Sophie & Carter

  I think he’s going to say something, but he’s interrupted by his mother’s shrill cry.

  “Carter! The aliens are back! I need more glass! I need more glass!”

  Carter looks defeated. “I’ll be right back.”

  I stop him, “No, let me.”

  He’s shaking his head, ready to argue.

  So I put on my stubborn face and use my mom voice, “I know the game, Carter. I can do this. You sit down and drink your coffee. Pretend you’re a normal guy who reads the newspaper in the morning and actually likes the taste of black coffee.” I smile and hurry to the living room.

  Mrs. Jax is crouched down in the corner, armed with a plastic vase.

  “Hey, Mrs. Jax. Carter said you’re having a problem with aliens?” I say this sincerely. Mocking her does no good.

  “Yes, yes. They’re everywhere and they want me!”

  I nod and look around purposefully. “Okay, here’s what we’ll do. I’ll tell Carter to get the glass, and in the meantime I’ll brush your hair, okay? Aliens hate hairbrushes, they won’t come near you.” I smile at her.

  She nods and I’m flooded with relief. I find a hairbrush and begin to tame her wild hair.

  “The aliens are real, you know,” she says.

  “I know.”

  “They’ve been in my head for years. Telling me lies.”

  This makes me sad. In a way, I’m sure it’s true. “That’s awful. Can you tell them to leave you alone?”

  Her hair softens in my hands.

  “Oh, sure. But they don’t listen. They’re in there good, you know?”

  “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Jax. That must be frustrating.”

  “It is! I mean, I could kick them out, but then where would I be?”

  I don’t know how to answer this so I say nothing.

  Mrs. Jax continues, “I’d be back to the monster, that’s where. And I don’t ever want to see the monster again.”

  She’s probably talking about some furry, orange thing that sleeps under her bed, but I respond as if she’s talking about Carter’s dad.

  “He was a bad monster.” I say, and I want to cry for all the damage the monster did.

  “Yes,” she says softly, “he was.”

  “You’re a good woman, though, Mrs. Jax. That monster can’t get you now.”

  Her hair is nearly finished.

  She sighs and leans her head back into me. “The rabbits would like you.”

  I smile and nod.

  CARTER

  I’m staring at the coffee cup like it’s a foreign object. Sophie brought me coffee. It’s no big deal. But it is.

  She loves me.

  It’s not the coffee. Or the fact that she’s brushing my mom’s hair.

  It’s not the notes she drops for me on the way home from school. Or the way she waits for me on the swing.

  It’s all of those things.

  And more.

  Sophie walks into the kitchen and eyes me curiously. I look dumb because I’m standing there, staring at my coffee cup, not doing anything.

  She smiles at me with her pretty face and my heart pumps faster.

  She knows all about me. And still she loves me.

  Moments pass between us without words.

  “I love you.” I blurt out.

  I didn’t mean to say it, but I don’t regret it. My face is hot and my hands are numb from all the blood rushing to my chest.

  Her smile doesn’t falter, she’s looking right at me.

  “I know,” she says.

  And we stand like that, staring at each other, for countless seconds. The silence is heavy, but in a safe way. Sophie opens her mouth as if to respond but my mother’s voice cuts through our moment.

  “Carter! I think there’s one in here!”

  We break our gaze and I exhale. Slowly I say, “I gotta go check on her.”

  Sophie nods and takes a step toward me. She puts her hand in mine and squeezes. Then she leaves.

  I stretch my neck and silently walk into the living room to help my mother, my heart still pounding.

  SOPHIE

  CARTER JAX LOVES ME. CARTER JAX LOVES ME. I know he loves me. And hearing him say it out loud makes my heart leap.

  I walk to school, bouncing, because I can’t seem to keep my feet on the ground.

  I didn’t say it back.

  Why didn’t I say it back?

  I love him. More than anything. Why didn’t I just tell him that?

  I’m an idiot.

  I’m an idiot with bouncing feet.

  The school day drags on. It’s seriously the longest day in the history of school. I’m impatient to get out. I’m going to run home and…do what, exactly?

  Pound on Carter’s door and declare my love?

  No, I’ll wait until the swing. I’ll wait until we’re swinging away our troubles and then I’ll tell him.

  School finally ends, and I hurry home. I do homework and make dinner and wait impatiently for bedtime. But it takes forever to get the Littles in bed.

  Chloe’s asking for a drink of water every fifteen minutes, Abram’s whining about watching more TV and Michael’s throwing a fit about how he’s almost a ‘grown up’.

  “Listen, Michael, if you’re referring to yourself as a ‘grown up’, then you’re still totally a kid. ‘Grown ups’ call themselves adults.”

  My words are lost on Michael, so he storms into his room and shoves his earphones in.

  I’m hurrying down the hall so I can get to the swing early when the phone rings. It’s Carter.

  “Hey, Sophie.”

  “Hey.” I know what he’s going to say. He only calls for one reason.

  “My mom’s freaking out so I gotta stay here tonight….sorry.” He sounds sorry.

  My heart falls because I had this great proclaim-my-love plan. “I’m sorry.” I say. What I want to say is ‘I love you’. But I don’t. Because I’m a coward. “Can I help you at all?”

  I can hear him smile. “No. But thanks.”

  We hang up and I feel lost. I pace around my house for an hour because my heart isn’t settled. Something’s wrong.

  I’m wrong.

  I feel…off.

  I’m sad.

  I’m sad because the boy next door loves me and he doesn’t know that I love him.

  I try to calm myself down and come up with a plan to trot over there in the morning with ‘I love Carter Jax’ written on my forehead.

  I turn out the lights and climb into my bed. My bed faces my window on purpose. I can see right into Carter’s room. I always leave my window open because it makes me feel closer to him.

  It seems like hours before I see Carter enter his room. He stares at my window. He can’t see me, he doesn’t know I’m awake, but he’s staring anyway.

  Because he loves me.

  Eventually he turns out his light and collapses on his bed. I look at his darkened room for a long time before I realize I’m shaking.

  My heart is pounding so hard I can see my chest hammering. Almost as if my heart is trying to reach across our yards and jump into Carter’s body.

  Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump.

  My pulse picks up even more and I sit up, realizing my restless heart won’t make it through the night like this.

  I get up and decide to sneak out of my house and tiptoe up to his window. I’ve seen this done on TV so I’m sure it’s easy.

  Instead of using my front door like a normal, sane, non love-crazy person would, I decide to actually climb out of my bedroom window.

  The execution is more difficult than my love-struck brain had imagined.

  For starters, the window screeches like a howling animal as I open it up far enough to fit my body through. Not exactly the stealth maneuver I was hoping for.

  And the four foot drop to the earth below would have been much more pleasant had I been wearing shoes.

  Did I think through the wardrobe thing? Of course not. I was too busy trying to keep my heart from lea
ping out of my chest and thudding over to Carter’s room without my body.

  So, no. I did not plan my sneaking-out outfit accordingly. Which is why I’m now standing, barefoot in the sticky mud beneath my window, wearing only a pair of gym shorts and a thin T-shirt with Snoopy on it.

  The wind rustles through the big trees, momentarily deafening all sounds of the night, as I look across the yard to where Carter’s window sits shadowed in darkness. His room seems farther away than ever before for some reason and I start to panic.

  Not because the darkness is frightening and the shadows are moving of their own accord. But because I cannot wait another minute to tell Carter I love him.

  So I make my way through our yards while the wind whips at my face and reminds me to grab a jacket the next time I decide to play Ninja Girl in the night.

  The grass and gravel in between our windows is wet and cold on my bare feet as I step through the night, but I don’t care. I’d walk on fiery coals if only to watch Carter sleep.

  When I reach his window I notice it’s open all the way, just like mine. It’s probably been that way for years.

  I’m not surprised.

  But I’m moved.

  We keep our windows open so we can hear each other, see each other, feel each other.

  Because we love each other.

  Thankfully, his window is low to the ground, making it easy for me to climb inside. The last thing I need right now is a short wall to scale and another noisy window. I quietly place my feet inside his bedroom and wait a moment for my eyes to adjust.

  I see him sitting up in his bed.

  He’s awake and, from the crooked smile on his face, not surprised to see me. Probably because my squeaking windowpane woke him up.

  So much for my “sneaking” out.

  I smile, mostly at myself for being so silly, but also because my heart is warm and happy now that I’m near Carter.

  We don’t say anything for a minute, and the silence is broken only by the whispering wind coming in from the window.

  I slowly crawl onto his bed, dirty feet and all, and scoot over to where he is. He looks at me curiously…apprehensively…but still I say nothing.

  I’m so nervous and happy and anxious and in love.

  It’s freaking me out—but in a good way.

  I tuck my knees under me and look at him for a long time, which he let’s me do without question.

  Finally I find my voice. “I love you too,” I say without breaking our gaze.

  My heart flutters.

  “I know.” He says, and he slowly smiles.

  My heart flies.

  My world has just become whole.

  CARTER

  I’ve never been happier in my whole life. Sophie Hartman loves me.

  I don’t know what to do.

  Do I kiss her?

  Can I kiss her?

  This is Sophie. She’s the most important person in my life. I can’t screw this up.

  So I reach over and take her hand in mine.

  She smiles.

  I look at our intertwined hands and warmth floods my heart. I lift her hand to my mouth and start to place soft kisses on her perfect, unscarred knuckles.

  She’s watching me, probably thinking I’m a moron.

  Which I am.

  But then she pulls her hand away from mine and a part of me dies.

  I feel like I can’t breathe and I’m pretty sure my heart has stopped.

  But she smiles again.

  “Carter,” she says, and I hold my breath. “Please can I just…” She looks at me intently and purses her lips.

  She’s the most wonderful sight I’ve ever seen.

  Then she kisses me. Not the big, sloppy kind of kiss you see in the movies.

  No, she presses her lips to my eyebrow—the one with the scar from a beer bottle.

  Next she kisses the edge of my jaw—the one that was so swollen in the sixth grade that I could only eat liquids.

  Then the bridge of my nose—broken more times than I can count.

  Then my chin—a steel-toed boot left that scar.

  She just keeps kissing my scars. Every scar. She knows them all. She watched them all appear and heal.

  “I never...” she says between kisses, “got to kiss your hurt away…” another kiss, “when we were little…” her lips move to my forehead, “and I always wanted to.”

  I might die of happiness.

  Her lips move down to the corner of my mouth. The man who is my father split the crease open with a steak knife one night because he wanted to see me smile. It left a permanent white scar.

  Her lips touch it gently.

  Sophie’s lips against me make every punch, every kick, every wound, every scar worth it.

  She pulls away from the corner of my mouth slightly and I’m perfectly still. Afraid if I move I’ll wake up.

  Her breaths are caressing my lips, my breaths are ragged and hot. She tilts her head to the side and looks at my mouth.

  Then I kiss her.

  In this moment, everything bad, everything painful, everything unfair disappears. It’s just me and Sophie. Connected.

  And I’ve never felt so whole.

  SOPHIE

  Three days later I’m sitting amongst my fellow classmates, all of us dressed in shiny robes, waiting to be called to the large podium set up under the basketball hoop in the gym.

  Graduation day is here.

  Other seniors seated around me are whispering and buzzing with excitement. Mr. Westley is trying, unsuccessfully, to gain the attention of the restless crowd and carry out a speech about ‘seizing the day’ and ‘carving your own path’ and ‘chasing your dreams’.

  The only dream I want to chase right now is the dream of getting out of this thick and heavy robe. My T-shirt and shorts underneath are sticking to my skin. And my skin feels muggy and trapped beneath the suffocating material of the robe.

  I really, really dislike the graduation gown.

  The gym is filled with people, making the vaulted room hot and stuffy. Parents, siblings and other miscellaneous family members line the walls and fill the bleachers. It’s a pivotal day for most people.

  Students around me are waving at loved ones in the crowd. Loved ones who’ve come to witness the oh-so-significant day of graduation.

  There are no loved ones smiling down on me, however.

  The Littles are in school and my mother (who is no longer my mother) probably doesn’t even know what year it is, let alone the fact that her eldest child is graduating high school today.

  I’m not saddened by this. Just aware.

  I look down the row of classmates seated next to me. Fifteen chairs away is Carter, stretching his neck and apathetically watching Mr. Westley. He has no family members here for him either.

  But he has me.

  I look at his handsome face and tilt my head. He looks like a man today.

  Not because of the robe—definitely not the robe. But because his face is filled with confidence and strength. And today he looks…content.

  And contentment looks good on him.

  He looks down the row and our eyes meet. He smiles without hesitation, and my face smiles back like a giddy schoolgirl.

  I love his guts.

  The ceremony continues. Names are called. Diplomas are handed out and there is much rejoicing in the land…or whatever.

  When the last name is called everyone throws their graduation cap into the air and cheers.

  Well, almost everyone.

  Carter and I spy one another and make our way toward each other.

  Around us, proud parents are snapping pictures of their graduates and adorning them with flowers and hugs. The chaos is joyful and filled with hope and power. I’m happy for everyone around me. I’m slightly jealous of their faith in the future, but I genuinely want them to ‘seize the day’, or whatever.

  I reach Carter’s side and look up into his face. He smiles at me and tries to shove his hands in his pockets. Th
e glossy robe is in his way, however, and his hands slide down its sleek fabric.

  I laugh softly, “The robes suck.”

  “Yep,” he smiles at me, “they do.”

  “Wanna ditch them?” I ask, half-joking, but he takes me up on it and unzips his, revealing faded jeans and a thin white T-shirt underneath.

  I laugh again as I take my robe off as well and finally allow my skin and clothes to breathe. We drop our gowns on the gym floor, leave them there, and start walking toward the exit.

  Carter breathes in deep. “So…we graduated.”

  I nod, “Yep.”

  “You feel any different?”

  I look at him from the side, “Yeah…” my eyes fall to his lips, “But not because we graduated.”

  He eyes me as well. “Me too.”

  We keep walking.

  Then, right in the middle of all our classmates—in the center of the crowded gym where teachers and parents and Whitneys and Evans are milling around—Carter reaches for my hand and holds it like it belongs to him.

  And it does.

  I smile as we walk out of our graduation ceremony, connected.

  CARTER

  I did something sort of cheesy this morning, before graduation. I hope Sophie likes it. She might think it’s stupid, but I don’t care. I’m crazy about her, and crazy people do crazy things.

  We’re walking, hand-in-hand, down the sidewalk toward our houses as the breeze blows. Sophie’s teasing me about this-and-that as we chat about high school and teachers and subjects we hope we never have to study again. It’s normal.

  It’s wonderful.

  My walk home from school has never been so…happy.

  We reach our houses and pause, hands still interlaced.

  “Okay,” I say, and of course, I sound like a moron, “I have a surprise for you…kinda. I mean, it’s no big deal…I just…here, follow me, I want to show you something….”

  Yep, total moron.

  But Sophie just smiles and plays along. She lets me lead her between our houses, through the yards, and out into the back, where the Big Oak stands guard over our homes and secrets.

  Underneath the Big Oak, I’ve laid out a big blanket and set up a picnic.