Two-Way Street by Lauren Barnholdt Page B

mentioning the fact that Courtney just spent ten minutes throwing up into a sink.
    “Jordan, you know I’m not trying to be a dick about this,” he says, sighing.
    “Yeah, spare me,” I say, watching Courtney from where I’m standing. She looks really small and really pale.
    “I’m not,” Mr. Brewster says. “I just want Courtney to be happy, and I really think this is the best way to go about it. And Jordan, I think you know that telling Courtney what happened really isn’t going to serve any real purpose.”
    Other than to make her hate me, I think to myself. And it’s true. If I told Courtney what I knew, she would hate me even more than she does now. And having her hate me because she thinks I dumped her for another girl is much better than having her hate me because of what I know.
    “Well, you don’t have to worry,” I say, swallowing hard. “I’m not going to say anything.”
    “Thanks,” Mr. Brewster says. “I really do appreciate it, Jordan. And I am going to tell Courtney. But on my own time.”
    “Whatever,” I say. I snap my phone shut and take a deep breath. After a few seconds, I turn back around and head back to the truck. I cannot wait until this trip is over.

courtney the trip
    Day One, 1:47 p.m.
    I’m going to throw up again. “I’m going to throw up again,” I tell Jordan, feeling it rising up in my throat. We’re back on the highway now, and he signals and pulls over quickly to the side of the road. I open the door and lean out, throwing up onto the pavement. This is so disgusting. Seriously. I hate throwing up. I have this really bad phobic fear of it. I go to great lengths not to throw up, and until today, I hadn’t thrown up since the fourth grade. Fourth grade! That’s like eight years. It’s a real phobia, too. Throwing up, I mean. I know no one likes to throw up, but it’s proven that some people are really scared of it. Like me. And some celebrities. Matthew McConaughey, I think.
    “You okay?” Jordan asks, and I feel his hand on my back.
    “Yeah, I’m okay,” I lie, wiping my mouth on the back of my hand. Gross, gross, gross. I’ll bet his MySpace girl never throws up all over herself when they’re together. I’ll bet they’re too busy having sex to eat anything that might cause her stomach to get all sketch.
    “You sure?” Jordan asks. “You don’t look okay.”
    “Gee, thanks,” I say, slamming the door shut.
    Jordan hands me a napkin. “Uh, here,” he says, “you might want to wipe your mouth.”
    I take the napkin from him and turn away, wiping the drool off my mouth. Have I mentioned this is really disgusting?
    I throw the napkin into the ashtray and push the seat back again, reclining all the way back. It’s actually very easy to trick yourself into not throwing up. You just lay back, perfectly still and straight, close your eyes, and try not to move.
    “Hey, Court?”
    “Yes?” I ask, trying not to move my mouth in case it sets off some kind of motion wave to my stomach.
    “Listen, I think maybe we should check into a hotel somewhere,” he says, sounding hesitant, like he doesn’t want to piss me off. “You’re obviously sick, and you need to rest.”
    “I’m fine,” I say. “And besides, it would mess up the schedule.” Is he crazy? We’re already way behind thanks to his lollygagging this morning. Plus the traffic. Plus the long bathroom lines at the rest stop. Plus my throwing up.
    “Are you sure?” he says, “Because I saw a sign a few miles back for a Days Inn coming up.”
    “It. Would. Mess. Up. The. Schedule.”
    “Okay,” he says, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. “Are you sure?”
    “YES.” Of course I’m sure. I’m not going to let throwing up stop me from getting to college on time.
    Two miles later, after we’ve had to pull over three more times so I can throw up, he pulls off at the next exit and follows the sign that says DAYS INN . I don’t stop him.
     
    So this is really awkward.