When I went out to thank him, a thought occurred to me: There was another favor I needed. "So I have a kind of strange question to ask."

He looked very nervous.

"Can I borrow your car tomorrow? I have all this stuff I need to get and-I can't drive Dara's because (a) it's too expensive, and (b) it's a stick shift, and (c) she refuses to lend it to anyone-"

"Say no more. Sure. Of course you can. But I hope you drive a car better than you do a shopping cart."

"What? You've driven with me, like, a thousand times!"

Suddenly, we started arguing about driving, and I said then I wouldn't take the car, and Grant said, yes, I would, he'd leave me the key tomorrow night, and I said, don't bother, and he said, no, it was no bother- Then someone threw him a glow-in-the-dark Frisbee and he was gone.

As we went inside our house, Shawna had a kind of singsong taunt going. "You guys used to date, you guys used to date . . ."

I dragged her off to the kitchen for some ice cream.

Now, sitting here, wide-awake with a gut ache.

Should see if Dara wants to use that line in any of her poetry. It's golden.

9/27.

Dara, Shawna, and I were sitting outside having coffee and doing homework on the front porch when Grant came out and headed for his car.

"Hey, Grant?" I called over to him. "Thanks again for last night!"

Dara nearly spit out her coffee and she slapped me on the leg. "Who says that? You don't just say that."

"What?" I said, completely innocent.

Grant walked toward us and Oscar immediately jumped up and ran over to him. "What for?" he asked, rubbing Oscar behind his ears.

"Calming down Oscar. Getting your friends to stop the fireworks," I said.

"Oh, so you're the one who, like, killed the party," Shawna said.

"Sorry." Grant shrugged. "But it's Oscar. Sometimes animals have to come first."

Right. It was all about Oscar, of course.

"I still can't believe your mom made him leave home. I mean, that was sort of cruel, don't you think?" asked Grant.

Don't get me started, I thought. First I had to go, then Oscar. A person should never get caught up in someone else's midlife crisis. For that matter, neither should a dog. "Totally. He's not the kind of dog that can just move around and adapt to new environments."

"No. I'm glad I can help. I mean, if I helped at all," Grant said.

"Definitely." I smiled at him, and he seemed a little startled-or pleased, I couldn't tell. Or maybe just late to his volunteer gig.

"You didn't ever move Oscar to Wisconsin, did you?" he asked.

"Oh no."

"Good."

"Why? Wisconsin would've been nice to him. What do you have against Wisconsin?" I asked.

"Nothing!" Grant laughed. "Well, except it made you leave. I mean, Colorado was hurt. For a long time. States have feelings, you know."

"States?" Shawna asked. "They do?"

"He's kidding, obviously," said Dara.

I wondered. Was he just trying to be funny, or was he talking about . . . him?

"See you, guys." Then he headed off to the Humane Society, where he volunteers every Sunday.

I should volunteer there, I thought. I love all animals. I remembered thinking once that Grant could open a vet clinic and I would do all the filing and receptioning. But maybe there was somewhere a little less smelly and barky to work?

We were joking and laughing but at the same time it all seemed kind of flirty and serious.

"Wow. He really loves Oscar, doesn't he?" Dara said, looking slightly dreamy. She had this soft, sweet expression that changed her entire face.

"It's not just Oscar. He used to work at a pet store, and he's volunteered for the ASPCA and the Humane Society. And, I mean, he loves all animals."

Just then, DeathKitty leaped up on the ledge and hissed at Oscar, taking a swipe at his eyes.

"Well. Almost all," I said.

Even Dara had to laugh at that.

I thought about how obsessed I used to be with Animal Planet. Why did I stop watching? When did I stop caring?

Maybe it was when I got too much homework. Like now. I'm at least 3 chapters behind in everything. I hate Sundays. Hate them hate them hate them.

9/28.

Grant left his car key in our mailbox today so I took his car to Target. I needed stuff for my room, plus my grandparents had sent me a Target gift card that was burning a hole in my pocket. Grandparents understand what it's like to be kicked out by Mom. She once made them spend the night in their RV in our driveway because she had turned what had been the guest room with a futon into her home office. She has a history of being a bad host.

Yes, I'd love to always ride my bike or take public transportation, but there are some things you just can't put on your bike or the bus. Like trash cans. Beanbag chairs. And large bubble mailers to send W care packages of CSU Rams T-shirts (RAM 'EM!). And "feminine hygiene products." And this really cool new kind of mascara that is clear but also brown/black so you get this double coating action thingy going on.

Sitting in Grant's car again was weird. Really strange. It was the same car that we'd driven around, you know, around around when we were seeing each other. We drove to school, to prom, to graduation, ski trips. Things had happened in this car. Important things. Kissy things.

That was when I had to slam on the brakes because I hadn't seen the truck in front of me stop and I nearly crashed into it. Whoa. Nearly totaled Grant's car.

Anyway, lots of memories were in this car. Mostly good ones, but a few bad ones, like when we'd driven it back to Wisconsin together, at the end of Christmas break last year, before we broke up.

Probably it was a mistake to borrow it, because it was acting sort of like a time machine on my emotions. It even smelled like Grant. I think it's his deodorant.

On the way home, the sun was in my eyes so I folded down the visor.

A note fell down.

I knew I shouldn't read it, but I did.

Because that's the kind of person I am. Nosy.

It was written on a napkin from a coffee shop near campus and read, "Hey, Grant-nice talking to you last night. Have a good day." There was a picture of a cat with a smile drawn on it, and the word Meow in a small bubble over it.

What? Who wrote this? When was this written?

Just as I was about to a.n.a.lyze the handwriting, the light turned green, I accelerated, and my bottle of juice spilled onto the napkin. The ink ran a little bit and the napkin turned slightly orange.

I quickly waved it in the air, turned the AC on full blast to dry it off, then put it back where I'd found it. Drove with fingers crossed on both hands the rest of the way home that it was just a silly memento from a long time ago and he's completely forgotten about it. Made it hard to use steering wheel.

Don't crash don't crash don't crash, I told myself, thinking of Grant's shopping cart comment. If I crashed, he'd find the note for sure. That was my twisted logic. Not that I or someone else might get hurt.

When I brought the key back, Cody answered the door and told me to go ahead down the hall to his room. Their house had the exact same setup as ours, and Grant's bedroom was on the left. I peeked inside. Grant was lying on his bed, headphones on, studying. I stood in the doorway for a second, just watching him, waiting for him to notice me.

We used to do this thing where we'd lie end to end so we wouldn't talk and we'd tickle each other's feet if we dozed off. I don't know what came over me, but I leaned down and touched his bare foot.

He nearly hit the ceiling.

So did I, because he kind of kicked me. I coughed. "Sorry, just wanted to give you the key."

Grant asked if everything went OK with the car. "Sure. Fine," I said. Then I told him that I had used reusable bags instead of plastic ones.

He said, he actually said this, "Courtney, I don't care what you do."

Ouch.

I guess he could tell how hurt I was because he said, "I mean, with your bags. Shopping bags."

OK then. I hurried home. Confused. Not that there's anything new about that.

9/29.

OMG. OMG. OMG.

Went to Shop & Shop for groceries just now.

Was innocently pushing a cart down the middle aisle, where I had a dead-on view of customer service. Saw Grant standing off to the side, talking to a girl. She had short black hair, very cute. Looked familiar.

Then I realized-vet sciences study geeks-that was where I'd seen her before, at the Pythagorean Theorem Cafe. I also thought maybe she'd been at Grant's house party, but I wasn't sure-it had been kind of crowded.

I thought I'd march over and introduce myself, but then she snuggled up close to him.

And he didn't resist. In fact, quite the opposite.

He snuggled up close to her.

Then they started kissing.

Abort, abort! I thought, making a U-turn, steering in a completely opposite direction. Abandoned my cart in the cereal aisle. Ran out exit door.

Crashed on my bike on the way out of parking lot. Have giant sc.r.a.pe on my leg. All Grant's fault.

I have W. Why do I care if Grant wants to snuggle with some girl at the Shop & Shop?

I don't. Really.

Really.

9/30.

Up early due to lack of sleep due to not being able to sleep. Just IM'd with Beth. Told her about Grant having a girlfriend.

shoe92gurrl: Really? And he didn't tell you before now? Why?

crtveg17: ???

shoe92gurrl: what did she look like?

crtveg17: cute shoe92gurrl: well, I guess that's it then, you both moved on crtveg17: I guess Now, reflecting. Pausing before I call Mary Jo, Jane, Alison . . . That's what journals are for, right? Reflecting? On what dumb things we do and how we can maybe, possibly not do them again? But then we do them again anyway and have to throw out a journal and start over and pretend like this was the first time and we didn't know better, in case someone someday finds our old journals and, like, calls us to task on what we wrote and supposedly learned- Anyway. Why was that whole Shop & Shop experience so incredibly hard?

Why did I run away?

Why didn't I just walk over and say in a low, sultry, completely calm voice, "Well, h.e.l.lo there, you must be Grant's new girlfriend. I'm his previous girlfriend, Courtney. You've probably heard a lot about me."

We'd laugh uncomfortably and look for similarities in each other. We'd trade stories about how cute Grant was and didn't she just love that scar of his on his cheek and did she know- Well, anyway. That's NOT what I did or how I acted. I ran. Like a pet.i.te, frightened mouse that has just spied DeathKitty coming its way.

So, OK. I guess I just can't face that yet, the idea of Grant with someone new. Why not? I don't know. I mean, I guess I was wondering if he ever got over me. And I kind of wanted him to and kind of didn't.

OK, I guess in an egotistical way I wanted him to pine for me forever. But he isn't pining. At all. He's moved on, like I have. Which is so apparently mature of both of us that it feels funny. Not ha-ha funny. Bizarre funny.

Here I was, thinking he rigged this housing situation so we'd live next door because he wanted to, I don't know . . . get back together with me?

He doesn't, though. He has no interest in me that way anymore. Just like he said the other day: He doesn't care about me or what I do.

And maybe the truth is, I never got over him, because I feel so horribly jealous I could throw up. Or maybe it's because I ate some fake-crab salad samples at Shop & Shop before I saw him and her.

There's a her now.