"Never mind," I said. "See you tomorrow, okay?"

"How can you move back here when I'm planning to drive you back there?" Grant asked.

"What? You are?" (Is he trying to get rid of me?) We discussed the plan-to leave on Tuesday, get there early in the morning on Wednesday. He doesn't have to come back until Sat.u.r.day, so that will give us 3 days together. Plus he can be there for the trustee meeting.

So sweet of him.

But the idea makes me very very nervous. Like TV movie of the week: Grant in Wauzataukie: When 2 Worlds Collide!

12/31.

Spent the day trying to convince Jane to drive back with me and Grant instead of waiting for silly first-cla.s.s flight in a week.

"No way, I'm not going back yet!" Jane said. "Are you crazy?"

"But you do love Madison," I reminded her. "And Charles is there, right?"

"No, he's home with his family, too," she said.

"Oh. Well, aren't you getting tired of living under your parents' roof? I mean, it's driving me crazy, because I'm not used to having my mom watch my every move, you know?"

"My parents are cool. They sort of let me live my own life," Jane said. She took off her little rectangular gla.s.ses to clean them. "What's really going on here, Courtney?" she asked.

I shrugged. "Nothing. I just thought it would be fun, that's all. Road trip. Loud music. Windows down."

"It's winter," she said. "And you're still not telling me what's at the root of your question."

Does she have to major in psych? "I don't know what you mean," I said. When in doubt, feign ignorance.

"Why do you want me there? Don't you want to be alone with Grant?" Jane asked.

Busted. I twirled around on the kitchen stool. "Well, actually, um, no."

"Courtney, you have to be alone with him sooner or later," Jane said. "He's coming to college to stay with you for a few days. Do you really think you can delay it by having me in the backseat? And anyway, what's wrong? Why can't you face spending sixteen hours in a car with him? Is there something you haven't told me?"

So I told her about our big fight, and how I cheated with Wittenauer by kissing him. She was really excited about it, for some reason. "I don't understand. I thought you liked Grant," I said.

"I do!" she said. "But this means you've individuated. Which is what you have to do in order to move on and grow by yourself."

Don't know what she was talking about. I told her how we've worked through the problems and patched things up, but now I feel like one of those old roads with too many patched potholes. More patch than road.

She said I was being pessimistic, and that every relationship has problems, and the key is to get beyond the superficial problems (kissing others) to the root of the problem (mother issues). Well, sure. Anyone named Mrs. Superior is going to have issues. But does Grant have issues with that? Do I? Do I want to marry someone and be known to the world as Courtney Superior?

Wait a second. We are not discussing marriage, we are discussing a boring car trip on interstates. And anyway, Jane's had like 2 courses and thinks she can diagnose us?

"Okay," she said when I protested. "So what do you think? Is being exclusive going to work for you this semester any better than it did last semester?"

Did she have to ask that?

He's coming to pick me up soon to go out to dinner. I should really think about getting dressed up.

1/1.

Grant and I had a great day skiing. Last night we went out for an expensive dinner in LoDo with our Christmas money. Very nice, but that's not the big story. The big story is Mom's first date in 5 years!!!

This guy, Bryan's girlfriend's dad (easier to just say "Michael"), came to pick Mom up last night. In dreaded Saturn coupe. It was dark, so maybe Mom was more inclined to overlook his car choice. Mom was more dressed up than I've seen her since my high-school graduation. Looked beautiful. I took pictures like it was prom.

She got home after me, for once. (Grant and I came home pre-midnight and watched the ball drop on TV; he left as soon as she got home because it was 1 A.M.). Her face was shiny and happy. She started telling me about the place they went for dinner and how nice it was, and how Michael was really interesting, funny, devoted to his 2 daughters, etc. Then she burst out crying.

"Mom, what is it?" I asked. "What's wrong?"

"I can't explain," she said. "You wouldn't understand."

Just like Bryan! a.s.suming I won't get it, when truth is I get everything, and more.

"What happened?" I asked. "Did he say something? Was the coupe too small? Did he kiss wrong?"

She shook her head and ran for a Kleenex box. "It was all perfect. It was great. I had a really good time."

I just stood there next to her for a minute, waiting for my brain to figure out what there was to cry about. Is Mom just sort of . . . unbalanced? Allergic to happiness?

"Tonight I realized what I've been missing," she finally said. "And it's wonderful. And it's horrible at the same time. You know?"

Agh! Why do relationships have to be so painful to everyone, like, all the time?

Why have one at all?

Tonight we are having a big family dinner: I leave tomorrow, Alison leaves Wednesday. Beth is coming over with Jane.

1/2.

Sitting beside Grant in the car. Halfway back to WI. Landscape desolate and cold. We left at 6 A.M. so we can get there by midnight or so. Very hard saying good-bye to everyone last night. But not as hard as it was in August. It's better, I think, to know what you're about to get yourself back into than to get into it the first time. Like cold lake water.

Speaking of Lake Superior, I keep glancing over at Grant and smiling. I am so glad he's doing this with me? But in some ways, Mom was an easier traveling companion. Sad but true.

1/3.

Agh! Disaster.

Grant and I slept late. We were finally heading out when suddenly Mary Jo arrived. She came back early to get a jump on her cla.s.ses-of course. It was so nice to see her. We gave each other a big hug, and I was introducing her to Grant, and they were of course instantly hitting it off, laughing about his 2 trips out here, commiserating over each getting one B (tragedy).

So we were chatting outside our room as Mary Jo stood there with a suitcase in one hand and a new, horrid framed print in the other hand (a kitten and a puppy having tea) when Ed came down the hallway. At the moment, Grant was teasing me about something, like how I described this place as being so bad, but it was all I talked about while I was home, so he was sort of like pretending to give me a giant squeeze.

Before I knew what was happening, Ed ran up and punched Grant in the jaw! G.o.d. What a mess. Grant's already got one half-broken tooth. I could just picture another flying out of his mouth, and then I would be dating a hockey player.

Ed misunderstood the situation and told Grant to get his hands off of me. He told Grant he wasn't a real man because of what he did to me. (!) (Have never thought of Grant as "real man"-don't even know what that means.) Meanwhile Grant pushed him against the wall and was demanding to know why Ed was sending me gifts and what right he had to interfere, and Ed spat back that it was his right ever since I showed up at their house after Grant abandoned me.

The few girls on the floor who are already back came running out of their rooms to see what was going on. Mary Jo was shrieking at Ed to stop hurting Grant. I was yelling at both of them to just shut up, the whole time thinking: This isn't my life. Guys don't fight over me.

Some guys from downstairs, including R.A. Kevin, overheard, came running upstairs to break up the fight. Kevin made Ed and Grant shake hands and asked if they couldn't just talk it out, or maybe they should go back to their dorms or to a conflict resolution workshop at the housing office- At which point Grant and Ed both said at the same time, "Hey, I don't even go here."

And that was sort of funny so it broke the ice. So we all went inside and sat in the room and made small talk. Still very awkward. Ed was sad because I tried to return his Christmas gifts; he wouldn't take them; said I should keep them and think of him from time to time. (Sounded like a country song.) Then he left to drive home.

Grant was upset that his jaw is bruised, and upset that Ed feels that possessive of me, and made me explain 10 times that Ed means nothing to me. Mary Jo helped by explaining this habit of crushes Ed has. Mary Jo, Grant, and I went to Brat W. for dinner. Someone working there actually recognized Grant. Mary Jo and Grant really did have a ton to talk about. And every once in a while I'd catch myself feeling jealous and suspicious, and then I'd just hate myself for it. But I couldn't stop.

Mary Jo is being sweet and spending the night down the hall in Tricia's room. Tricia's back early because "I got like three Incompletes? And they want me to finish them before cla.s.ses start on Monday?"

Tricia was very impressed with Grant, I could tell. Wonders how someone "so on the fringe" could have hottie bf. I didn't used to be on the fringe. Or maybe there were just more of us on it back home and I didn't notice. Crowded Fringe.

Yes, another great band name.

Good night. I shouldn't be writing in here so much with Grant here, anyway, but he has been reading a textbook since 10, so who cares?

1/4.

Went to Badicals meeting (mock run-through for tomorrow). It was sort of a shock to see WW III there. He was wearing this blue-and-red Nordic-type sweater, and he looked really, really cute. Forgot how blond he is. But never mind. I said hi and was really friendly, but I couldn't talk to him. I left before there was a chance of any alone time.

Later on Grant and I dropped by BF so I could pick up my paycheck and new schedule. Jennifer is running the place herself while everyone is on vacation. Said I had to start on Sat.u.r.day. Or Monday at the latest. Monday, then. I asked how the holiday specials had sold and she said maybe there were some things better left to the Bagle Finagle main office.

Mmm. It is so nice to have Grant here lying next to me. But very crowded. Stupid single bed. Grant keeps insisting on coming to the meeting tomorrow to support me. I keep worrying about what will happen if Wittenauer is there.

1/5.

This entry might need a parental advisory. Or there should be official notes about this somewhere taken by a secretary: not me. I should not be responsible for the official version. Too involved. Too many things happening at once. Agh!

All-day trustee meeting started at 10 A.M. Students wishing to make statements or requests had to be there at 1 P.M. I could not eat, and I drank too much coffee. Said good-bye to Grant and Mary Jo, who promised to come over and meet at the lecture hall and be there for my presentation. So Annemarie and I found the Badicals and we huddled outside the lecture hall, awaiting our turn. Wittenauer was not there and I was relieved. What if I botched the presentation in front of him? That would be awful, I was thinking. He'd lose all faith in me. Should have been the least of my worries. Least.

Dean S. came out at 1:00 to gather waiting groups. We went in. Waited our turn. I nodded at the long table of trustees on the stage and started to make my speech about wanting the college to not use "CFC" in any official capacity. I had 5 minutes and I filled it with important data so they'd be impressed. I also presented mock-ups of our new T-shirt design.

A minute or so later, Thyme/Morgan came in with some CFC 4-ever group, including Tricia (Incompletes? Complete lie!). I didn't even know Thyme was back yet. Turns out she was hiding out like a wealthy mercenary in a hotel suite, gathering her troops. She stood up and started presenting her argument to keep all the CFC stuff. "The CFC name has existed for over a hundred years, and it'll go on another hundred years, long past the day we're students here," she said, completely toeing the trustee line.

Then fur began flying. Whatever that means. She started pulling all this very familiar-sounding academic c.r.a.p out of nowhere, about how it made sense we were doing this because it was a "rite of pa.s.sage" to be "part of a counterculture," and how we were having a "role conflict" and we needed to be "resocialized," but the sweatshirts definitely didn't need to be redesigned.

"Wait a second," I interrupted. "Don't listen to her! She got that from my sociology notes! This isn't even an original thought!" Not only that, she was completely talking down to us.

Stupid photographic memory. I knew I shouldn't have let her look at anything of mine, ever.

She and I got into this screaming match about stuff, and she said I didn't take this seriously and had no convictions. She said she'd known I was a fraud ever since September because one time she counted the number of Slim Jims in a mug on Mary Jo's desk and Mary Jo was away for the weekend and yet the number of Slim Jims went down. Very embarra.s.sing. "I didn't eat any!" I said. "I opened the package to see what it was made of."

Meanwhile another group had come in. Started telling us to get our petty concerns off the stage and get ready for a revolution. At this point, the trustees were looking worried. Caught Mary Jo and Grant sitting in the middle row of seats, also looking concerned.

"I'm sorry, but there are more important issues than this college's abbreviation," a guy at the front of his pack said.

Recognized his voice as the guy who had sprayed me with red stuff. Wanted to run over and punch him in the nose, see how he liked being sprayed with red liquid-only this time, actual blood.

"What is more important than saving what little is left of the ozone layer?" I asked.

"So there's a hole, okay, the EPA is working on that," the guy said. "What about the problems of economic globalization?" He went on with very impressive list of world problems, like dairy cows being cloned, and genetically engineered foods, and chemical warfare, and human rights violations, and the fact the CFC shirts might come from a factory that used child labor and sweatshops-his group was checking into that.

I glanced nervously around at my group. Erik and Annemarie were kind of shifting around, looking uncomfortable. Spray Guy was very impressive and smart.

Trustees' necks turning back and forth as if watching a tennis match, as everyone in the 3 groups argued. One of the trustees started having a flashback to the sixties. "What will happen if this escalates? We can't have violence on campus. We can't have tear gas and firebombs and the National Guard!"

"Which is why you should let the name stay the same!" Thyme insisted. "It's so unimportant in the grand scheme of things."

"Exactly. Because wouldn't you rather save the wild Arctic refuges from being drilled by oil companies?" the guy said.

"Definitely. That's the largest breeding ground for pregnant polar bears!" I added, getting sort of excited. "I mean, um, before they get pregnant. Whatever." My group was suddenly frowning at me, as I had apparently jumped ship, and was sounding like an idiot as I did it.

"But, ah, to redirect this discussion . . . how does that affect us here at Cornwall Falls College?" Dean Sobransky asked.

"Everything affects us," the sprayer said. "We're the future, whether you like it or not. And we have a responsibility to the planet."

"That's what we're trying to say!" I insisted. "That's why we don't want to cheer for CFCs. That's why we don't want anyone thinking that CFC is a good thing that should be put on sweatshirts and b.u.mper stickers!"

Suddenly the door opened and a giant stalk of corn came running down the steps. Wittenauer!

"What is Corny doing here?" I heard Dean S. mutter.

I started getting really nervous as Wittenauer walked up past me and onto the middle of the stage, right in front of the trustee table. "h.e.l.lo, trustees," he said. Then Wittenauer took off his corncob helmet. "It's me, Dean Sobransky," he said. "I'm Corny, and I completely support the idea to get rid of any and all CFC merchandise."

"Wiwi-Wittenauer." Dean S. got purplish. Started stammering about Wittenauer's "unmitigated gall." "You're breaking a one hundred thirty-seven-year-old tradition of Corny being a-a-secret. How could you do this?"

"Because it's time to stop hiding behind a cornstalk. It's time to stop keeping secrets," Wittenauer said. "I think Cornwall Falls has lots of great traditions-but this isn't one of them." He started to strip out of his costume.

Dean S. slammed down a pointer he'd been using to ill.u.s.trate, well, some point or other. "What are you talking about?"

"It's an elitist tradition," Corny said as he peeled off a husk.

Suddenly I realized he wasn't wearing anything underneath.

"It means that only the same kinds of people get picked, year after year. I got picked by someone just like me, whose dad went here, who was like a third-generation Cornwaller Faller. We're all male. We're all white. It's not fair." Another husk came off. Soon he was standing there bare-chested. Then he reached for the "cornbelt" that circled his waist.

"Please, ah, Walter, be reasonable," Dean S. sputtered as some of the trustees studied their notes and some watched eagerly. "We can discuss this in private. Is this really necessary?"

"Who cares?" one of the older women said. "Keep talking, Corny, whoever you are."

"Walter Wittenauer." He smiled at her as he reached for the waistband of his green stretch pants. "The third."

Oh my G.o.d! I was dying. Was he really going to-?

Then he pulled off the pants.

Giant sigh of relief AND disappointment from the crowd.

He wasn't totally naked. He was wearing a pair of green-and-yellow CFC boxers. And he had put a red line through each little CFC logo.

"We need to change the abbreviation. We need to change the ways things are done," Wittenauer said. He turned to the More Radical Than Badicals group. "And yeah, we need to be more serious after this and work on bigger problems."