125 Days Before the Trip, 9:53 p.m.
Courtney McSweeney is grinding on me like she’s in a number-one video on TRL. I reach around and pull her close to me, our bodies swaying to the music. She looks surprised, but pushes her body harder against mine. She’s always so quiet in math. And she definitely doesn’t dress like this in school. I catch Madison’s eye across the room and quickly look away, as if I’ve forgotten who she is. I’m not being a dick. Well, okay, maybe I am, but it’s only as a means to the end. The end, of course, being getting Madison to hook up with me.
“Hey,” I say, pulling away from Courtney. “You want a drink?” She pushes her hair back from her face and smiles.
“Sure.” She heads over to where the coolers are and I follow her. Seriously, she really does not dress like this at school. I’m having a very hard time not staring at her ass.
“What do you want to drink?” I ask, rooting through one of the coolers. The ice makes my hands cold. “There’s soda, beer…that’s it.”
“I’ll take a beer,” she says, sounding unsure. I twist the top off a Corona and hand it to her. She takes a sip.
“So,” I say. The music is kind of loud, and I suddenly realize I’m going to now have to be witty and charming so that Courtney looks like she’s having a good time, therefore making Madison think I’m flirting with her.
“So,” she says. She fiddles with the rim of her beer and looks down at her shoes. Great. So outgoing, this girl.
“Have you started the math assignment yet?” I ask her, figuring it’s a safe subject.
“Yeah, I’m actually done with it,” she says. I raise my eyebrows and she rushes on. “Just because that’s the one grade I’m worried about.”
“Really?” I frown. “How come?”
“Calculus is tripping me up for some reason,” she says. “So I try to get my stuff done early, and then I have my friend Lloyd look it over. He’s this total math genius.”
“Sounds like it, with a name like Lloyd.” I snort. I’m not trying to be mean, just funny, but she looks hurt. “Whoa,” I say. “Just kidding.”
“It’s okay,” she says, looking away. I catch the look on her face, though, which makes me think she’s probably sleeping with him. Or wishes she were. “Anyway,” she goes on, “I have to keep my math grade up, so I make sure I get the assignments done early so that my friend has time to look them over.”
“What’s the big deal?” I ask. “Are you wait-listed or something?” Everyone knows the grades we’re getting now really have no effect on what happens to us. By now, college applications are finished and sent, and you’re either in or you’re not. It’s a wonder anyone goes to class. I take another sip of my beer and try to pretend I don’t notice Madison watching me.
“No,” she says. “I’m going to Boston University.”
“No shit,” I say. “Me, too.” Suddenly I have an awful thought. “Are they checking grades for our senior year?”
“I don’t know,” she says. “I’m just nervous because of that whole thing with the kid from UNC.” I give her a blank look. She sighs. “That kid from UNC, you didn’t hear about this? He got accepted and then totally blew off all his classes. They withdrew his acceptance since his grades had taken such a turn for the worse.”
“I’m sure they were just trying to make an example of him,” I say. “I mean, seriously. They’re not going to kick you out of BU just because your math grade is bad.” I’m not sure if it’s true or not, but she strikes me as being the type to worry about every little thing. And I can’t have her getting upset. I need to look happy and like I’m this close to getting into her pants, which will therefore make me that much closer to my main goal, which is Madison.
“Anyway,” I say, deciding it’s time to start making my move. “You’re way too cute. All you’d have to do is send them a picture, and I’m sure they wouldn’t care if you failed calc.” She blushes and I reach out and touch her arm. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Madison set her drink down and start approaching us. Yes. Mission accomplished.
Before she gets there, though, a guy wearing a striped polo shirt—does anyone really wear polo shirts anymore?—approaches Courtney.
“Hey,” he says, touching her elbow. “What’s goin’ on?”
“Hey, Lloyd,” she says, her face lighting up. Ah, the infamous Lloyd. He looks like he’d be good in math. But what is he doing here? I mean, besides the obvious partying. Madison picks her drink back up and pretends not to be looking at me. Shit.
“Who’s this?” Lloyd asks, sizing me up.
“This is Jordan,” Courtney says. “He’s in my math class.” He’s in my math class? How about “I was just grinding on him like I hadn’t gotten any in months”? Nice to know where her loyalties are. I take another sip of my beer.
“Hey,” Lloyd says, eyeing me. “What’s up?”
“Not much, man,” I say, wondering when he’s going to leave. He’s screwing up the plan. I try to look bored in an effort to make him go away. It doesn’t work.
“You’re still riding home with me, right?” he asks Courtney, watching me out of the corner of his eye. What’s with this guy? He looks like he’s about one second away from taking a baseball bat to my knees. Or wanting to. I wonder if this is how serial killers start out. Wasn’t the Unabomber really good at math?
“Right,” Courtney says, glancing at me, too. I take another sip of my Corona. Hey, they don’t have to worry about me. The last thing I need is her expecting me to take her home. Like I said, she’s cute enough, and her body is smokin’, but I have my sights set on something else.
“So, George, are you a junior?” Lloyd asks, and I roll my eyes. What a tool. I know guys like him. Guys who keep a bunch of girls around, dangling themselves in front of them, but never really hooking up with them. Yet they get pissed if someone else tries to make a move. Which I’m not trying to do. But when he calls me George, I almost kind of want to, since I know he knows my name. A not-so-subtle dig. Nice, Lloyd.
“I’m a senior,” I say, and leave it at that. There’s an awkward silence.
“So, listen,” I say, watching Madison out of the corner of my eye. “I need to get back to my friends, but it was nice dancing with you, Court.”
“You, too,” she says, and for a second, I almost don’t do what I’m about to do. Because she seems like a nice girl. But then I see Lloyd giving me the look of death, and I can tell Madison is watching me, so I go for it. Whatever, if I’m going to hell, it will be for hooking up with Kendra Carlson at her brother’s graduation party last summer and then never calling her back.
“So, can I get your number?” I say, trying to sound sheepish, like I’m not sure she’s going to give it to me. She looks shocked for a minute, so I quickly add, “Oh, I’m sorry, are you two…” I look from her to Lloyd, even though I know there’s no way they’re together. Lloyd’s eyes darken. That’s what you get for calling me George, Polo Boy.
“Um, no,” Courtney says, looking even more flustered.
“No, I can’t have your number?” I say, grinning at her again.
“No, we’re not together,” she says, more forcefully this time. “And yes, you can have my number.” Lloyd’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Did he really think she was going to say no just because of him? It’s obvious she wants him, but please. She’s not that hard up. Any girl who dances the way she does is not going to sit around waiting for a guy named Lloyd.
Courtney takes a pen and paper out of the small bag slung around her waist and writes her number down. I make a big show out of putting it in my wallet, even though I have no intention of using it. It’s mostly so Madison will see me doing it, although later I’ll tell her Courtney and I got paired up for a project at school, I was just dancing with her to be nice, and I got her number so we could work on the assignment. She won’t know whether it’s true or not, but again, that’s part of the fun.
“Nice to meet you, Lloyd,” I say, looking right at him. “And I’ll give ya a call,” I say to Courtney.
“Later,” she says, and I think briefly about what’s going to happen at school on Monday when I blow her off. Thankfully, she sits on the other side of the room in math class. And she doesn’t seem psychotic, which is always a plus. Psychotic girls are a pain in my ass. Last year I kissed this freshman girl at a pool party and she wouldn’t get off my nuts for six months. Which is why my policy is now no psychotics, and no freshmen. The freshmen thing is obviously easy to avoid, while the psychotics pose a bit more of a problem. It’s not like girls walk around with “I’m crazy” stamped on their chests.
I decide to head around the party the long way, and then sneak up on Madison from behind. How cute would that be, me doing to her the same trick she pulled earlier? But when I make my way through the crowd to where Madison and her friends were standing, the only one there is B. J. His leprechaun hat is stained with beer and he’s sitting on the ground, looking dejected.
“Dude,” I say, crouching down next to him. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” he says mournfully. “I’m okay. I’m just drunk.”
“Sucks.”
“Yeah,” he agrees.
“Hey, you didn’t happen to notice where Madison Allesio and her friends went, did you?”
“I’m not sure,” he says, looking thoughtful. He frowns, pulls his leprechaun hat off his head, and twists it in his hands. “I think they said something about going to Jeremy Norfolk’s house.” Shit. Jeremy Norfolk was also having a party tonight, and apparently Madison and her friends took off while they were supposed to be waiting for me. I’m impressed in spite of myself, and a little bit turned on. Any girl who ditches me while I’m in the process of trying to make her jealous is hot.
“You want to head over to Jeremy’s?” I ask B. J. He looks at me, his eyes glazed over and the front of his leprechaun outfit soaked in beer.
“Yes.” He nods.
“Dude, you’re shot,” I say. “You’re not going anywhere but home. Come on.” I try to help B. J. up without actually getting too close to him. No way I want to kick it to Madison smelling like drunk leprechaun.
Twenty minutes later, after getting B. J. some drive-thru coffee and bringing him home, I decide to stop at my house to reapply my cologne and kill some time. I can’t have Madison thinking I took off after her as soon as I realized she was gone.
There’s an unfamiliar car in my driveway. My dad’s out of town, so I’m assuming it’s one of my mom’s clients—she’s a lawyer, and sometimes when she’s in the middle of a big case, she’ll have clients over to the house. I open the glove compartment and take a piece of gum out, popping it into my mouth just in case I smell like alcohol. I only had a couple of beers, but the last thing I need is to look drunk and disorderly in front of my mom and one of her clients.
“Mom!” I call, moving through the foyer, and trying to calculate how long my mom might be up and working. She’s a heavy sleeper, and our house is big enough that if my mom’s asleep, I could totally bring Madison back here with me later on. “I’m home.”
I hear some scuffling and whispers coming from the living room. I turn the corner, and that’s when I see it. My mom. On the couch, with her shirt unbuttoned. There’s some guy next to her, with his shirt OFF. And it’s not my dad. For a second, I just stand there.
“Jordan,” my mom says, smoothing her hair. She pulls her shirt closed. “I didn’t think you’d be home until much later.”
“Obviously,” I say, sizing up the guy she’s with. He doesn’t look embarrassed. Instead, he looks almost pleased. No one moves. We all just wait, not saying anything.
“It’s okay,” I finally say. I turn around and head back toward the door. “I was actually going back out anyway, so…” I trail off, not really sure what I’m supposed to say.
“You don’t have to,” the guy says. He stands up from the couch. “I was just leaving anyway.”
“I know I don’t HAVE to,” I say, turning back around. “I live here.”
“Jordan—” my mom starts, but I turn on my heel and head out to my car. I slam the door of my truck and turn the music up. Loud. I sit there for a second, expecting my mom to come rushing out after me, to explain, to tell me it was some weird misunderstanding. But she doesn’t.
After a few minutes, I turn the music down and back out of the driveway. I have no idea where I’m going or what I’m going to do. I’m so not in the mood to chase Madison anymore, and B. J.’s definitely done for the night. And all my other friends are probably at Jeremy’s party. I drive around aimlessly for a few minutes, and then I remember Courtney McSweeney’s number, written on a piece of paper in my wallet.
