Two-way Street

Day Two, 2:37 p.m.

I’m having a breakdown in a random Burger King bathroom. This is upsetting for a few reasons, not the least of which is that it’s happening in a bathroom. I mean, a breakdown at any time is not something that one should be excited about, but to have one in a public rest room is definitely doubly upsetting. And it’s not even like one of those nice public bathrooms that you see on TV, with attendants and breath mints and real monogrammed towels. It’s a Burger King bathroom. And not a particularly clean one, either.

I take a wad of toilet paper off the roll and blow my nose loudly. The most disgusting part of this whole thing is that I’m sitting on the toilet while I do this. Because there’s no top to the toilets. So I’m actually sitting on the toilet. Without my pants down, of course. Who knows what kind of disgusting germs are transferring themselves onto my skirt. I’m probably going to have to burn it after this. Which is horrible, because I’ve never even worn it before. In fact, the only reason I’m even wearing it now is because I wanted Jordan to think I was dressing up for Lloyd. Which is really screwed up. I don’t know when I lost my sanity, but it’s not a good feeling.

I throw the toilet paper with my snot on it into the toilet and flush. I just need to take a deep breath. The trip is half over. That should make me feel better, but really, it doesn’t. It makes me feel worse, because the past couple of days have seemed like a lifetime.

I head out of the stall and start washing my hands at the sink. The bathroom is deserted, which is good because it would be embarrassing for someone to see me looking like this—eyes red from crying, ketchup stain on my cute new shirt, and my hair a mess from when I kept running my hands through it in the stall in an effort not to touch anything germ infested.

“Court?” Jordan’s voice comes from outside the bathroom.

“What?” I say, trying to make it out like I didn’t just go running from his car crying and into the bathroom.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” I say. “I’m fine.”

“Okay,” he says. There’s a pause. “Was it…Are you upset about the food? We can go somewhere else?”

He thinks I started crying over fast-food burgers. He can’t be that stupid, can he? He obviously knows I’m upset about him, and he’s just trying to be nice. Great, pity. Just what I need.

“No, the food was fine,” I say. “I think I’m just a little upset about seeing Lloyd.”

“Why would you be upset about that?” he asks, sounding confused. Good question.

“Not upset about seeing him,” I say. I wet a paper towel and use it to wipe my face off. It feels scratchy and kind of gross, but I put up with the momentary discomfort so that I can look human again. “Upset because I haven’t seen him for a while.”

“You just saw him two days ago,” he says.

I throw the paper towel away, pull my shirt down a little bit so that the ketchup stain is less noticeable, and emerge from the bathroom. He’s leaning against the wall, his hair wet from the rain, and he looks really, really, cute. And really, really worried about me. I will NOT start crying again.

“Yeah, well, when you’re in love with someone, two days can seem like an eternity.” I toss my hair defiantly over my shoulder and start walking toward the door. My attempt at haughtiness is overshadowed by the fact that the shoes I’m wearing (cute sparkly purple flip-flops with butterflies on them) are drenched from the rain, and so every time I stomp, my shoes squish.

“So, wait, now you guys are in love?” Jordan asks, sounding confused.

“Yes,” I say definitively. “And since you really care about your new girlfriend, I’m sure you understand how two days without seeing someone can really seem like a long time.”

“Yeah,” he says, not sounding sure. “But Court, I really doubt you’re in love with Lloyd.”

“Whatever, Jordan,” I say. “Not to sound like a brat or anything, but you don’t really know me anymore. I’m a new woman.”

We’re in the parking lot now, and I open the door to his TrailBlazer and pull myself into the passenger seat. He gets in and starts the car. I pull my seat belt on and decide it’s time for a new attitude. No more crying.

“Let’s go to Middleton,” I say. “I can’t freakin’ wait to get there.”

Jocelyn calls two hours later, while we’re stuck in traffic. I’m looking through a magazine that I bought at a rest stop and reading an article about what to do if you get dumped. It’s actually not helping me much, because I’m pretty sure it’s satire. The article, not the magazine. It basically says that once a guy dumps you, you should cease worrying about what he thinks of you, and that you shouldn’t try denying your psychotic urges, because it’s not natural. It says that if you feel like you want to stalk him, you totally should. If you want to break into his email account, do it. Drive-bys? Harassing his new girlfriend? Totally allowed. It’s quite scary, actually. The article, I mean.

I flip open my phone. “Whaddup?” I say, tossing my magazine onto the floor. I’m totally over my nervous breakdown. You’d think I’d feel good about this, but I don’t. For some reason, it makes me uneasy, like the fact that I got over it so quickly just means that something worse is going to come. It’s like I’m in some sort of denial mode.

“So he wasn’t hanging out with Katelyn,” Jocelyn says, sounding smug. Which makes no sense, because in order to sound smug, you have to be right about something. And since Jocelyn thought that B. J. was cheating on her, and now she’s found out that he isn’t, she shouldn’t sound smug. She should sound sheepish.

“How do you know?” I ask.

“He caught me stalking him,” she says breezily.

“He caught you?” I ask, wondering why she’s not more upset. I feel Jordan shift in his seat next to me. I look at him suspiciously and when he catches my eye, he nervously adjusts the rearview mirror.

“Yes, he caught me.” Jocelyn sighs. I hear the sound of splashing in the background, and music. Loud music.

“Where are you?” I ask.

“At a pool party,” she says.

“Hold on,” I say, pushing the volume up on my phone in an effort to hear her over the background noise. “How did you end up at a pool party?”

“Hailie Roseman invited me,” she says simply. “So B. J. drove us here.”

“No,” I say. Is she drunk? “I mean, how did you get from stalking B. J., to getting caught, to ending up at Hailie Roseman’s pool party?” I don’t even think Jocelyn is friends with Hailie Roseman, a junior who I always suspected Jordan of hooking up with, even though he constantly denies it.

“Oh,” Jocelyn says. “That’s actually why I’m calling.” Duh. “See, B. J. found out I was stalking him because Jordan told him it was me.”

“Oh, really?” I say. “He told him it was you?” Jordan shifts in his seat again, then reaches over and starts flipping through the satellite stations. He clears his throat.

“Yes,” Jocelyn repeats. “Jordan told him.”

“And how did Jordan know?”

“I guess he figured it out because you were telling him to tell B. J. not to call the police.”

“Really,” I say, contemplating this revelation.

“Mm-hmm,” Jocelyn says. More splashing. “But listen, that’s not the best part.”

“What’s the best part?” I ask, not really seeing what was so good about the first part. Jordan looks over at me curiously. Ha. Like I’m really going to clue him in on what’s going on. I like making him squirm. Also, since the traffic isn’t moving, it isn’t really like he can do anything about the fact that I’m making him uncomfortable. He just has to sit there.

“So after B. J. caught me and I confessed, we had this really long talk,” Jocelyn says. Her voice sounds kind of slurred, like she’s been drinking. More splashing and music in the background. I love the fact that my friends are off having an end-of-summer party with drinks and swimming and music and I’m stuck on the road trip from hell. So not fair.

“That’s great, Joce,” I say, meaning it. “You and B. J. should be able to talk about things more openly. I think it’ll really help you to feel more comfortable with the situation.”

“So, listen,” she says, sounding kind of nervous. “I have to tell you something that he told me. He told me so that I’d feel more like I could trust him.”

“You mean like a secret?”

“Yeah,” she says, sounding nervous again. “Exactly like a secret.” I wrack my brain for what kind of secrets B. J. could possibly have. A criminal record? No, he wouldn’t keep that a secret. When he burned our class year into the school lawn and almost didn’t graduate, he bragged about it to anyone who would listen, including two girls he’d never met that happened to overhear us talking about it one night at a random ice cream stand. An STD? Nah, Jocelyn would be freaking out. And she doesn’t sound freaked out.

“Okay,” I say, wondering how she could possibly think it’s a good idea to put a start to her new, trusting relationship with her boyfriend by telling me a secret he told her not to tell. But I don’t tell her this, because I kind of want to know the secret.

“Now, I know it’s probably not the best idea to tell you, you know, since we’re now having an open, honest, communication based on mutual trust and respect,” she says, sounding kind of like Dr. Phil. It’s hard to take her seriously, though, because even though she’s talking like she understands the psychobabble she’s spewing, I can still hear the sounds of the party in the background, including a male voice that’s yelling, “LET’S GET FUCKED UP!” over and over again. This is being met by cheers of “Woooo!”

“Then why are you?” I ask.

“Hold on,” she says. “I’m going inside the house, it’s getting loud out here.”

“Okay,” I agree. I roll down my window.

“What are you doing?” Jordan asks. “The AC is on.”

“I want some air,” I tell him.

“How can you possibly want some air?” he asks, frowning. “The AC is on. It’s hotter outside than it is in here.”

“I didn’t say I was hot,” I say. “I said I needed some air.” The guy in the car next to us is apparently so fed up with the traffic that he’s gotten out of his car and is rummaging around in his trunk. He emerges with what looks like travel Scrabble, and looking satisfied, slams his trunk shut.

“I can’t believe we forgot to bring our travel games,” Jordan says, I guess thinking he’s funny.

“Hello!” I yell into the phone. No response. How long does it take to get into someone’s house? I can still hear the sounds of the party in the background, so I know she didn’t hang up. Maybe she dropped her phone. “Helllloo!” I yell again, thinking maybe she’ll hear me and come back.

“Why are you yelling?” Jordan asks.

“Because Jocelyn put me on hold and she hasn’t come back yet.”

“Well, there’s another person in this car. So try not to yell.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say. “Is my yelling bothering you?”

“Well, yes,” he says. “Besides, it’s not like you’re in a big rush to get her back on the phone, right? You’re not doing anything important. We’re sitting in traffic.”

“Wow,” I say. “You’re so astute, Jordan. I love how totally insightful and good you are at reading situations.”

He looks away then, and I yell, “HELLLOOO!” into the phone once more.

“Oh, hi,” Jocelyn says, sounding breathless. “Sorry about that. I couldn’t figure out how to open the back door, so I had to walk all the way around the house, and it took a while.” I want to ask her why she didn’t just talk to me while she walked, or at least pick up the phone to give me a status report, but I don’t.

“Anyway,” I say.

“Yeah, anyway, I’m inside now.”

“Good.”

“Yup.”

“So…”

“Oh right! The secret. Okay, so I know I probably shouldn’t be telling you.”

“Probably not,” I agree. “But before we get into it, who was that yelling ‘Let’s get fucked up!’ like that over and over? Just out of curiosity, I mean.”

“Oh, that was B. J.,” she says. “He’s getting drunk tonight.” I think it’s a great sign that they’re celebrating their newfound, trusting relationship by getting drunk and blabbing each other’s secrets, but I don’t say this. I’m not one to pass judgment on anyone’s relationships.

“Oh, okay.”

“Anyway, I know I shouldn’t tell you, but the reason I am is because it’s kind of about you. Well, indirectly anyway. And I do want to be loyal to B. J., I really do, but you’re my best friend, and if you found out from someone else, and then you found out I knew and didn’t tell you, you’d probably be pissed. And chicks over dicks, you know?”

“Okay,” I say, starting to get worried. I don’t like Jocelyn finding secrets out that have to do with me from B. J., because inevitably they’re going to involve Jordan. And the fact that I just had a breakdown in a public rest room makes me very nervous about my mental state.

“Okay,” she says. “B. J. told me that Jordan made up the MySpace girl.”

“What do you mean?” I ask. My heart is beating really fast all of a sudden, and I wonder if Jordan can hear it.

“The girl he supposedly met on MySpace? That he dumped you for? He didn’t dump you for her. He made her up.”

“Why would he do that?” I ask.

“I have no idea,” she says, but even as she’s saying it, I know the answer. He did it as an excuse to break up with me. He knew it would be easier if he had a reason, something concrete that would at least give me some sort of answer. And this whole time, I’ve been making myself feel better by thinking up horrible attributes to Jordan’s new girlfriend, telling myself she’s a slut, and someday he’ll realize what a huge mistake he’s made.

The truth is, he just doesn’t love me.