Sophie & Carter

  Screw Evan Walters.

  “Evan sucks.” I shouldn’t have said that, but I don’t feel bad. I stretch my neck again as TJ responds.

  “Whoa, man. You got a thing for this girl or what?” TJ’s confused. I don’t care.

  The bell rings, freeing me from answering his question. I jet out of school and start heading home.

  Sophie’s already in front of me, looking pretty and gentle. She doesn’t drop any notes today and for some reason I think she’s mad at me.

  SOPHIE

  I spent all afternoon trying to shake off my jealousy. Turns out you can’t shake jealousy off. You’ve got to pet it and lie to it and soothe it until it settles comfortably in the back of your mind.

  And then wait until another one of Carter’s love interests comes along and wakes it up. Agh.

  I’ve been banging pots and pans tonight while making dinner. The Littles know something’s up, but I’m talking like I’m fine.

  I lie, just like any other parent.

  I look at our food while we’re eating dinner and I’m thankful Carter was so generous to us. This softens my heart enough to think about him without getting all crazy-ex-girlfriend.

  My brain’s not done stressing, though.

  We still need money. Rent is behind, Chloe needs new shoes, and if I don’t pay the electric bill soon we’ll be living in darkness.

  Bedtime is a breeze for some reason. I think the Littles are afraid to tick me off. So everyone’s either asleep or quiet in their rooms by 8:30pm.

  I wander out to the swing early because I need…something.

  I’m not sure what it is, but I know sitting on the swing for a minute will help me figure it out. Carter’s already there, sitting on the porch steps, playing with a stick.

  My heart fills up.

  That’s what I needed: Carter.

  “Hey, Sophie.” He says, and we make our way over to the swing.

  “Hey.” I smile as we sit down next to each other. He smells like the ocean again.

  We’re silent, letting the peace we bring one another fill the cracks in our lives.

  I clear my throat. I’m nervous. Why am I nervous?

  “Remember when we were, like, thirteen and fourteen and we would sneak out sometimes at night and meet at the Big Oak?”

  The Big Oak is this huge tree between our houses. It’s in the back, so our parents couldn’t see us from the house. We thought we were so clever and sly.

  He smiles, “Yep. Picnics in the dark.”

  I nod slowly and tuck my hair behind my ear, “Picnics in the dark.” I shift on the swing, making it creak. “I would bring a blanket and you would bring leftovers and we’d pretend our lives weren’t crappy.” I think back to those nights.

  We would lay on our backs and stare up at the few stars we saw peeking from between the dense branches of the tree. We would talk and laugh and sigh. It was wonderful.

  I hear Carter breathing and it’s soothing. He speaks, “Yeah, we’d talk about our futures and how we were going to run away from home and go get famous in Hollywood.”

  I smile. “Ah, yes. Hollywood. I forgot about that.” It’s funny how when you’re little you really DO believe anything is possible.

  Carter turns and smiles; the kind of smile I haven’t seen in a long time. It’s the smile of a little boy without the stress of a man. “Remember when we first got our drivers’ licenses? We would drive out to the old mining caves on Friday nights and smoke cigarettes and whine about our parents?”

  I nod and smile. The day we turned sixteen was fun. We have the same birthday, May 12th. We don’t smoke, but when we were sixteen, we thought we were cool and stole cigarettes from my mom.

  “It was beautiful out there…all those stars,” I say. The first time we went to the caves was the first time I really saw how starry the night sky was without the light pollution of the city.

  Those were good times. It was just the two of us. Just friends. Just trying to survive.

  That was just a few months before Carter beat his dad up. I remember because that whole summer, Carter had a nasty black bruise on his back from being hit repeatedly with a wrench.

  “Yeah,” he says, “the sky was awesome out there.”

  We’re looking at each other and it’s different than usual. Not weird, but not the same. There’s something in the silence. I can feel it.

  We don’t break our gaze. We don’t give in to one another.

  “So, how was your day?” I ask, because I have no other words.

  “Uneventful. Paranoid mom yelling at the TV all day. No issues.” He looks old when he says this and I wish I could hug him. “Yours?”

  I look out at the street and think about what happened at lunch today, “Crappy.” That’s all I say. My day wasn’t that bad, but the Whitney thing along with the money stress is taking its toll.

  We sit for a minute and I’m falling into our comfortable silence when Carter reaches over and gently wraps his fingers around my hand.

  My day just went from crappy to great.

  CARTER

  Sophie’s hand feels good in mine. She doesn’t pull away and that’s more than I deserve.

  We sit for a while, holding hands, rocking on the swing like an old married couple. It doesn’t bother me. It makes me happy.

  “Whitney’s asking about you again.” She says it softly, but I hear something else behind her words. I don’t know what it is.

  I sigh. “Sorry, that’s probably annoying. I’ll ask her to leave you alone.” I feel guilty all of a sudden.

  I shouldn’t feel guilty. I didn’t do anything wrong.

  Did I?

  Sophie and I have talked about Whitney before. This shouldn’t be as heavy as it feels.

  Should it?

  “No, no. Don’t say anything to her. It’s fine.” Sophie sighs, “Besides, if you call her, even to tell her to back off, she’ll just think you’re interested.”

  That something was there again in Sophie’s voice. What was it?

  I sigh, “I’m a jerk.” I lean back into the swing.

  Sophie ponders. “No, you’re honest. You told her how you are about relationships. It’s her fault for thinking she could change you.”

  I sit up.

  Hurt. That’s what I hear in Sophie’s voice. She’s…something. Mad? Offended? Sad?

  ….Jealous?

  I know it’s sick, but my heart skips a beat at the thought of Sophie being jealous.

  I don’t know what to say, so I say the stupidest thing that could come out of my mouth, “Talk to Evan lately?”

  Her hand tenses in mine and I immediately regret asking. I suck.

  When I first found out Sophie and Evan were together—during my crazed insomniac phase—I marched over to her house, walked right in, and proceeded to tell her all the reasons why she shouldn’t be with a guy like Evan.

  None of the reasons included me. Because I’m a chicken.

  I made her cry that night. Worst night of my life.

  She forgave me because she’s a better person than I am. But I’m an idiot for bringing Evan up again.

  “Noooo.” She says through her teeth. “Trying to keep tabs on my love life?” There’s so much venom in her voice I almost drop her hand.

  But I can’t, because I’m connected to her and she gives my life purpose.

  We’re both still staring at the road. “No,” I say.

  “Good, because that would be highly hypocritical.” She’s mad. About more than just the Evan thing.

  “Are you upset about Whitney?” Why did I just say that? It’s like I want to pick a fight or something.

  She pulls her hand out of mine and a piece of me dies. She turns to face me, mouth open, but not saying anything.

  Then I realize why I said that.

  Because I knew I was right.

  I’m a sick, twisted person. I knew Sophie was jealous and I wanted to goad her. I’m a jerk.

  Sophie composes herself then ope
ns her mouth again. “Whitney? No, Carter, I’m not upset about Whitney. Although I don’t know what you saw in her. She’s shallow and obnoxious and…just…wrong for you.”

  “Wrong for me?”

  She nods, “All wrong. All of your little flirty fan club members are! And you have the audacity to judge me for dating one guy—one freaking guy—who is, according to you, Your Majesty, all wrong for me!”

  She’s right, but I’m too mad to care. “He was wrong for you!”

  “So?”

  “So? You’ve got…stuff in your life that can mess with your head. And being with some dumb jock is only going to make it worse!”

  “So, what, then? My mommy’s a hooker so I’ve got to be a nun to compensate?”

  She’s so mad, I’m scared she’s going to cry. But I don’t stop.

  “No, of course not. I just think you need…someone…who gets it, you know?” I don’t know what I’m saying but my chest hurts.

  “No, I don’t know, because all I hear you saying is that I need to be with someone who ‘gets it’ but you can be with whoever you want!”

  I try to calm down and lower my voice, “But the difference is you were, like, into Evan. You cared about him. I’m not like that with Whitney…or any of those other girls.” I swallow and stretch my neck as I look out into the street.

  It feels sticky outside all of a sudden.

  “Why not?” Sophie asks.

  I have no idea. I really don’t know. I’m trying to think of some excuse I can spew at her but she sees through me. Of course.

  There’s a sharpness to her voice now. “Because if you let them get to know you then…what? You’re completely exposed? Vulnerable?”

  I think about it for a long minute, turn back to look at her and answer honestly, “Yes.”

  “Well, too bad, Carter! That’s what life’s about. There is no meaning in life unless you’re sharing it, really sharing it, with other people. So you can hide your past, and lie about your scars, and pretend all you want. But pretending you’re someone else with those other girls will never, never take away the pain!”

  Her voice doesn’t waver.

  We’re silent for a moment and I’m stunned. She just called me out. And, of course, she’s right.

  “I know.” My voice is low.

  We stop looking at each other and stare back out at the street.

  I sigh.

  She sighs.

  Minutes pass.

  “The same goes for you too, though.” I say this gently.

  We both lean back in the swing and slowly rock. “I know.” She says.

  She wiggles her hand back into mine without a word and it’s the best thing I’ve ever felt.

  We’re good again.

  SOPHIE

  It’s Saturday and we can’t go much longer without money. So, after three hours of prepping myself for an emotional train wreck, I call my mom. Or rather, I call Pete the pimp.

  “Your ma’s not with us anymore.”

  At first I think this means she’s dead.

  “She moved on. Wanted to go independent or somethin’ like that.” Pete sounds like he smells bad. “She broke my heart, your mama.”

  He’s a pimp so I don’t care. “Do you know where I can reach her?”

  “No, darling. Not unless you’d be willing to sub in while she’s gone.” His voice is dripping with nasty.

  “Pete, listen, give me her number and I’ll try to talk her into coming back to you. Sound good?”

  He doesn’t buy it, but he caves anyway. “I don’t have a number. But I hear she’s dancing at Low Lou’s these days.”

  Dancing, huh? Well, I guess mama’s moving up in the world.

  “Thanks.” I say and hang up on his smarmy face.

  My palms are sweating and my stomach is churning.

  I do not—cannot—go see my mother. It will tear my heart to look at her in person, see the ‘dancer’ she is, and the mother she is no longer.

  I need back up.

  “Michael!” I holler.

  He comes slinking down the hallway, half-interested.

  “Hey, I gotta go get mom’s paycheck downtown. Can you watch the kids tonight?” It’s not really a question, it’s more like an order. Michael knows it.

  “Her paycheck? You mean you gotta go get the cash she’s been collecting with her body.”

  Crap, he knows.

  I shouldn’t be surprised.

  “Yeah.” I say. “She’s dancing now, at Low Lou’s.”

  “Classy.”

  I nod, take a deep breath, and tuck my hair behind my ear. “Anyway, we need the money, so I gotta go. Are you good here?”

  “Yeah, but you should take someone with you. I hear bad stuff about that area. And you’re, you know, a girl.”

  It’s the most caring thing Michael’s ever said to me.

  I give him a slight smile. “Yeah, I’m gonna ask Carter to go with me.”

  I grab my stuff and head out the front door, but turn around at the last second. “Hey, Michael?”

  He looks at me.

  “Are you okay with…you know?” I shift my weight.

  “With…mom being a hooker? No. Of course not. But I don’t really think of her as my mother, ya know?” He shuffles his feet and looks around. “I’ve got you. We’ve got you. We’re good as our own little family or whatever.”

  My heart is warm and singing. “I love you.” I say, because I love his guts and he doesn’t hear it enough.

  “Ick. Just go.” He says, but he’s smiling. He loves me too.

  With that, I leave and knock on Carter’s door.

  He answers in only a pair of board shorts and for whatever reason I start blushing.

  He’s so muscular and…big. His long scar is fading. His other scars, the smaller ones that mark up most of his beautiful body, are fading too.

  Scars fade. I wonder if pain and hurt also fade.

  “Hey, Sophie, what’s up?”

  I pull my eyes away from his lovely body. “I need backup. I’ve gotta go see my mom.”

  “Nope.” He shakes his head. “No way. You are not walking into some prostitution den for cash. I’ll rob a bank before I let you do that.”

  His protectiveness should irk me, but instead it makes me feel safe. It takes me a second to respond.

  “She’s dancing now, at Low Lou’s. I just gotta get over there, grab some cash and get some contact info for her.”

  Carter hesitates.

  “Please?” I totally cheat and pout my lips and bat my lashes. He can’t say no.

  He sighs, “All right, lemme get dressed.”

  He doesn’t invite me in because he doesn’t have to. It’s our understanding. I follow him inside as he disappears down the hallway. I look around his house as I stand awkwardly just outside the living room.

  The ceiling is low, making the room feel darker and smaller than it actually is and the brown carpet is thin and worn.

  Around the living room I see familiar patches of drywall touch-ups from the various holes Carter’s father put in their walls. His temper didn’t always start or end with Carter’s body. Apparently the house took a beating as well.

  I enter the living room, the smell of baby powder and dust greeting me.

  Carter’s mom is there, on the couch, looking at me like I’m a piece of candy and she’s a five-year-old.

  “Carter stopped the flood, you know.”

  I don’t know, but I nod because she’s a ticking time bomb of crazy.

  She continues, “The milk, it spilled because of those darn rabbits, and it started filling up the whole house. I thought I was gonna drown in milk. But Carter’s a smart boy. He opened the back door and drained it all out. Chased away the bunnies, too.”

  I nod and smile. “That’s good to hear. I’m glad you’re okay.”

  Of course there hadn’t been any milk flood—or rabbits. But Carter goes along with the insanity because he knows it’s easier for her.

 
That’s love.

  I’d probably try to reason with my mom if she were crazy. I’d argue and yell and fight, until both of us were in tears.

  That’s why Carter’s a better person than I am.

  He sees her anguish and bends over backwards to make her world less frightening.

  “It’s all this mangled hair that makes me blind, you know? I keep trying to cut it all off, but Carter hides the scissors.” Carter’s mom grabs a hairbrush off the coffee table and tries to brush through her mane.

  Her hands are too shaky to be effective. They shake because of the pills. And the alcohol. And the craziness.

  I’ve seen Carter try to brush his mother’s hair. He’s so careful and patient, but she’s always yelling at him and struggling.

  “Let me, Mrs. Jax.” I slowly walk over to her, expecting her to throw the brush at me and accuse me of eating her daffodils or something. But she doesn’t.

  She smiles at me sweetly and holds out the brush. I tuck my hair behind my ear and take it from her soft hand.

  I remember Mrs. Jax before she was broken. She was sweet. Timid and shy, but sweet. My heart falls, because I know the old Mrs. Jax will never be back.

  I gently start brushing her tangled hair. It’s pretty and hasn’t lost any of its color yet.

  “Carter is a good man, Mrs. Jax. He loves you quite a bit.” I call Carter a ‘man’ and it doesn’t feel wrong.

  “And when Carter loves something, he is fierce about it.” I say the words before I realize they’re true. I run the brush slowly through the tips of her hair and continue, “He protects it…and cares for it…and devotes himself to it.”

  All true.

  I concentrate on Mrs. Jax’s hair as I think through my words. I’m trying to assure her of her son’s love. Because I know what it looks like when Carter loves something. I’ve seen him give his all to his mother.

  I’ve seen his love at work.

  Her hair softens with each stroke of the brush. “And Carter…he’s loyal when he loves. He always shows up and makes everything better. He listens, and he’s patient….”

  My eyes start to water and I swallow.