Maine Squeeze (35 page)

“So, um, this isn't for me,” I said, pointing at the bag. I didn't want rumors floating around that I was dumped because of some … infection or something. When your middle initials are V.D., you can't be too careful. “My dog has seizures unless he takes this stuff.”

“Really? How come?”

“He has this head-trauma-induced epilepsy thing condition. I think that's the official term. Ever hear of it?”

“Sort of,” he said.

“Basically, he got hit by a car, and it sort of scrambled his brain. For instance, sometimes he forgets where he is and he gets freaked out really easily and then he runs away and can't find his way home.”

We exchanged awkward nods. I was talking too much but for some reason couldn't stop. I was about to ask him if he'd heard from Dave when he made a bolt for the door.

“Sorry about your dog. Well, gotta go,” he said. “Hope …”

“Oscar,” I said.

“Hope Oscar feels better.” Then he tapped me with the crinkly white bag on his way out—on the arm, kind of intimate-like. He wouldn't do that if there was something really gross in the bag. Would he? Outside I saw him getting into this car in the blue zone—for the disabled. And he was driving it! Here I thought Grant was a nice guy. Instead he's picking up prescription condoms and parking illegally.

When I got home, after stopping at Safeway for a gigantic box of cheap hot dogs for him, Oscar was missing. Typical. I run around getting his new drugs and hot dogs to put them in, and he can't even wait for me? Bryan and I found him at the park about half an hour later. He was pawing through a trash can, and he had a bunch of spaghetti in his mouth. He does this so we look like bad owners, I swear. He's into pasta. Maybe we should put his pills in manicotti.

When we cornered Oscar and got a leash attached to his collar, this guy with a billion plastic grocery bags hanging all around his belt came up to us. He had a big button on his fishing vest that said, “Leash Be Friends.” He told us we shouldn't let Oscar off his leash and that people not respecting the leash law led to death and destruction blah blah blah.

“Did you know that unleashed dogs are responsible for all of the goat killings in the Denver area?” he asked.

He was so crazy! We ran away before he leashed
us
.

When we got home we told Mom about it. She said that some goats had been brought in to control weeds in the city parks, something about a natural alternative to pesticides. So they spent the summer eating a bunch of noxious weeds and then got offed by some vicious dogs. Nice. Excellent plan. So much for natural.

Next year I bet they use those crop duster planes and just spray the hell out of the parks.

When I walk down the hallway, everyone looks at me like I have the plague. Just because I'm no longer half of a couple! As if there's a problem with that, as if it's not my ultimate
goal
right now.

I hate when people have an attitude about me. Like they've worked on it, like it matters to them. And I've never even spoken to them.

Sometimes I wish I went to an alternative school, in another country. One where there were only hardened criminals and nobody spoke to each other except in some language I couldn't understand.

Maybe everyone's looking at me weird because Grant told them about seeing me at Walgreens. Saying a prescription is for your dog is probably a really common excuse. I should have been more original. There's probably a rumor going around that I have seizures, or else there's one that I'm addicted to phenobarbital or something worse, and that's why Dave dumped me. Which would make him
so
much less of a person. If that's possible.

I can't believe he hasn't called yet. So I told him not to, he has to know that wasn't what I meant. I hate when people say they'll do something, and they don't.

I should have broken up with him first. I wanted to, you know. It crossed my mind several times. But I'm a bigger person than that, I don't break up with someone over petty things like moving to another town or living separate lives. I'm a middle child, I'm used to making sacrifices just to make things work out. But not Dave. He has to be free. And clear.

I hope he gets a really big zit on the first day of classes, from all the stress.

He won't even be able to handle college classes. And the sad thing is, he doesn't realize that.

Everywhere I go, there's this chorus of “You and Dave were such a good couple!” and “I can't believe he wants to see other people when he had you!”

I know they
mean
well.

No, actually, maybe they don't. But some of them do. I think.

In gym class today Ms. Ramstein announced that we were going to learn Tae-Bo. Jane gave me this look, like, “She can't be serious.” First of all Ms. Ramstein has no idea what it is, second of all she's like a year behind the times, third of all she teaches gym but we don't know why, because she can't lift her leg higher than a foot off the floor—in any event. When she tried to teach gymnastics sophomore year, she ran into the vault at least eight times a day.

Anyway, so she's all excited because she got a video on sale at Target. “Girls, we're going to kick butt today!” she cried. Her purple cotton sweatshirt and gray sweatpants hanging off her like a 70s soft rock tune.

It was so obvious she'd only watched the video once, and maybe in slow motion. She kept calling it Tai Chi by mistake and getting all meditative, not understanding that the point of this was to kick things. With force.

“Ms. Ramstein? I think we're supposed to be like … madder. Or something,” I finally said.

“Take a deep breath,” she kept telling us. “Let it go. Let it all … go.”

So ridiculous. Let it go. Beth's always saying that, part of her psychobabble. Where's “it” going to go? You can't expect bad things to fall off like old skin or run away once you “let go” of the leash (Oscar, anyone?). You have to push them off. That's all I was thinking. That and how much I hated Dave for ruining my senior year. How I had to forget about him or I was never going to have fun. How I needed something else, like Tae-Bo, to focus on, because I was sounding shallow even to myself.

“Ha! Ha! Ha!” I chanted with each kick.

I was so into it I didn't even notice that Jane was waving her hands in front of me to get my attention. I thought she was just personalizing the workout for herself, doing her own moves.

“Hold on, girls—I think Courtney's got the hang of it. Everyone stop and watch Courtney!”

“You've got to punch him out!” I told Ms. Ramstein. Oops. “I mean, punch it out. Your, um, anger,” I said. “I mean, to get the full aerobic benefit.” The music suddenly went off. I stopped kicking and started panting, totally out of breath.

When I looked up I saw this entire line of guys standing there staring at me. They had just jogged into the gym from outside.

“Hey, Courtney!” the Tom yelled from across the gym. “Nice moves!”

The other guys were all grinning, like something I did or said was funny. Which might be nice if I weren't exercising and doing Ms. Ramstein's job for her and demonstrating the stupid moves. Or what I thought were the moves, anyway. Like I know.

“What's the matter, haven't you ever seen someone do Tae-Bo before?” I yelled back.

“Yeah—and that wasn't it!” someone yelled back.

“Ignore them,” Jane said. She hadn't even broken a sweat.

I'll never get a date now. Not that I want one with any of
them
.

Ms. Ramstein stopped me after class. She was squeezing sweat out of her red-white-and-blue headband. “You're a bit young to be so jaded, Courtney.”

I hate when adults come up with these adjectives for me. As if they know more about me than I do. Like they
could
.

Here are my adjectives for Ms. Ramstein:

sloppy

no fashion sense

bad dresser

also, not very limber

Jane and Beth dragged me out tonight. I hate when people ambush me into going out.

“It's Friday night and we're going to have
fun
,” Jane declared when she picked up me and Beth from Truth or Dairy. She had these new green glasses on, the latest from her Glasses of the Month club for extremely hip people; they get a new pair every month for a reduced price as long as they stay hip enough to sort of advertise for the place. It goes along with her haircut contract; Jane's got more contracts than the jocks at school. And better, glossier hair. She has some shoe deal, too. Must be nice.

“We're going to a concert at Juiced and Java'ed,” she said. I just have one problem with that place—it's a total ripoff of T or D!!!

Except they substitute coffee for ice cream. And they book good bands and you can smoke in this tiny section and drink all the coffee you want. Which is why the line to the bathroom is always at least five people long.

“I don't know,” I said. “Do we have to go out? Couldn't we just stay home and turn up our stereo really, really loud?”

Beth punched my arm. “Shut up. You know how much I love concerts. You're not going to deprive me.”

That's when I remembered. My dream—I mean, nightmare—from a week or so ago. In it, I was at a concert. The formal kind, like the ones Alison gives with her chamber orchestra. I was all happy because I was there, sitting next to Dave. But then I realized I was there by myself—and he was there with
Beth
!!!

Also it was a really bad concert. Sting wearing a tux and playing with a full orchestra.

I can't believe Beth would steal Dave, even if it's only in my subconscious. Is it in hers? You know how sometimes your dreams tell you something you're trying not to know in real life?

I stared at her all night. Watched her every move. She seemed to be flirting with a dozen other guys that weren't named Dave, but maybe I just
wanted
to see that. We meet lots of guys when we go out, because Jane's so beautiful.

“What's wrong with you? Why do you keep looking at me instead of the band?” Beth finally asked.

“Oh. No reason.” I smiled at her. “I was just afraid that you might want to smoke.”
And go out with my ex-boyfriend
. “Being around all these smokers.”

She shook her head. “I have so much else to live for, you know?”

Like stealing my ex-boyfriend
.

“There's no way I'm ever going back to smoking.” She and Jane clinked their glass mugs and drank more decaf. I started looking at the dessert menu. It was really hard to avoid the chocolate eclairs that kept going by on trays.

Got home and the Caller ID was flashing. I thought it might be Dave, but all it said for the caller's name was UNAVAILABLE. Yeah, no kidding, I wanted to say. It started with 440, which is Boulder, so I know it was Dave. (Hey, I've read
Nancy Drew
, okay? Or actually I think what I read was Sue Grafton, Mom keeps buying used copies at yard sales.)

But Dave didn't leave a message. What kind of call is that? He wants me to know he's thinking of me, but he doesn't want to actually talk to me or have me call him back?

I actually slept with him. Like, more than once.

Why? When he's going to be such a jerk, leaving no messages and sleeping with my best friend?

Actually I didn't sleep with him that many times. Maybe that's why he dumped me. Well, too bad. He
said
it was okay, that we had plenty of time for that in the future.

What a liar!

I called Beth. “I just wanted to make sure you got home okay,” I said when she answered.

“Courtney. Jane dropped me off first,” Beth said. “You saw me walk into my house!”

“Yeah. I know. I'm just sort of … paranoid lately,” I said. “So, did you get any phone calls while you were out?”

“A couple,” she said. “Nothing good. Just this guy named Rand who I met at work last week, I thought he was cute so I gave him my number, but then I realized I can't go out with someone named
Rand
. And this other guy, Bill? Remember me talking about him?”

Beth doesn't have a “little black book” for all the guys she goes out with occasionally. She practically has a zip drive.

Which only makes me more suspicious.

I just looked over the last 3 entries. Every other sentence starts with “I hate when.”

I have to stop hating so incessantly. I need to be more positive, or no one will want to be around me. Like last night when I kept saying how I hated when other people cut in front in line, and I hated when there was no toilet paper in the bathroom stall and nobody reported it, and I hated when bands played for only 45 minutes after I waited 2 hours in line to buy the tickets to see them—

Well, anyway. You get the point. I get the point. I can't Tae-Bo my way through life. It's a great workout, but a little hostile.