Carter's Unfocused, One-Track Mind

by Brent Crawford

  “Y-y-yeah, so I w-w-wanted to check in w-w-with you because it seems my girl Abby is headed to New York City next weekend and my mom already had my suit cleaned for the dance…because I may have drank too much Mountain Dew at my cousin’s wedding in August and started break-dancing and it got all grimy from doing back spins and whatnot. A-a-and Jeremy is getting a limo, so you w-w-wouldn’t have to ride on my axle pegs or anything.”

  I stare into her green eyes until she says, “What are you talking about?”

  I’m thinking that Abby didn’t check with Amber before asking me to ask her to the damn dance! “Oh, uh, wait…I-I-I went in the wrong order. My bad. I’m gonna need a do-over here!”

  She’s looking at me like I’m burping these words, but I continue anyway. “Uh, d-d-do you want to go to the homecoming dance? There we go! That’s what I meant to say.”

  “Yeah, I totally want to go,” she replies.

  “Okaaay, I think I need a redo on my do-over! It’s like Ms. Holly used to say, ‘Carter, you need to be more specific!’ Did you have her for freshman English? Never mind.…Uh, do you w-w-want to go to the dance with ME?”

  Her sour face bursts into a smile, and she starts laughing. “I’ve missed you, Carter.”

  “Did I go somewhere?”

  She nudges me with her elbow and says, “I would love to go to the dance with you…but you don’t have to.”

  “I know. I want to. I’ve never really been to a school dance before. I was supposed to go to one last year with the hottest girl at my school, actually. But there was some miscommunication, and even though we rode in the same car, we never actually got to dance or make out or anything.”

  She touches my leg and says, “I am sorry about that.”

  I look down at her pink fingernails resting on my jeans. After a few seconds I’m able to breathe again and say, “I-i-it’s okay, but, if you’d like a do-over, I’m offering you the opportunity.”

  She smiles. “I’d love it. So we’re going in a limo?!”

  “Yeah. As long as Jeremy and his boyfriend are still together by next weekend.”

  She says, “Well, I’ll wear a short dress just in case I have to ride on your axle pegs.”

  She’s kidding. She wouldn’t have gotten on my pegs even before she was pregnant.

  “Do that. Are you okay to tango in your condition?”

  She laughs. “My condition? Yeah. I’m getting down for two, so you’ll have to keep up.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  She leans over and gives me a tight sideways half hug. She might be crying, and the top of her head is right in front of my face, so I kiss it. I’ve never done that before, but it seems like the thing to do. And pregnant or not, her hair smells great.

  She lets me go and leaves a little snot souvenir on my shirt.

  She wipes at my chest and says, “I am sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it, it’s not a—”

  She interrupts. “I’m sorry if I was ever a bitch to you. I regret…a lot of things.”

  Tears fill my eyes too, and I oddly move my hands around as I say, “Naw, naw, don’t…Everything works out the way it should. You’re gonna be great. Maybe being a mom is like your thing. Maybe it’s the thing you were born to do.”

  “I just don’t feel ready,” she says.

  “I doubt anyone thinks they’re ready, but it’s already made you more compassionate, and you’re not so hung up on your looks anymore—”

  She pulls away and glares at me. “Are you calling me ugly now or just shallow before?”

  “What?! Neither!”

  Her icy eyes soften and she laughs. “I’m kidding. I know what you mean.” She pats her belly and says, “I’m pretty much awesome now.”

  I offer up a high five. “That’s what I meant.”

  We both stop smiling when Rusty’s LTD rumbles up to the curb. I give him a nod. He totally sees it, but he just looks away because I saw him get bitch-slapped by a drama boy two weeks ago.

  I walk over to the car and ask, “S’up, man?”

  “Just on a break from work,” Rusty replies.

  Amber gets into her seat awkwardly.

  For some reason, I keep talking. “How’s it going? Is the body shop stuff getting easier?”

  “It’s just work, man,” he says like a beaten down fifty-year-old.

  “Hey, uh, my girlfriend is gonna be out of town…and I heard you don’t want to go to the homecoming dance…so I was thinking Amber and I could just go together, like friends, you know?”

  He looks at Amber for a second, but she doesn’t meet his gaze. He asks, “Ya’ll friends now?” Then he adds, “Come on, man, you don’t want to take a pregnant chick. Everyone can see the bump now, so when you walk into a restaurant or wherever, folks are gonna stare at you like you’re the one who did it.…They’re gonna look at you like a monkey at the zoo. They’ve got pity for her but disgust for you.”

  I’m not as moved by his speech as I should be, because in his scenario, people think I’ve had sex with Amber Lee, so I add, “Yeah, I think we’re just going to go to the dance, sooo it should be fine. We got a limo and we’re gonna tear up the dance flo’!”

  I do some James Brown footwork until Amber starts laughing and Rusty says, “Whatever, I don’t care,” and they roll out.

  I wave at the bumper and say, “Okay, then…maybe people are staring at you because you’re an a-hole, huh?”

  I hear whistles blow in the distance and realize that football practice has started without me again. Dang it. I’m still sore from yesterday’s punishments.

  9. WEDNESDAY, BLOODY WEDNESDAY

  After only two Saturday Schools, all of my grades appear to be climbing. I’m still a long way from that B+ average, so Ms. McDougle put two of my latest geometry tests in my application packet to show the New York Drama School people that I’m “turning things around.” My teachers are all stoked about my grade spikes. And I guess the news that I’m taking Amber to the dance has been discussed in the faculty lounge as well. Teachers I don’t even know are giving me nods in the hall like, “Respect.” They still give out mad detentions, though.

  McDougle won’t let me read her letter of recommendation, probably because it says, “Do not let this idiot into your school! His grades are improving only because he’s got Saturday School every weekend!” or something. She’s pissed at me right now because I’m planning to do swim team instead of Camelot. I can’t explain it. I just love swimming back and forth in a pool and hyperventilating.

  Abby’s leaving for her New York visit tomorrow, so I pop by her house after fight club. I want to say good-bye and tell her how I beat J-Low’s ass like a rented mule for three rounds tonight. He caught me with the ski mitten, right in the nose at the start of the fight. It gave me a nosebleed but it totally fired me up. I’m going to describe it to Abby like, “Manny Pacquiao fighting a Girl Scout.” She’s going to love it (if she knows who Manny Pacquiao is). I also want to wish her luck and maybe have farewell sex (you never know). She’s hand-delivering my application to the school, so I’m pretending to make sure she has everything she needs…and I’ve got condoms.

  For some reason, I’m not usually allowed in her house, but her mom seems to have lost her mind tonight. She has a weird tension-filled smile on her face when she tells me to, “Go on up.”

  I can hear the music blasting in Abby’s room from down the hall. She usually listens to overly cool old bands like the Smiths or the Clash, but tonight it’s a full-on nerd jam: it’s the original cast recording of Camelot. She’s singing along to Guenevere’s part of the song, “If Ever I Would Leave You.”

  She doesn’t hear it when I open the door, because she’s rolling around on the bed singing, “‘Nooo, noooo neeeeveeeer coooouuuld I leeeeave you at AAAAAAALLLL!!!’”

  She catches me laughing at her before I notice she’s crying. She jumps up and turns off the music.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to barge in. I knocked
[lie], but you didn’t…Are you okay?”

  She wipes the tears from her face and says, “I was just rehearsing.”

  “Yeaaah, it’s a…an emotional song…but you won’t be able to do the winter musical if you’re in New York, right?”

  “I know,” she replies. “I’m just working on it for fun.”

  “Obviously. It looks like you’re having a blast.”

  “Shut up,” she says. “It’s such a good play. I’ve had this song prepared since August.”

  “You are a neeerrrd.” I come in closer and push some hair out of her eyes. Calling a chick names is not textbook foreplay, but I’ve seen it work.

  She’s on to me, though, so she turns away and says, “I know.”

  “I see that you’re all packed. I assume you have your boarding pass printed out.”

  She shows me the ticket and says, “I have your application right here as well.”

  “I figured you would.” I attempt the hair move again, but she dodges my digits. “Sooo, everything is okay?”

  “Yeah,” she says. “I’m just nervous.”

  “Why? You’ve already been accepted and given a scholarship.”

  She sighs. “I know.”

  “That’s what this trip is all about,” I say as I dive onto her bed. “Just see if you like it. You can’t be afraid of new experiences, Abby.”

  The “new experience” I’m talking about is “sex,” but she seems to think I’m referring to skydiving or spicy foods or something. She keeps her distance and nods. “I know.”

  I continue, “If you decide you hate it, you’re already ready to star in the winter musical at Merrian High.”

  She sits on the bed. I can’t see her face, but I take the closeness as a green light. I wrap my arms around her waist and hug her like a confused koala bear. I’m not sure where I’m going with this, but my right wrist is just touching her left boob. She pats my hand and says, “You’re right. Thanks, Carter.”

  I kiss her kidney and try to maneuver myself into some sort of offensive position. She obviously has no idea that I’m being amorous here. I caress her trapezius muscles while she keeps yapping. “My mom is freaking out.”

  “Yeah, she seemed kind of…medicated.”

  “I think she is,” she replies with a laugh, but then she hops back up and flips on the serious switch again. “Carter, what if you don’t get in?”

  “Me? I’ll be okay.”

  “No,” she says. “I don’t think I can do it without you.”

  “What?! That’s crazy. You don’t need me.”

  “What if I do?” she asks kind of breathlessly.

  What’s up, green light? I haven’t seen you in a while!

  I jump up from the bed and swoop in on her. I flip some hair out of her eyes…real smooth this time. “I’ll come visit you,” I whisper. “We’ll go to the Statue of Liberty and see a Broadway show and get mugged on the subway together, and you’ll remember how annoying I am.”

  She says, “You are annoying—” but I shut her up with my lips before she can continue (pimp). Things are going well. I get some fast boob and she squeezes my back tight. Then she takes off my shirt. I don’t want to be the only one here with his shirt off, so I lift hers. I try to calm my breathing because it’s getting loud. This might actually happen! I start to get a little light-headed all the sudden. Get focused, playa! I’ve just never been this close to sex in a bedroom before. The room has started to spin, and there’s a new salty taste in my mouth, and my upper lip is sweating like mad. I better take this action to the bed, or I’m taking it straight down to the floor when I pass out.

  I pull away from her so I can breathe for a second, lock the door, and kill the lights. I steal a quick glance at her bra, but I’m distracted by her face…and the scene takes a turn. Instead of the romantic porno I thought I was about to star in…I find myself in a vampire horror picture! Abby has a shocked, hungry look in her eyes, and blood is smeared all over her mouth and nose. She gasps, “Oh my God!”

  A crimson droplet falls from her chin onto her chest. I yell, “What the hell is going on?!”

  She wipes her mouth and looks at her hand in shock. “Carter, your nose is gushing blood!”

  I look in her mirror and see that this make-out session is over. Blood is not as sexy as they make it seem in those Twilight movies. She leaves the room, and I try to dam the flood with my shirt as I explain, “J-Dow hit me wit da ski gove…but I won da fight! I sorry, I dought it uz done daining—”

  She reappears and hands me a wet towel. She lowers my head and inspects my face. I ask her, “Do you, by any chance, know who Manny Pacquiao is?”

  She just forces me to tilt my head back. “When are you going to stop this stupid fighting?”

  “I ’unno.”

  “I thought Terry joined the navy,” she barks.

  “At’s wha’ Nick heard.”

  “Do you think he’s lying?” she asks.

  I lower my head to say, “No…but fight club is kind of fun. And it’s good to know how to protect yourself.”

  “From what?” she asks. “That’s so stupid. This is the stuff I will not miss about Merrian.”

  “You don’t think there’s violence in New York City?”

  She says, “I really doubt I’ll be around a bunch of peacock boys who feel like they have to strut around proving themselves all the time.”

  “Yeah, there won’t be any insecure kids at drama school.”

  She doesn’t have anything to say to that, so she puts her shirt back on to punish me. My stupid cock-blocking nose seems to have stopped bleeding, so I try to get us back on track with a few questions. “Um, did you get Mace for your trip?”

  “Mace?” she asks.

  “Yeah, pepper spray. In case somebody tries to jack you.”

  She sighs. “God, you sound like my dad. New York is the safest place ever. They have cops everywhere.”

  “Why would they need cops everywhere if it’s the safest place?”

  “Why are you being a dick?” she asks.

  “It’s just conversation, dude. You were just saying you needed me to come with you for protection and—”

  “I don’t need you for protection,” she scoffs.

  “Easy now. Who’s being a dick?”

  She gives me the silent treatment for a minute, and it’s obvious I’m not going to get anywhere sexually here, so I head for the door. “Okay, I’ll let you pack. I need to do homework.”

  “Why are you mad at me?” she asks.

  “No, I actually mean it. I’ve got homework. Someone is forcing me to apply to some fancy school, and I’ve got all these people looking at my grades now, so it’s embarrassing when I flunk—”

  She gasps. “Forcing you?”

  “Yeah, I also need to steal a tie and some black socks from my dad so I’m ready for this dance on Saturday.…You know, the one that I’m attending with your pregnant friend.”

  She shakes her head in disgust. “You are mad at me! Why?”

  “Your shirt was just off!”

  “So?” she asks.

  “And now it’s back on!” I continue, but she’s still not seeing a problem. “We’re alone in your bedroom and your mom is downstairs hopped up on loopers. How many opportunities like this am I going to get?! I’m in love with you, Abby, and you’re leaving. They’re not gonna let me into that school, and you’re going to be fine without me. The clock is ticking on this thing, so I’m not mad at you, but I am pissed off!”

  Her face is totally flushed as she strides toward me. She’s all intense and hot. I think we’re back on, but she yanks the towel out of my hand and wipes my nose like a toddler. “You’re bleeding again.”

  Of course I am! She doesn’t return my declaration of love or make any promises. She just tilts my head back and pushes the cloth into my face.

  I step away from her and put my shirt back on before saying, “I’m gonna go. Have fun on the trip…seriously.”

  Sh
e kisses me on the cheek and I take off. On the way out of the house, I wave to her mom. She looks up from her TV show, and we share a quick moment of sadness before she remembers exactly who I am.

  10. FRIDAY NIGHT LIGHTS

  I wanted to surprise Abby with some flowers at the airport on Thursday to make her feel better about the trip, but I had a sophomore football game. I got to play tight end, and Bag played quarterback and he threw me a pass (I may have dropped it when a punk-ass linebacker nailed me from the blind side). I also played defensive end, and I tackled a bunch of dudes and only got screamed at twice for being in the wrong area of the field at the wrong time. I kicked three extra points too (I made two of them) and we won! Football is way more fun when you’re actually involved.

  I’ve been asked to suit up for the varsity homecoming game on Friday. All of the sophomores were asked…but it’s still an honor! We’re playing our oldest rivals, the Nortest Cougars, and we’re probably going to lose, but I’d never say that out loud. It’s so cool to run out onto the field before the game. All of the drill team (except Abby) and cheerleaders are lined up beside the field as we run through their tunnel of Lycra and crash through the paper sign. You’d think we were about to go cure cancer! Everyone is cheering like crazy and I’m sooo fired up! I head-butt about ten guys before my ears start ringing and I stop. It would be even more fun if I actually had a prayer of playing in the game.

  I’ve watched Merrian High football games since I was little. I thought all of the players were rich and huge. From my backyard, you could faintly hear the announcer calling out the action over the loudspeaker. I used to think the ominous voice was God talking to me about numbers, but now I know it’s just a history teacher with nothing better to do on a Friday night.

  The marching band is rocking tonight and I can’t help but bob my head around to the drumline’s beat…until Coach sees me, and I put my game face back on real quick, like, I don’t even hear that music!

  I space off after a while, though, and wave to my sister, who’s sitting with Nick Brock in the stands. I realize why they call it “homecoming.” There are tons of people who’ve come back home to watch this game (the JuCo kids are always here). I give a few “S’ups?!” to my friends who are too smart to play football. Eventually, my dad catches my eye and shoots me a look like, Turn around, dumbass!