Abby tousles my flop-do and says, “You guys, stop! Carter’s hair is so cute!”
“You’re not helping,” I explain to her.
EJ jumps up, grabs my hair, and says, “It’s sooo cute, I want to take it out to the shed and get it pregnant!”
Even Andre knows that EJ just shoved his foot into his mouth. It wouldn’t have been so bad if everyone hadn’t looked at Amber for a reaction and Nicky hadn’t yelled, “EJ! Don’t talk about getting things pregnant in front of Amber Lee! God!”
EJ and Nicky have an on-again, off-again relationship, kind of like Abby and I do, but unlike us, they have sex…and they kind of hate each other.
EJ wouldn’t have said something like that if he was sober. But he’s a pretty different dude when he’s had a few drinks. “What’d I tell you about bitchin’ at me in public, Nicky?!”
She snaps, “And what did I tell you about being a retard, retard?!”
Amber quietly says, “Okay, I’m leaving. I just wanted to say hello.…I’ll see you boys later.”
Abby replies, “You don’t have to go,” and shoots me a dirty look as she stops Amber at the foot of the stairs. They’re having a hushed conversation while EJ and Nicky continue to flirt/fight and Doc and Nutt reboot the Mortal Kombat. I’m not sure where to look! I’m worried about Amber’s feelings, but I’m very confused about how all of this just became my fault. Nutt’s avatar looks like an anteater jumping around the TV. But it sounded like EJ just compared Nicky to his mother! I’m dying to see where he’s going with this.
I’ve always wondered how the flirt/fight works. How can you tear a girl’s heart to pieces and still get booty? I understand this phenomenon as well as I understand tornadoes. Mr. Bestos says tornadoes occur when a cold-weather front runs into a warm-weather front and all the energy gets confused and starts to swirl. But that doesn’t explain the carnage or why they go after trailer parks. EJ and Nicky will keep hurting each other’s feelings until the emotion reaches a fever pitch and someone shuts the other one up with their mouth. It just seems like there’s more magic to these events than actual science.
Amber and Abby head up the stairs, and I decide to follow them because I’d follow Abby’s butt almost anywhere, and they say the safest place to be during a tornado is right in the center. I may be thinking of a hurricane, but I need to deal with whatever this is before it gets out of control.
A DJ is jamming some old 70’s funk, and the house is packed with people sort of dancing. A bunch of the seniors from last year decided that they want to be DJs; they’re not even going to JuCo. They’re way too committed to “the music”…and living in their parents’ basements. I’m not really friends with a lot of these people, but I’m down with a few cool ones. Bag’s older sister Kammie (known as Pam when she’s in a swimsuit) dances up to me as I watch Abby and Amber salmoning their way toward the front door. I should tell Kammie, “I’m too busy to drool over you right now!” but I’m unable to speak because she’s showing a fair amount of cleavage tonight.
“What’s goin’ on, heartbreaker?” she asks.
Kammie is the exception to the rule that only dorks go to JuCo. She’s majoring in public relations and plans to become a reality TV star or marry a professional athlete; I don’t think you need Harvard for that.
“I’m cool…you know…just maxin’ and re—”
She cuts me off. “I saw Amber Lee crying. Did you guys call her fat or something?”
“Uhhh, no. We just kind of ignored her.”
She makes a face like, That’s way worse!
As I turn away from the cleavage, I run into a wall of muscle. My sister’s boyfriend, Nick Brock, is one of the graduated seniors who has left for college. He’s on a full scholarship to play football for Nebraska. He’s home for the weekend because he didn’t make the travel team. Which is insane! He lifts me off the ground as if I’m a rag doll and almost slams me into the ceiling. “What’s up, you hippie?!”
I try not to sound whiny when I say, “S’uuup, Niiiick?”
Lynn appears from Nick’s shadow. “Put him down! Carter, did one of you little cretins say something mean to Amber Lee?”
“No, none of us said anything to her!”
She rolls her eyes around so aggressively that I worry they’re going to fall out of her head.
I point to the front door as it slams behind a pair of khaki short-shorts. “I was just trying to catch up to her and Abby right now!”
Lynn takes a dramatic breath, contemplating her next statement. She usually gives great advice, so it’s probably worth the wait. She’s a selective feminist, which means she cares deeply about women’s rights but has no patience for girls who wear sport sandals. I know it’s difficult for her to look out for me the way she does, but she has always felt a responsibility to do so. She’s never allowed my mom to buy me Under Armour gear or cowboy boots (even though I know I would look awesome in them). She tries to keep people from seeing what a geek I really am, and she’s tried extra hard to help me win Abby back.
“You need to slow down, turbo!” she orders. “What have we talked about when you feel yourself rushing into situations?”
I’m silent for a moment, so she continues. “Exactly. We take a breath and try to see the problem from the other person’s perspective.”
“Well, I can see that she’s mad at me, but I don’t know why, and she might be going away to some private school in New York, and she’s pissed because she thinks we were mean to Amber…and they’re getting away.…”
She shoots Nick a look of shame before she says, “Just stop! Give ’em a few minutes. First of all, you’re not going to try to stop her from going away to school, are you?”
“No.”
“My brother will not be the guy who stops a woman from pursuing her dreams!” she barks.
“I am not—”
“Amber lives a few blocks from here, so they’re probably headed over there,” she explains. “And Abby’s mad at guys in general, not you. You’re all obsessed with sex, but as soon as there are consequences to your actions you all freak out. Abby is obviously frustrated with her friend’s situation. I heard that Amber and Rusty are living with her dad.”
Both Nick and I say, “Yikes!” at the same time. I assume Nick is picturing himself eating the last bowl of Mr. Lee’s favorite cereal and getting his balls cut off for it, because that’s what I’m doing.
My sister continues, “So just let them talk about what a bunch of jerks you guys are, and then show up at Amber’s house in fifteen minutes with some Diet Cokes like you’re the exception to the rule.”
Nick gives me a fist bump (ouch) and says, “Like me.”
Lynn’s eyeballs get another workout as she says, “Yeah, just like this one…who doesn’t call for three straight days!”
“My phone was broken!” Nick protests.
I’m really going to miss her when she leaves for college next year. And she will be leaving, though I don’t think Nebraska is very high on her list. She loves Nick, but a good football program is not one of her priorities. She seems to be looking for things to get pissed at him about lately.
I give Nick a good-luck nod and head for the kitchen to steal some Diet Cokes from Bag’s fridge.
Lynn knows that I’m in love with Abby, but she’s warned me to keep that crap to myself. According to my sister, Abby is not a very good starter girlfriend. She’s too smart, tough, and beautiful to put up with my playa training wheels. Lynn has always advised a tightrope approach. I’m allowed to show my love for Abby, but not say it out loud or cry in front of her or anything. Apparently, weakness pushes strong girls away. This is problematic if you’re a boy who finds himself crying all the time. And I feel like a gymnast, just swinging around on this damn tightrope.
I remember a time when Lynn was a freshman and she was totally into this guy Rhett. She’d get all giddy whenever he called, and she tried on fifteen different outfits just to meet up with him at the mall. Then ol’
Rhett had the nerve to buy her flowers or a teddy bear or something and she completely shut him down. She tried to explain it to me like, “It’s not the gifts, Will, it’s the timing!” but I was only in seventh grade so I didn’t get it. But I’m starting to see why Nick doesn’t return her calls right away and why he doesn’t do everything she asks him to do. Sure, she gets mad at him, but she stays interested as well. I guess I don’t have to understand the power of the tightrope; I just have to try to stay on the damn thing.
As I head for the door, Lynn reminds me, “Ask Amber questions about her health…and don’t forget to listen!”
I’m feeling good as I step outside. I know that swooping in with these Diet Cokes is going to get me closer to having sex with Abby than if I rolled up in a Ferrari. All I’ve got is a bicycle and a dream. How the hell am I going to ride with these stupid cans in my hand? I’m standing on the porch, looking down at my bike and trying to work out the geometry equation…when Scary Terry Moss comes walking up the driveway! He’s alone and seems like any other teenager with a buzz cut and thugged-out clothes. He’s got three lines shaved into his left eyebrow. His look suggests he’s ready to dance but might also have a gun in his pocket. Nobody was trying to be ironic when they saddled him with the nickname “Scary Terry.”
You might also think he’s one of those annoying aspiring rapper dudes, the way he’s talking to himself, but I don’t think he’s working out a rhyme. He’s having a serious discussion…with himself. If it happens to rhyme, it’s just a coincidence. It appears that juvie didn’t help with the crazies.
He doesn’t see me, but a girl standing in the doorway says what I’m thinking: “Oh, nooo!”
2. FIGHT OR FLIGHT
I drop the sodas, and of course one of them blasts open and sprays suds all over the place. I don’t know if Terry saw, because all of a sudden I’m pulled back into the house like a stunt man in a Jackie Chan movie. Nick’s big arms are wrapped around me as if I’m a football and he’s rushing for a touchdown. We hustle through the crowded living room and down a hallway before dashing into the little bathroom. I kick the door closed as he’s setting me down. Nick tries to latch the worthless lock, and I tell him, “Dude, you gotta push in and then twist!”
He seems panicked when he replies, “No, it’s this button!”
I don’t want to criticize a guy while he’s rescuing me, but I have to explain, “That button hasn’t worked since this ratty house was new.”
“I used to date Kammie, I know this lock!” he replies.
“And I’ve taken at least a hundred dumps here, Nick!”
I stop my own ridiculous argument to ask, “What the hell are we gonna do?” and “When did he get out of jail?” and “Do you think he’s still mad at me?”
“I don’t know. Just hang out in here for a second and I’ll try to find out,” Nick says.
“Y-y-you’re leaving me?! I mean, I should warn EJ…don’t you think?”
A girl’s voice comes from nowhere and says, “Excuuuse me!”
We both jump and turn to find a chick hunched over on the toilet with her pants pulled down. We apologize, but we don’t leave. I say to Nick, “Yo, we’ve got to fix that lock.”
“Focus, Carter!” he barks. “Get in the shower. Lynn’ll warn your boys; I’m gonna figure out what’s up with Terry.”
I climb into the shower. My heart is pounding out of my chest. Nick is probably just earning points with his girlfriend here, but I’m stoked that he’s involved. He rushes out the door, but the drunk girl stays put, and I’m feeling a little awkward.
Eventually she clears her throat and asks, “Did, did he locked the door?”
“Uh…I don’t think it matters.”
“Are you guys playin’ hide-and-seek?” she asks.
Drunks are retarded. “No, Scary Terry Moss just walked in.”
“Ohhhh,” she slurs. “He’s in juvie, right?”
“He’s obviously not anymore.”
She lets that sink in before asking, “You’re hiding from him?”
I don’t say anything to that one.
She adds, “He’s cute.”
“So are pit bulls.”
“That’s what I mean,” she says. “He’s got abs!”
“Yeah, crazy people are almost always ripped.”
She continues, “I saw him fight in the hall, at school. I think it’s why he got sent to juvie. It was right next to my locker.”
“Yeah, I was there too.”
“You were?!” she asks. “I’m Cher…Chery-llal…HA! OMG, I drank so much, I can’t even say my name! Cheryl…Cheryl. Yes! He was, he was punching himself in the face, right?! And his shirt was off, and he’s got abbbsss!”
“Yeah, we covered that.”
She keeps going. “Then these little freshman pricks started making fun of him and shi—”
“What? No, we…no, they didn’t.”
“Yu-huh! I thought you were there, man? They called him a ‘scared bitch’!” And the bigger one, like, taunted him with a kissing noise and got punched the fu—Wait a minute! Peek your head back out here!”
Other reasons I don’t like drunks: They’re shameless. And they’re easy to underestimate. I open the curtain, and she gasps. “I knew it was…You sucker punched him with a textbook!”
“You really think we were picking on him?”
She closes her eyes for a second and leans back on the toilet tank before she jerks forward and barks, “Yes! Hell, yeah! He was crying and then he had to go to jail over it. You guys were the a-holes!”
I don’t even know what to say. I can’t just discount this as the ramblings of a drunk on the toilet, because this is her memory of something that took place six months ago.
We just hang out in silence for a moment, and I wonder if Terry has a right to be mad at me. Maybe I was an a-hole. Kids who didn’t know me really started to respect me after that, and I was kind of proud of the outcome of the fight. Maybe I should just go out there and apologize to Terry. I wonder if that would make it all better.
“A-a-are you about to wrap it up out there, Cheryl?” I ask.
She laughs. “I can’t remember if I went. I fell asleep.”
I lean out of the shower and turn on the sink faucet. As the water starts to run, her body remembers what to do and she starts to tinkle. She says, “Thanks…you’re sweetie.” Then she rips a monster fart that echoes off of the bowl. “Whoops!” She giggles.
“Yeah! Go ahead and drop a deuce. I’m not trapped in here or anything.”
She tells me to shut up as she flushes. I gawk out of my polyurethane prison to watch her struggling to stand and untwist her panties. She finally gets them under control, but the jeans are giving her trouble, too. She’s got the coordination of a baby horse, but her panties are kind of cute—black, boy-cut (Victoria’s Secret, summer catalog, pages 7–9). Her booty is not as nice as Abby’s, but it’s right there, and that is awesome! “These pants are sooo tight!” she complains.
With so much going on, I really shouldn’t be turned on right now, but I’ve yet to find an OFF switch on this thing. I finally decide to take pity on her and offer some assistance. I step out of the tub and say, “You’re standing on your pant leg.”
I grab the back of her waistband—just as my sister and Nick come barging back into the bathroom. “What the hell are you doing?!” Lynn barks. I panic and fall into Cheryl…whose jeans are still stuck at mid-thigh. Nick raises his eyebrows in shock (or playa admiration).
Then six more dudes barge into the small room and ram Nick into Lynn, who pushes me into Cheryl again. All of their eyes immediately lock on to the exposed black panties.
Bag cheers, “Carter, you old dog!” as he shuts the door.
Lynn considers slapping him, but instead lifts me off of Cheryl and tries to assist her with her pants. Nick tries to get us back on track by saying, “Yo, we have a problem.”
Other than the obvious: ten people in a two-person bathroom. Lynn
explains, “Terry is still mad at you and crazy as a loon!” She buttons Cheryl up as if she’s dealing with a toddler.
EJ asks, “Mad at who? Me or Carter?”
“I didn’t ask about you, idiot!” Lynn yells. “But it’s not much of a stretch to think that you’re somewhere on his list. Surely, you guys can see this isn’t about you. It’s about him still being in love with me!”
Even Cheryl rolls her eyes at that. Nick looks back at me and says, “Just stay out of his sight, man, and it shouldn’t be a problem.”
EJ asks, “Nick, don’t you think Carter should just fight him again and get it over with?”
“And where are you in this plan, wingman?!” I ask EJ.
“Right behind you, like always!” EJ says.
“Back that thang up, boy!!!” Nutt laughs.
Bag smacks EJ’s ass and says, “You love gettin’ behind dudes, don’t you, E?”
EJ grasps for Bag’s nipple and replies, “I’ve had just about enough of your lip, young man—”
Lynn starts hitting us like a mom at the supermarket. “You idiots better straighten up! You do not want to mess with Terry Moss!”
“Nick, you said if I stood up to him last year that he’d like, r-r-respect me and we’d become sorta friends?” I ask.
“Well, yeah,” he explains, “but you knocked him out in front of the whole school, and then he had to go to juvie for six months. I also fought him three times before we became friends.”
Carter's Unfocused, One-Track Mind Page 2