I see we’re just about to kick off.…Perfect! The varsity kicker, Alan, is a great kicker. He’s taught me a bunch of kicking strategies and techniques this year because he thinks I’ll be taking over for him when he graduates. He almost always gets the ball past the ten-yard line on a kickoff, but it looks like Coach asked him to do a squib kick, since the ball is bouncing all around the field. The Cougars must have some speedster returning kicks, and Coach doesn’t want to give him a chance to be featured on the cable access channel’s high school sports report.
I hate it when they ask me for a squib kick; everyone just thinks that I muffed by accident (I’ve been known to bust an unintentional squib from time to time).
Alan’s is absolutely on purpose because he’s the first guy on the tackle. Most teams use the kicker as a safety, but not on a squib; he’s the guy who’s got the best idea where the ball is headed.
It squirts and bops around for about thirty yards before a big lineman finally scoops it up into his thick arms. As soon as he does, Alan is on him…and he’s way too fired up. They really shouldn’t let kickers listen to the pregame speeches or run through the paper sign. We need to be doing yoga and staying focused. Alan’s feet leave the ground and he lowers his head to drop the hammer! I think he’s seeing this play on the public access highlight reel. It’s probably going to be there, but not for the reasons he’s thinking. They also have a blooper reel.
The big Cougar glances up and just stays low for a second. Just as Alan’s body is sailing over the guy’s helmet, he goes ahead and pops up into Alan’s legs. Alan goes from football badass to Special Olympics diver in the blink of an eye. If we were at the pool, his jackknifed front-flip attempt would be fine. Or if the Cougar had hit him a little harder, Alan might have been able to stick the landing like a gymnast…but he didn’t. Alan dives headfirst into that turf, WHAAAMMM!!! I’m no chiropractor, but I know the neck isn’t meant to bend back that far.
The crowd gasps, and other Merrian guys wrestle the big guy down. Everybody rushes off the field to start the game, but Alan stays put. The coaches all trot out and kneel by his side. They’re trying to figure out if he’s really hurt or just embarrassed.
EJ hits me on the shoulder pad and gives me a nod.
I nod back and ask, “S’up?”
“You ready for this, boy?” he asks.
“Hell yeah…For what?”
“If Alan’s hurt, you’re the guy,” he replies.
“No, that other senior, Doobie, is the backup kicker.”
He’s just staring at me, so I say, “He’s that skinny stoner with the—”
EJ barks, “Didn’t you look at the depth chart before the game?!”
“The what?”
“Doobie got kicked off the team, Carter!” he replies.
“Why?”
“Who gives a—You’re the backup!”
“DUDE, I didn’t even warm up!”
EJ springs into action and grabs Bag by the face mask. Nutt and Doc snag a few footballs, and the four of us march to the edge of the track, where a net is set up. It’s here for the kicker to work out if he gets bored during the game.
Alan eventually gets up and staggers off the field. Everyone claps to celebrate the fact that he didn’t break his neck, but he doesn’t seem right.
Nutt says, “Either he had a few cocktails before the game or he’s jacked.”
“You got this, Carter!” EJ yells.
Bag is my holder on the sophomore team, so he pretends like someone has hiked him the balls, and I kick the crap out of them into the net. It feels good to release the nervous energy. I have no idea if these balls are going straight, but they are BOOMING!
Our defense stops the Cougars on three straight plays, and Coach sends his offense out onto the field. In the break he turns around to see who’s jacking around with the kicking nets. We lock eyes, and at first he’s like, What the hell are you doing?! but then he seems to realize I’m his only hope for extra points, field goals, and squib kicks.
He gives me a nod like, Way to take the initiative, son!
I doubt I could feel more pride if I kicked a game-winner. Thank God EJ thought of this or I’d be puking right now.
Our team marches straight down the field like they’re avenging Alan, and my anxiety grows with every yard. When the running back crosses the goal line and the ref throws up his hands, the crowd goes nuts and I almost fill my football pants with diarrhea. Bag hands me the kicking tee and says, “Piece of cake, Carter!” before he slaps my ass, hard.
I’ve just stepped onto the field when Coach yells, “Go for TWO, men!” and my heart sinks. I spin around like it’s not a big deal and he didn’t just rip my heart out by not allowing me to kick the extra point. Maybe he doesn’t think I’m warmed up yet, or he doesn’t trust me. I don’t trust me either, but I like surprising myself. Tonight would be the perfect stage on which to exceed everyone’s expectations. I’ve sometimes thought that kicking could be my thing, but I’ve never been asked to save the day with a clutch field goal. It’s probably like theater, where you have no idea how great you can be until the curtain goes up on opening night and you either freeze or spread your wings.
For the two-point conversion, our quarterback runs a sweep to the right, but the Cougar defense stuffs him on the two-yard line. YES!!! I feel bad for switching sides, but it’s just that one play…until Coach snatches the kickoff tee out of my hand and gives it to a lineman before instructing him to, “Give me a big squib kick, son!”
We prevent the Cougars from scoring again and march right back down the field, but this drive is stopped on the five-yard line. On fourth down, Coach spins around and looks me in the eye. I take a deep breath and flex my jaw like, I’m ready! or possibly, I will not vomit! because he spins back around and yells, “Go for it! Get me that touchdown, men!”
The crowd cheers, but my heart sinks even further. I’ve practiced kicking footballs for countless hours, and he’s seen me make kicks from beyond forty yards, but he doesn’t have enough faith in me to try a fifteen-yard field goal. I want to scream, “Give me a chance, man! I will rise to the occasion.” And I’d like to clarify, “Just because I’m late to practice doesn’t mean I’m gonna miss a fifteen-yarder in front of all these people!” But you don’t change someone’s mind with words. He’s seen something in me that looks like weakness, and no amount of pleading or reasoning is going to affect his decision.
I thought I couldn’t be more disappointed than when Abby put her shirt back on a couple nights ago, but this feels worse. The only thing that keeps me from crying is the fact that our running back got tackled on the three-yard line. Everyone groans and cusses the failure…except me, because Coach looks like an asshole for not putting me in again. I have to cover my face because I can’t help smiling. I’m a terrible teammate. Sorry.
I take a seat on the bench and wait for the game to end. If only I could’ve frozen time back when Coach gave me that nod. Back when it seemed like he was proud of me, and that my football career had great potential. I thought the announcer would finish off the night yelling, “Carter does the impossible, folks!” But looking back on it now, that nod was just the cherry on top of a turd sundae. Screw this game.
Coach never let me kick off even though that lineman messed up every one of his kicks. Coach went for two points after all three of our touchdowns and didn’t try a single field goal, not even a thirty-two-yarder at the end of the game, when we only needed two points to win. His varsity kicker was injured; I was his only hope, but he still didn’t put me in. Maybe I’m the only person (besides my mom) who thought I could make that kick, but I am positive I would have.
I will not forget this hollow, sick feeling. I’m going to try to remember it, actually. When I’m dicking around instead of studying for a test, or right before an audition, or when I do my phone interview with the New York Drama School. And I’ll sure as hell break it out next summer if my boys are trying to get me to sign up for football a
gain.
Everyone is going to some party after the game, but I get a ride home with my parents. I’m taking a pregnant girl out tomorrow night, and I’ve got a Saturday School in eight hours. I’ve got to get to bed and download the script for the spring musical RENT. I’ve only got four months to prepare, so I’m starting before the sun comes up. The only choice I’m going to give Ms. McDougle is which part to give me.
11. DANCE WITH THE DEVIL
Nick Brock won’t take Lynn to a high school dance, so she’s screaming at me for not washing the notes-to-self off my arms. Mom is pissed that the limo isn’t coming to our house and I won’t let her come to Amber’s and show off her paparazzi skills.
My dad tries to make her feel better by saying, “Do you really want him and his pregnant date on your Facebook wall?”
Mom’s eyes flare, and she snaps, “I am more proud of him for taking Amber Lee to this dance than I would be if he’d kicked the game-winning field goal in that stupid football game.” Then she mutters, “He could kick a damn thirty-yarder in his sleep!”
“Mother,” Lynn scolds.
My mom may have taken the football game personally, because she keeps bringing it up. She likes to help us, and it kills her when she can’t. She’s got tears in her eyes, so I give her a hug and say, “It’s okay.”
“So, I can come over to Amber’s?” she asks.
“No.”
She pleads, “But I might not get another opportunity—”
“Mother!” Lynn barks.
“I love you, Mom,” I say.
This makes her start sobbing. “You’re such a good boy. Why do you have to grow up so fast…and threaten to leave your poor mother just when you’re getting fit to live with?”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re not really going to New York City, are you?” she asks. “You’re not going to rip my heart out on purpose, are you?”
“Pull yourself together, lady!” Lynn barks.
“They’re not going to accept me, Mom.”
“Oh, yes they are! They know talent. They’ve snatched up Abby and they’re coming for you next.”
She shuts it down because it seems like her daughter is about to slap her across the face.
Dad drops me off at Amber’s, and her dad invites me inside to wait. Rusty is playing Mortal Kombat in the living room. His opponent looks a lot like me when I had my flop-do, which makes the awkward situation even more awkward. He doesn’t pause the game or look at me until Amber comes down the stairs in a skintight Snooki dress and stripper heels. Just like last year’s homecoming, when she broke out this god-awful ’90s green dress, she has stepped up her look for this dance, and the results are unfortunate. Once again, a lot of makeup has been applied, and an unbelievable amount of hair product is being asked to do some pretty terrible things. It seems that she’s trying to draw attention away from her swollen belly by featuring her bloated boobs more prominently. Her dad is not snapping photos. Amber gives me a kiss on the cheek that takes my breath away, but only because her perfume is so strong.
She says, “You look great, Carter! Doesn’t he look handsome, Rusty?”
I’m starting to feel a bit used again, but a horn starts honking outside, and I see a long black limo with two dudes standing through the sunroof laughing. One of them is wearing a fedora, and they’re singing along to the Black Eyed Peas’ “I Gotta Feeling.”
The lyrics remind me of something my dad is always saying: Every situation is as bad or good as you allow it to be. So I decide to make this a good night. I stick out my hand for Amber to grab, and say, “And you look amazing! Let’s do this, Cinderella.”
Rusty’s avatar gets pummeled by his flop-do’d opponent when he glances our way. Amber smiles and takes my hand. I give her dad a high five on the way out because…why not?!
He adds, “You kids be good!”
I almost say, “I’ll try not to get her pregnant!” but I’m able to shut it down in time.
When we step out of the house, Jeremy’s eyes open wide to fully “appreciate” Amber’s dress. I give him a look like, Be nice.
So he yells, “Oh my God, girl…you are too fierce!”
Amber smiles as I open the door for her, and will.i.am’s voice blasts into the neighborhood, “Tonight’s gonna be a good-gooood night!” Jeremy and Brad cheer for us like we’re crashing through a paper sign that says CARTER AND AMBER! GO FIGHT WIN!
The limo is rad! I thought Aunt Jenny was a motel on wheels. This thing is designed for illicit acts. It’s got a pull-up bar next to the sunroof, just in case anyone wants to work out…or maybe have an orgy! We’ve got multicolored strobe lights and a bumpin’ stereo! All I’m missing is a slutty girl with a giving nature…preferably one who’s into me and not already with child.
I have to yell over Fergie when I tell Jeremy’s boyfriend, “Yo, I dig that hat!”
He blushes and says, “Thanks! Jeremy got it for me!”
Jeremy gives me a wink, and I do a few pull-ups. The student teaches the teacher!
After two more stops, we’ve added eight drama kids, and things are getting loud. Amber’s instinct would probably be to call them geeks and tell them to “Pipe down!” but she’s totally outnumbered tonight, so she keeps it under control. Lady Gaga is blasting, and drama is the rule in this limo. It would be weird if you weren’t pumping your fist and singing along at the top of your lungs. Eventually, Amber starts dancing in her seat and belting with the rest of us. Even the stoic driver is yelling, “‘I’m on the right track, baby, I was boorrn this waaay!!!’”
We walk into the gym as if we own the place (and not like a bunch of overdressed misfits). It’s kind of nice not being interested in your date (sexually). It’s way easier to be impressive and funny when you’re not trying to be impressive or funny. Plus, she’s a great dancer. I wish her belly would stop running into me, though. I really wish Abby were here, but I’m not thinking about that. She didn’t call me today. I assumed she would, but she’s probably having a great time in New York and has just completely forgotten about me already. No big deal. I need to get used to not having her as my dance partner.
People are kind of staring at Amber and me. They’re either thinking I’m a bad dancer or a pregnant chick shouldn’t be throwing down like this, but Amber says that it’s good for the baby. Who knew?
The same judges are looking at Jeremy and his gender-matching, fedora-wearing friend. I don’t see anything but run-of-the-mill jealousy in those glances because Jeremy and Brad are obviously having a blast. Some of my boys are here, and I say hi, but mostly I stick with the drama kids.
When a slow song comes on, we have to stop jumping around. Everyone snuggles in close to their dates. Amber seems uncomfortable for the first time since we left her house, so I just grab her hand. Screw it. I’ve dreamt of being pressed up against Amber Lee since the second week of sixth grade. It’s cool, but kind of weird when her fetus starts kicking at me again. I also can’t breathe for a second because her stinky hair is too close to my face, so I spin her away like a swing dancer. I learned a dance called the jitterbug for Guys and Dolls. It’s a lifesaver when biology class is coming to life right in front of you, and it looks very impressive. I’m able to crack a few jokes, and Amber’s laughing like crazy. Next thing I know the DJ says, “Last song!” and the drama kids yell, “NOOOOO!!!”
Call me a dork, but I like school parties way more than house parties. No one is threatening to kill me, and I haven’t seen anyone puke yet. We’re some of the last people to leave, and we file back into the limo, where Jeremy invites us to an after-party at his house at Grey Goose Lake.
Amber says, “Hell yeah!” and I give Jeremy a suspicious look, because this party doesn’t seem spontaneous. It seems like everyone else knew about it, and Amber and I were not on the list until just now. I guess we’ve proven our coolness.
I always love an excuse to get into Grey Goose Lake, because it’s private and riffraff like me are not usually all
owed beyond the security checkpoint. But I’m not rolling up on a Redline BMX tonight. I’d like to stick my head out of the limo and ask the guard, “How you like me now, bitch?!” but that would only prove him right, so I don’t.
About twenty of us head into Jeremy’s house. His mom has made hors d’oeuvres (cheesy crackers and tiny hot dogs). There’s a karaoke machine set up and a pinball machine. I sing a Katy Perry song, and that goes great, but then I try to sing one of the numbers from RENT, and it’s ugly. I need to work on it, but one of the many sucky detention rules is: No singing!
The party is super fun for me, but Amber appears to get bored with the drama talk. I ask if she’s feeling okay, and she gives me a thumbs-up and a half smile. Show tunes start to dominate the karaoke playlist, and I can tell that she’s annoyed the second time we sing “Seasons of Love” from RENT. I nod to the front door and help her off the couch.
“We’re going for a walk,” I explain.
The drama kids yell, “OKAY!!!” but Jeremy raises an eyebrow like, Don’t do anything you’ll regret!
I return his look with an expression that should say, Are you crazy? Do you really think I’m going to hook up with a pregnant chick?
It doesn’t help my case when she takes my hand on the way out the door. But we are friends, and friends are totally allowed to hold hands while they stroll along a lake…in the moonlight. It’s sooo not a big deal that I swing our fists back and forth as we walk.
She confesses, “Carter…I had no idea how cool you were.”
“Yeah, sometimes I’m shocked by it myself.”
“I’ve really had fun tonight!” she continues. “I don’t think I’ve ever had so much fun, actually.”
“It’s the drama kids. They just bring it! They’re not even pretending; they really do not care, and when that rubs off on you, the good times begin!”
Carter's Unfocused, One-Track Mind Page 10
