Day Two, 6:43 p.m.
I’m sitting in a motel down the street from Middleton contemplating my life when my cell phone rings. It’s B. J., and I want to ignore it, but from what I could tell, he was at some party and he might need help. Not that there’s anything much I can do from North Carolina, but still. He could have alcohol poisoning or something. Plus, if he’s not in any kind of trouble, I’m going to bitch him out for telling Jocelyn I told him she was the one following him. How is it that I am away from home, and yet I still have all this drama? I’ve spent the past half an hour on the computer in the lobby, on Courtney’s MySpace page, reading the comment Lloyd left her, and then scrolling back through ALL her comments, trying to find some clue of exactly what happened. Did they have sex? I checked his page, too, but she hasn’t left any comments for him since they hooked up. Although ominously enough, he’s changed his “relationship status” from “single” to “in a relationship,” which is slightly suspect. The information age is so psychotic—without the cell phone and Internet, I would be drama free right now.
“Yeah,” I say into the phone, hoping my tone conveys the idea that I’m pissed, but will still help him if he’s dying.
“’Sup, kid?” B. J. asks. He doesn’t sound like he’s alcohol poisoned. I kick my shoes off and sit down on the hotel room bed. I hate hotel rooms. There’s something unreal about them, and temporary, like you’re on borrowed time or something.
“Nothing,” I say, making sure to keep it short.
“Listen,” B. J. says. “I’m drunk.”
“Okay.” He’s talking, which means he can’t be too drunk. So he’s probably calling to apologize. I’m upset that he didn’t call until he was shit-faced, but I guess a drunken apology is better than no apology at all.
“I have to tell you something,” B. J. says, sounding nervous. I consider telling him I already know, but then decide it’s more fun to make him squirm for a while.
“Oh, yeah? What’s that?” I pick up the remote and turn on the TV. That’s another thing about hotel rooms. You have to pay ten dollars to order movies. Movies should come with your hotel room. It should be a perk, like the pool.
“First, let me just say that I’m really, really sorry,” B. J. says.
“Mm-hmm,” I say. I flip through the channels, wondering if the Devil Rays game will be on TV in North Carolina. I turn to ESPN, but for some reason, they’re showing the Cardinals game, which makes no sense, since the Cardinals play in St. Louis, and Tampa is much closer to North Carolina than St. Louis is. I wait for the little bar at the bottom of the screen to show the game update.
“And I want you to know that I wasn’t thinking when I did it. It’s just that Jocelyn really had me by the balls.”
“Okay,” I say, sighing. Tampa’s losing 4–0 to the Yankees. Fucking Yankees. I’m actually glad that the game isn’t being shown now, because if I was watching it, I’d get pissed.
“So,” B. J. says. “Uh, the thing is, that I kind of told Jocelyn about the MySpace girl.” Pause. “But don’t worry, she’s not going to tell anyone,” he adds quickly.
“You told her what about the MySpace girl?” I ask, sighing. This MySpace girl is really starting to become a pain in my ass. It’s impossible to remember what I’ve told people about her. It wasn’t as simple as just telling Courtney I had a new girlfriend. I had to tell other people as well, to get the word out. In fact, the only one who knows the truth about the whole thing is B. J. I didn’t plan the MySpace girl well enough—I should have written down all her vital stats, so that I could keep track of who I told what to. I wonder if I should stage a MySpace breakup.
“I told Jocelyn about her,” B. J. repeats.
“Yes, B. J.,” I say, forcing myself to keep my patience because I know he’s drunk. “But what did you tell Jocelyn about the MySpace girl?” Fifty bucks says whatever he told Jocelyn, Courtney already knows. Those two tell each other everything.
“I told her the truth about her. About how you made her up.” I’m sure I’ve misheard him.
“I’m sure I’ve misheard you,” I say, muting the television. B. J. is not that stupid. He wouldn’t do something so ridiculously stupid. Would he? I think about all the stupid things B. J. has done in the past, and suddenly, I feel sick.
“Now, don’t start freaking out,” B. J. says, sounding nervous again, because I’m sure I sound like I’m about to flip the fuck out. “Jocelyn said she wasn’t going to tell Courtney.”
“And you believed her?” I ask incredulously. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?” I add, borrowing a line from my brother. “They tell each other everything! Every single thing! Courtney probably knows how big your dick is!”
- J. gasps. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m yelling or because Courtney might know how big his dick is. Probably a little bit of both.
“I can’t believe you told her!” Suddenly, I’m irate. This uncontrollable anger is coming over me, and I think it’s everything—the whole situation with my parents, my brother kicking me out of his dorm, being in this fucking hotel room when the Devil Rays are losing to the Yankees, the whole situation with Courtney and the MySpace girl…I’m pissed off. More pissed than I’ve ever been in my life. And at that moment, Courtney’s dad decides to beep in on my call waiting.
“What!” I say when I get to the other line. I don’t even bother telling B. J. to hold on. Either he’ll figure it out or think I hung up on him. Either way is fine with me.
“Hey,” Frank says. He always acts like we’re the best of friends, which could quite possibly be the most annoying thing about him.
“What do you want?”
“I just wanted to check in, see how the trip is going,” he says. “I tried Courtney’s cell phone, but she’s not answering it.”
“It’s over,” I say, not realizing I mean it until the words are out of my mouth.
“What is?” he asks, sounding confused.
“I’m telling her the truth.” And with that, I hang up on both B. J. and Courtney’s dad, shut my cell phone off, and head out of the motel to find Courtney.
