JofU - chapter 2

Up until about a month ago, I worked part time at the public library in addition to working at the bookstore. That was a lot of time to spend on helping people find books, especially people who didn't read normally and were only looking for a book that Oprah had told them about. I liked Oprah as much as the next person, but I'd have much rather been home watching Dawson's Creek reruns than helping Mrs. Ginsblatt find that new Da Vinci book everyone was talking about.

My main problem was that I'd have much rather been writing my own novel. I didn't want to help anyone find the new, hot book to read, I wanted to write it and THEN have someone else find it for them. I wanted Oprah to tell them they had to read my book or they wouldn't be allowed to watch her show anymore. I wanted this all to happen, but I didn't actually want to sit down and write the book. I had all these ideas bouncing around in my head, see, but I had never actually sat down and started typing.

I read all the books. Bird by Bird. On Writing. The Elements of Style. I had the grammar, the rules, the map down. I knew I probably shouldn't become an alcoholic or start doing cocaine, and the only thing I should become addicted to was caffeine, but I just couldn't get started.

When I did start writing, it was usually because I'd had either too much alcohol or too much caffeine. But when I got to that point, I usually couldn't spell or type very well so it never amounted to much. Also, whenever I imbibed too much alcohol or caffeine, it was usually late at night while watching TV, and it was really hard to write while watching reruns of The X-Files (even the bad ones) or old movies with Cary Grant and Katherine Hepburn.

Meanwhile, I was working two jobs where I had to help clueless morons find books that they probably wouldn't read once they got home and realized they could rent the movie instead. Every week, it was some new letdown. Last week a man had come in asking for To Kill a Mockingbird.

"Of course, sir," I said. "Right this way."

I led him to the K-O aisle of fiction. I had a photographic memory and since I'd been working at the library for two months, I had the entire thing mapped in my brain.

"Harper Lee, right here," I pointed proudly.

The man, portly and mutton-chopped, nodded and smiled. He scratched his stomach and I worried that his shirt would ride up and display a patch of pasty skin littered with coarse hair.

"I love that Gregory Peck," he said.

"Gregory Peck?" My brow was furrowed. My brow furrowed every hour at this place. I was going to have wrinkles by the time I was 23.

"Oh yeah," he nodded. "Good old Alfred Fitch."

"Atticus Finch?" I asked.

"Oh. That's what I said."

"Sir," I began, wondering how to handle this without letting him know how absolutely idiotic I thought he was. "These are the books. The videos are over there," I pointed.

"Oh," he said. He glanced in the direction I was pointing. "I know, I, uh, just wanted to, you know, compare." He grabbed a copy of To Kill a Mockingbird from the shelf, knocking several of its siblings on the floor, and beelined to the movie section. I sighed and bent down to pick up Harper's fallen comrades.

It wasn't that I was a total book snob. I loved the movie To Kill a Mockingbird almost as much as the book. But that man . . . he thought the main characters name was Arthur Fitch. Arthur Fitch. It made my brain hurt.

I quit that job a few weeks later, when someone asked me where "that little woman book by Winona Ryder" was.

Journal of the Unemployed

I wrote this in October; I'm thinking of continuing it.

----------------------------------------------------

Know what I did today? The same thing I've been doing all summer. I got up around noon, which is early for me, made half a pot of coffee and signed online. I checked away messages. Everyone was doing something productive; they were at class, at work, at the library. I was in my pajamas, hair mussed, no bra, the very picture of success. I checked my e-mail and ignored all of the important messages.

I'll answer them later, I thought.

Next, I started reading blogs. I read a lot of them. It's kind of an addiction. I think I enjoy it because it's like reading a novel, only very slowly. I feel like I know these people. Reading a blog is like catching up with an old friend, except in this case I've never met the friend, I have no idea what their real name is, and I don't know what they look like. Still.

It took a good hour to check all the blogs, because most of them had a new entry. I wish I could find a job editing some of these blogs. Not to be rude, most of them are grammatically perfect and have already been obviously, painstakingly edited by the author, but some of them could use another run-through. I could do it. I have a degree in Journalism, anyway. I took this test once, an editing test, because I thought it would get me a job. I was so young, then, so innocent.

I normally finish my coffee before I'm done reading blogs. That's when I make lunch. Today I had a ham and cheese Hot Pocket. It was delicious, but mainly? It was cheap. I have a freezer full of them. Not just ham and cheese, of course, I do like some variety. I ate my pocket of scalding cheese in front of the computer. I finished reading blogs and checked my e-mail again. The e-mails, the ones I didn't feel like answering, were still there.

Later, I thought.

Once I finished lunch, I wandered out to the living room and turned on the TV. Nothing but soap operas, of course, but when all everything else has abandoned you, there's still Passions. Quite possibly the worst soap opera ever made, but entertaining nonetheless.

Around the time Teresa started rehashing her plans to get Ethan away from Gwen, I stood up and started pacing the apartment. This is a normal part of my day, too. It's the part where I'm hopped up on caffeine and I wonder where the hell I went wrong. I have a degree in journalism from a fairly good school. Why aren't I working?

To be fair, I did have a job at the town paper back home. Writing obits and wedding announcements. After a year and a half of this, and with no promise of promotion, I was ready to gouge my eyes out, so I took my savings and moved to Seattle. I'm still not really sure why I picked Seattle. Probably some misguided whim leftover from watching Sleepless in Seattle one too many times.

And here I am. I work at a bookstore four days a week. Enough to pay my rent (with some help from my ever-hopeful parents) and a couple of nights out. It's not that I don't want a job. I do. Very much. I've applied for jobs at publishing companies and newspapers all over Washington, not just Seattle. And nothing.

So, now I'm stuck between college and the real world. Sure, I have a job, but it's nothing to write home about. Believe me, if I found a full-time job, I would write home about it. Honestly! I already have the letter saved to my computer, ready to be printed at the first opportunity:

Dear Mom and Dad,

I found a job. You can stop asking everyone what you did wrong. See you at Thanksgiving. Your loving daughter, Betsy.

I can't wait.

It's around this time that my caffeine high wore off and I decided I should shower. So I did. Then I realized I didn't have to work today, so I slipped into another t-shirt and some yoga pants. I knew I needed to go to the grocery; the dog was hungry and I was out of Iams, but in the end I shoved some leftover chinese in the microwave and gave Bowser the rice.

After "dinner" I watched Real World reruns on MTV and fell asleep on the couch.

This is my life.

I need a real job.

Help.

shut up, already

It's been a while since I've written anything new. Since I stopped writing the novel, I guess. I don't think that's ever going to be finished.

I think my problem is that I don't know what to write. Sometimes I think I need to be writing something important, much like how I often think that I need to be reading something important, and instead I'm reading Bridget Jones's Diary for the fiftieth time. When I read books like that, not necessarily that book, but books LIKE THAT, you know chicklit, I feel like I should be embarrassed. I suppose that's true, if the book is terrible. And I've read some terrible chicklit. I usually finish reading it just because I hate NOT finishing a book. The only book I've never finished was Huck Finn, and I still feel like I should go back and read it. I feel GUILTY when I don't finish a book, even if it's horrible. That's why I finished The Firm.

Sometimes I'm embarrassed about what I WANT to write about, which is just stupid. It's not like whatever I write has to turn into some gargantuan novel of epic proportions. Who cares? I should just write what I feel like writing.

So why do I find that so hard? Half the time, when I'm writing I'm thinking, "why am I writing this? it's stupid, it's pointless, it'll never add up to anything of importance, why don't you just stop?"

Sometimes I wish I could just turn off the voices in my head.

aaaaanyway

Ok. So, obviously the novel didn't get finished by November 30th. Honestly, I lost so much time this month, with Grandpa passing away and then getting bronchitis, plus I just had no idea where to take the story. Looking back, I probably should have had some kind of plan in mind, rather than just writing off the cuff every day. Oh well. There's always next year.

I've decided to keep this blog, though, to post any short stories, poems, novel exerpts (ha!), or writing exercises I write. I mostly decided to keep it because I like the title. Pardon the Egg Salad. I don't know why, it just cracks me up.

Surprise, surprise, I don't have anything to post right now. Maybe tomorrow.

Probably not, though.

Chapter 26

When I was pushed into the bushes, I dropped my bag on the sidewalk. I could feel branches scratching my face, and the hood of my sweatshirt was twisted, making it difficult to breathe. The branches I was lying on were poking me in the back, though I couldn't feel them on my skin so I assumed they hadn't stabbed through my sweatshirt. Whoever had pushed me was holding my arms down at my sides. They were so strong. I was trying to jerk my arms out of the person's grip, but I couldn't even move them. I kept opening and closing my fists uselessly.

"Stop fighting," a voice snarled. I couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman.

"Help!" I screamed.

"Shut up," the voice said. "I'm not gonna hurt you."

"Yeah, right," I grunted. "Get off me!"

I squirmed and fought against the arms holding me down. I brought a knee up and hit something, but I had no idea what. It must have been something painful, because the person's grip loosened on my arms. I freed one of my arms and swung it at the person's head. I made contact, and the person rolled off of me. I looked down at the figure for a moment. I couldn't see their face, the hood was still blocking it. He or she was writhing in pain. I sat there for a moment more, wondering if I should try and remove the hood, when they lunged toward me. I scrambled out of the bushes and crawled out to the sidewalk, almost tripping over my bag. I picked it up and ran down the street, back toward my dorm even though the Student Center was closer, screaming for help.

I ran past some nameless buildings and, as I was passing one, saw a sign that said "Security Department." I stopped and turned around, and when I didn't see the figure following me, I ran up to the Security building. The door was locked, so I pounded and screamed, hoping someone was on duty. I pounded on the glass so hard that it cracked. Finally, a man poked his head around the corner, looking annoyed.

"Help me!" I screamed again, slapping my palm against the door. "For gods sake, HURRY!"

He walked casually to the door and fumbled with his keys. I glanced down the street to where I'd just come from and saw a shadow lurking next to one of the trees in front of the building next door. The security guard finally found the right key, unlocked the door, and held it open. I threw myself in and leaned against the wall.

"Are you going to lock the door again?" I asked, out of breath.

"Yes, miss," he said, sounding completely put out. "Can I help you with something?"

"Yes," I said. "I was just assaulted."

"Really?" He raised his eyebrows. "You look alright to me."

I stared at him. He stared at me. He sighed and shook his head.

"Well, ok, then," he said. "Let's go fill out a report."

He led me toward the back of the building, into a small room with a TV, a table and chairs, and a tiny fridge. As I sat down, I noticed he'd been watching Sex and the City.

"Sorry to interrupt your show," I said. "I can see you were really busy."

"I wasn't watching this," he said, glaring at me and turning the TV off. He sat down and settled at the table with a pen and paper. "Now, tell me what happened."

I told him, to the best of my ability, what had happened. As I did I realized it didn't sound exactly traumatizing.

"Was the perpetrator male or female?" he asked, pen poised over the paper.

"Um, well, I don't know," I said. I looked down and made tiny circles on the table with my index finger.

"You don't know?"

"It was dark," I said. He shook his head and wrote something down.

"So, I'm guessing you didn't see any distinguishing marks," he said.

"No."

"Did the perpetrator say anything to you?" he asked.

"Yes!" I exclaimed. "He . . . she . . . whatever, they told me not to fight and they weren't going to hurt me."

"Was anything stolen?"

"No," I said, gesturing to my bag on the table. "That's all I had with me."

"So, you don't know what sex they were or what they looked like and nothing was stolen," he recited.

"Right. They were wearing a black, hooded sweatshirt, though," I said. He rolled his eyes.

"Did you ever think this was someone you know, playing a joke?" he asked.

"My friends don't usually tackle me."

He smirked at me and wrote something else down. Probably "smart ass; uncooperative." He capped his pen, folded his hands, and looked back up at me.

"Miss, I think what happened here was just a student messing around," he said. "I don't think it's anything to worry about."

"Aren't you going to investigate?" I asked, leaning forward.

"Well, miss, with all due respect, you haven't given us much to go on."

"But . . . shouldn't you at least go out there, you know, to the scene of the crime?"

"Miss, I'm not sure there was any crime," he said. "Why don't you go on home and get some rest."

"What the hell!" I yelled. "You think I'm making this up? That I'm burnt out on school or drugs or something?"

"Of course not," he said, leaning across the table and patting my hand. "But there's really nothing we can do."

"I can't believe this," I murmured.

"Look, miss," he continued, actually starting to look somewhat sympathetic. "I'm sorry someone jumped you, but I really don't think there's anything to worry about."

"Right," I said.

"I'll get someone to drive you home," he said and stood up.

"That's OK. I live down the street." I stood up and shouldered my bag.

"I don't care," he said. "Wait here and I'll get someone."

He walked out of the room and down the hall. I could hear him talking to someone, but I couldn't hear what they were saying. I looked out of the room and could see him standing in another doorway with his back to me. I backed down the hallway and edged up to the front door. I opened it slowly and stepped out onto the stoop, closing the door behind me. I looked up and down the street and took my keys out of my bag, thanking god and whoever that I had picked up my bag before running away from whoever tackled me. I didn't see anyone. The dorm was just a block away. I jumped down the steps and sprinted toward the dorm. I fumbled with my keys as I ran. I got to the dorm and unlocked the door. I ran in, slamming the door behind me, and walked into the lobby. It was deserted, thankfully, so I sat on one of the couches and threw my bag on the floor. I was shaking and breathing hard. I put my elbows on my knees and balanced my head in my hands, trying to compose myself. I looked up when I heard voices coming from the elevator and ducked behind one of the other couches. The group walked by, evidently not seeing me, and left the building. I stood up and walked to the elevators, hoping I didn't look too haggard or Lucy would worry. I didn't know whether or not to tell her what had just happened, but decided I probably should.

Just in case something else happened.

Chapter 25

I didn't remember much from the day my brother died. The day was blurred in my memory, except for certain specific details. I remembered what I was wearing. I remembered the freckles littered on my brother's back, as I stared down at his prone body. I didn't remember my parents on that day, although they must have been there at some point. I didn't remember who took care of me right after. I was only five. Had I been older, I might have blamed myself for not being able to save him. For not being faster after I saw something was wrong. As it was, I didn't even known how to swim at the time, so I escaped the blame game. Sometimes, though, when my father looked at me, I mean really looked at me, I wondered if he was wishing that it had been me, rather than his beloved son. That was when the guilt slipped in. I felt guilty for being alive, for not being who my father wanted me to be. Luckily, he didn't look at me that often.

That day was hot, steamy. I was wearing my favorite swimsuit. It was a two piece, pink with white polka dots and ruffles on the butt. I sashayed around the house in that thing like I was one of the slutty women on one of Lupe's soaps. PJ and I begged Jane, our nanny, to let us go swimming, even though we weren't allowed to because we were being punished. Jane gave in to us, as she always did, mainly because my mother wasn't home.

My brother was 9 at the time, tall for his age, all red hair and swinging limbs. He was always running around the perimeter of the pool, no matter how much Jane yelled at him to stop. Jane yelled and PJ laughed. The only one who could ever get him to stop was my father. His voice would boom down from an upstairs window, making me want to hide behind Jane or one of the pool chairs. But my father wasn't home that day, either.

I didn't see PJ fall. I was fussing with my water wings. Jane had blown them up too tight again and they were cutting off the circulation in my arms. I looked up when I heard a loud crack, thinking PJ had gotten ahold of a firecracker somewhere. I knew he had a stash of things I wasn't allowed to play with in the pool house. Jane was in the house, getting us drinks.

When I looked up, though, I couldn't see PJ anywhere. I stood up and walked to the edge of the pool, not noticing the smear of bright red on the edge in front of me. I looked down in the pool and saw my brother, floating face down in the water. I thought he was playing a joke on me, trying to scare me so I'd scream, like he always did.

"PJ!" I yelled, but he didn't move. The water around his head was turning dark red.

"PJ!"

He wasn't moving. Usually he'd pop out of the water, laughing, at this point. Jane was now walking toward me, balancing three glasses in her hands. She looked up from the glasses and saw me standing next to the pool. Then she looked down, into the pool. She dropped our drinks, Kool-aid; I could still remember the color on the cement. Bright red, like my brother's blood on the edge of the pool.

Jane jumped in the pool, scooping my brother up in her arms. He looked so little. He wasn't moving.

I started screaming and didn't stop until the paramedics came and took my brother away forever.

Chapter 24

When I got to our room, the door was wide open and Lucy was sitting, Indian style, on the futon with a book in her lap. She saw me standing in the doorway, closed her book, and smiled.

"Good night?" she asked.

"It was OK," I said. I took off my jacket and threw it on my bed. I sat down at my computer, kicking my shoes into the corner, with my back to Lucy's grinning face.

"Oh, come on! You went upstairs last night and totally disappeared! Spill it!" I turned around in my chair and had to laugh at the expectant look on Lucy's face. She was leaning forward like I was about to tell her the secret of life.

"I had a good night. That's all I'm saying." I turned back around and started checking away messages. Isaac's was just one, big happy face and I giggled.

"I saw that, you bitch!" Lucy shrieked. "You guys are totally in love, aren't you! You're gonna get married and have babies and a house and two dogs."

"Lucy," I started.

"And a cat and," she rambled.

"Lucy, I don't even like cats," I said.

"Oh," she replied. "That's OK, you can still do everything else, right?"

"Sure," I said. "Hey, I'm gonna go do some work in the Commons."

"Want me to come with you?" she asked.

"Yeah, right," I laughed. "I'm not planning my wedding, I'm doing homework. You stay."

"Oh, alright," she sighed. She opened her book and went back to reading, but I could tell she was still watching me, probably waiting for me to whip out an engagement ring or something.

I changed my away message and stood up to gather my books. Really, I only needed the Notebook, but Lucy couldn't know that. I tried to remember where I'd stashed all of my school books. I hadn't used any of them in over a week, except for when Lucy was paying too close attention and then I used them as props. But, since I hadn't actually been reading them at those times, I had no idea where any of them were.

I glanced quickly around the room, hoping Lucy wouldn't notice how confused I was. I grabbed a couple books from my desk and a couple of notebooks from the floor under my bed. I shoved them in my bookbag, making sure that the Notebook was already there. I picked up my Discman, some CDs, and extra batteries and threw them in my bag, too. If I wore headphones, I could be sure no one would bother me.

I put on a hooded sweatshirt and threw my bag over my shoulder, looking around the room as if I was making sure I hadn't forgotten anything.

"See you later, Luce," I said, walking out the door.

"See ya," she yelled after me. "Tell Loverboy I said hi." I rolled my eyes and walked to the elevators, nearly bumping into Danny, Sarah's skeezy boyfriend.

"Oh, hi," I said.

"Hey."

"How are you?" I asked.

"OK," he said, staring at the ground. Fine. If he wasn't going to try to be polite, I sure as hell wasn't. I pushed the down button and we waited for the elevator. We waited. And waited. Danny sighed and crossed his arms, giving me a look that suggested it was completely my fault that the elevator was running so slowly. Finally, the doors opened. Danny pushed his way through the people getting off of the elevator and pushed the button for the doors to close before I was even on. I glared at him, but I don't think he noticed. We rode down the elevator in silence. He raced out as soon as the doors opened, and jogged out the back door of the dorm. I walked around to the front and as I was headed down the steps, I saw his car screech out of the parking lot and down the street away from me. I shook my head and continued down the street to the Commons.

I was almost there when a figure in a black hood raced across the street and pushed me into the bushes.

Chapter 23

Isaac dropped me off at my dorm the next morning (ok, afternoon.) We made plans to meet the next day for lunch, because he said he'd be busy doing homework for the rest of the day and night. I made something up about having a paper to write. For all I knew, I did have a paper to write. I considered checking my class syllabi when I got up to my room, but I knew I probably wouldn't. As much as I had assured Lucy and Isaac that I would be attending all of my classes again, starting tomorrow, I suspected that it wouldn't happen. I had a lot of work to do, whether I decided to go to class or not. If I was going to go to class, I needed to get at least a portion of the homework done, at least as well as I possibly could. Even if I couldn't do any of the homework, I needed to email the rest of my professors and let them know that I was still alive and come up with some sort of excuse that would explain my absence. Maybe mono, that way if I didn't end up going I could just say I was still too weak. Mono makes you weak, doesn't it?

And if I decided not to go to class, I needed to figure out how I was going to skip them without Isaac or Lucy finding out. I figured I could fool Isaac easily enough, since our class schedules were different and I didn't live with him. We had completely different majors, too, so I thought I could count on him not knowing many people in any of my classes. Maybe I could even walk around different academic buildings during the time I was supposed to be in class. That way, I might run into Lucy or Isaac and they would think I was doing what I was supposed to be doing.

Lucy could be a problem. As I'd learned from the past week, fooling someone you live with was difficult. I couldn't just stay in bed, or even in the room, when I was supposed to be at class. I thought I could probably tell her at least one or two of my classes were cancelled, but I couldn't use that excuse too often. I could pretend I was sick, but that seemed like an awful lot of trouble. I hadn't played hooky since high school, and even then I would just tell my mother I had a fever, she'd nod and call the school, and I'd sit in my room all day, watching TV. Lucy, when I've been sick in the past, always wanted to take care of me. She brought me chicken noodle soup and made me take medicine. I didn't think taking cold medication when I wasn't sick was the greatest idea, so playing sick was definitely out.

Other than that, I just needed to find somewhere to go during the times I was supposed to be in class. I didn't think it should be that big of a problem. I just needed somewhere secluded, where I wouldn't run into anyone I knew. In a tiny college town.

Right. No problem. I supposed I could go home, but it was hours away and it would make my mother suspicious if I just showed up in the middle of the day. I didn't think she was usually home during the day, but I had no idea what her schedule was. Although she didn't work, she had a number of societies and charities that she was in charge of, and I knew her work with those things kept her busy, but she could come home at any time. Also, I couldn't take the chance that Lupe would mention to my parents that I had been home. If it had just been my father at home, I wouldn't have worried. I doubted he'd notice me, as long as I didn't make too much noise. When I lived at home, sometimes he would mistake me for my mother or Lupe, tell me something and then walk away, never knowing that he'd been talking to the wrong person. That used to bother me, but the older I got the more I didn't mind. If he thought I was someone else, he couldn't berate me for some minor transgression or yell at me for something he assumed was my fault.

If all else failed, I could always go back to the reservoir. That thought filled me with apprehension at first, but then a sort of calm came over me. I had been frightened the last time I was there, but the more I thought about it, the more I wanted to go back and face whatever it was that had frightened me.

So, that was decided, I supposed. I wouldn't be going to class, but I would be making some sort of progress. And I doubted anyone would see me at the reservoir. No one had been there last time. I'd just make sure I wore a coat and gloves this time, in case I ended up huddled under the picnic table again.

I hoped I would find something there. However frightening it might be, it was nowhere near as frightening as thinking everything was just in my mind.

Chapter 22

When we got to the frat house, it was suspiciously quiet, especially after how noisy it had been the night before. Apparently Isaac meant it when he said it really was going to be a smaller get-together. We let ourselves in; the front door, as always, was unlocked. For guys who got as pissed as they did whenever something trivial got stolen from their house, they never really seemed to take any precautions. Once someone stole all of their dishes, and I wasn't claiming to have any knowledge of the perpetrators, but Lucy came home that same night with more forks in her bag than usual.

We passed what I assumed was supposed to be the dining room, but instead of regular dining tables they had set up beer pong tables. I had a fuzzy memory of being in that room the night before, but I had no idea for how long or who I was with. There were four guys around one of the tables. They had dragged a kiddie swimming pool full of ice and Natty Lite into the dining room.

"Hey ladies," one of the burlier guys said. He looked familiar and I was sure I'd met him several times before, but I could never remember his name.

"Hey, Boner," Lucy supplied. Of course. Boner. Why couldn't I ever remember that?

"You girls want to play?" Boner asked.

Caty, Dora, and Lucy nodded, took off their coats, and walked over to one of the other tables. I kept my coat on.

"Hey, can you tell me where Isaac is?" I asked Boner, since his was the only name I knew.

"I think he went to go see his girlfriend," he answered. I sighed.

"Yeah, that was a while ago. I'm sure he's come back by now."

"Oh," Boner said. He threw the ping-pong ball at his opponent's cups and missed. "Maybe he's in his room."

"Thanks for all your help." Boner. Jesus Christ.

"No problem," he said. He threw another ball and, this time, he made it. He yelled and pumped his fist in the air, then ripped his shirt off and ran around the table swinging it over his head. I rolled my eyes and walked up the stairs. The huge mirror at the top of the stairs that had been fully intact before last night's party was now splintered and there was broken glass all over the landing. I hopped over it and continued down the hall, stepping over pizza boxes, beer bottles, and piles of clothes. I examined the bathroom as I walked by and hoped I wouldn't have to pee all night. As usual, the floor was littered with toilet paper and torn up magazines. Someone had torn all of the stall doors off and thrown them in one of the showers. Someone else (or, maybe the same person) had sprayed "Eat Me" on the mirror with shaving cream, and then emptied the shaving cream can in one of the sinks. One of the toilets was shoved full of toilet paper and water was seeping down the sides. I thought that even if I did have to pee later I'd be better off going outside.

As I turned the corner, I peeked into Harrison's room. Harrison was kind of a running joke with everyone I knew, only he didn't really know it. He was one of the goofiest people I'd ever met, but he took himself so seriously. He walked like a duck, with his toes pointed far out to the sides, and had a really high-pitched, nasaly voice, but he was always trying to talk about the AIDS problem in Africa or bitching about the liberal bias of the media. Not many people could stand to be around him for more than five minutes. Also, we were all wondering if he was gay or not. Most of us suspected it, and there was even some evidence to it, so we were mainly just waiting (in vain, it seemed) for him to come out.

When I looked in his room, he was passed out on his futon with his arm thrown over his forehead and his mouth wide open. He was wearing some sororities t-shirt (most likely stolen) and the Dixie Chicks were blasting from his stereo. I didn't know why he was passed out so early, but I suspected it had something to do with the empty beer cans he was lying on and the bong sitting on the table. I remembered that I'd brought my camera with me and I was in the middle of taking a couple of pictures when I heard my name. I turned and saw Isaac behind me, smirking and looking like he was trying to hold in his laughter.

"What are you doing?" he whispered.

"You don't need to whisper," I said. "I don't think he's gonna wake up."

"You're probably right," he said, taking my arm and pulling me out into the hallway. "But what exactly do you think you're doing?"

"Taking pictures for the yearbook," I said. Isaac smiled.

"You're not on yearbook."

"Well, not yet," I said, eyes wide. "But once they see these pictures they'll be begging me to join!"

"Sneak," he laughed. I twined my arm in his and grabbed his hand.

"Oh, you love me," I said, instantly wishing I hadn't. Why was that word popping out of my mouth today? My face was burning and I could tell I was blushing. I looked up and Isaac was staring back at me.

"You're right," he said. "I do." He kissed my forehead and I grinned.

"Well," I announced. "Now that that's settled, what's this I hear about a party?"

Isaac laughed and pulled me into his room, closing the door behind us.

update

Well. I'm still way behind, but tonight I set a goal for myself and reached it. I wanted to reach 10,000 words because I think that's been my biggest hurdle. Now I'm at least at 5 digits. In the next seven days, I'll need to write about 6,000 words a day. I wrote about 3,000 tonight and that was with the distractions of The Real World and Bridget Jones's Diary. So, if I actually manage to turn off the TV, I might just be able to finish.

I wasn't even going to bother, but a couple of people have told me that they wanted to read more. I guess if people are reading it, I'll keep writing it, even though my butt is going numb.

Chapter Twenty-One

Round two was already less fun than round one. Caty and Dora came over with more rum, which I vowed not to touch. But Lauren had decided to stay in and do homework. I supposed that's what I should have been doing, but the good thing about not going to class was I didn't have any homework. Well, I was sure I did have homework, in theory, but since I didn't know what any of it was I couldn't possibly stay in to do it. Besides, I had more important matters to deal with. Like whether or not Isaac had heard my unromantic declaration of love earlier. I was hoping he hadn't, because if he had heard it that meant he basically ignored it and kept walking. I mean, if he had heard it, he would have come back to the room to say something, wouldn't he?

I tried to make myself stop thinking about it, but it was weighing on my mind.

"Where's Sarah?" Caty asked.

"Hanging out with her boyfriend," Lucy answered.

Caty made a face. None of us liked Sarah's boyfriend. She met him at one of the local bars. He said he was some sort of businessman, but I was pretty sure that meant that he sold children into slavery.

"Can we play a game or something, so we can finish our drinks and get out of here?" I asked.

"Sure, Jo," Dora answered. "What's the hurry?"

"I bet she needs to talk to Isaac," Lucy grinned. I glared at her, but couldn't help smiling. "She luuuuuuurves him."

"Bite me," I said. I tried to ignore the eager smiles on Dora and Caty's faces. I was sure they wanted a story, but I wasn't telling. They could hear it from Lucy later.

"So," I said innocently. "What game are we playing?"

"Anything but I Never," Lucy said. Everyone laughed and I pulled out a deck of cards.

"Kings it is."

Chapter Twenty

Saturday was totally wasted. By the time we got back from Wendy's, it was almost 4. And by the time Lucy and I finished watching two movies, it was almost 8. We had just finished Bridget Jones's Diary when someone knocked on the door.

"Come in!" Lucy and I yelled in unison. The door opened and Isaac walked in carrying his bookbag.

"Nice welcome," he said. "What have you guys been doing?" he asked and plopped on the futon next to me.

"Oh, nothing," I said, resting my head on his shoulder. "The usual, sleeping til two, nursing a hangover, starring mindlessly at the TV. We did manage to shower and eat, though."

"I'm so proud," he said, reached into his bag and pulled out a twelve pack of Bud Light. "Are you guys ready for round 2?"

I groaned and threw a blanket over the beer.

"Is that a yes?" Isaac asked, grinning.

"I'm never drinking again," I said, dramatically flinging my arm over my face. "From this day forth, I will be Sober Jo."

"You always say that," Lucy said.

"Yeah, well, this time I mean it."

"Well, girls, I just came by to drop this off," Isaac said and stood up. "And, of course, to formally invite you to Night 2 at the house."

"Night 2?" Lucy asked.

"Yeah, well, we had a keg left over from last night. Tonight will be much smaller though, I swear."

"Promise?" I asked.

"Promise."

"Ok," I sighed. "I suppose we can make an appearance."

"I knew you would," he laughed. "See you there," he yelled, walking down the hall.

"Bye! Love you!" I shouted and then covered my mouth. Lucy looked over at me, eyes wide and grinning.

"Did you just say 'love you'?" she asked and grabbed my arm.

"Shit. Did I?" My face felt hot.

"You so did!"

"It's just an expression!" I shouted.

"You love him! You want to marry him and have lots of sex and babies!" Lucy yelled, bouncing up and down on the futon.

"Shut up!" I shrieked and swatted her. "And stop stealing movie lines."

"I can't help it, I'm excited."

"Uh-huh," I said, distracted. "Do you think maybe he didn't hear me?"

Chapter Nineteen

Wendy's was perfect, just as I thought it would be. I felt absolutely fine as we pulled out of the parking lot. Lucy had filled me in on the night before, and as she'd said, the entire night was drama free. This surprised me for several reasons. First, it was a frat party, which meant there were lots of sorority girls running around. Now, I was friends with a lot of sorority girls and I had nothing against sororities in general, but it seemed to be a rule that drama just followed these girls around.

Second, Lucy and I, and Isaac and I, had had fights earlier that day. It was amazing to me that nothing that brought on the fights had come up during the party. Maybe it was because the music was so loud. In any case, I was happy that the night had gone smoothly. I was actually feeling much better about everything.

I thought it was really funny that Lucy brushed off the fact that I didn't remember the majority of the night. She never really cared when I did that and it had happened quite a bit in the past. I wondered why she didn't make a big deal about my blackouts but she was so worried when she thought I wasn't sleeping or going to class.

I wouldn't say I had a problem with alcohol, but that's probably only because I was in college. Hangovers and blackouts just go with the territory. Had I been 50 years old and a successful corporate lawyer and I still drank like I did on the weekend, I would be worried. I would also be my father.

I was thirteen when I had alcohol for the first time. And I don't mean a sip of my dad's beer at a company picnic. I mean my friend Dana and I got puking, blinding drunk. My parents were at some benefit or another and wouldn't be home until very late. We snuck into my dad's liquor cabinet, stole his most expensive vodka, poured it into some Tropicana and chugged. Dana ended up puking all over the new carpet in the hall and when my parents came home, they found us both passed out on the bathroom floor. I think my father was more upset that we drank his vodka than that we were only thirteen and drunk. It was not a pretty sight. My father, who was almost as drunk as we were, dragged us out of the bathroom and made us clean up the puke in the hallway. My mother simply turned up her nose and walked into their bedroom. Dana and I scrubbed the carpet, taking breaks to run back to the bathroom, while my father stood over us. Eventually he got bored or tired or started to lose his buzz and he walked into his study and slammed the door.

Dana tried to make a joke, but I was too busy trying not to cry that I didn't notice. We went to bed and the next morning, all was back to normal, except for Lupe, the maid, scrubbing up the vomit Dana and I had missed on the hall carpet.

My parents never talked to me about it. When Dana and I went down to breakfast, my father was drinking coffee and reading his paper and my mother was on the phone. My father folded down his newspaper and looked at us for a moment. His eyes felt like they were burning into my forehead. Then he went back to reading his paper as if nothing had happened the night before. I thought now that maybe he didn't remember. Maybe he thought he was the one who got sick in the hallway, and that was why Lupe was cleaning it up. Not that I could ask him.

The next time Dana was over we again went in search of alcohol, not having learned our lesson the last time. This time, however, we found that my father had locked his liquor cabinet. Apparently he had remembered and that was his way of telling me "hands off." Dana and I had to settle for some sherry we found in the kitchen.

Of course I had a warped view of alcohol. How could I not? I'd been drinking since I was thirteen and my father had been drinking ever since I could remember, and quite probably before that. His drinking got worse, lots worse, after PJ died, but my mother never said anything to him about it. That's when she turned off and stopped caring. My parents had mustered the energy to send me to therapy, but it was only as an afterthought. I didn't think they really cared that I thought I was seeing and talking to PJ, I think they were just worried that I'd tell someone else that and they'd think I was crazy.

No one ever told me drinking as often as I did could be a problem. All of my friends in high school did it, so I didn't worry. I thought it was a normal part of growing up.

Besides, everyone in college drank like I did. In some cases, more. I was fine.

Chapter Eighteen

I woke up to a door slamming and Lucy singing. I rolled over in bed and Lucy shrieked.

"Oh my god, Jo, I didn't know you were here," she said.

"Sorry," I laughed. "I needed more sleep."

"I guess so," she said, and threw her bookbag on the futon. She sat down and turned on the TV. "It's 2 o'clock."

"Are you serious?"

"Totally serious. Why is your alarm clock on the floor?" she asked.

"I have no idea." I groaned and stretched, realizing with glee that my headache was completely gone.

"You were so funny last night," she said, changing channels. "I've never seen you so happy-drunk."

"Wonderful," I said. I slowly stood up and sighed with relief when my stomach didn't rebel against me.

"How do you feel?" Lucy asked.

"Better now that I've slept the entire day."

"Ha, I'll bet." Lucy put the remote down and turned around to look at me. "You look so pretty," she said.

I walked to the mirror and gasped. I looked like a raccoon. A rabid raccoon.

"I guess I'd better shower," I said, wondering how exactly my hair was actually standing on end. "Have you eaten lunch?"

"Not really. Want to get Wendy's when you're done?"

"Perfect." Wendy's was the best hangover cure I'd ever come across. Never mind that I didn't really have a hangover anymore, but it's been my experience that even if I woke up feeling OK (the second time, anyway) it didn't mean I was going to stay that way. I'd be lucky to still be feeling human in a couple of hours.

"So nothing bad happened last night?" I asked. Lucy looked at me strangely.

"Like what?"

"Oh, I don't know," I smiled. "I don't really remember much."

"Well, there was no drama, if that's what you mean," she said.

"Excellent."

"Were you expecting something bad to happen?" she asked, looking worried, probably thinking about whatever suspicions she'd gathered based on my weird behavior.

"Of course not," I said. "It just freaks me out when I don't remember stuff."

"Well, I'll fill you in as best I can at lunch."

"Sounds good," I said, and gathered my shower things.

"Great," Lucy laughed. "Now. Go get ready so you don't embarrass me."

"I'll do my best."

Chapter Seventeen

Ok. So, in hindsight, going out last night probably wasn't a good idea. Telling five of my best friends about my dead brother was probably an even worse idea. Drinking god knows how much rum before even going to the party was the worst idea of all.

I woke up on the futon, my face buried in a pillow. I was still wearing the pants, jacket, and boots I'd worn out the night before. Inexplicably and to my utter amazement, I was also wearing a t-shirt, backwards and inside out, under the jacket.

I rolled over onto my back and tried to figure out what the strange buzzing sound above my head was.

"Oof," I said, and lifted my head. "What the . . ."

My alarm clock had somehow moved from my nighttable to the windowsill above me. I didn't remember doing it, and I couldn't figure out why I, or anyone else, would have moved it. I also had no idea why I had set it, because it was Saturday and, as far as I knew, I didn't have any plans. I tried to find the button to turn the buzzing off and couldn't, so I unplugged it instead. I flopped back down and covered myself with a blanket, trying to piece my night back together.

We finished several drinking games and moved onto a dance party before eventually leaving the dorm and heading to the party. My shocking revelation was forgotten as the alcohol seeped deep into my brain, making everything pleasantly numb and blurred. I practically skipped down the hall and into the elevator, everyone else laughing as they ran to catch up.

"Where is this party?" I asked, leaning against the wall and closing my eyes. "I hope it's not far."

"Don't lean against the elevator," Lauren shrieked. "People puke and spit all over it."

"That's OK," I sighed. "We're all god's children."

I smiled as I listened to my friends laugh. I didn't even mind that they were laughing AT my drunk ass, not with me.

"I didn't know you were so religious, Jo," Caty laughed.

"There's a LOT you guys don't know about me," I said. "I have seeeecrets."

"So we gathered," Lucy said.

I opened my eyes and looked at Lucy. She gave me a small smile and I figured I'd need to have a long talk with her later. She was, after all, my best friend and I'd dumped a huge pile of new information on her earlier. If she spilled something like that to me, I'd probably be shocked and a little angry that she hadn't told me before.

Oh well, I thought, that's tomorrow. Tonight was for fun.

The walk to the party was a welcome blur; the only reason I realized we were going in the right direction was the growing noise. I could see my breath in front of me, but I didn't feel cold.

When we got to the party, at Isaac's frat house of all places, we threw our coats in a chair and went in search of a bathroom. On the way up the stairs, I ran into Isaac.

"Hey," he said, yelling since we were next to a speaker. "Let's go talk!"

"Later," I yelled back. "Let's go get something to drink."

I grabbed his hand and he led me down the stairs and into the kitchen.

"Is beer ok?" he asked, standing in front of one of the three kegs. I nodded, and he filled a cup for me and refilled his own. I smiled and thanked him. He smiled back. I grabbed his hand again, stood on my toes, and gave him a kiss.

"Sorry again," I whispered into his ear. "I'm better now."

"Good," he said. "Let's go dance."

I remembered dancing. I remembered beer pong. Lots of beer pong. Lots of beer, period, so I must not have been too successful at the game. What I didn't remember was how I got home. Or why I had only half changed into my pajamas and then put my jacket back on, as if I was going back out.

I rubbed my eyes, willing the pounding of my head to subside. My tongue actually tasted furry. I sat up slowly, squinting because someone, probably me, had left the lights on and the curtains open. Everything still looked all blurry. I wasn't still drunk. I had definitely moved into Hangover City, judging by the blinding pain in my eyes and my churning stomach. I looked on the floor and two crumpled contacts drying on the carpet. Well, that explained why everything had soft edges at the moment.

"Lucy?" I croaked, and looked up at her bunk. It looked as if someone had slept there, but the bed was now empty. I walked closer so I could read her alarm clock. 8:43. No wonder I felt so horrible, it was still early. I knew I should probably go back to bed for a few hours, but I didn't feel tired, just sick. I sat down at my desk and gulped down three Advil. I stuck a piece of gum in my mouth because, quite frankly, I didn't think I could make it all the way down the hall to the bathroom.

I had several open instant message windows on my computer screen.

IsaacGreen: hey did you girls get home alright?
Autoresponse from JoJo2006: ssssok slepe nw adfksdjwouerld
IsaacGreen: haha, guess so. see you tomorrow

The others were all drunken messages I'd sent to random people on my buddy list. I couldn't read any of them and no one had responded, so I wasn't too worried about it.

I rested my forehead on the desk, trying to make my head stop pounding. When that failed, I stood up, took off my jacket and boots and climbed into bed, determined to wake up feeling better.

Chapter Sixteen

Back in the warmth of our room, Lucy and I got ready. Isaac had left a note on the door saying he got my message and that he hoped to see me at the party.

Once we were ready, the pre-party party began with a vengeance. Caty from down the hall, Lauren and Dora, two of Lucy's sorority sisters, and Sarah, the RA we were fortunate enough to have, were all gathered around the makeshift table in front of our futon. We were playing a vicious game of I Never. We'd all known each other since the beginning of freshman year so we had plenty of dirt on each other.

"Never have I ever kissed a frat guy," Caty yelled over the music and we all groaned.

"Too easy!" Lucy said. "Everyone drink!"

I laughed and changed the song. I was on my second rum and coke and was already being reminded that I hadn't eaten much at dinner. I didn't care, though, and it felt good not to care. I was having fun and for the first time in over a week wasn't being plagued by paranoid notions.
"Your turn," Lucy poked me. "Make it good."

"Ok," I giggled. "You asked for it. Never have I ever done the walk of shame from a professor's house."

Everyone gasped and looked at Lucy. Her face immediately turned red and she playfully smacked my arm.

"Nooooo," Sarah cooed. "A professor?"

"No!" Lucy exclaimed. "He wasn't a professor, he was a TA, so that DOES NOT count."

"ACTUALLY," I said. "He was a TA at the time, but I believe he's an assistant professor this year, so it DOES count."

Lucy covered her eyes with one hand and took a sip.

"Fine," she said. "It's my turn. Never have I ever been to a shrink."

No one drank, but I took a big gulp. Everyone looked at me, eyes wide.

"Do you have to drink for every time you've been to one?" I asked. "Because, in that case, I have to make another drink."

"You've been to a shrink?" Lucy asked, but not as if she really believed me.

"Oh yeah," I said. "Tons of times."

"What for?" asked Caty.

"Well, I'm not really supposed to talk about it."

"Why not?" Lauren asked, leaning forward.

"It was a long time ago," I said.

"Come on," Lucy said, rolling her eyes. "Spill it."

"Well," I began. "I wasn't always an only child."

That got their attention.

"When I was five my older brother drowned," I continued. "I watched the whole thing happen."
So that was what stunned silence sounded like.

"Are you being serious?" Lucy asked. "Why haven't you ever told me about this?"

"Honestly? We don't really talk about it. Ever."

"There are no pictures of a brother in your house," Lucy said.

"Yeah, after he died my parents pretty much cleared out everything that might have reminded them of him."

"That's horrible," Dora sighed. "No wonder you had to go to a psychiatrist."

I nodded and took a sip of my drink.

"It was a long time ago," I said. I left out the part about how I didn't even go see Dr. Mason until I was 7. That was when I told my parents that Philip, that was my brother, sometimes came to visit me at night. That hadn't gone over well. I spent most of first grade in Dr. Mason's office, drawing pictures and telling him why I'd drawn what I did. Philip kept visiting me, but I soon learned that that wasn't normal so I told Dr. Mason that Philip had gone away. Eventually, he did.

The CD had ended and the room was completely silent. Dora coughed hesitantly. I jumped up to change the CD. The music started blasting again, but people still looked uncomfortable.

"Come on, girls," I shouted. "Let's play Kings!"

After a slight pause, Lucy grabbed a deck of cards.

"Ok, bitch," she said to me. "You're going down for that professor comment."

The other girls cracked up and I smiled. She'd saved me again.

Chapter Fifteen

As we approached the dorm, I realized we'd soon be walking by my car. Perfect.

"Hey, Luce, I need to grab some CDs from my car," I said.

"OK," she said. "Want me to come with?"

"Sure, it's right up there," I pointed. As we drew near, I could kind of make out that the back window was busted. Instead of pointing it out then, I looked down at my watch and pretended to be very interested in my fingernails, hoping Lucy would spot the broken window first. She did.

"Oh my god, Jo, I think someone broke into your car!" We started running and when we got to it, I could see that nothing had been taken.

"That's so weird," I said, trying to look worried. I unlocked the car and looked inside. "They didn't take anything."

"You should still report it," Lucy said, hands on her hips. "This is unacceptable."

"Lucy, it's fine," I shrugged. "They didn't take anything. It was probably just some kids or something."

"But shouldn't the university know there are vandals around here?" she asked.

"Probably," I said. "But if I call security, it'll take them forever to get here and they'll have to fill out a report and it'll be this gigantic hassle. I'll just take the car to the shop tomorrow."

"Are you sure?" she asked.

I nodded. "Seriously, Luce, it's freezing out here and we're not even ready for the pre-party party yet."

Lucy threw her head back and laughed.

"You're so right," she said. "Let's get going." She grabbed my arm and we ran inside, giggling the entire way.

Even I was beginning to believe my own lies.

Chapter Fourteen

The more I thought about it, the more I thought it probably was just a fraternity prank. I wasn't an expert on such things, but I thought maybe since one of the frats was having a party they'd make their pledges do something stupid.

They were always making their pledges do something stupid, right? I mean, that's how I met Isaac. He was a pledge, doing something stupid. Lucy never noticed that I'd given him her green underwear the night I met him. When I saw him the next week, in the mailroom, he vaguely remembered our encounter. His mailbox was in the same corridor as mine, and when I walked in he looked up and smiled.

"Do I know you?" he asked.

"You don't remember me?" I feigned shock. "I'm offended!"

He looked worried.

"After all," I continued as I opened my mailbox. "I don't give my underwear to just anyone.

He laughed and shook his head.

"Oh," he said, tapping an envelope against his palm. "Last week. Forgive me, I'm a drunken idiot."

"Yeah, I figured that. So did you complete your scavenger hunt?"

"Um. I think so."

"Any chance my roommate can get her underwear back?"

"Doubtful," he said. "I think all the underwear is taped to the wall in the house common room."

"Classy."

"Yeah, tell me about it," he said as he closed his mailbox. I shoved all of my mail in my bag without looking at it, thinking that was the end of the conversation. I wished I hadn't been wearing pajama pants, especially at 2 in the afternoon. Christ, I hadn't even showered yet.

"You know, I'd really like the chance to prove I'm not always a drunken fool," he said. I looked up quickly.

"Oh, would you?"

"I would." He readjusted his baseball cap.

"Well, you know where I live," I said, closing my mailbox. "Prove it tonight, 8 o'clock."

I shouldered my bag and walked away, laughing my way up the stairs when I heard him yell, "wait, what dorm was it again?"

He did show up, at 8 on the dot. He knocked on the door and I opened it to find him standing there holding a bottle of wine, a package of popcorn, and a copy of Sleepless in Seattle.

"Pretty optimistic, there," I said.

"What can I say?" he grinned. "It runs in the family."

I motioned him inside and closed the door, silently praying that Lucy would be stuck at the library for a while.

Chapter Thirteen

Lucy and I went to dinner in the Commons, home of the greasiest food in the state. As usual for a Friday night, it was completely packed. There was no better precursor for a night of drinking than a Commons Combo. The grease somehow counteracts the effects of the alcohol. I didn't know how, but it was a tested and true cure.

We made our order and tried to juggle our trays as we pulled out our student IDs. Another reason for the crowd? You can put Commons food on your student account, thus saving precious cash for the bar or a beer run. I wasn't really hungry, but I figured Lucy would suspect something if I didn't eat. I bypassed the coffee and got a Coke instead. My fingers kept locking up, I assumed because of the time spent under the picnic table at the reservoir. I was trying not to think of that, though. I just wanted to eat, hang out with my friend, hopefully run into Isaac later, and pretend I was living a completely normal life.

Lucy and I took our food to a corner booth. There was a band playing on the stage next of us, so thankfully we couldn't really talk. The band was awful. Absolutely terrible. They were a cover band. I think. One of the songs they butchered somewhat resembled "Like a Virgin" but I've heard better renditions during the last hour of Karaoke Night at the bar.

Lucy was staring at the band with a horrified look on her face, absentmindedly dipping a fry in some ketchup. I picked up my cheeseburger and glanced out the window next to me, facing the mailroom. The minute I did so, I shrieked and dropped my burger. Someone had been staring back at me, their face almost pressed against the window, but I couldn't make out any facial features. They were wearing some sort of black hood. Lucy had looked at me when I screamed, but by the time she did, the figure was gone. Luckily, she thought I was making fun of the band so she covered her ears and made her eyes roll back in her head. She pantomimed cutting her throat and then laughed. I glanced again out the window, hoping no one was there but at the same time praying someone with a black, hooded sweatshirt was standing there, laughing at my surprised reaction. Lucy had turned her attention back to the band, so I dropped my burger under the table.

I'd completely lost what little appetite I had. I leaned across the table.

"Are you done?" I yelled. Lucy jumped, then nodded.

I jerked my thumb toward the exit, we gathered our trays, deposited them, and left. As we walked back to the dorm, I kept jerking my head around, trying to glimpse someone, anyone, wearing a black hood.

Maybe it was just a fraternity prank.