Carter's Unfocused, One-Track Mind

by Brent Crawford

  We pull into the empty church parking lot, in need of forgiveness, but volleyball is a really fun game…until someone spikes a ball in your face when you’re not paying attention and you burst into tears. Everyone seems to feel better after that. It feels good to laugh even when you’re the butt of the joke. I wish the feeling would come back to my face, but my boys do a pretty great impression of the spike. Slow motion is comedy gold.

  18. SUITING UP

  I watch Camelot rehearsals after detention on Fridays. We have swim practice at six a.m. because apparently my coach hates Fridays. Sometimes I read lines with Jeremy and the other cast members. Abby doesn’t need any help, though. She really doesn’t. She knows her lines and she’s so good in every scene she’s in. Her voice makes people cry all the time, and not just me. I’ve heard others compare her voice to Adele’s, but I tell them to keep it to themselves. I swear they’re just talking about the sound coming out of her face, and maybe her hair when she swoops it to the side just right. I know she misunderstood the voice coach, but I still want to punch that Jenny Craig dance teacher in her leotard.

  Our production of Camelot is way better than the movie. Jeremy is King Arthur, and he’s awesome. He leaps and swings and swoops all over the place. Abby plays his wife, Guenevere, and she’s super in love with him but kind of suspects he’s into one of his knights, Sir Lancelot. She tries to sniff out the trouble but winds up hooking up with ol’ Lance, and all hell breaks loose in the kingdom.

  This stoner/band geek Clint is playing Sir Lancelot, but I know McDougle wanted me to do it, and I’m so mad I want to punch myself in the face every time he comes onstage.

  Our school is getting all kinds of press because the gay angle hasn’t been explored in any other productions of Camelot. Theater folk think it’s awesome, but some parents and school administrators are not so into it. It seemed like McDougle was going to have to give in to Principal Banks’s request to do it straight until an article came out in Stage Magazine (online). The title was “Censorship in King Arthur’s Court,” and it has been reposted all over the place. I guess newspapers and TV shows called to interview Principal Banks, but magically, there wasn’t much of a story to tell. Banks claimed the whole thing was a “misunderstanding” and he “fully supports Ms. McDougle and her freedom of expression.”

  I really shouldn’t come to these rehearsals, but it motivates me to keep working on RENT. Kids with smaller parts in Camelot are already preparing for the spring musical auditions, too. You can usually find a kid to play the piano, and people are always down to sing in the drama department. I’ve read the Roger scenes with this girl Kathy playing the role of Mimi so many times that I kind of know all of the lines. I’ve been working on them in detention a little bit too. You can’t sing while you’re incarcerated, but Mrs. Trimmer doesn’t seem to mind if I talk to myself. She may be frightened of me and think that I am out of my mind, but I’m just mumbling lines of dialogue over and over again.

  I watched the movie version of RENT with my boys. When they realized it was a musical, they were like, “Carter, what the—?” but they didn’t make me turn it off because it’s an awesome story and Rosario Dawson plays a stripper and sings about having the best ass below 14th Street. They’re kind of supportive, in their own way.

  I really want to play Roger. He’s a sexy rocker dude who wears skintight plaid pants. He’s also dying of AIDS. I can’t grow out my hair because of swimming, so I’m going to have to wow Ms. McDougle with my acting, singing, and guitar work. McDougle told me that the guy who plays Roger has to play the guitar onstage.

  I was bummed until I realized that I finally have an excuse to talk to Abby. She learned to play one for A Piece of My Heart, so maybe she’ll teach me or at least lend me her “ax” (that’s what Clint calls his guitar). I wait for the right moment to talk to her, and finally catch her coming out of the dressing room one evening.

  “Hey, rock star!”

  She just raises her eyebrows like, What?

  So I reply, “Uhhh, s’up? I w-w-was just wondering if I could borrow y-your ax?”

  Of course she doesn’t get that reference because I didn’t set it up right. So I explain it to her and I feel like she thinks that I’m being a dick, but I’m just clarifying a simple pop culture reference. She gets kind of aggressive when she says, “If you ever paid attention, you’d know that McDougle lent me that guitar. I’m sure she’ll check it out to you if you ask her.”

  “Okay, great,” I reply. And then I actually become the dick that she thought I was being earlier: “Thank you for your helpful, yet kind of bitchy advice.”

  She cocks her head like she’s finally going to let me have it, but she just sighs. “What do you want? I don’t own a guitar.”

  “I guess I thought you could show me some—”

  “I only know the beginning chords to one Janis Joplin song,” she says.

  “Why are you being so mean to me?”

  “I can’t help you; how is that mean?” she asks. “It would be a waste of your time. Clint is in a band; maybe he’ll show you some stuff.”

  I’m too flustered to say anything clever. All I can come up with is: “Clint is auditioning to play Roger, too.”

  “Yep,” she replies.

  “Well, he wouldn’t want to teach his competition how to defeat him, would he?”

  Abby snaps, “Not everyone sees the world as a battlefield, Carter. Not everyone has little scores to settle or conquests to make all the time.”

  “Whoa, what are you talking about?”

  She shuts her eyes tight and says, “Nothing. I have to go—”

  “Wait, please. I just asked you—”

  “I’m in rehearsal right now; I really have to go,” she says, and marches back into the auditorium.

  I head to the drama classroom, stunned. Kathy’s ironing costumes with someone’s mom, and yells, “Carter! Do you want to work on the candle song?! Are you okay?”

  I tell her I’m fine, and I really try to be, but I’m so confused and pissed off, I don’t even know how to deal with myself. We go ahead and rehearse the scene, and it goes really well. Roger is kind of an angry dude, so I just let it all out.

  Kathy always says nice things about my acting work, but she really gushes tonight. “Carter, you gave me chills!”

  “Thanks, dude. You were really great too.”

  Kathy is kind of cute, and she’s very nice and she doesn’t have a boyfriend. I know this because she’s told me a few times. I think she’s done this because she likes me. I know I could ask her out, but I’m not sure I like her like that. I might just be using her to make Abby jealous, and to practice my skills. But I seem to break girls’ hearts by accident all the time, and that sucks bad enough; I’d hate to see the fallout if I actually did it on purpose, and my sister would murder me if she found out I was even thinking about using a girl like that.

  On New Year’s Day she learned that Nick Brock was cheating on her with a cheerleader/sorority girl. I guess this girl showed up at his dorm room while Lynn was there, and it got ugly. Nick tried to say that she was just a friend, but my sister is pretty sharp. I’ve seen a lot of cheerleader/ sorority girl videos on the Internet. I know how sexy and persuasive those chicks can be, but I’m still pissed at Nick. I’m not going to fight him or anything, because violence doesn’t solve anything and I don’t want to rock a wheelchair for the rest of my life. My whole family has been walking on eggshells for weeks. Football is like a four-letter word all of a sudden.

  19. YAHOO

  So it’s mid-January and it’s cold as hell in Merrian. You’d think my boys and I would be stoked to finally have the use of an awesome car like Aunt Jenny so we don’t have to ride our bikes in a blizzard and we don’t have to show up places with icy snot all over our faces, but you would be wrong. I’m on the front bitch-seat, in between EJ and Andre. Mucus is draining from my trembling red nose and hardening in the breeze because all of Aunt Jenny’s windows are rolled down
for a game of Freeze-out. The first guy to complain loses. I just shaved my head again for a swim meet, so I have no insulation on my melon, but I will not protest!

  I guess we’re headed to some party. I can see that drugs and alcohol are the keys to having fun at lame gatherings, but I’m not ready to throw away my years of D.A.R.E. training (I won’t let you down, Deputy Dan!). I get that booze lowers your inhibitions and numbs your sense of pain and therefore makes you unstoppable in a game of Freeze-out, but I hate the taste of it, and I’m terrified of vomiting. I honestly think if I smoked or snorted anything out of the ordinary, my body would just freak out and I’d die instantly. Everyone would be like, “I knew he was a space-case, but I never suspected Will Carter was a druggie!” I can’t do that to my mom.

  My teeth are chattering uncontrollably, but I’m laughing with everyone else. I know that this will be the best part of the night, so I’m trying to enjoy it. The loser of tonight’s game of Freeze-out has to “yahoo” beer for everybody. Losing would be especially disappointing if you don’t drink and also because “yahooing” is super illegal. It has nothing to do with the Web site; it’s a tradition in Merrian that predates computers. If you don’t have a fake ID or money, you gotta “yahoo” (walk into the liquor store and grab a case of beer before running out the door yelling “YAHOOOO!!!”) it.

  I look around the car to see who’s going to break, but everyone looks pretty damn focused. I’ve lost the feeling in my lips, and my feet may need to be amputated to stop the spread of frostbite. I can’t believe I’m doing this, but I finally have to cry out, “’or da ’ove a Gah! R-r-roll ’em up!!!”

  Everyone cheers, “Yaaahooo!” and “Carter, Carter, Carter!” as they happily crank the windows and heat. Told you they were supportive.

  The problem with yahooing in Merrian is that it is a “tradition,” so when a young guy walks into a liquor store, the clerks are ready to tackle his ass as soon as they hear “Ya!” Some dudes never even get the “hooo” out before they’re slammed into a display case or something. We’re too smart for that, so we’re headed to Hy-Vee! They sell beer, and it won’t be weird to see a fifteen-year-old guy walk in. I could be buying chips or bananas. They won’t know what hit ’em when I run out the door screaming.

  We wrap a towel around Aunt Jenny’s license plate so no one can get her digits (gangsta).

  “Yeah, no way anyone will be able to identify this huge old car filled with high school dudes!” Doc laughs.

  Everyone tells him to keep his negativity/common sense to himself.

  To my surprise, Andre and J-Low are joining me on the mission. I believe they’re part wingmen, part enforcers. They want to give me courage but also confirm that I yell “Yahoo!” loud enough.

  We stroll into the bright store as innocently as possible, but I bet we look like terrorists headed into an airport. We bypass the bananas and march straight back to the beer. Each of us grabs a case of Bud Light. I guess they don’t want me to have all the fun, and I assume we all choose Bud Light because they advertise most effectively to teens. I start to giggle, but Andre punches me in the ribs and I get it under control. We try not to make eye contact with anyone as we stride toward the checkout lanes. I never noticed how many security cameras they have at Hy-Vee, but I’ve never attempted to rob them before. It also occurs to me that I will never get to buy groceries here again, so that kind of sucks.

  We’re hustling down the chip aisle, and J-Low grabs a family-size bag of Doritos.

  I say, “Nice!” as a pudgy dude in a white short-sleeved shirt cruises around the endcap. He’s wearing a red tie and a name tag that says CHUCK–ASSISTANT MANAGER.

  Chuck’s looking right at us, but no one meets his eyes as we walk past. “You fellas finding everything okay?” he asks.

  Oh man, we are toast! It suddenly occurs to me that we’re not the first geniuses to think of Hy-Vee as a liquor store/yahoo alternative.

  He swings around and says, “Hold up a second, fellas.”

  I glance in Chuck’s direction as he hikes up his khakis as if he’s about to make a goal-like stand. Ol’ boy thinks he’s got us…but he is mistaken. We play football and do CrossFit and fight club together. We’re trained like Seal Team Six for this!

  Andre looks over his shoulder just as the big man lunges for him. J-Low instinctively tosses the Doritos into the air, and Chuck makes the mistake of looking up when the bag crashes into a light fixture. Andre dives under the man’s arm tackle as I press my case of Bud Light into Chuck’s ribs. He was already off balance, so I wouldn’t say I “pushed” him exactly. I’d say I “guided” him into the Pringles display. But he really nails it, and tops pop on about twenty cans.

  “Yard sale!” J-Low chuckles.

  Andre adds, “Cleanup on aisle four!” I attempt to pat him on the back because that’s the funniest mean thing he’s ever said. He’s too fast, though. We’re hauling ass for the door.

  The whole store appears to be looking at us as we charge the checkout lanes. I scream, “YAAAHOOOOO!!!” as I hurdle the “Lane Closed” sign on register three. Hy-Vee is aghast at the laughing punks running out the door.

  We almost get nailed by a minivan as we sprint across the parking lot without looking both ways (sorry, Mom). And Chuck is still in hot pursuit, yelling, “You bastards get back here!”

  I guess larceny and wiping out a Pringles display has changed us from “fellas” to “bastards.” No one follows Chuck’s instructions. J-Low and Andre get to the car before me because they’re fast as hell. But they seem to have forgotten that Aunt Jenny’s back doors have been sticking ever since EJ backed into a light pole going thirty miles an hour. So while Andre and J-Low struggle to open the door and yell at each other, I dive into the open passenger window like Superman (rescuing a case of Bud Light) and yell, “Punch it, E!”

  The tires burn out and Aunt Jenny does what she was made to do! Gangsta getaway! We barrel across the parking lot, with Andre and J-Low clinging to a door handle. Their feet drag along the asphalt and they scream, “STOP!!!”

  J-Low uses Andre’s face for leverage as he worms through the window, but just as his torso makes it inside, EJ realizes what’s going on and locks up the brakes. J-Low is ejected from the car like a stunt man in a Jackie Chan movie; he tumbles along the parking lot for ten or fifteen feet. He doesn’t seem to be hurt, though…until Andre starts punching him in the face. J-Low cries for help while we all jump out of the car and try to pull Andre off. Chuck stops his pursuit because it’s obvious we’re lunatics. Once Andre is under control, my boys scramble around the lot collecting a few runaway beers, and we finally make our actual getaway.

  After J-Low’s nose stops bleeding, Andre apologizes for hitting him. I consider making fun of Andre because I think he was crying during the chaos, but I go ahead and leave it alone.

  We’re the heroes of tonight’s lame field party. We share our beer booty and retell the “yahoo” story to anyone who’ll listen. It’s a pretty fun night, but I don’t think we’ll try to repeat it anytime soon.

  20. COUGAR FIGHT

  The battle in the pool continues between Andre and me. I’m going to the state championships in three events. Of course that butt-hole is going in four. The standoff with Abby is still at a standstill. Camelot was such a success that they added three performances to accommodate all the ticket sales. I got all As (and two Bs) on my report card, and I basically know every line and song from RENT.

  It’s another Friday night, and I can’t stay out late because I’ve got to be back at school before six a.m. (shocker). But tonight’s the final basketball game of the regular season and we’re facing off against the Nortest Cougars again. Merrian is hoping for a miracle and some redemption. I’ve never enjoyed playing basketball because I suck, but I really enjoy watching the games. Especially now that EJ is getting to play. He’s even scored a few times!

  The Nortest mascot is a tan-colored, furry, pissed-off jungle cat, but everyone jokes that it’s act
ually the slutty old-lady type of cougar. Some senior dudes got the idea that a bunch of us should dress up like desperate housewives to mess with the other team’s concentration. That sounded like a great idea at the time, so I’m not wearing my usual jeans and T-shirt uniform this evening. Instead, I’m rocking an extra-large sparkly turquoise bridesmaid’s dress that I found at Goodwill. We had to cut out the back so I could fit into it, and a shoestring is holding the whole thing together. I’ve paired it with a blond Dolly Parton wig. Bag and my sister helped us with our makeup. I won’t say it out loud, but I am pretty hot.

  Satin isn’t as warm as you’d think, however. We realize what a poor choice it is for late January weather when we step out of the CRX. Another concern that’s growing is that the game’s about to start and we can’t find those seniors who came up with this whole cross-dressing scheme. Doc thinks we’ve been set up. I really hope he’s wrong, because we’ve gone full-retard with their cougar idea.

  Andre is the only one of my boys that refused to do it, but Bag, Nutt, Doc, Levi, J-Low, Hormone, Timberlake, The Ding-Dong, Coot, Lt. Dangle, Sloth, Hangin’ Chad, The Devil, TrimSpa, and I are all dressed up with nowhere to go.

  Hormone is the first to say it out loud: “I don’t know about this, you guys.”

  “It’ll be fine,” I say.