Carter's Unfocused, One-Track Mind

by Brent Crawford

  Text copyright © 2012 by Brent Crawford

  All rights reserved. Published by Hyperion, an imprint of Disney Book Group. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address Hyperion, 114 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10011-5690.

  ISBN 978-1-4231-4730-5

  Visit www.un-requiredreading.com

  Table of Contents

  Fall

  1. Finally Hittin' It

  2. Fight or Flight

  3. A Piece of My Fart

  4. Oklahoma Road

  5. Shaving Your Wiener

  6. Focus, Daniel-Son

  7. The Lost Ant

  8. KickOff

  9. Wednesday, Bloody Wednesday

  10. Friday Night Lights

  11. Dance with the Devil

  12. Ding-Ding

  13. Mountain Don't

  14. Practice Makes...Something

  15. Alcatraz

  Winter

  16. Lou-owe

  17. Who Casts the First Stone?

  18. Suiting Up

  19. Yahoo

  20. Cougar Fight

  21. The Other QuikTrip

  22. Full Voice

  23. Ring of Fire

  24. The Transition

  25. Baby Wing

  26. Stalled Stall

  Spring

  27. Stick It to the Man

  Epilogue

  TO ALL THE GIRLS I’VE LOVED BEFORE…

  WELL, NOT ALL OF THEM.

  YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE.

  FALL

  1. FINALLY HITTIN’ IT

  My fist slams into Andre’s ugly face, and he staggers back in shock.

  “Dude, you’re gonna pay for tha—!” he starts to say, but I kick him in the stomach to shut the noise down. He charges me with his head lowered. Everyone knows he’s trying to take the fight to the ground.

  My boys yell, “Get outta there, Carter!”

  I’m already on it. I jump as high as I can and pull my knees up into my chest like I’m about to bust a gainer, and I sail over him. His big arms whiff beneath my Nikes, and he stumbles to the parking lot. I land on the asphalt and spin around, planning my next move. Everyone is shocked that I’m winning this fight. Andre is embarrassed and angry, but I couldn’t care less. I’ve wanted to beat his ass for years, and it’s finally (sort of) happening!

  He was the one kid on summer swim team who I could never beat. I always felt self-conscious in that little swimming suit…but never as much as when I had to stand next to Andre. The SOB had pecs when we were ten years old! And it looked like he was smuggling a Snickers out of the snack bar in his Speedo while I was just working with a Tootsie Roll down there. I never even noticed that I had little boobies and a muffin top until this mutant came along. His overdevelopment and athletic ability aren’t the reasons I dislike him so much, however. Last year, he sold me down the river in an attempt to steal my girlfriend. He’s a d-bag!

  I admit that I initiated my own EPIC FAIL when I told Abby that I loved her and then asked Amber Lee to go to the homecoming dance in the same passing period. A few hours later I made another mistake when I bragged to my boys in the locker room that I’d gone up Abby’s skirt.…That’s on me! But Andre told a band geek about it, knowing full well that the band pipeline would pass the news to the drill team with Google-like speed. Then he broke the locker room code (for a second time) by twisting my words and telling Abby that I’d bragged about having sex with her in a movie theater. I may have implied it, but that’s perfectly acceptable in a locker room, and everyone knows it.

  I broke Abby’s heart that day, but a case could surely be made that Andre made the situation a lot worse and way harder to recover from. Especially after he swooped in and asked Abby to homecoming. Yeah, Amber Lee is super hot, and I did ask her to go to the dance with me, but she tricked me into it just so she could meet up with her scuzzy, parent-not-approved boyfriend, Rusty. Her dad wouldn’t let her go anywhere with ol’ Rusty (I’m not being clever; he’s actually old). I was an easy mark because I’d been in love with Amber for years, and her dad was right to try to keep that dirt-bag away from his angel, because Amber’s now four months preggo with Rusty’s seedy seed.

  Logically, I understand that Andre had nothing to do with Amber Lee getting knocked up, but I’m not feeling logical tonight, so in honor of Amber’s unwanted baby, I give him the sweetest roundhouse kick right in the jaw!

  My boys cheer, “Ohhh, Carter! Where did that even come from?”

  I wish I knew, but I’m just going on instinct here. I’m not thinking; I’m just doing! I’m really focused tonight for some reason (two liters of Mountain Dew), and when I’m focused I’m pretty tough to beat at anything.

  I tag Andre in the ribs as he’s trying to recover from the roundhouse, and then I drive my fist straight into his big nose. Blood sprays all over the place, and everyone laughs, except Andre.

  “Sprrriiinkler, dude!” Bag roars.

  EJ adds, “Don’t get any blood in Carter’s hair, he’ll really freak out!”

  Andre stumbles backward and examines his bloody hands. He starts hopping up and down like he’s getting fired up for a comeback, and grunts, “That’s it, fool! I’m ’bout to mess you up!”

  I accidentally sweep his legs out from under him, but it looks like I totally meant to do it. I flip the hair out of my eyes and mutter, “Bring it, sucka!” as I approach a metal trash can off to the side of the alley.

  Everyone gasps and Andre mutters, “Always knew you was dirty, Carter!” as I raise the can over my head. Everyone cheers as it bounces off his skull with a CLANG. The bleeding from his nose gets worse, but the real problem is the green stuff that’s now draining from his ears (I’m no doctor, but I believe that might be brain fluid).

  EJ yells, “NEXT!” as he pounces onto my back (in real life). I drop the game controller to the carpet and try not to fall down. I was going to toss my hands up in triumph, but I’ve got to use them to keep EJ from choking my neck as he rides me around Bag’s basement and shouts, “Will Friggin’ Carter, the Cinderella story! The Cinderella boy!”

  We’re playing the new version of Mortal Kombat, where the game takes a picture of you and creates a character in your image. My guy is wearing my same jeans, Nikes, and gray Merrian Football T-shirt. He’s got my hair, but he seems skinnier and way goofier than I actually am. Everyone else looks about right, though. Andre’s big nose and trademark buzz cut is perfect. So are his damn muscles.

  I usually suck at video games. My fingers are kind of slow, but it’s my attention span that really gets in the way of greatness. If I practiced more, I’d be better, but my parents have always discouraged this type of achievement. I know some guys who aren’t embarrassed to brag that they played the same game for ten hours and then complain about how sore they are. I enjoy feeling like a champion as much as the next guy, but it seems the better you are at video games, the worse you are at life.

  It’s almost nine on a Saturday night and my whole crew is here: EJ, Bag, Nutt, Doc, Levi, J-Low, Hormone, Andre, Timberlake, The Ding-Dong, Coot, Lt. Dangle, Sloth, Hangin’ Chad, The Devil, and TrimSpa. We are a mash-up of old and new friends, and I really like most of them. I actually came to this party with my sort-of-back-on-again girlfriend, Abby, and I need to remember to check in with her pretty soon. My sister, Lynn, always stresses the fine line between paying attention to a girl and stalking her. You want to blow her off a little, but you don’t need to be an a-hole.

  It’s about time for me to bo
unce anyway, because this is the time of the night (six beers) when EJ starts to get obnoxious.

  “WHO NEXT?!” he screams, and smacks my butt as I carry him around the room. “Who? Who? Who let an owl into the basement?” He starts cracking up. “BAG! Why do you have an owl? Are you a wizard? Do you go to the Ballwarts School of Wizardry?”

  His sticky hands start pulling my hair, so I ram him into the wall and he lets go.

  “Owwweeee,” he cries as he crumples to the floor.

  Whoops, I may have accidentally hurt him. All of the fake violence really does get to me.

  EJ just lies on the ground for a while. I know he’s all right when he puts on his gay-robot voice and says, “Your love is too rough, Will Carter!”

  I jump on top of him and make him slap himself a few times. I like to beat on him when he can’t defend himself (around six beers).

  There’s an actual party going on upstairs. We can hear the music thumping overhead, and I might even smell some food. My boys and I are sophomores now, and people seem to enjoy our company, but we’re still more comfortable down here playing games and pretending to kick ass than actually getting in the mix. It’s not like we’re frightened. This is just easier.

  Technically, this is Bag’s older sister’s party, so it’s kind of a college gathering. It’s the local junior college, so I don’t think that counts. They all say they’re saving money and that our local JuCo is really good, but I think most of them are scared to leave Merrian. They know they’re cool right here, and there are no guarantees that their coolness will transfer.

  Andre slaps my hand as if he’s a good sport, then wrecks it by saying, “Can’t believe you hit me with a friggin’ trash can. I might have to go steal yo’ girlfriend again! I’m just playin’, dog.”

  “You know it’s not really a joke when you’ve actually done the thing you’re threatening to do, right?”

  “I saw you walk in with Abby, all sly,” he says.

  “I gave her a ride. Nothing sly about—”

  “Ahhhh, you finally hittin’ it?” he asks.

  “No, Dre. We’re not doing this. She just rode my axle pegs.”

  He yells, “Yo, Abby rode Carter’s axle!”

  I cover his mouth and say, “No, no! Shut it down.”

  He wriggles free and asks, “Do you have any idea how many chicks I’ve banged since Abby?”

  “Uhhh, you accidentally made it sound like you and Abby ‘banged’ when everyone knows you didn’t.”

  Andre scoffs, “Well, maybe we did, maybe we didn’t.”

  “You didn’t.”

  He continues, “My point is, I’m not still hung up on her.”

  “Obviously…You just stalk her ‘a little bit’ and notice when she shows up and who she’s with.”

  Andre pushes me and says, “So guess how many!”

  “I don’t recall anyone asking for your stats.”

  He shakes his head like I’ve missed his point. “All I’m saying is, if I’d put in the time that you have…I’d be up on Bag’s mom’s water bed right now surfin’!”

  I try to figure out the surfing reference while I retort, “I haven’t put in any ‘time,’ dog, she and I are friends …and she might be going away to some school in New York City next semester…so…”

  Everyone settles down and EJ says, “Seriously?”

  “Yeah, she told me on the way over. I guess she applied to this farty art school last year and she got in.”

  “Why didn’t she start the school year there?” Bag asks.

  “It’s really expensive and she didn’t get the scholarship she wanted, but the girl they gave it to had a nervous breakdown, so it’s available again.”

  “When would she leave?” Doc inquires.

  “I don’t know. I kind of spaced off while she was talking.”

  They understand that I only get about half of what’s going on most of the time, but they also know how much I care about Abby and how close I am to having sex with her, so they’re kind of bummed out too.

  Nutt exclaims, “Why don’t you go with her?!”

  “To New York City?! I don’t know. Because I didn’t apply to the school, I’m not an art fart, and I’m only fifteen and—”

  “You’re a pussy!” Andre adds.

  Bag says, “You acted in a movie this summer, dude. They’ll let you in. And you don’t need a scholarship because you got paid all that money.”

  “Yeah, but that money is for college.”

  Nutt is from a family of schemers, so he observes, “No, that’s for school. If you went to some Fame high school, maybe you could skip college and just go pro.”

  That sounds nice, but unfortunately, working with Hilary Idaho on a movie allowed me to see how much “going pro” as an actor can screw you up.

  Bag suggests, “Maybe you and Abby could get an apartment together!”

  “Her mom would love that,” Doc scoffs.

  I start to imagine our little love den. It’s in an old building, but it’s nice. Some people call it a loft, but Abby and I call it home. It’s got lots of huge windows and a king-size bed that squeaks when we—

  WHACK!!! EJ slaps the back of my neck and says, “You aren’t going to New York City, dumbass! You’d get run over by a taxi on your first day.”

  He may have a point, but I playfully shove him to the ground. “I’ll run over you like a taxi, bitch.”

  “That’s what I said to your mom last night!” he replies.

  I pounce on him. “My mother is a lady, damn it!”

  EJ and I slap each other until Nutt says, “You know, Abby might break you off some good-bye booty if she leaves.”

  “You think?” I hadn’t even considered that this could be a good thing.

  Andre breaks back into the conversation when he yells, “Eleven! I’ve doinked eleven chicks since I got with Abby.”

  I finally let go of EJ and stand up so I can clearly explain to Andre, “Dude, you never ‘got with’ Abby!”

  He says, “Only ’cuz I cheated on her.”

  “But mostly ’cuz you’re a doofus, right?”

  Andre’s cheeks start to turn red, so I punch him in the chest to let him know that I’m kidding (not really). He punches me back a little too hard and gives me a cold stare. It occurs to me that he might really like Abby too, and he’d be upset if she left. All I know is: I don’t want to get into a real-life fight with Andre, because I would lose. Badly.

  Just then, a gang of flip-flops come slapping down the basement steps. I toss the hair out of my eyes to get a better look at thirty painted toes and six tanned feet, shapely calves, and strong thighs descending creaky stairs. Nicky is wearing a miniskirt that you can totally see up. Abby is behind her (in khaki short-shorts) and Amber Lee is bringing up the rear (in frayed Daisy Dukes). Amber’s legs always look great, but everyone is gawking at her swollen belly tonight. I know that we all went silent because of Nicky’s skirt, but it probably seems like we shut up because a pregnant girl just walked in and we’re grossed out.

  Abby breaks the uncomfortable silence. “Hey, what are you geeks doing?”

  Andre replies, “I was just beatin’ Carter’s ass in Mortal Kombat.”

  I’m about to give the actual details of the fight, but stop myself before the dork instincts kick in. I just point to the screen, where the video game image of Andre is still lying on the ground, leaking brain fluid.

  No one says anything else until Amber giggles. “Look what the game did to Carter’s hairdo!”

  Everyone laughs, so I say, “It’s not a hairdo, Amber! You’re the one that got tiger-striped highlights in eighth grade! Remember that?”

  My boys start making fun of me. “You should totally get highlights, Carter! You could be a country singer!”

  So, one of the only things I have to remind me that I was an actor in a movie this last summer is a new “look.” The set stylist felt bad for me because I worked so hard on a film that’s never going to be seen, so she gave
me a free haircut. It’s a big deal because she’s like, a grand champion. Her cuts run about five hundred bucks (for people she doesn’t feel sorry for). She didn’t trim that much off, even though I hadn’t had a proper haircut in nine months. (I’d shaved my head for a swim meet in February and then let it grow out so I could slick it back for the spring musical, then the character I played in the movie was supposed to be a homeless kid, so I just let it keep growing. It wouldn’t have looked right if I’d just gone to the barber.) She snipped and clipped for more than an hour and transformed my shaggy-dog mop-top into what my boys call a “flop-do” or a “Skate-Bieber.” I think it looks awesome, but everybody loves to hate.

  They gather around the screen and hopefully recognize that I won the fight. Bag observes, “Your avatar looks like Bon Jovi, dude.”

  Nicky says, “Yeah, but like old Bon Jovi.”

  “Or an anorexic Conan the Barbarian,” Nutt adds.

  Levi yells, “Conan the Gaybarian!”

  “Okay, we get it.”

  My boys don’t like anything out of the ordinary…like private schools or fancy jeans. They view self-expression kind of like a cancer. If they can make fun of it enough, maybe it won’t spread. God forbid this hairdo takes off and people start copying me! They’ve been wearing me down for about a month now. They can tell that I’m getting close to cutting it, because they share DNA with sharks and bees.

  EJ says, “Scary Terry is about to get out of jail, and if he’s been thinking about killing you AND ME for the last six months, I’d prefer it if you didn’t look like a Gossip Girl when we see him for the first time.”

  I push him down again and everyone laughs.

  EJ and I were forced to fight a guy called Scary Terry in the halls of Merrian High last year. Terry is a loon who’d stolen my bike the weekend before. My sister briefly dated the nut ball, and she took it upon herself to bitch him out in front of a bunch of people, so he was already pissed at me when I accidentally ran right into him in the hall. He wanted to fight, but I was obviously not into it. The problem was that all of these kids had gathered around to watch us brawl, and he didn’t want to let them down. He took off his shirt and started to do all these karate moves, and then EJ came up behind me, like, I got your back, no matter what! and I started to think, Why not? But then a teacher showed up and Terry started crying and backing out of the hall brawl. But he was still threatening to kill me at my house later, so I decided to get the fight over with. Allegedly, I called him a pussy for crying. I don’t remember doing it, but I do recall EJ making a kissing noise and Terry dropping him like a Popsicle onto the linoleum. While he was following through with his punch, I knocked Terry out with my five-pound Intro to Science textbook. Terry had been in a few fights before that one, so he had to go to a juvenile detention center for a while.