Love and Other Things I'm Bad At (36 page)

10/31 HALLOWEEN PARTY

“I wasn’t supposed to be here.”

That’s what I told Grant aka Scarecrow from
The Wizard of Oz
when I walked into the party at his house, meekly following Shawna, who was wearing a plastic Twister game costume covered in polka dots, and Bryan, who was dressed as a vampire.

Me, I was wearing a Snow White costume. “I’m wearing this ironically, just so you know,” I said.

“I hope so,” said Grant. “That looks small.”

“It was the last costume even near my size, OK?” I pulled down the sleeves of the Youth XL I was wearing.

“Right on,” said Cody, nodding, dressed as the Cowardly Lion. He nods a lot, as if this is communicating. “It’s all good.”

“Nice to see you,” said Matt with a smile, his Tin Man costume creaking as he bowed in greeting.

And there was Kelli, little Dorothy with a gingham dress, to complete the costumes.

It was so cute that I almost wanted to puke, but that could have been all the candy corn I ate while I was costume shopping.

Bryan was across the room, mingling with Shawna. I must tell him. No matter how cute he can sometimes be, no one in college would ever seriously date a high school guy. Ever. I really need to talk to him. Why is he so clueless? What about his friends at home? Don’t they miss him? Don’t they tell him he is a nerd for coming to hang out with his sister? And what’s wrong with the girls at Bugling Elk? Sure, they’re not as hot as they were a couple of years ago, when I was there . . . LOL.

Dara swept in, dressed like a punk rocker (not exactly a costume or a stretch for her), and informed me that Oscar was having trouble with all the trick-or-treaters coming to the door, and told me it was my turn to babysit him.

Gratitude for saving her life yesterday? Gone.

I happened to be standing next to the tortilla chips when she was talking, and so was Grant. “I’ll go with you, maybe I can help calm him down,” he offered.

“Are you sure?” I asked. “And where’s the Wicked Witch?”

“Shut up,” he said. “Sure I’m sure. Hey, maybe we can dress Oscar as Toto and bring him back.”

“Um, how about no,” I said. I went home to keep Oscar company, and Grant followed me. Even in stupid costumes, felt strangely close to him. We talked about the drive to the airport, and Bigelow’s class, and how pretentious he is, and how you just have to survive it by any means necessary, and he talked about the big project his class did the year before, how Bigelow gives the entire class the same grade depending on how it goes, which seems a tad unethical to me. Or at least unnecessarily mean, considering half the people in the class are airheads.

“Or maybe they’re not, they just act that way,” said Grant. “You never know.”

“True,” I said.

The whole time, I kept absentmindedly handing out candy to kids who came to the door, but I guess I wasn’t really paying attention because I dropped some chocolate bars on Bryan’s foot when he showed up on the doorstep. He didn’t have a bag. Well, was that my fault?

“You guys have been here awhile. Everything OK?” he asked.

“Sure. Have a Milky Way.”

“Because, um, people over there are, um, looking for you.” Then Bryan disappeared before I could ask him to take a shift watching Oscar (which he was supposed to do all weekend, anyway).

“Oh yeah—I’m hosting. I should be there.” Grant slid off where he was perched on the arm of the sofa.

“Hold on a sec, Scarecrow,” I said. “Your straw’s falling out.”

“Shut up, it is not,” he said. “Snow White.”

“Hey, I told you, it’s supposed to be ironic. I didn’t even
want
a costume,” I said. “Right here, your sleeve, all the straw’s coming out—where did you get all this straw?”

“Hey, cut it out. . . .” He grabbed my arm just as I was pushing some straw down his back.

There was a loud knock at the door, which was still open. “Trick or treat!” I turned to see who’d be so bold to just walk in.

Kelli was glaring at us. Wishing we were having life-ending seizures, no doubt.

“Hi, uh, Dorothy,” I said, still clutching a clump of straw in my hand.

She didn’t say anything. Oscar barked at her.

“So, let me guess. We’re not in Kansas anymore?” I joked. “Right?”

Complete. Utter. Silence.

“If I only had a brain . . .” Grant said under his breath before he ran out after her.

11/1

Good thing I am not trying to hook up with anyone here who I’d then bring to my room, because Bryan would seriously be in the way. I tripped over him, like, five times last night. He sleeps lying one way across the room, Oscar sacks out the other way, and it’s like a trap.

This morning I was peering at Grant’s house out of basement window, at feet going past, trying to identify them. Boots going back and forth on snow and ice, crunch, crunch. Whose boots were they and why were they making so many trips?

“What are you looking at?” Bryan suddenly asked from his spot on the floor, in his sleeping bag.

“Oh!” I gasped, because he nearly gave me a heart attack. “N-nothing. Just checking the weather. Look, Bryan. You—you can’t keep coming up here.”

“Why not, am I ruining your love life?”

“No! I have no love life—not here, anyway.”

“Could have fooled me,” Bryan said under his breath.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It just seems like you and Grant are still kind of, um, close,” he said. “Like last night?”

“We’re still friends,” I said. “Is that so wrong?”

He folded his arms across his chest. “You tell me.”

“It’s not. And anyway, we’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you. It’s time for me to give you some advice.”

“And advice versa,” Bryan replied.

“OK, quit it with the cute comments. You have to stop sleeping over in my room. In this house. You need to get a life at home!”

“I
have
a life at home. I just like it here. Anyway, why am I telling you? It’s not like you’ll get it. You don’t get it. Nobody gets it.”

I groaned. Bryan’s trademark phrase. Hadn’t heard it in a while; apparently he’d been saving it up so he could repeat it three times. “What am I trying to
get
, exactly?” I asked.

He wouldn’t say.

“If you think something’s going to happen between you and Shawna—”

“No! Of course not. It’s not Shawna. We’re friends, that’s all.”

Hm. Sounded familiar. I ran through all the possibilities in my brain. “Wait a second,” I said. “Are you, uh, gay?”

“No. You’d know by now if I was, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, but Shawna’s really, really cute, and if you’re not attracted to her and only want to be friends . . . then why else are you coming up here all the time?” I heard heavy footsteps above us, on the ceiling. Boot footsteps. Dara’s. I looked at Bryan. He shrugged. “It’s not her?” I asked. “Because she doesn’t even talk to you.”

He just shrugged. “Talking is overrated.”

“It’s not her. Tell me it’s not her. Bryan, it’ll never work out!”

“You should know all about unrequited love,” he said.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Bryan?”

He didn’t answer. He just walked upstairs. When I got there, he and Dara were seated at the breakfast table, reading their texts, checking email, etc., both drinking black coffee but not speaking. Wondered if I should tell Bryan his hair was sticking up.

Wondered if Dara liked that, because he looked slightly punk.

Unrequited love. My brother and Dara. As if.

11/2

Due to events beyond this reporter/blogger’s control, I am working on “Holding Court” a few days late. This week’s topic: “How Can We Make Snow Cleanup More Environmentally Friendly?”

There’s only been one comment on all of my blog posts so far: “
I’ll
hold you, Court.” Signed, Anonymous

Creepy stalker.

Figures.

Crap, someone at door.

Not crap, Wittenauer is here!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

11/3

Love having Wittenauer here. He caught a ride with someone who was headed to Denver. Ride-share. Walked me to every class and met me afterward. He and I took Oscar for a walk. He went to coffee shop with me and sat there for a couple of hours while I wrote my snowplow blog, a few days late, and worked on homework.

I kind of like the attention, but at the same time, feel like I’m not famous enough to need a security detail. But it’s Wittenauer! And I get to be guarded by a very famous cornstalk.

One awkward moment as we were coming back from Smoothie Stop: We ran into Grant, naturally. For some reason, Wittenauer ended up doing most of the talking.

“How’s Kelli? What’s she up to?” he asked.

“Oh, she’s, uh, uh, at, visiting, the library,” Grant stammered. “I think. In fact, I’m supposed to meet her . . . see you around!” He took off on his bike and didn’t look back.

He is a horrible liar. Something is up. Are he and Kelli done?

11/4 WII-DNESDAY

Wittenauer was not impressed by, basically, anything happening at the Smoothie Stop. And who can blame him, really? Though he did play several Wii games against random customers.

“So this is what you do on Wednesday nights,” he said after an hour. No doubt bored out of his skull.

“Yes?”

“And it’s fun.”

“Yes? Don’t even try to tell me that the social life at CFC is better than this,” I said.

“Um, Courtney?” He coughed. “It’s better than this.”

In the midst of talking, Mom called. She was adamant about the fact that we needed to talk and said I couldn’t keep ignoring her forever. (Maybe not, but wouldn’t it be fun to try?)

“It’s about Thanksgiving,” she said.

I sighed. When
isn’t
it about Thanksgiving? She starts planning months in advance for a holiday that lasts 3–4 hours at most. Not counting digesting.

“Mom, I don’t know if I can make it this year. I started out late this year, three weeks late, remember, and I could use the time to finish all the unfinished assignments and . . .”

“No, Courtney. This year it’s really important that we all go. Like every year,” she said.

“Mother? I came down to visit you recently and you weren’t even
there
,” I reminded her. “What makes you think I’m going to fall for that again?”

“Alison’s even flying in. I just want to put it on your calendar,” Mom went on.

Alison’s coming? Good, haven’t seen her in a long time. “Well, I can’t talk now,” I said. “Wittenauer’s here.”

“He is? Oh good. Do you mind if I talk to him?”

He’d been studying for the LSATs, but he was willing to talk to her. Next thing you know, she’d invited Wittenauer to meet us in Nebraska for Thanksgiving and insisted on his being there.

If that doesn’t ruin our relationship, what will?

Honestly.

11/5

Wittenauer following me everywhere is starting to get on my nerves. Feel like I need a can of Static Guard spray because he’s clinging to me. A
big
can.

This morning over coffee I asked, “So don’t you think you should be getting back?”

“Oh no, it’s cool. We have this weeklong break,” he said as he lounged on the sofa, holding his LSAT prep book. I was attempting to get the reading done for Bigelow’s class this afternoon.

“Wittenauer. I
went
there, OK? I know that’s not true,” I said.

His face turned a mottled shade of red. “Fine. I’m taking some time off, then. A, um, what’s it called? Sabbatical.”

“But you can’t take one of those, whatever it is.”

“Why not?”

“Because! You’re a student, not a professor. And you have to at least finish the semester! You’re going to graduate soon!”

“I know, that’s why I’m studying for the LSATs. But I have a lot of flexibility at this point. Hey, you know what would be a good idea?” he suddenly asked. “Why don’t we go down to Denver later so I can meet your mom?”

I sighed. “You’re just trying to change the subject.”

“True.”

“I really think you need to be getting back,” I said.

“Wow, Court. You really sound like you want me to go.”

“No, I—I don’t, but . . . I don’t want you to flunk because of me, either. And I don’t want to fail out because of
you
. I mean, long view. Long view Wittenauer. That’s you, right?”

He laughed. “Yeah, true. But long view, I want us to be together, and the rest will sort itself out. That is, if I get into law school.” He leaned over the practice questions again, raking his hands through his hair.

So, everything is sort of OK again, or at least he knows how I feel. He couldn’t stay here forever. It was a visit. He wasn’t moving in.

I wasn’t ready for that. Especially not if he was going to move in here. I didn’t know how many more awkward waves and nods I could exchange with Grant.

Wonder how Grant is doing, if he and Kelli are together or not.

11/6

Didn’t hand in assignment for Art of the Essay, as Wittenauer and I went to movies last night instead and then bowling. Skipped classes today. Also, didn’t write my blog this week.

No time to write in here when BF is constantly hovering at my side, in my bed, etc. Hours formerly known as private time no longer exist. He’s sleeping beside me. My bed is not all that big.

Basement feels crowded. Not big enough for me, Wittenauer, and Oscar.

Someone whose name ends in
r
has to go. And not the one who has fur and likes to run away.

Is it possible I’m falling out of love with W? Or am I even
in
love or do I just really like him a lot?

No. Just stressed. It’s one thing when we both have classes and homework; that works.

We went to Estes Park to visit Rocky Mtn. National Park, and Wittenauer is convinced he must move here immediately after getting degree, if not sooner.

Have I mentioned he snores?

Am going to check ride-share postings on Craigslist and other places.

Maybe I really like him, but I’m not in love with him, because maybe if I was truly in love with him, I wouldn’t feel this way, like I need more of my own space.

Maybe I need to burn this journal, right now. Or at least find a better place to hide it.