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Table of Contents
Summer
Chapter 1. S'up?
Chapter 2. Down Gets Out
Chapter 3. How Many Fingers?
Chapter 4. The Kidz Channel
Chapter 5. The Rocket Ship Question
Chapter 6. Who Ordered A Hot Dog?
Chapter 7. Various Techniques
Chapter 8. Cheerleading Skirt
Chapter 9. Audition
Chapter 10. Instincts
Chapter 11. Assistance
Chapter 12. How We Roll
Chapter 13. In Character
Chapter 14. Action!
Chapter 15. Wino
Chapter 16. Sugar-free Pudding
Chapter 17. Pizza Magnate?
Chapter 18. Get To The Pain
Chapter 19. J-j-jeremy And The Jets
Chapter 20. Potential
Chapter 21. Spike Family
Chapter 22. The Crying Scene
Fall
Chapter 23. Cheellooo!
Acknowledgments
TO SARAH AND THE BOYS
SUMMER
1. S’UP?
On the last day of school, I’m happily strolling down the hall after Mr. Rumpford’s ridiculously hard algebra final. He told me last week that if I failed it, I’d have to go to summer school . . . as if! I studied so hard last night, I thought my brain would fall out. But it didn’t, and I aced that sucker with a D+! I waited around after the bell rang and watched as Rumpford graded the tests. Yes, I had better things to do, but my summer was hanging in the balance, so I kind of didn’t. I knew I’d passed when he looked up. He gave me a nod and said, “Imagine if you’d applied yourself like this all year, Mr. Carter.”
I laughed at his joke, returned the nod, and replied, “Yeah!” as I headed for the door.
My freshman year of high school was “difficult,” to say the least. I overcame a slight stuttering/confidence problem; I took on a couple of bullies; drove (perhaps wrecked) a car (and truck); figured out how to talk to/make out with chicks; discovered that hard work can get you through anything; and wound up with the lead in the spring musical (Guys and Dolls) and a hot-ass girlfriend. But Abby’s not just a pretty face, great boobs, and a perfect butt. She’s also ridiculously smart, reads books for fun, listens to cool music that they don’t play on the radio, and watches movies that my boys and I would never see. They aren’t even movies—they’re “films,” and most of them are so far over my head, I’ve got a neck ache when they’re over. But after Abby explains the plot, I start to understand and actually enjoy the story long after the credits have rolled. I don’t tell my boys this (especially EJ, my closest friend since birth), but Abby’s kind of my best friend now. And she lets me touch her boobs, which tips the scales in her favor every time. My friends try to hate, and call me whipped because she holds my hand every once in a while, and I may have stood them up on a “bros before hos” night to play Scattergories with her. But whatever. I’ve accused enough dudes of being “on the leash” to know that my boys are just jealous.
In the weight room the other day, my friend Nutt’s older brother, Bart, gave me some advice: “You gotta go off on that bitch every once in a while. . . . Just, out of nowhere, call her a whore. It keeps her on her toes and therefore . . . on your jock!”
Bart can bench 275, but I’ve noticed he doesn’t have a girlfriend, and to my knowledge, never has. He claims it’s his choice, but I’ve had one for about a month and it’s been pretty sweet, so I’m going to hold off on Bart’s relationship tips until I’m proven wrong.
I give out a few nods, high fives, and a bunch of “S’ups” as I make my way toward Abby’s locker. I’m about twenty feet away when I hear footsteps coming up behind me, a little too fast for comfort. I squint my eyes and flex down because I know that someone is about to tackle, punch, or slap me. A sharp sting in the kidney region confirms my theory. I arch backward, scream in pain, and turn to find EJ, Bag, and Doc cackling with laughter.
“OOOOWWWWE!!” I exclaim, swinging my backpack at all three of them.
EJ is able to ask, “You ready—?” before the bag nails him in the ribs. “HRUUAHHHH!”
I rub my back and reply, “Hell yeah. Are we rollin’ out to Grey Goose Lake in the CRX?”
Bag replies, “Naw, we gotta ride our bikes. Hormone’s dad is still pissed off about that cop bitching him out for givin’ a fifteen-year-old a car.”
“Still?”
Three weeks ago, Doc figured out that if you remove the windshield-wiper fluid hose on an ’87 Honda CRX and angle it to the right, it will shoot pedestrians, cyclists, and unsuspecting drivers with surprising accuracy and force. You’re pretty screwed if you want to wash your windshield, but if you want a laugh, pull up next to somebody and ask them to roll down their window.
Bag would say, “Pardon me, sir? Do you have any Grey Poop-on?” then, SQUUUIIIIIRRRTT, right in the face!
We shot everybody . . . including an undercover cop. It was super funny when the drenched officer was pushing Hormone’s terrified face into the hatchback glass and yelling something about “vehicular terrorism” and asking us the obvious question: “What’s so funny?!” Comedy can’t be explained to her victims, and it’s not nearly as humorous now that Hormone’s dad has confiscated our wheels and we have to ride our bikes again. But it was hilarious at the time.
My boys join up for the last few steps to Abby’s locker. My back is still stinging, but oddly, the pain in my ass is directly in front of me. Bitchy Nicky, Abby’s best frenemy, is holding court, standing with my girlfriend and a few other random chicks. You never know from one day to the next if they’ll be at each other’s throats or BFFs. Abby and Nicky usually have a third member in their trio, Amber Lee. I was actually in love with Amber until she publicly screwed me over at the homecoming dance last fall. But she’s been absent for the last couple of days, and because she was heard vomiting in the girl’s bathroom last week, rumors are flying around that she’s knocked up. You never know what to believe, because I’ve also heard that the baby is mine, and unless I missed something in that sex-ed video they showed in health class . . . that’s as untrue as it is impossible. The movie was about fifty years old, but it still managed to give me a boner, which tends to distract my absorption of information . . . but I did not get Amber Lee pregnant.
Abby doesn’t see me at first because Nicky is ranting about something or someone that’s pissed her off. If you can’t be happy on the last day of school, when can you? Her left hand is on her hip, and her right one is waving all around like she’s a ghetto mama from the mean streets of Merrian, and not a cheerleader who’s getting a car for her birthday and going to Florida for a vacation.
She points at Abby’s nose and yells, “I’m all, like, ‘Oh no, you didn’t disrespect ME!’”
Abby is politely listening to the story that probably never happened. She’s wearing a summer dress with a tank top underneath. It’s not tight, but she pokes out of it in just the right spots. She’s smokin’ hot, and did I mention s
he’s my girlfriend?! I fight off a smile as I walk up behind Nicky, put my hand on my hip, and start to act out her moves. I purse my lips and circle my head around, then check my fingernails and mouth her words as she cackles, “I kicked that fool to the CURB!”
Abby laughs like Nicky is the funniest comedian in the world before brushing past her and jumping into my arms. “Hello, lover!” she says as I spin her around like a pimp (not a guy who’s trying not to fall down).
EJ rolls his eyes with judgment, but I don’t care, because she smells so good and I’m proud to have a hottie in my arms calling me “lover,” even if the term isn’t exactly correct. EJ knows that she and I have not had sex yet, but he doesn’t say anything, because we both know that, at the moment, I’m a lot closer to having it with her than he is with any other chick. So she can call me anything she wants!
“S’up?” I ask her.
“I’ve got the grade-school drama camp in a few minutes, and Ms. McDougle wants to see both of us. Can you walk me down to the drama department?”
“Sure,” I reply as if I hadn’t completely forgotten about her summer job teaching kids how to talk louder and sing all the time.
Abby kisses me again and squeals, “Did you know that the drama camp staff is made up entirely of college kids? They’re all drama majors, and then me!”
If I was working off of Bart’s advice, this would be a good time to call her a bitch or make fun of people who go to college and actually major in “drama.” But I like seeing her happy, and kissing her, so I just say, “That’s awesome.”
Nicky finally butts herself back into the conversation. “ABBY! I was telling a story—”
But she’s interrupted by a screeching boy sprinting down the hall toward us. Jeremy is a drama geek but super cool . . . and super gay. He violently hugs us and gasps for air to deliver his news. “Oh my God, did you hear?!” he pants. “A movie—is being shot—at this ratty-ass school—in this Podunk town—this summer! I just heard—Principal Banks say—”
That’s about all we can understand, because he starts hyperventilating like he’s giving birth, while Nicky is trying, in vain, to finish her tale. But “Excuse me” is all she gets out before EJ swings his backpack at me.
“Dude, let’s go!” he exclaims. His bag is filled with the entire contents of his locker, so he loses control of it when I step out of the way. He grips the shoulder strap with both hands and his body flails from the momentum. He sees the path of destruction before anyone else and closes his eyes with dread as the load smashes into Bitchy Nicky’s chest and slams her into the lockers with a teeth-chattering BANG!
I instinctively point at EJ and go, “OOHHHH!!!” with everyone else. Nicky has no idea what hit her, but there is no doubt she soon will, and it’s not going to be good for EJ. He’s super fast, so he’s able to grab the angry cheerleader before she crashes to the linoleum. His arms are wrapped around his overstuffed Jansport and Nicky’s waist in a bizarre romance-novel pose.
He futilely cries, “Oh my God, I’m so sorry!!!”
Nicky is just trying to breathe and figure out what’s happening to her. The weight of the backpack and the girl are too much for my boy to hold, but letting go doesn’t seem to cross his mind, so they slowly slide down the face of the lockers and crumple to the floor. EJ and Nicky are nose to nose like unfortunate Siamese twins joined at the Jansport. The once-deafening hall is dead silent as we wait for her to claw his wide eyes out. He nervously chatters, “That was a total accident . . . It’s all Carter’s fault. . . .”
Nicky and I ask in unison, “WHAT?!”
“I cleaned my locker and my baseball cleats have mud in them, so it’s heavier—”
She’s still dazed, but notices all of the people looking at her, so she yells, “Get the hell off of me, FOOL!!!”
He finally releases her and stammers another apology before springing to his feet and awkwardly trying to help her up. He squats down and grabs at her armpits, but grazes boob on the way in. His eyes light up and he exclaims, “SORRY!” before wrapping his arms around her back to avoid a slap. His face knocks into hers as he hauls the confused, beaten, and mortified girl back to standing.
I offer up a fist bump and mutter, “Smooooth.”
He leaves me hanging and asks her, “Are you sure you’re okay?” as he brushes the hair out of her eyes.
She takes a deep breath, and with a red face, replies, “Yes, I’m fine . . . thank you.”
My eyebrows fly up, and I look over at Abby for confirmation. She mouths the words “thank you” in disbelief.
EJ says, “It’s not a problem. . . . You are very light and easy to lift and also very firm . . . to touch. So, I thank you.”
She smiles, and the crowd groans with disappointment. I snap my fingers in his face. “Dude . . . I gotta go see what Ms. McDougle wants.”
He’s still staring at Nicky when he asks, “Huh?”
Abby jumps in. “EJ, why don’t you get some ice for Nicky’s head and a Diet Coke, maybe?”
EJ puts his arm around Nicky’s waist and walks her toward the nurse’s office. I shoot Abby a suspicious look. She giddily replies, “What? I think they would make a cute couple, and she could use a nice guy.”
“What, to sacrifice?”
2. DOWN GETS OUT
Abby and I walk into the drama department holding hands. She’s telling me about the French final she just “bombed,” but I know she probably missed three questions and might have to suffer the humiliation of an A-.
I space off for a second and think about my dad’s grand plan for ruining my summer. I was going to be a junior lifeguard at the pool, but I guess you have to be fifteen to wade around the baby pool and tell kids when to use the slide. Since I don’t turn until the end of July, they rejected my application. My dad thought I was upset about not having a job, so he decided to take some time off of work and tear out our old deck to build a new one . . . with me. But I didn’t want just any job; I wanted to be a lifeguard! I wanted to twirl a whistle, jump off the diving boards, and check out bikinis all day. He offered to pay me ten bucks an hour, which is twice as much as a junior lifeguard, but the work is going to be twenty times harder.
Abby says something in French and laughs at herself, but I don’t speak French, and all I can think about is how to get out of this stupid deck venture. I tried to explain that I couldn’t possibly help him because there’s nothing wrong with the old deck, and deforestation is a very big problem for our planet. He didn’t seem to buy it and told me that the old wood was totally rotten and that we were going to use recycled products on the new one. He was so proud of his arguments, but I shut him down. “I’m just too busy, Dad! I’ve still got to go to the pool every afternoon. And my boys and I are planning to work out at the Merrian High gym every morning so that we look swollen when we take off our shirts.”
But he wouldn’t listen to reason and kept yammering on about how much he’s looking forward to hanging out with me, and how Lynn and I will be going off to college in a few years, and how fast we’ve grown up, and something slipping by us. . . .
Abby interrupts my thoughts by asking, “Can you believe that?”
“Nope,” I instinctively reply as we walk into the classroom.
Ms. McDougle is standing in front of her desk, smiling from ear to ear. She bum-rushes us as we walk in the door. It’s okay to hug this teacher because we’re in the drama department and that’s how they roll down here. She’s crazy cool and obviously as fired up for this summer as we are.
She asks, “Do you guys remember that writer friend of mine who came to school in December?”
“C. B. Down?” I reply like a guy who knows writers, but I only know this one. His book, Down Gets Out, is my all-time favorite. Yes, it’s the only one I’ve ever read, but Abby’s read a million of them, and she thought it was awesome, too.
Ms. McDougle continues, “Yes, well, he’s also a film director—”
Abby interrupts, “Yeah, his firs
t movie just won the Cannes Film Festival!”
I ask, “It did?”
Abby adds, “Carter and I are seeing it this weekend.”
“We are?”
She gives me a look and says, “Yeah, I sent you that article; did you not read it?”
“Oh yeah, that!” I exclaim as if I just finished it.
McDougle continues her story. “Well, the film rights to his novel sold, and he’s going to direct the movie . . . right here in Merrian, this summer!”
Abby and I are giggling like idiots as McDougle fills us in on the movie details. “C. B. saw our production of Guys and Dolls and was so blown away by both of your performances that he wants you to audition for the lead parts!”
Everything after that sounded like she’d jumped in a pool and was talking to us from underwater. I love movies more than I can possibly explain. I believe she’s describing the audition process and what a “producer” is, but I’m way too busy writing my acceptance speech for next year’s Academy Awards. I’ll have to ask Abby for the information later. I’ll be sure to thank her in my speech.
McDougle hands us each a thick stack of paper that’s bound with a black clip. I assume it’s the screenplay, and I’d like to ask if I really need to read it, because I’ve already read the book, but I’m smiling so wide that my lips won’t work. She tells us a few more things and then asks, “You got it?”
“Sure,” I reply with Abby (whom I hope actually does).
I hug them both good-bye, because we’re still in the drama department, and grade school kids are starting to trickle in and things are about to get LOUD! I’m supposed to ride out to Grey Goose Lake with my boys, but I need to go freak out for a while.
I duck into the auditorium and bound onto the stage screaming, “HuuuuWHAAAA!!!” There’s something about a theater that just gives you permission to lose your mind. I yell, “YEEESSSSS!!!” and “OH MY GOD!!!” to no one.
Playing Sky Masterson in Guys and Dolls was probably the most fun thing I’ve ever done, but I never dreamed that acting in the spring musical would change my life the way it has. And not just because my “raw talent” has been discovered by a film director. Doing that play ripped me out of my comfort zone and showed me that although my friends are awesome, I don’t need their approval if I want to do something. Plus, they’re going to make fun of me no matter what I do, so I might as well enjoy it.
Carter's Big Break Page 1
