"Yeah, but we get these ap.r.o.ns," Ben pointed out. Marque has decorated his with a large b.u.t.ton that says "Have a Day." "So Courtney, are you going to be doing your halftime show?" he teased me.

I've been trying to convince Ben and Marque to join our group, because we could use more members, especially ones that I'm already friends with. But they're not convinced yet. Marque won't wear heinous CFC sweatshirts, even if it's to protest them. Ben is more interested in his slightly more respectable Political Debate Union group, which I would probably check out were I not so deeply embroiled in the CFC protest already.

Anyway, we were completely thwarted at the football game today. Dean Sobransky, or someone else in charge, had hired multiple security guards to surround campus, ring off football field, and prevent us from making our point. No halftime show. No radical Badicals presence at the game, though most of our people did wear the sweatshirts with the red line through CFC.

"What we have here is a case of Protestus Interruptus," co-Badical Erik said when we all met under the goalposts before the game (I had told Dad a little about what was happening, but not much). "We might get a lot of publicity, but we might just look really, really bad." Also, we all had to admit that the group was about the size it usually was, due to people hanging out with their parents.

I guess it was just as well, because I had my hands full with Dad. And then some. First off-he had to bring Angelina's baby with him, because Angelina has the flu and so does her mom, Dad's new wife, Sophia (not to be confused with Mary Jo's cow Sophie). (Can I get a chart with this?) n.o.body where they live could baby-sit, and Dad's all of a sudden Mr. Grandparent of the Year, so he decided to bring her along, all the way from Arizona.

I have nothing against babies. I might have one, in like 10 or 15 years. But Bellarina isn't just any baby. She's the loudest baby in existence. And being away from her mom and grandma definitely wasn't helping. So far, Mary Jo is the only one here who can get Bellarina to calm down. Wanted her to come with us but of course she had to hang out with Ed and look for Joe, who had once again mysteriously disappeared.

Dad, Bellarina, and I sat in the bleachers. Started out next to Thyme and her parents. At first Bellarina was being cute. I sat there with her on my lap and watched Corny Wittenauer posing for photos in front of the bleachers, wrapping his cornstalk arms around students as moms and dads positioned cameras.

Then suddenly it all went horribly wrong: Bellarina screaming, Thyme's mom and dad casting many aggravated looks, people from different cla.s.ses of mine scowling at me, Dad trying to put Bellarina's binky in her mouth, Bellarina throwing it at Thyme's mom with so much baby spit on it that it stuck to her blond coiffed hair. Thyme's parents insisting they move; Thyme insisting that Bellarina simply needed a calming environment; taking Bellarina and leaving bleachers to sit under tree; Dad and I trying to ignore screams and cries becoming louder and louder.

End result: Thyme and her parents bought tickets and went to sit in the Preferred Parents' enclosed Plexiglas booths section.

Bellarina decided it was time to become stinky while sucking her binky. So it was off to the restroom to change her. But then Dad had to go back into the bathroom afterward, so he asked if I would hold her. Which I was doing, and she wasn't even screaming, so I thought things were looking up. Until Dean Sobransky came along. I thought he might be about to thank me for not staging a major protest, but his face turned all red when he saw me. Very embarra.s.sed.

"Well, er, Courtney," he said. "How old is your, ah, she?"

"Oh, um . . ." I had to think. "About a year, I guess. No, wait. Ten months."

He seemed sort of surprised that I didn't know, exactly. Then he bolted into the men's room and that was the end of it. Very weird guy. Can't talk about much except "college's best interests."

Later on, Bellarina finally went to sleep in the hotel suite, so Dad and I ordered in calzones (mine without cheese), which is what we always do together, and sat around talking. Somehow, G.o.d help me, we got on the topic of "my relationship."

"Courtney, you'll find out a lot about Grant in the year you're apart."

"Years, Dad," I said. "It's going to be four years."

"Oh." He rubbed the side of his nose. "Well. That's a long time. Who knows what will happen." He made it sound incredibly tragic, like we were doomed. And maybe we are. And if we are, it's all my fault. I could have stayed home. Why was it so important for me to go 1,000 miles away? Just because Alison did it, in the opposite direction, and I must always copy her? Because I didn't want to live at home and knew Mom would make me? Because I was afraid I'd be stuck in same rut, with same job, same friends, forever?

Nothing wrong with ruts. Wagons would never have crossed plains without them.

Then again, if wagons hadn't crossed the plains, buffalo would still be around in the thousands and millions, not fighting for existence.

But then I might not exist.

Going to sleep now. Must stop this wagon train of thought immediately.

10/8.

Finally got up the nerve to tell Dad over our good-bye brunch that I needed some extra spending money because my credit card limit wasn't very high and I might be getting sort of near it. I said it while Bellarina was screaming and banging her spoon and throwing food, so that I'd seem like the good child, the easy child. We visited a Tyme machine before they left for the airport. I came home with $200 and scrambled eggs in my hair.

Very exciting news in cafeteria tonight. The student a.s.sociation is chartering a bus to take anyone who wants to cough up $20 to Madison next weekend-we'll leave Sat.u.r.day morning, come back Sunday at noon. Hurray! I'm going to see Jane! When I called to tell her, she was totally excited.

Grant called tonight. It was really fun because I kept making him laugh even though he doesn't really know Dad (except for hanging out at graduation party) or Thyme and her snooty parents or anyone in the Ozone End Zone group. At the end of our talk he said, "I'm really proud of you, Courtney. It sounds like things are going really well." Afterward I realized he hadn't said much about his weekend. Was it good? Bad? Indifferent? What did he do? I don't remember. Did he say? Did I monopolize the entire conversation? Maybe I should call back. But I have too much homework left to do before tomorrow.

10/9.

Can't believe what happened at work today. First, a group of men from some office all came in at the same time to order meat rolls, kept asking me what my favorite menu item was, kept making "knock knock" jokes, asked me if I thought the Brat Blankets were as good as the bacon bit Bacles.

"Sure," I said. "They're . . . wonderful." If you like food involving casing, that makes you think of meat grinders, and slaughterhouses.

Oh G.o.d. Just realized something. Grandpa would be so happy if he knew I was in charge of the Best Wurst Bagels Ever team. All those years of lecturing me and showing me barbecue techniques for keeping burgers pink and juicy while at the same time killing E. coli. . . . Meanwhile I was trying not to spew on the lawn figurines. It was all actually paying off. Disgustingly.

Anyway, finally got the annoying guys through the line when Dean Sobransky came in. Either he'd just heard about our exciting new menu (and it's true, the line has gone out the door for these Brat Blankets) or he was continuing his plan to spy on me and watch my every move and turn me in to campus authorities before I succeed in changing the school name.

I guess Dean S. didn't know I worked there and was very surprised to see me. So he ordered a few items and started stammering something about how my BF job must help me "make ends meet," with "your little one at home to consider."

"What? You have a baby?" Mark/Marc/Marque asked. "How adorable."

"You never mentioned that. I thought you lived in the dorm," Ben said. Looking totally shocked and defrauded.

My face burning. Me trying to pretend it was because I was standing too close to steam table. "I do live in the dorm," I said. "And I don't have a baby."

"But I saw you on Sat.u.r.day. And you know, it's appropriate for students to be parents as well as children. And-oh, she's the spitting image of Courtney," Dean S. went on.

"That's because she's my dad's stepdaughter's-wait a second, we're not even related by blood. She doesn't look anything like me!"

"Courtney, what's this I hear? You're a single mom?" Jennifer asked as she rushed over to horn in on the conversation from h.e.l.l. "You never mentioned that! You need family health insurance coverage, you need company-credit day care, you need some of our bagel teething rings-"

"No! My stepsister. She has a baby," I explained. "My dad brought her-the baby-for Parents Weekend, because my stepsister was home sick, and that's who you saw me holding."

Jennifer and Ben and Marque all stared at me, like they were trying to figure out if I was telling the truth or not.

"Guys! If I had a baby, don't you think I would have mentioned her by now?" I asked.

"Um. Well. No," Dean S. murmured.

"See, people here don't really, um, talk about stuff like that," Jennifer said. "Which is okay!"

People here are so weird.

10/10.

Can I leave for Madison tonight? I am so embarra.s.sed! There was an article about me in the school paper today, about the CFC protest last week (yes, the paper's notoriously slow about getting the word out) (or maybe Dean S. made them "hold the story" until now?). There was even a little picture of me, leading the chant. Why couldn't they use my school ID photo when I had hair, when I was vaguely attractive? Then again, real politicians don't think about these things. I should really be more serious about this.

"Next time you're getting your picture in the paper, you should really let me give you a makeover," said Julie, a girl on the hall, when I saw her in the cafeteria. "I used to work at a cosmetics counter."

"Oh?" My voice wavered as I realized she was really insulting me.

"I'm only saying that because I want you to win. I once set my sister's hair on fire by using hairspray in an aerosol can while I was smoking," she said. "Those cans are so dangerous, they definitely should be banned."

1. We clearly need to better explain what our cause is.

2. I won't ever let her give me a makeover.

LATER . . .

Just got back from taking a shower. When I went in, Tricia was standing at sink, brushing her teeth with battery-powered toothbrush. I said hi, trying to be civil. Which was useless. She gave me the cold shoulder, like I'm all of a sudden a terrible, horrible person, because I want to get rid of CFC sweatshirts. Oh yes. I really should do some jail time for that.

Then I had turned off the shower but I was still standing in the shower stall, drying off, when I heard Gretchen and Pena come in and discuss how the school was even more political than they'd hoped, how they admired me for taking a stand, and how everyone needs to get involved at a gra.s.sroots level. (Does that include a gra.s.s football-field level?) Then I was walking down the hall when I heard Tricia telling Brittany and Kirsten how "It's like, I don't know how it's like where she's, like, from? But Courtney has no like morals?"

Never knew I could cause so much controversy.

10/11.

Dean S. made his usual visit to our hallowed cubicles this afternoon. He was wearing giant snow boots and kept stopping to ask everyone if they'd taken precautions for the coming freak winter storm. Seemed in a holly-jolly mood to me. Or he was, until he saw me.

"Courtney, I forgot you worked on Wednesdays," he said, his face getting that purplish look again.

Does he have a crush on me or something? No, impossible. But that's how he acts sometimes. Too uncomfortable to be alive.

So he mentioned the CF Courier article about me and asked did I really mean what I said?

"Um, what did I say?" I asked. Because I barely remembered the reporter interviewing me. In fact I don't think she did. She's a member of the group and just sort of roughly quoted us.

"That no school today should be allowed to have the initials of a banned substance," Dean S. said. "Do you really believe that?"

"Well," I said, racking my brain. "You don't see schools with the initials DDT. Or TCE. Or even PCP."

"I think you mean PCB," Dean S. said.

"Right. Whatever," I said.

"No, but-but-" Dean S. sputtered as he tossed his leather gloves up to the ceiling and caught them. "We're talking about a reputation. We're talking about a hundred and thirty-seven years of history," he said.

"And we're talking about destroying the ozone layer and promoting things that contribute to that," I said.

Then it got ugly.

Dean S. shoved his gloves into his pocket and came closer to me. "Weren't you interested in transferring at one point?" he asked. "Because I'm not sure you're going to be happy here, Courtney. And I could get you accepted at another college with a good reputation. I could find you a financial offer."

It was like getting threatened by the Mafia! "You mean, an offer I couldn't refuse?" I asked. I couldn't believe it. Dean S. wanted to get rid of me. I didn't know whether to be scared, or just d.a.m.n impressed with myself. I was an instigator!

Then Wittenauer wheeled over in his chair. "You know, Dean Sobransky, you've always been so supportive of an open discussion of the issues. I'm really surprised to hear you talk that way. What's going on?" School mascot was completely coming to my rescue.

Dean S. cleared his throat. "Well, Walter, it's like this."

I nearly fell out of my cubicle. Walter Wittenauer? And I thought I had it bad with my V.D. initials? My life was cake. No wonder he was hiding under a mascot costume!

Dean S. and WW got into an in-depth discussion of issues facing Cornwall Falls, universities in general, the world. I joined in whenever it seemed appropriate. Ended with one of those famous statements that never made any sense to me, that we'd all "agree to disagree."

Still, have to look over my shoulder, make sure Dean S. isn't trying to boot me out of school.

10/12.

I don't believe this. When I got back from cla.s.s this morning, hiking through snowdrifts, Mary Jo, earliest riser of them all, was still in bed. She was crying. I asked her what was wrong. She said Joe broke up with her. That idiot! Joe, I mean. Like he can do better than Mary Jo! He should be grateful she spent even one day with him, let alone a month or so. And the worst part of all is the stuff he said to her when he did it. He told her that he wasn't attracted to her anymore, because she was sort of overweight. What?! She is not! And maybe he could have thought of that before ordering extra cheese and meat on every pizza they ever ordered. I'm so furious! I want to kill him. But I don't believe in killing, or at least I thought I didn't-until now. She's not overweight, and even if she were, she's a great person, if you like that kind of person, so who cares?

"I'm going to call Ed and your other brothers right now. They can come down tonight and kick Joe's b.u.t.t." I grabbed the telephone. I also made Mary Jo look outside at the pretty snow and drink hot chocolate I made for her. "What's your home number?"

"What? Don't call them!" Mary Jo said.

"But you have to. Just imagine them showing up at his dorm room." I stared at her family portrait, all the tall, beef-raised guys perched on a giant tractor. "They'd stand in the doorway and he'd probably faint. It would be so perfect."

"But they wouldn't come just to do that," Mary Jo said.

"Sure they would!" I told her. "Big brothers are way into sticking up for their little sisters. Not that I know, but I've seen my little brother stand up for me. Anyway, all they'd have to do is carry something dangerous. Like a farm knife or something."

"A farm knife? What's that?" Mary Jo laughed.

"That's not important. The key thing is to make him as miserable as he's making you," I said.

Mary Jo just sat there looking at me like a scared bunny rabbit. That's when I realized that she didn't have a sister or a best friend like Beth, and didn't understand how these things were done. You get furious together, you plot revenge, you talk about things you're never ever going to actually say or do.

"He's right, you know," she said, sounding pathetic. "I should probably go on a diet."

"What? But you're not overweight!" I said.

"I am," Mary Jo said. "Look, I've got farmer's flab." She pinched her waist. There was like one millionth of an inch of extra skin.

"Mary Jo. You're being ridiculous," I said. "He was trying to think of some dumb reason he could use to break up with you. That's what they always do."

"They do? How many guys have you gone out with?"

I was giving her the impression that I was quite the s.k.a.n.k, I guess. I explained that I wasn't a s.k.a.n.k, but that I'd gone through one bad breakup and had seen a bunch more.

Mary Jo looked at me blankly. "s.k.a.n.k? Is that like the past tense of skunk?" she asked, and we both cracked up laughing.

But then Mary Jo started crying again about 2 minutes later and I really needed to think of some way to cheer her up. Field trip to Farm Supply? Buy her a new mane comb? Kill Joe for her?

Grant called tonight and after I talked to him for a while, he talked to Mary Jo for a couple of minutes. She told me what he said-he was being super-nice to Mary Jo on account of her heartache and the fact she's so blue. (She has been playing sad CDs all day, and I'm starting to talk like Martina McBride.) He really can be so sweet. He can talk to anyone. While they were talking, I remembered when he helped me after Dave dumped me last year, how he listened to me babble about hating all guys and how they were all sc.u.m. And he didn't even take it personally.

10/13.

7:00 P.M. Mom just called. Extremely frantic. Her book club is meeting at the house, and Oscar ran away when the house got too full of strangers. (He has set limits. 7 is fine; 8 is terrifying.) She hasn't found him yet, and Bryan isn't home because he's out with Beth, they're studying together.

I got so jealous of Beth and how she still gets to be with her boyfriend, even if it is my brother. I wonder how it would be if Grant and I got to study together. We probably wouldn't get enough done. So okay, we'd just hang together for an hour or so, like a sort of pre-study or post-study thing, and- "Courtney!" Mom said. "Are you listening to me? What am I going to do about Oscar?"

"He'll come back," I predicted. "He's probably hiding under the bushes in Mr. Novotny's yard. Go check."

Mom walked outside with the phone and called him. Nothing. "Oh, I wish Grant were still around," she said. "I could really use him right now."

"Mom," I said. "Don't even tell me about needing Grant, okay?"

Well, at least I made her laugh.