by Nyrae Dawn
The only problem is on the other side of it is a spinning wrack of homemade bookmarks, jewelry, and weird little animal carvings that a lot of people come in to buy, which means pretty often there are nosey people looking over my shoulder while they're shopping.
Luckily, no one is standing at it today.
Even though I'd really like to put my head down and take a nap, I pull out Mrs. Z's English stuff. It's numero uno on 'Carter's list of crap to do'.'
Without paying attention to anything else, I try to make myself concentrate enough to figure out what happened in the play we've been reading. All the 'twas's,' 'eth's' and rearranged words (I see, not see I) make no sense to me. Why the hell can't the guy just say what he means? It's like he writes in code so you have to try to decipher ever little word. Me and deciphering Shakespeare don't mix.
"Oh! Carter, I didn't see you come in." Mom steps up beside me. "I'm heading out. Bill has Sara, but I'm picking her up after I go see Dad. We'll probably be home around the same time as you." Her voice sounds light, but I hear the stress behind it. Hear her nerves at going to see her dad, who's only going to give her crap for trying to help him.
"I still don't get why you're going." Even though it will upset her, I can't stop myself from saying it.
Mom sighs. "Because that's what you do, Carter. You take care of your family. Like it or not, he's my dad."
My eyes snap toward her. Take care of your family? Yeah, I get that, but at least Mom deserves what I do for her...right? "Whatever."
She presses a quick kiss to my forehead. "Thanks for helping, kid. See ya tonight." And then she's gone.
Yeah, my day was great. Thanks for asking.
Leaning on my elbow, I try to focus on my homework again. It's probably not even two seconds later when footsteps head my way.
"How ya doing, Sleepy?" Kira stands next to me, wearing something different than she had on at school. It's a black dress. Not short, not long. Okay, maybe a little long since it goes right past her knees. I swear this chick has multiple personalities or something. I've known her less than a week and she's been dressed like a hippy, a Catholic school girl, Mel, and now...I don't even know...it's not a real style, but it doesn't fit the other looks either.
But I don't have time to worry about that right now. "Fine," I mumble and look at the book again, hoping she'll get the clue.
She sits across from me. The store is quiet so I'm assuming we don't have any customers right now. "How was practice?"
Annnd she has to ask the one question I would normally want to talk about. "Fine." Eyes on the book, Shaw.
"You okay? You're not your usual sarcastic, cocky self."
Without moving my hand from its position propping my head up, I look at her. She wants me to take the bait, but I'm not going to. English. I'm here to focus on English and not get into another word war with her. So, even though I want to comment on the cocky thing, I don't. "I'm fine."
"Hmm," is her reply. I try. God, I try to leave it at that, but I can't.
"Hmm? What's that supposed to mean?"
"I just didn't take you for a liar."
Hmmm, I want to say. Shows you how much you know. I'm the best liar there is, but then that would be telling a truth that I'm not willing to tell. "I'm not lying. I'm fine."
"Liar," she says again and smirks.
I'm caught in this weird place where I want to tell her where she can stick it, but I suddenly wants to kiss her, too. "I'm ignoring you." Great. Now she makes me sound like I'm eight.
"Liar, liar pants on fire."
Maybe we both suddenly hit a time warp or something. "How old are you?"
"Eighteen. Actually, I'm lying, I'm seventeen. You're rubbing off on me. Or maybe I'm not really lying and I'm not exactly sure how old I am. Could be seventeen, could be eighteen." Kira shrugs.
"Did you forget to take your medication today?" I'm sitting up now, trying to figure out if this girl is really crazy or not. If I like it or not. "Everyone knows how old they are."
"Whatever you say, Sleepy." She stands up. The ceiling fan blows the edge of my book, reminding me of all I have riding on this crap in my hands. Anger wins my internal war.
Whipping my head to face her, I grit, "I don't have time for this. I have a shitload of homework to do or I'm going to flunk English and Mrs. Z will take away the only thing I have that I actually want to do. Play games with someone else."
Kira looks at me a minute and I realize how strange her eyes are. They're brown, but almost the lightest brown I've ever seen. Like they're swirled with yellow or something.
"Okay... You want to know what I made, Sara?"
Holy random subject. Did she not just hear what I said? "What?"
"I'll leave you alone. You finish your work—all of the work you're supposed to do tonight and you can know what it is. If not...you'll always wonder. It will drive you crazy just because you don't know."
The bell over the front door rings while I'm still trying to process what she just said. Somehow, it's kind of what I need. I open my mouth to tell her it's a deal, but like always, she's already walking away. "Hi, can I help you find something?"
***
"Do you need a ride home or anything?" I ask.
Kira hands me the keys to the store. It's crazy how I'm feeling a little electric right now. Like I should have at practice today if all the other stuff hadn't ruined it for me.
"Nope, Lana's picking me up." She still hasn't asked me if I finished my work and I'm waiting for the perfect time to tell her. Yep, that's right. I won. It's the most work I've gotten done in one night in I can't remember how long, but there's no way I would let her get me on that one. Now, I just have to hope it's right. But I'll save that hope for tomorrow. For tonight, I won.
"Who's Lana? Sister?"
"Guardian."
Oh. "Oh." Wow... I'm smooth. "I mean, cool."
Kira looks at me and laughs. "If you say so."
Leaning against the wall, I cross my arms then realize I'm smiling. I've never known anyone like this girl before. "Aren't you going to ask me?"
"What position do you play? How'd you know I've been meaning to ask you that?"
A laugh kind of jumps out of my mouth. "I really think there's something wrong with you. Have you ever considered getting yourself checked?"
"Aw, come on. You know you like it when a girl wants to know what position you play. What is it? Short stop? Full back?"
"Umm, those aren't basketball, but good try. I'm point guard and you know that's not what I meant."
She groans. "Fine. Did you finish all your homework? Happy now?"
I smirk at her. "Yes and yes." Which means I won, I want to tell her. Ha! You made a bet and I kicked ass. Now you have to tell me what I want to know. But that sounds lame, which I realize I might be, so I don't say anything.
A car pulls up to the street. "That's Lana. Good job on the homework. Catch ya later, Sleepy."
"What?" I push off the wall. "I don't think so. You said I could know what you made Sara!"
I have to yell, because she's already walking away.
"You can!" she calls back.
How? Unless she has some telepathic power I don't know about. "Then you kind of have to tell me."
"I never said I'd tell you. I just said you could know. Ask your sister. I never got around to telling her not to show you anyway." Kira smiles, gets in the car, and closes the door. Her taillights are gone before I stop watching.
She played me. I totally got hustled by Kira.
And I like it. I don't know what it is about her, but she gets to me. Mel should get to me like this, shouldn't she? Even in the beginning, I don't remember her ever making me feel...well, I don't really know what it is, but like this. All smiley and giddy like a thirteen-year-old girl meeting Justin Bieber or something.
Realizing how late it is, I run to my truck and jump in. I need to get home before Sara goes to sleep.
***
When I get home, Mom and Sara are just finishing dinner.
"There's pizza in the kitchen for you, Carter. Sorry I didn't have time to cook." Her voice is tight, but normal. Sara's here, so of course it doesn't smell like a bar in here. Mom's voice doesn't hold a shadow of her drinking voice.
"Thanks. How'd it go?"
She waves her hand like she doesn't want to talk about it. "You know how he is, Carter."
Which means he was an ass. Surprise, surprise.
"What did he say to you?" I remember the first time I heard Grandpa call her names. I was six. He wasn't in the nursing home yet. Grandma had just died and she would go over to his house every day to check on him. Those were the only times I ever remember Mom and Dad fighting—when it came to grandpa. He didn't like her going over alone. He didn't like her going at all, but she did anyway.
That day she'd told me to wait in the car—which she did a lot, but I had to go to the bathroom so bad, I couldn't hold it. As soon as I walked in the door, I heard it.
"I don't need your help, you bitch. Go away and leave me alone."
"Dad...please don't call me names. How much have you had to drink today?" At the time, I was lucky enough not to know what kind of drink she meant.
"Oh, you're the boss now? You have that fancy husband and you get to come into my house and tell me what to do?"
"It's fine, Carter. Everything's fine. I just had a long day."
No, it's not fine at all. It's no wonder where I got my ability to lie from. "It's not right." My hands open and close into tight fists. "He doesn't deserve you."
Her chin quivers and I automatically feel like a jerk. She already has to be upset enough. The last thing she needs is me pushing her about him.
"Mom, I—"
"Carter! Carter! Look! Look!" Then Sara starts mumbling, excitement overtaking her. Sometimes she gets so happy—so ecstatic her words get all jumbled up. She's waving a sheet of paper at me.
"Slow down, Twig. What'cha got there?" I grab the paper out of her hand. It's a drawing of Barney. Yes, Barney the dinosaur, but I'm there too. It's me playing basketball with a purple dinosaur. I don't know what to say so I keep looking at it. It's perfect. The hair matches mine. You can tell I'm dribbling the ball as it floats above the ground. Yes, I'm being guarded by a purple dinosaur, but still.
Mom steps closer, close enough I smell her vanilla perfume. "Oh my God. " Mom's voice shakes. "Before you came yesterday, I got busy with a customer and Kira sat with Sara. I heard them talking and she asked Sara what her favorite things were and she said Barney and her brother. She did an amazing job on it, didn't she?"
I'm embarrassed to admit, there's something in my throat keeping me from speaking. I can't stop looking at the picture. I can't stop concentrating on how I feel. Good. Good like I haven't felt in a long time. Better than I did at practice. Better than I do with Mel. Which is stupid and makes me feel like sort of a wuss, but yeah...this girl drew me. Perfectly. And my sister... Who knew I ranked up there with the purple dinosaur?
"Mine!" Sara yanks the picture out of my hand and runs away. I'm still in a frozen state that I've never experienced before.
Mom sighs. "So much energy. I'm never going to get her to bed tonight." She pats my cheek and follows after Sara.
I need air. Need to play ball.
The whole time I'm running and jumping and shooting in my driveway, I think about Kira. About Mel and Trav and Trina. I ignore the sweat in my eyes and play harder, clearing my head. Maybe Travis is right. I'm not feeling it with Mel anymore. I haven't for a while. Being honest, I'm not sure she has, either.
Not saying I like Kira either. Really, I don't even know the girl; she's strange compared to other girls I know, but I like how she makes me feel. Mel used to help me feel better and now...now she makes me feel worse. Plus with Mom, Sara, basketball, and English, I have enough on my plate and hate having the gnawing feeling in my gut that Mel's off flirting with other guys. I think it might finally be time to let one of my stress-factors go.
My stomach growls, reminding me I didn't eat dinner. Putting my ball under my arm, I head back inside. The house is quiet. There are three pieces of pizza on a plate for me. After warming them up, I head upstairs. One peek in Sara's room shows me she's asleep, the picture of me and Barney in her hand.
Before going to my room, I stop by Mom's to tell her goodnight. After a quiet knock, I push her door open and freeze. She's coming out of the closet, a glass in her hand. A full glass, and I know exactly what's in it.
All my muscles pinch. My heart thumps so hard it hurts. Or maybe it's her; maybe she's putting the ache in my chest and not the organ.
Sara's here. My little fucking sister who has nightmares and needs help when she gets up to go to the bathroom is in her room sleeping and Mom's going to drink. It might be because of Grandpa or maybe it's me, because I don't keep my mouth shut about him, but it doesn't matter. Suddenly I'm pissed. So pissed I want to scream at her to stop. Ask her what the hell she's doing. She doesn't drink when Sara's home! That's always been what made it manageable. That's the way things go. The way they've gone since Bill left and she started to drink. Who said she could switch up the rules?
Her eyes don't leave mine and mine hers. She knows she's been caught. My plate shakes in my hand, but I can't speak. What if Sara has one of her nightmares and Mom is drunk? What if Sara needs her and she's too out of it to know? How can she do this? What am I going to do now?
Without a word, I turn and walk out of the room. Tossing the plate on my desk, I fall into my chair knowing I won't sleep tonight. Knowing I have to listen for her. Sara wouldn't know what's going on if she catches Mom stumbling around, but I'm her brother—I'm one of Sara's favorite things and I'll be damned if I'll let her see Mom like that, whether she understands or not.
Chapter Six
There are a few clues to look for when you're curious how much someone drank. Now these aren't foolproof, but I pay attention to them anyway. They can help judge how the night was, how your day's going to be...how upset you need to be.
One of them makes my day hell because it calls for a whole lot of caffeine and video games all night to stay awake. How late does the light slide out from the under the other door at night? Does the TV stay on all night or go off at some time? In other words, do they pass out or actually go to bed. This is a pretty good indicator, but let me tell ya, sucks for the school day. Staying up at night, watching someone's door, isn't high on my list of things I like to do. Been there, done that, had the messy-morning hair to piss Mel off to show for it.
The other one is how early do they wake up? Late? The last minute before they're going to be late, or bright and early, whistling at the coffee pot and setting out the Cookie Crunch?
The TV went out last night...the light only on for a couple hours after we parted, but this morning—this morning she's up late. Hangover or guilt? I'm not sure. I'll have to wait until I see her to know.
You can always tell how much someone drank the night before by how they wake up. Out of it? Eyes kind of swollen? Sluggish like they didn't get any sleep or they're sick? There are even those times where you can tell the difference in speech. There's still that slight slur that says it hasn't even worn off yet.
I'm still waiting to see Mom firsthand to know how today is. Sara's been in and out of Mom's room a couple times. She's dressed and all that so I'm hoping it's guilt that keeps her behind her bedroom door. That she just doesn't want to see me because she knows how wrong she is. Knows she needs help, and is thinking about how to come down and tell me she's getting it.
Okay, so lack of sleep made me delusional, but a guy can hope.
Pushing away what should be my chocolate chip reward for keeping my eyes open all night, I
lean my head into my hands.
Maybe she should feel guilty, but I should too.
For the ten thousandth time since last night I wonder, am I doing the right thing? I can deal with it. When it just affects me, who cares? I can take care of myself, but Sara? I won't let her see it. There's no way I can risk her. That never became a possibility until last night.
Guilt slams into those thoughts. This is Mom. Didn't I just tell Bill she'd never let anything happen to Sara? That she'd always take care of her and that she'd never get hurt? Is it that easy for me to turn my back on Mom? Maybe it wasn't what I thought. Maybe she realizes how wrong she was and it will never happen again. What kind of son jumps to conclusions like this the first time?
"Barney! Barney!" Sara slides into the kitchen, her sock-covered feet skidding on the floor. She's out the other side before I have the chance to say anything to her and the TV is on. She can work a TV and DVD player like nobody's business.
A second later Mom walks into the kitchen. I try to ignore her, not sure what to say, but I keep seeing that glass. Her stepping out of the closet, knowing Sara's asleep in the next room.
I'm not sad anymore. The guilt is gone, replaced by heat. Anger. How could she pick that bottle over Sara?
Suddenly, I don't want to study her. Don't want to see her eyes, or hear her speak. I just want out. To escape it and pretend everything is okay.
Done with my soggy cookies, I push to my feet and head for the kitchen door. Little mini-eruptions go off inside me, readying me for the big one I know is coming.
"I'm sorry."
Her words make me freeze in the kitchen door. We've never talked about it this way before. She didn't even mention what she's sorry for, but I know and there have never been apologies before. Usually it's something we pretend doesn't exist.
