-insert something clever-

Mistakes Already Made

Chapter 12

Eric sat in his car with Alison in the passenger's seat, thinking about Bridget. He was driving, he was vaguely aware of it. He was also vaguely aware that he didn't care if he crashed. He knew he'd get into trouble for just walking out of work, but it had gotten his point across to Bridget. Eric knew he had to ask Alison a million and ten questions, mainly, What is your problem? But for right now, he was thinking about Bridget's hair. To be honest, he didn't need anything to drink to be drunk. Her hair did that for him. And he knew he wasn't driving to the bar anyway – he'd never really had the intention of going there. He wanted to go somewhere where he and Alison could talk.

And he'd have to go up to the college campus to request a dorm room. He wondered if that would be okay.

"You're quiet," Alison commented.

Eric didn't even know what to think, let alone what to say.

"I have questions," Eric said. Smart.

"I figured you would."

"Care to explain?" Eric asked. They were driving toward Bridget's house, so Eric jerked the wheel at the next road and started down that one instead.

"Care to stop the car before you hurt us both?" Alison returned.

Eric really couldn't stand her, but he pulled over at a gas station anyway. He needed information. He needed to know what Alison had told Bridget, and how she'd even known about Bridget in the first place. He felt, at that moment, as though, if he didn't get that information, he might burn up and the universe would be better for it.

"Can you please tell me now?" Eric asked. He stared at a man in a thick coat pumping gas into his Chevy.

"No, I don't think I will, just yet," Alison said, just to be contrary.

How had Eric put up with her for 4 months?

"I think you will or else you won't have anywhere to stay tonight," Eric said, ignoring the glaring fact that he himself had nowhere to stay that night.

"Okay," Alison said. "I read the letter she sent you – the one you left on the desk?"

"When?" Eric asked through clenched teeth. He'd act like that wasn't infuriating in itself.

"A little before you left." Alison was examining a nail.

"And?" Eric prompted.

"So I got to thinking about it. That's where you went. So I decided to come and find this Bridget person. I looked her up in the directory on the website for the camp. It said what school she went to. So I just said the right things to the right people and got in. Then I told her the truth. I'm your girlfriend."

"You told her more than that," Eric said, because he knew just that fact wouldn't be enough to make Bridget as mad as she was. "You told her we've been going out since May."

"That was all it took. The rest she assumed. Eric, you have to figure it out sometime." A chill went up Eric's spine as Alison leaned closer to whisper, "She doesn't trust you. After what you did? Who would?"

After what you did? Who would? It rang in Eric's mind until long after he'd ordered Alison out of the car and squealed out of the gas station parking lot. He sped along the street until he arrived at Bridget's house. He didn't know what he was going to do. His thoughts were coming too fast for him to make sense of any of them.

Bridget was being led into her house by Carmen, Lena, and Tibby when Eric passed it on the street, so he slowed down to see if maybe Tibby would notice, since she was the last one in anyway. She did. She gave him the middle finger and went inside.

Eric glowered at the dashboard. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know where to go. He didn't know how to fix this, or when to fix it. He realized he knew nothing about girls.

He understood why Bridget was mad. He understood that, if he and Alison really had been going out since May, then that would have been very, very bad about Eric's behavior in Mexico. So somehow, he had to tell Bridget that they hadn't been dating since May.

And Eric didn't know why he'd gotten upset when Bee had said it was his fault, and then said she wished she'd never met him. Not angry – just upset in general. He knew it was his fault, and he knew that she would have been better off had she not met him. But he at least had hoped she was glad she had met him.

The world disappointed him at times like these with its inability to notice something was seriously wrong and for not helping him. He wanted a giant earthquake to come through and he would be the only one who could rescue Bridget; something like in a movie. Something that could be of any use.

But the only thing that would resemble a natural disaster was a thunderstorm.

So Eric drove back to the hotel, booked a room for the next two nights, and went to the office at GW to see if he could talk his way into a dorm room.

And that night he slept in his hotel room. And Bridget slept in her room. And the world was back to the way it had been before, only it was slightly off-kilter.

Bridget pictured a song with lots of violins. They all played slow and long notes, wavering when they got too long before running out of steam and stopping. There were more notes, then, after those ones, each progressively lower and lower in sound. Bridget didn't know what was wrong with her. She didn't know why she was upset. She knew she couldn't believe what Alison had said, but some of it didn't add up. Of course Eric had to have had a girlfriend at some point, and it very well could have been a long time ago that the picture was taken. That part could potentially make sense. But the problem was Eric's own reaction to Alison. He'd welcomed her to him. Bridget wondered what he was thinking now. Did he know what a low-life he was?

Tibby, Lena, and Carmen were drinking their chocolate milkshakes at the table in Wendy's, and Bridget was staring at the fan circling above their heads. What was wrong with her? What was wrong with her that she'd chosen such a horrible person to be…whatever Eric had been? Did she really have that bad a taste in guys? Was she that stupid?

Bridget pondered the fan. She wished she were a ceiling fan. She wished she could spend her days circling, with absolutely no troubles what-so-ever. Just going around and around and around, again and again, not having to worry about anything but the people below. She would be able to see people, people like herself, sixteen years old, hanging out with a couple of friends, not touching her milkshake, and pregnant. She would have wisdom beyond her years, if she were a ceiling fan. She would know what to do if she were a ceiling fan.

Eric had to go to class on Monday. He didn't want to, but he had to do it. He took his notebook and his laptop, not sure which people at GW used, and took a quick look at himself in the mirror his roommate, Alex, had on the wall.

"No looking at my mirror," Alex said in a low voice from his bed, where he was reading a book.

Eric didn't know what had happened to Alex's last roommate, but he was beginning to have an idea. He wished he were at Bridget's house. If he were, Bridget would just be waking up to start her classes online and he'd be leaving reluctantly. Now, though, he was glad to be leaving the dorm room, but not glad to be going to class.

It was a geology class. Eric hated geology, but he needed some kind of science, and the other options were even worse than geology. So geology it was. He wondered at the sidewalk as he walked along it, passing other students talking on cell phones or to friends. He was alone. Everyone else wasn't. Eric really wanted to wake up on Friday again and be able to re-do the day. He wished he could relive it the way he wanted to now, with the hindsight he had at how horrible it had gone. But that wasn't possible. So here he was, and that was it. The end of the story.

It wasn't, though, the end of the story, was it? Eric sighed and opened the door to the building he thought he was supposed to be in - according to the map he was trying to look at inconspicuously so he wouldn't look like a dork, he was a block east of the real building, but this building was named the right thing, so Eric figured it must be.

He strode up to the third floor, and to room 46. 46C. [Author's note: I know absolutely nothing about the buildings or the room numbers of GW.] He opened the door, praying it was the right room.

It wasn't. There was a janitor scrubbing the floor. "Wrong building," the janitor grumbled.

Eric sighed again. "Where is the right building, then?" he asked.

"You're lookin' for the original building. It's down the street thataway, make a left."

Eric felt stupid. He thanked the janitor and ran down the three flights of stairs he'd just climbed. Eric hit the sidewalk within a minute and literally sprinted to the other building. The 'right building.' The 'original building.' Don't be confusing or anything. Eric's watch told him he had two minutes to get to the class. He climbed another three flights of stairs, thanking the Lord for his soccer abilities that kept his breathing in check after sprinting a block and a half and running up three flights of stiars. He reached the classroom just in time. It was a large group of students who were all milling about before the lecture began, and Eric slid into a seat unnoticed. He breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't want to be embarrassed on his first day by being late.

Bridget's alarm clock woke her up at 9. Bridget hated her alarm clock right then. She took one look at it and swatted it off her bedside table. It hit the floor, but did not cease beeping. She sighed, stood up, and paced the room once before turning off the stupid alarm clock. She didn't feel like being awake. She didn't feel like taking her classes, online or not. She felt like crawling under the covers and sleeping for the rest of eternity, or at least until human stupidity had ceased.

Bridget powered up her laptop. She signed in. She looked at the wall. She looked at the ceiling. She realized she had the house to herself. With this realization came the realization that Bridget could do anything she wanted. She could be as loud and crazy and insane as she wanted.

This would normally have excited her, but today, it bothered her.

Her cell phone buzzed with a text. Carmen. 'Hey, Bee! U r lucky nt 2 b here. Tchr is CRAZY.'

'Wut did she do?' Bridget texted back, smiling to herself. At least she had her friends still.

'Assigned in-class essay. Fnshd 5 min ago...Hows the LIFE goin?'

'The LIFE?'

'Slpng in. doing classwork in pjs. u no.'

'O. Not begun yet. Clss strts in 5.'

'G2G! Tme 4 math!'

And Carmen was gone. Bridget looked at her clock. She kind of wished she were at school, however insane it was. She wished she could be with Carmen, sitting next to her while writing an in-class essay.

She wished, more than anything, that she weren't pregnant.