Two-way Street
: Chapter 36

Day Three, 11:13 a.m.

I can’t believe he swallowed that disgusting pill. (Like it wasn’t totally obvious.) I can’t believe he was in the same hotel as me. I can’t believe he told me he loved me. I can’t believe I’m still on this trip.

We’re in Jordan’s car, on the road, and we haven’t spoken for three hours. The vibe in the car isn’t exactly bad. It’s almost a relief, like a bunch of tension has been released, and now we can just drive.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” I announce.

“Okay,” Jordan says. Half an hour later, we pull into a rest stop. I’m beginning to hate rest stops. I feel like I spend half my life in a rest stop. Or in a rest stop bathroom.

I use the bathroom quickly, and try not to think about how gross it is that I’ve been using public bathrooms way too much lately. Although if Jordan took that aspirin, he should definitely be more concerned about his germiness than I should. And good luck getting anyone to kiss him at college. I’m going to tell everyone he took a random, germ-infested sperm pill. Disgusting.

I wash my hands and dry them with a roll of suspect-looking paper towels, figuring drying my hands with gross paper towels is better than not drying them at all.

My phone rings. Jocelyn.

“Hey,” I say, balancing the phone against my shoulder and tossing the paper towel into the overflowing garbage can.

“Courtney, B. J. just told me what happened,” she says. “I am so, so sorry. Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” I say, sighing. I look at myself in the mirror over the sink. My eyes are a little bloodshot and my hair’s a little messy, but other than that, I don’t look like someone whose world is falling apart.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I’m sure I will, at some point,” I say. “But right now, I just want to get off this trip and away from Jordan. I’m so mad, Joce.”

“Yeah,” she says. “I understand, but it’s…” she trails off.

“But it’s what?” I ask. “Don’t even tell me you’re taking his side.” What a traitor.

“No, I’m not taking his side,” she says. “I’m just saying, you have to remember that things aren’t always completely black and white, Court.”

“Yeah, well, it’s black and white that he lied to me.” I feel myself starting to get mad again. I pull a brush out of my purse and start fixing my hair. Now that I’m single again, I need to look hot. So that hot, honest college guys will want me.

“Did you know he’s the one that insisted you guys still go on the trip?” Jocelyn asks.

I stop brushing. “He did?”

“Yeah,” Jocelyn says. “Your dad didn’t want you to. But Jordan convinced him.”

“How do you know that?” I ask softly.

“B. J. told me.”

“But why would Jordan do that?”

“Because he wanted to spend time with you.” I don’t say anything. “Listen,” she says. “I’m not saying what he did was right, Court. I’m just saying don’t turn your back on things just because you’re hurting. Try to at least think about his side of it.” She hangs up, and I slide my phone back into my purse.

When I walk out of the bathroom, I almost bump into Jordan, who’s standing against the soda machine.

“Watch it,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I almost bumped into you.”

“Courtney,” he says, taking my hand. I pull away. “I want to talk about this.”

“We’re not talking about anything,” I say, walking toward the exit. “We’ve talked about it enough.”

“We haven’t talked about it at all,” he says, following me.

“And that’s enough,” I say. And it is. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to deal with it. My phone starts ringing again, and I check the caller ID. It’s my dad.

“Ignore it,” Jordan says. We’re in the parking lot now, standing near his car. I look at him. “Ignore it,” he says again.

“I’m supposed to ignore him, but you expect me to talk to you?” I say, crossing my arms. That makes no sense. One of them is just as bad as the other.

“Yes,” he says.

“Why?” I ask.

“Because he’s your dad, and he’s always going to be in your life, so it can wait,” he says. “But if you and I don’t deal with this now, we might end up getting into a situation that can’t be repaired.”

“It already can’t be repaired,” I say, feeling myself starting to tear up. This is why I didn’t want to talk about it. Because I don’t want to have to deal with this right now. I don’t want to cry. I don’t want to get upset. I’m enjoying the very numb, very comfortable, very avoidant feeling that I’m having right now.

“It can,” he says. “Courtney, I love you.”

“Don’t say things like that,” I say, turning around and trying to open the door to his truck. But it’s locked. “It’s not fair.”

“What isn’t?” he asks, studying me. “What’s not fair? Telling you how I feel?”

“Open the door for me,” I say, determined not to break down.

“No,” he says. “I want to talk about this.”

I don’t say anything, because I know if I do, I’m going to start crying. And I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry. We stand there for a minute, me in front of the passenger door of his truck, my back to him, him standing behind me, holding the keys. Finally, he opens the door.

“Thank you,” I say, launching myself into the car. Only twelve more hours and then this trip will be over. I lay my head against the back of the seat and pray I can fall asleep.

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