Bag asks, “Crisp?”
“No,” she replies.
“Twist?” Nutt inquires.
“How about Churro?” J-Low says.
“Stick?” EJ adds.
“Shut up.…Her middle name…is—” She fights to even say it. “Starshine.”
We fall all over the waiting room, dying of laughter. “Cinnamon Starshine Dollingsworth!?” I say. “That sounds like a racehorse!”
Even Abby is cracking up until Rusty comes in and says, “Hiiii!” again.
“Hey, dude! We’re just laughing about…good times,” I explain.
He replies, “Awesome! If a few people want to come back and see little Cinnamon, it’s cool.”
We fight the laughter, but no one can look Rusty in the eye. He continues, “Amber was trying to feed her, but the little thing keeps falling asleep, so we’re going to let her rest for a while, I guess. She’s awesome to look at even when she’s sleeping.”
Rusty goes to talk to some other kids, so I tell Abby, “You go ahead.”
“Yeah, we already saw it,” Nutt adds.
Abby looks slightly annoyed that he just called the baby “it,” and that we just strolled in and saw the thing when she’s been waiting around here all day.
I say, “Yeah, sorry, we noticed Rusty in the room. He was holding little…Cin…Cinnamon—sorry.” I laugh for a second before I’m able to continue. “Mr. Lee was being nice to Rusty. He gave him a compliment and everything!”
Abby grabs my hand, so I join her when she goes back to the room. The curtain is open now and Amber’s sitting up. She looks tired but happy. She’s holding the spice-baby to her chest.…Nope, she’s feeding it…with her BOOB! Oh God!
I try not to look, and fight to think about anything other than, Amber Lee’s boob is out, and there’s a kid hooked up to it!
I haven’t seen Amber without makeup since fifth grade. She’s still pretty. She gives me a nod and squeals at the sight of Abby.
“You did it, girl!” Abby cheers.
Amber says, “I’m breast-feeding right now! It’s so weird!”
AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!
I don’t remember anything until we’re back out in the lobby and more pizza arrives. Nicky and all the other cheerleaders take turns holding the kid, but none of the guys even touches it. My opinion of hospitals has changed dramatically. Along with all the death and bad smells, people are fighting for their lives in here. Some people are being cured and others are getting a wake-up call. Yeah, some people are having their worst day, but others are having their first day, and some are having their best day. This party is the best one I’ve been to in a long time…especially when Amber whips out her boob again. She’s kind of showing off, but it’s hilarious the way everyone shuts up at once. I could tell EJ wanted to jump out the window.
26. STALLED STALL
So, Amber and Rusty’s baby is a little over a week old, and she’s living at her grandpa’s house. She has her own pink room and hasn’t been dropped yet. Things are looking pretty good for little Cinnamon, especially since Abby gave her the nickname “Cinna,” and everyone backed her up. Even Amber calls the kid Cinna after Abby explains that it’s the name of the stylist in the Hunger Games books.
It’s Saturday night, and I’m driving Aunt Jenny again because everyone else is already drunk. All the windows are rolled down because I used some of my dad’s cologne and the guys are saying how bad it stinks. I think it’s nice, but they can crow on anything! Luckily, it’s March and the weather is warming up, so it’s not that big a deal that one of the back windows won’t go up. I’m not so much “driving” as I am “following,” so it doesn’t require my full attention…which is usually a problem. Especially when I’m tired. I got up before dawn this morning to be at Saturday School, and then I had rehearsal all day because we’re less than two weeks away from RENT’s opening night. I didn’t have time to do fight club or take a nap.
I didn’t feel like coming out tonight, but my boys conned me into it. They said they missed me, but what they really miss is making fun of me and having a sober guy to pilot Aunt Jenny when they get tanked. I kind of need a break from the drama kids anyway. And McDougle has been all over my ass lately, as if she’s been trained by my football coach. And as if there isn’t enough pressure doing the lead part in this huge Broadway musical, the recruiters from the New York Drama School are coming to see if I’m worth the “academic risk.” That same woman called my mom again, and somehow she already knew I was playing Mark, and she explained that they’ve done the show twice. So if I start saying lines from the end of the show at the beginning, or singing the song lyrics in the wrong order (which I keep doing), they will totally know it. Or if I fall into that orchestra pit again, I assume I’d render myself “not worth the risk.” I’m still not even sure if I actually want to go to New York, but I’ll be so pissed if they don’t want me! The girl playing Maureen has also applied to the school, as well as the guy playing Tom Collins. They are both awesome, and nerds to boot. Abby’s still eligible for her scholarship in the fall, so they’ll be looking at all of us. McDougle is the one who encouraged everyone to apply, but it seems like she’s regretting it all the sudden. She’s been super bitchy lately.
Abby says her mood is related to a battle she’s having with Principal Banks over the show’s “content.” Apparently he dropped in on a rehearsal and totally freaked when he realized RENT was about death, being gay, drug addiction, and AIDS. The techies heard him moaning in the audience after Tom Collins and Angel (Jeremy’s character) started kissing. Then, in the next scene, Abby dropped her stash of heroin and sang about having the best ass below 14th Street. Her “stash” is just a Ziploc bag with some baby powder in it, but Banks freaked out like he was working with the DEA. McDougle was called into his office and told to change the show or he’d pull the plug. She broke out the release form that he signed last year and reminded him that he said he “loved the play.” I’m thinking someone said he did his homework when he didn’t.
“CARTER!!!” EJ yells, after I plow into a trash can on the side of the road.
“Yeeeaaah!!!” my boys shout as garbage flies all over the place. “Nice driving, Danica!!!”
“How about you yell at me before I run into it?!” I say to EJ.
“You’re the designated driver!” he replies. “I’m the drunk kid. Do your part!”
“Fair enough.”
We just left QuikTrip because the cops told us we had to. I can’t believe I’m doing this again! I can’t believe this year is almost over. Sophomore year has been like a roller coaster: slow chugging up the hill the first weeks, but then New York came into the picture and it went into a free fall before it started jerking and thrashing me all over the place. One minute I’m upside down in a geometry twist, and the next thing I know I’m flailing through a dance rehearsal. You can’t stop the ride once you’re strapped in, and a roller coaster doesn’t care if you’re enjoying yourself or not; it’s just going to do its thing. I feel like I’ve just got to hold on and get through the next few seconds, and everything will chill out.…But nothing is cooling off and I can’t see when it’s going to, especially if I go to New York City. I’m not even sure if I’m having a blast right now, or if I’m horribly miserable. I guess I’ll find out later.
“CARTER!!!” my boys yell, and I swerve before narrowly missing a tree and driving through someone’s front yard. I’m not sure why I’m the designated driver. My passengers seem to have their doubts too.
We drive past QuikTrip again, and I realize that Aunt Jenny is almost out of gas, so I whip around and pull up to a pump. All of the cars that were behind us in the caravan blindly follow us back into the parking lot. We head inside to pay for the gas and get a little high-fructose corn syrup fuel. All eleven of us walk in together. The clerk says, “You gotta be kidding!”
We pretend not to hear him or acknowledge that we’re the cause of the second party in his parking lot in fifteen minutes. We head toward the soda fo
untain, and my boys glance out the windows as we go. They got the crap kicked out of them in a QuikTrip parking lot, so they’re always scanning for trouble.
After filling, drinking, and refilling our cups with crack (Mountain Dew Code Red), I pay and we start to head back outside. Bag shoves the door open, and I hear the dreaded bass/rattle/thumping in the parking lot. My heart stops when I see none other than Scary Terry leaning against his yellow Cutlass! We all scamper back into the store to gawk over the snack foods.
Doc whispers, “What the hell are we gonna do?”
“Just stay put,” I say. “He obviously hasn’t seen us.”
“Does he know my car?” EJ asks. “He’s gonna smash it up!”
“And we’ll fix it again,” I assure him. “Be cool.”
Terry is by himself (shocker), but he’s looking around the crowd uneasily. His head is shaved and he’s got a new tattoo of an anchor on his forearm (kind of awesome). He’s smoking a cigarette and fiddling with a stick that looks kind of like a…
“Is that a switchblade?” I ask.
“Nah,” EJ says.
“It is!” Bag gasps.
But Doc says, “Shut up, that’s a pen or a comb or something, dude!”
“His head is shaved! What’s he need a comb for? And what’s that psycho got to write about?” I ask.
Levi tries to calm me down. “Are we in a gangster movie? A switchblade is not even a real thing.”
But Nutt won’t have it. “I’ve been stabbed by a switchblade three times! Bart got one at the army-navy store for ten bucks.”
“Looks like he’s beefed up, huh?” Andre observes.
I glare at him, but he’s right. Terry does look pretty badass out there. We look like turkeys on Thanksgiving morning in here.
The clerk eventually asks us, “Is everything all right?”
I nod and whisper, “Yeah, we just need to hang out in here until that guy leaves, please. Is that okay?”
“Sure,” he replies. “The cops should be here in a few minutes.”
I give him a thumbs-up, but our plan needs to be quickly adjusted when Terry flicks his butt into the lot and starts toward the doors. We bum-rush the men’s room, and all eleven of us jam into the handicapped stall. Nutt and Doc are standing on the toilet. My heart is pounding and I’ve just nervously consumed forty ounces of Code Red in two minutes, so my stomach is churning, too.
“We’re trapped in here!” Bag whispers.
It’s too late for a new strategy, so I say, “We’ll be okay!” and latch the little lock.
Andre chuckles. “That’ll stop him, Carter.”
Everyone laughs until the main door to the bathroom opens, and we all stop breathing. It could be anyone, but I’m certain it’s Scary Terry. Whoever it is doesn’t seem to notice the nine pairs of shoes under the stall. Someone attempts to open the door I’m smashed up against. The latch holds, and I say, “Occupied!” in a deep voice.
A guy says, “Sorry” and heads for the urinals. I try to flip Andre off, but it’s too crowded, so I just make a face.
We listen to the dude pee and squeak out a little fart. I have to keep my eyes closed because if I make eye contact with anyone I’ll start laughing for sure. The guy leaves without flushing or washing his hands. It must have been Terry…dirtbag. We allow ourselves to start breathing again, but we don’t venture out of the cramped stall until the clerk comes in and tells us, “That guy is gone and the cops have arrived.”
I have to stay behind and give some Code Red back to QuikTrip. Everyone is in the car when I creep outside. The cops are totally looking at me, and of course the only seat available is the driver’s seat.
Nutt yells, “This boy doesn’t have his license!” Luckily, the massive engine drowns out his attempt at humor, and everyone punches him. Seeing Terry makes me want to drive straight to EJ’s house for a fight club session. I’ll start with Nutt. But they want to keep driving around, and I’m outnumbered, so that’s what we do.
We catch up to the caravan and make a left turn into the Merrian High circle drive. I suddenly realize: “We’re at school!”
“Ah, man!” EJ cries. “I hate this place.”
“You think the lead driver was spacing off and his autopilot took him to school? Do you guys ever find yourself at the pool in October?” I ask.
No one says anything, so I reply to myself, “Yeah, me neither.”
We snake around the school until we get to the faculty parking lot behind the art wing. It’s kind of hidden because the lot slopes down from the building to the baseball fields.
“This a bad idea!” I say. “We’ll be trapped back here. We’re on school property with beer in the trunk! AND Scary Terry is back on the scene! The only way out of here is back through the circle drive…and it’s gonna get really crowded when the cops show up.” Which is sure to happen now that some seniors are building a huge bonfire out of old pallets and gasoline.
We climb out of Aunt Jenny’s windows and see Nutt’s brother, Bart, light a whole pack of matches (because one wouldn’t do the trick). Everyone (except my boys and me) roars with excitement as the fireball rises into the sky.
“They’ve never seen one go bad,” I say to EJ.
Nutt yells, “Get your sleeping pod, Baggie!”
I try to laugh, but I’m listening for rattling trunk bolts and looking over my shoulder for signs of a yellow Cutlass. My hunter instincts take a break after a few minutes, and I find myself wondering what the kids at the New York Drama School are doing on a Saturday night. I doubt it’s anything like this, and that sounds pretty great.
Abby, Jeremy, and some other drama kids show up, and I go talk to them for a while. I have to break off, though, when Kathy starts singing. Some guys found more pallets beside the Dumpsters, so I go and help bring them over.
I chat with Clint for a while. Two more times he asks me if I smoke weed even though I tell him at least once a week that I don’t. Clint and I talk to some art farts for a while until I see my sister roll up with some senior girls. I go say hello, because Lynn’s friends like to mess with her by flirting with me, and I don’t care what their intentions are, I like it! Also, despite years of bitter warfare, my sister and I have become friends.
Her friend Sonya says, “Hiii, Carter!”
“Ladies.”
Lynn rolls her eyes and says, “Did you hear that Terry was at QuikTrip?” I nod, and she continues. “He could show up here, you know.”
“I know.”
“You’re not scared?”
“Of course I am, but what am I gonna do? Unless he breaks out a switchblade or something, I think I’m done running.”
Lynn gives me a smile that almost seems like respect. Clint and some band guys come up, and Clint whispers, “Yo, we’re gonna go smoke. You in?”
“I’m good, man; thanks, though.”
Lynn’s face has changed. She’s back to glaring at me. “Do you smoke weed?”
“No, he just thinks I do because I space off and I’m on the swim team. That Michael Phelps video really gave us all a bad name.”
She shakes her head and chuckles. “I guess you’ll be all right without me. It’s kind of cool that you’re friends with all of these different people.…I never did that. I thought it would make me an outcast, but it actually makes you cooler.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty great.” She smirks. “Those New York recruiters are really coming to see you in RENT, huh?”
“Me and a few others.”
This is a weird situation because Lynn’s my mentor, but she’s obviously jealous of New York. She was accepted to all the colleges she applied to, but they’re all in the Midwest. I know she wanted to apply to the Fashion Institute in New York City, but she didn’t. She claimed it was “too impractical,” but there’s probably nothing less practical than a performing arts school, and everyone is sooo excited at the possibility of my going. It doesn’t seem like people get very fired up for practical th
ings.
She asks, “Have you thought about how this is going to affect Mom and Dad?”
“No.”
“Both of their children leaving the nest in the same year? We are their whole lives. Mom’s heart is going to break.”
“Yeah, but Dad’s always threatening me with military school.”
“He’s kidding. That man will cry himself to sleep every night if you leave.”
“So, why don’t you stay around for a few years and go to JuCo? You could keep your job at The Limited.”
She scoffs. “You’re the one who was supposed to do that. With your ADD and C-minus grade point average! I’m the one with transcripts to die for. I’m the one who was accepted to top-tier schools. But aaall anyone talks about is whether or not my idiot brother is really going to New York.”
“It does sound cool, right? Like bold…hard-core.”
She rolls her eyes. “Please. Talk to me after you’ve been there six months, tough guy. You think Dad’s gonna cry…”
“You could come visit me. Maybe we could go to that fashion school and look around.”
She glares at me and says, “I cannot believe you’re already snotty about a place you’ve never even been.”
“How is that—”
“Inviting me to come visit you?” she demands. “As if I need your permission to go to New York? You need more black clothes.”
“Wait,” I say. “Are you being bitchy or are you giving me fashion advice?”
She sighs. “Both. We really have to transition your look for New York. T-shirts and jeans are fine, but you’ll need more expensive ones and better shoes.”
“Okay. We’ll work on it if they let me in.”
She barks, “And that better be the last time I hear crap like that!”
“What?”
“If you want to go, you will,” she says. “That’s it. I’ve been beside you your entire life and I’ve seen you blow off opportunities right and left, but I’ve also watched you go after stuff like a pit bull when you really wanted it. You don’t even know that the counselors in junior high recommended you for all remedial classes in high school, and now you’re practically on the honors track!”
Carter's Unfocused, One-Track Mind Page 20