D’s in her classes, and on top of all that is not being very nice to Bryan.

10/15

I never even saw Jane write in here. How funny.

Unfortunately I’m back from Madison. Had a great time with Jane and new bf Charles and saw his band and everything. But now I’m back in the land of total disasters.

While I was gone, Joe came over yesterday and brought Mary Jo flowers and told her she was beautiful and skinny, and I get the impression he spent the night, ew, and now they’re off on a date at Il Fromaggio. Boy can tell her to lose weight and then take her out for lasagna and breadsticks. Like a couple of multicultural carnations make up for the way he insulted her and broke it off out of the blue. Multi
colored
carnations, whatever. I feel like going to the restaurant and spying on him, making sure he doesn’t say something about he just realized what he was missing, blah blah blah. If I had his cell phone number I’d call it and tell him there was an emergency at home.

I just know he’s only doing this because he misses her, or he needs something from her—not because he cares.

“Courtney, you don’t know that,” Grant said when I called him to complain. “He might have the best intentions.”

“They have a giant midterm coming up,” I said. “His intention is to pass bio. And Mary Jo can help him do it.”

“You’re shortchanging Mary Jo,” Grant said. “Don’t you think he might miss her? She seems like a really great person, and you said she’s cute, so . . . why wouldn’t he want her back?”

There it is again. That Mary Jo worship tone.

“The question isn’t about Mary Jo,” I said. “The thing is that Joe is a heinous individual and can’t be trusted.”

“You’re too hard on people, you know that?” Grant said. He sounded sort of critical. How dare he? He’s not here, he doesn’t know Joe. If he met him for even 2 seconds, he’d hate him. But suddenly I’m the one who’s critical?

“Yeah, sure. Whatever. I have to go to the library,” I said, and rushed off the phone. Stupid Joe is now ruining Mary Jo’s life, and my life with Grant as well.