Turned and went back inside to text him.

So I made it back.

He responded a couple minutes later.

Grant: To WI?

Me: No, next door.

Grant: Why r u texting Me: Might get lost in blizzard walking over.

Grant: O. So. No cheese curds.

Me: No. Sadness. If u want to come over, everyone's watching a movie.

Grant: What movie?

Me: Um . . . I love you, man Grant: ?

Me: I mean, the movie, "I love you, man."

Grant: Right. Well, maybe later.

Aha! I was right. He was busy.

I tried to pour myself a cold gla.s.s of ener-juice, but my hands were still shaking from the scary drive home.

"Whoa, Courtney. Little less caffeine tomorrow, OK?" Shawna said.

I faked a smile. I was disappointed over the trip falling through . . . and uncomfortable about the fact that I'd just invited Grant over, like, what was I thinking? And I still needed to call Wittenauer to break the bad news about the canceled trip.

When I did, he wasn't surprised. He'd seen it on CNN. He said we'd reschedule, we'd figure something else out.

And then everyone just snuggled in to watch the movie, while the snow kept falling outside.

One good thing about Bryan being here: He can help us shovel tomorrow.

10/31 HALLOWEEN PARTY.

"I wasn't supposed to be here."

That's what I told Grant aka Scarecrow from The Wizard of Oz when I walked into the party at his house, meekly following Shawna, who was wearing a plastic Twister game costume covered in polka dots, and Bryan, who was dressed as a vampire.

Me, I was wearing a Snow White costume. "I'm wearing this ironically, just so you know," I said.

"I hope so," said Grant. "That looks small."

"It was the last costume even near my size, OK?" I pulled down the sleeves of the Youth XL I was wearing.

"Right on," said Cody, nodding, dressed as the Cowardly Lion. He nods a lot, as if this is communicating. "It's all good."

"Nice to see you," said Matt with a smile, his Tin Man costume creaking as he bowed in greeting.

And there was Kelli, little Dorothy with a gingham dress, to complete the costumes.

It was so cute that I almost wanted to puke, but that could have been all the candy corn I ate while I was costume shopping.

Bryan was across the room, mingling with Shawna. I must tell him. No matter how cute he can sometimes be, no one in college would ever seriously date a high school guy. Ever. I really need to talk to him. Why is he so clueless? What about his friends at home? Don't they miss him? Don't they tell him he is a nerd for coming to hang out with his sister? And what's wrong with the girls at Bugling Elk? Sure, they're not as hot as they were a couple of years ago, when I was there . . . LOL.

Dara swept in, dressed like a punk rocker (not exactly a costume or a stretch for her), and informed me that Oscar was having trouble with all the trick-or-treaters coming to the door, and told me it was my turn to babysit him.

Grat.i.tude for saving her life yesterday? Gone.

I happened to be standing next to the tortilla chips when she was talking, and so was Grant. "I'll go with you, maybe I can help calm him down," he offered.

"Are you sure?" I asked. "And where's the Wicked Witch?"

"Shut up," he said. "Sure I'm sure. Hey, maybe we can dress Oscar as Toto and bring him back."

"Um, how about no," I said. I went home to keep Oscar company, and Grant followed me. Even in stupid costumes, felt strangely close to him. We talked about the drive to the airport, and Bigelow's cla.s.s, and how pretentious he is, and how you just have to survive it by any means necessary, and he talked about the big project his cla.s.s did the year before, how Bigelow gives the entire cla.s.s the same grade depending on how it goes, which seems a tad unethical to me. Or at least unnecessarily mean, considering half the people in the cla.s.s are airheads.

"Or maybe they're not, they just act that way," said Grant. "You never know."

"True," I said.

The whole time, I kept absentmindedly handing out candy to kids who came to the door, but I guess I wasn't really paying attention because I dropped some chocolate bars on Bryan's foot when he showed up on the doorstep. He didn't have a bag. Well, was that my fault?

"You guys have been here awhile. Everything OK?" he asked.

"Sure. Have a Milky Way."

"Because, um, people over there are, um, looking for you." Then Bryan disappeared before I could ask him to take a shift watching Oscar (which he was supposed to do all weekend, anyway).

"Oh yeah-I'm hosting. I should be there." Grant slid off where he was perched on the arm of the sofa.

"Hold on a sec, Scarecrow," I said. "Your straw's falling out."

"Shut up, it is not," he said. "Snow White."

"Hey, I told you, it's supposed to be ironic. I didn't even want a costume," I said. "Right here, your sleeve, all the straw's coming out-where did you get all this straw?"

"Hey, cut it out. . . ." He grabbed my arm just as I was pushing some straw down his back.

There was a loud knock at the door, which was still open. "Trick or treat!" I turned to see who'd be so bold to just walk in.

Kelli was glaring at us. Wishing we were having life-ending seizures, no doubt.

"Hi, uh, Dorothy," I said, still clutching a clump of straw in my hand.

She didn't say anything. Oscar barked at her.

"So, let me guess. We're not in Kansas anymore?" I joked. "Right?"

Complete. Utter. Silence.

"If I only had a brain . . ." Grant said under his breath before he ran out after her.

11/1.

Good thing I am not trying to hook up with anyone here who I'd then bring to my room, because Bryan would seriously be in the way. I tripped over him, like, five times last night. He sleeps lying one way across the room, Oscar sacks out the other way, and it's like a trap.

This morning I was peering at Grant's house out of bas.e.m.e.nt window, at feet going past, trying to identify them. Boots going back and forth on snow and ice, crunch, crunch. Whose boots were they and why were they making so many trips?

"What are you looking at?" Bryan suddenly asked from his spot on the floor, in his sleeping bag.

"Oh!" I gasped, because he nearly gave me a heart attack. "N-nothing. Just checking the weather. Look, Bryan. You-you can't keep coming up here."

"Why not, am I ruining your love life?"

"No! I have no love life-not here, anyway."

"Could have fooled me," Bryan said under his breath.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It just seems like you and Grant are still kind of, um, close," he said. "Like last night?"

"We're still friends," I said. "Is that so wrong?"

He folded his arms across his chest. "You tell me."

"It's not. And anyway, we're not talking about me, we're talking about you. It's time for me to give you some advice."

"And advice versa," Bryan replied.

"OK, quit it with the cute comments. You have to stop sleeping over in my room. In this house. You need to get a life at home!"

"I have a life at home. I just like it here. Anyway, why am I telling you? It's not like you'll get it. You don't get it. n.o.body gets it."

I groaned. Bryan's trademark phrase. Hadn't heard it in a while; apparently he'd been saving it up so he could repeat it three times. "What am I trying to get, exactly?" I asked.

He wouldn't say.

"If you think something's going to happen between you and Shawna-"

"No! Of course not. It's not Shawna. We're friends, that's all."

Hm. Sounded familiar. I ran through all the possibilities in my brain. "Wait a second," I said. "Are you, uh, gay?"

"No. You'd know by now if I was, don't you think?"

"Yeah, but Shawna's really, really cute, and if you're not attracted to her and only want to be friends . . . then why else are you coming up here all the time?" I heard heavy footsteps above us, on the ceiling. Boot footsteps. Dara's. I looked at Bryan. He shrugged. "It's not her?" I asked. "Because she doesn't even talk to you."

He just shrugged. "Talking is overrated."

"It's not her. Tell me it's not her. Bryan, it'll never work out!"

"You should know all about unrequited love," he said.

"What's that supposed to mean? Bryan?"

He didn't answer. He just walked upstairs. When I got there, he and Dara were seated at the breakfast table, reading their texts, checking email, etc., both drinking black coffee but not speaking. Wondered if I should tell Bryan his hair was sticking up.

Wondered if Dara liked that, because he looked slightly punk.

Unrequited love. My brother and Dara. As if.

11/2.

Due to events beyond this reporter/blogger's control, I am working on "Holding Court" a few days late. This week's topic: "How Can We Make Snow Cleanup More Environmentally Friendly?"

There's only been one comment on all of my blog posts so far: "I'll hold you, Court." Signed, Anonymous Creepy stalker.

Figures.

c.r.a.p, someone at door.

Not c.r.a.p, Wittenauer is here!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

11/3.

Love having Wittenauer here. He caught a ride with someone who was headed to Denver. Ride-share. Walked me to every cla.s.s and met me afterward. He and I took Oscar for a walk. He went to coffee shop with me and sat there for a couple of hours while I wrote my snowplow blog, a few days late, and worked on homework.

I kind of like the attention, but at the same time, feel like I'm not famous enough to need a security detail. But it's Wittenauer! And I get to be guarded by a very famous cornstalk.

One awkward moment as we were coming back from Smoothie Stop: We ran into Grant, naturally. For some reason, Wittenauer ended up doing most of the talking.

"How's Kelli? What's she up to?" he asked.

"Oh, she's, uh, uh, at, visiting, the library," Grant stammered. "I think. In fact, I'm supposed to meet her . . . see you around!" He took off on his bike and didn't look back.

He is a horrible liar. Something is up. Are he and Kelli done?

11/4 WII-DNESDAY.

Wittenauer was not impressed by, basically, anything happening at the Smoothie Stop. And who can blame him, really? Though he did play several Wii games against random customers.

"So this is what you do on Wednesday nights," he said after an hour. No doubt bored out of his skull.