I don't even know if that's normal. If they usually get worse and worse like that. But then... Grandpa's been on her mind lately. The assisted living place threatening to kick him out and all. And me. I don't know where I'm going, but I'm definitely going to college somewhere so I can play ball. That has to be what it's about. Not that she's getting worse, but that she's stressed. I'd be stressed too if I had to worry about everything. I am freaked out about it.
So it'll get better. It always does. Just a phase. I have to find a way to deal with it until it's over.
After stacking all the boxes again, I head out to the main part of the store and get it all ready to open. Seriously, there should be some law against kids having to work in places their parents own. I'm probably the only guy I know who has to work in a place like this, which doesn't make my mood much better.
As the hours pass by and I realize she's not coming in, I come close to heading to the back to get in another fight with a stack of boxes.
My backpack sits under the table, but even though we're slow, I can't bring myself to open the stupid thing. It would take me triple as long as it usually would to get anything done when really what I want to do is find a way to live another life for a few weeks. Because it's three o'clock and she's still not here. Yeah, she'll come in later. Sure. Carter has nothing better to do than what everyone else wants.
The bell dings and I groan, not in the mood to play nice for old ladies looking for doilies or whatever they're called. I can't find it in myself to look up and greet them. It's a small store and pretty self-explanatory if you ask me.
"Hey there, Coach. You're looking awfully grumpy over there, scowling at the register."
My head snaps up and my skin starts to feel warm. "Just another day—holy crap. You look...different." Her hair is straight. Like so straight I wonder how it's the same hair that had just been so curly before. Girls are weird like that. There must be hair magic that only girls know how, or care enough I guess, to learn.
There's also a little sparkle on the side of her nose, and when she gets close enough to me, I realize it's a tiny diamond.
"Wow, you're good with the compliments. I bet you get all the ladies."
I'm in too much awe to respond to her dig. "I saw you less than twenty-four hours ago and you now have your nose pierced and new hair."
She shrugs. "In my defense, it's the same hair, just a different style."
I can't stop looking at her. The orange is so close to gone, now it just looks like light brown mixed in her dark hair. It's all shiny and longer than I realized it was before. It's kind of crazy because she's dressed like I would be on a day chillin' at home: blue Nike sweats and a white sweatshirt. I'm pretty sure Mel never would have gone out of her house dressed like Kira is now, but I like it. Maybe a little too much so I lean against the counter.
"How do you do it?" I hadn't planned on asking, but the question came out anyway. I've never known anyone like her. And I like her even though honestly, I'm not even 100% sure who she is.
"Oh, I didn't know you were considering a career in hairstyle. First I applied what's called a relaxer—"
"You know what I mean."
"Actually, I don't. What's up with you though? You look like Grumpy Carter, not Happy Carter. Don't tell me you're upset about Melanie."
"Argh." I rub a hand over my face. "No, I wish that's all I had to worry about."
She leans over the counter, her face not too far from mine. "And you would? Worry? That's why I said not to reply last night. It's obvious you still have feelings for her. Which I get, I guess, though I'm pretty sure she didn't deserve them."
"No. It has nothing to do with her. It's just..." My mom is a drunk. Wow. A drunk? I've never thought about her that way before. Grandpa is a drunk, not Mom. Is she? She drinks. She passes out, but she's not mean and she doesn't drink all the time. I'm not really sure if that makes a difference though.
"It's just what, Carter Shaw? What are your secrets?" She cocks her head to the left, studying me, like if she looks hard enough, she'll get the answers she wants. There's a part of me that wishes she could find them out. That she could see everything that's inside of me so someone else would know without my having to say it. That she could read and understand me more easily than I understand the stupid Shakespeare stories Mrs. Z wants me to decipher.
But then I realize there's no way I could be that bear with her. With anyone. Not even myself.
"Sorry to disappoint you, but no secrets here." The bell over the door rings, saving me.
"Sure." Kira plops down on the table and as much as I want to set her straight, to ask her what her sure means, I don't.
"How can I help you?" I ask the middle-aged woman.
After ten minutes helping the customer, it's only the two of us again. She's picking at her fingernails and it's then I realize that even though girls are different from each other, they're the same too. It's totally something Mel would have done—trying to look distracted, as if the last conversation we had isn't still stuck in her head.
"You started that English assignment?" Awesome job, Shaw. Leave it to me to bring up one of the things I want to talk about the least. I really, really don't want to write an in depth paper on the meaning of a stupid Shakespeare play, or sonnet and how it relates to something in my own life. I have so much trouble understanding my own life that I'm not sure I can compare something I don't get to it.
"Of course," she says. "Almost finished. Didn't I ever tell you I'm a genius?"
"Huh?"
"Okay, maybe not really, but yep, I'm a geek. I've never gotten anything below an A in my life and don't plan to start now."
I stare at her.
"Shocked?"
I don't know why I am. It's not as if she struck me as someone who's stupid, but I can't really match up a braniac with the girl who dyes her hair orange or dances on tables or who plays basketball in someone else's shoes. Nothing about her fits into any mold I've ever seen.
"Whatever." I'm aware that I'm pouting, but not sure why. "I probably won't do it. It's stupid anyway." The words always take me more time to understand, but when I feel like this? Like I'm drowning in my own life? Those are the times I just want to walk away from it.
"Yes, you will. If not for anything else, but for basketball."
"Whatever," I mumble again before I start packing up one of the shelves of knickknacks. Mom always keeps a "to do" list at the store and she wants these replaced with something else.
Kira sighs and then I hear her get off the table and walk over to me. "Coach...you need some help? I'm here. If need me for anything."
She's so not talking about work, but I'm going to pretend I don't know that. I'm good at pretending. "Sure. There's a box in the back labeled Forest Friends." Which is probably the stupidest thing I've ever heard, but that's beside the point. "Want to grab it for me?"
She smirks, obviously not believing me, but she replies with, "Sure."
I get everything packed up and she's still not back. Figuring she couldn't find it, I head to the stock room to check on her. Kira fumbles when she hears me, whipping around and shoving something behind her back, but it's too late. God, it's too late in more than one way, but for now I can only focus on the fact that I saw it. That I know what she has in her hands. Which she somehow knows I won't want to see.
It's like voices start battling inside my head. Mine making excuses, Mom's making promises, Bill's making threats. They're all fighting, yelling to top each other so much that I feel like my head could explode. Then Sara's voice creeps through. Her cries when she has nightmares. Her laughs when she plays games with Mom.
I want to cry. I actually want to fucking cry. My hands itch to play ball. My feet itch to run. My head itches to block out the voices and to disappear inside itself.
I can’t believe it. Or I don’t want to. There has to be ano
ther excuse for a half empty bottle of liquor to be in my mom's stock room. At her work. Her store. Oh, God, how can she be drinking at work?
No matter how much I search for an excuse for the bottle to be there, there's none, but the truth.
"It's mine," I blurt out. "I forgot it was there. I hid it when my mom came in."
Kira's hand drops to the side so she's holding it next to her. I fight the urge not to rip it out of her hand, break it and smash it over and over, like that will somehow change things. When she drinks Vodka, I used to dump out half the bottles and add water, hoping it would lessen the affect. Nothing ever worked. She always had more. Breaking this one won't do a damn thing either.
"It's yours?" She eyes me, not flinching the way I want to.
"It's mine." I hear her chanting Liar liar pants on fire in my head.
She opens her mouth like she's going to say something, then closes it again. Shaking her head, she walks up to me, shoving the bottle into my chest so I'm forced to grab onto it.
"I hope you know what you're doing, Coach." Without another word, she walks out.
Chapter Eleven
It's crazy how easy it is to avoid someone you live with. I guess it helps when they're probably avoiding you, too. She knows that I know. Not about the bottle at work, but from our phone call. About the way she spent her day. I'm pretty sure she knows something about Grandpa, too. She had to have seen the missed calls, which means she would have called them back. They would have told her I went down there.
But still, nothing. No knock on my bedroom door. No promises that it won't happen again or vows that I don't have to work in the store. No Chinese food for dinner. It all makes me even angrier. Maybe it's cruel of me to want her to feel bad for what she's done and to try to make it up to me. I deserve at least that, right? Is a little remorse too much to ask?
I can't stop seeing that stupid bottle. In my head, I'm repeating the words about it being mine over and over again, when, really, I want everyone to know it's hers and that she's letting it take her over in a way she never did before. I want everyone to know I'm trapped in the middle, the worm in the bottom of a Tequila bottle, wrong on all sides of me. I just want to do the right thing, but it's always out of reach.
Without my usual bowl of cereal, I wait for her in the morning. It was a last minute decision. The coward inside me wanted to pretend it didn't happen, but then I saw one of Sara's stupid Barney dolls and remembered I'm her brother and it's my job to look out for her.
Man up, I keep telling myself, and now it's time to do it.
"Oh. Carter, you startled me," she says as she walks into the kitchen. I don't reply. She starts making her coffee and I just stand there, arms crossed, picturing the bottle and her voice and how she looked laying in her bed.
I want to grab her and shake her and tell her I'm tired of it. That I don't want to do it anymore, but I can't.
Holding her cup, she leans against the counter and stares at me. She knows I'm upset and I almost revel in it. Mom bites her lip. Takes a drink. Shifts the way she leans from one side to another before she finally talks. "About yesterday...I just want you to know I had a bad day. I'm sorry,. I won't—"
"Do what you want, but not when Sara is here." A bad day? A bad fucking day? How many bad days have I had lately? No, how many has she given me and I still deal with it. I don't turn to a bottle. I can't listen to it. Can't hear any promises because even though I know better than to believe them, I want them to be true. "Sara comes home today. She doesn't deserve it."
Mom nods. Water pools in her eyes and her hand starts to shake. Before she can make me feel guilty, I walk away. As soon as I open the front door, Sara bursts in.
"Carter! Carter!" But she doesn't take the time to stop to talk to me. She's too busy. Too much to do, so she keep running down the hall and to the kitchen.
With the door closed behind me, I cut off Bill before he can start. I know what's coming next anyway, considering it's been a few weeks since the last time he shoved me further in the middle of Mom's drama. "Everything's fine. There's nothing to worry about. I'd never let anything happen to Sara."
"Carter," Bill calls , but I keep walking.
"I have to go, Bill. I said nothing's wrong. I'm just having a bad day." But I'm sober, regardless.
In my truck, I can't help but laugh at my lies. Nothing is fine. There is something to worry about. But the one truth I always know is nothing will happen to Sara. I will always make sure of that. Somehow I'll make everything is fine. I won't let there be anything to worry about.
***
Monday, I'm able to avoid Kira pretty well. I look around for Travis, but he's not here. I text him and he replies that he's skipping, which totally isn't cool. I'd rather be anywhere but here. Still, he's taking a big risk, one I'm kind of surprised about because if you get caught skipping, you can't play in the next game.
Unfortunately, I can't avoid Mrs. Z who wants to know how I'm doing on the-assignment-that-shall-not-be-named to which I pretend I'm working hard on it. The rest of the week it's not as easy. Kira keeps talking to me in class, which is cool and I want to talk to her, but I keep seeing her dark hand wrapped around that damn bottle. I can't stop wondering if she thinks I'm a drunk. Why else would someone stuff a bottle in a hiding place like that?
Mom's easier to avoid, because she's doing the same. I catch her looking at me, which makes me feel like shit, so I try not to look at her at all. But it's all I think about. Her, Sara, Bill, even Mel because I keep getting death stares from her all week at school. All of it takes up the space in my head, pushing basketball and school work out of the way.
I have to pay attention to Mom to make sure she will be okay, for Sara's sake.
Friday rolls around and I'm not sure how it got here so fast, but it's a game day, so I'm pumped. Practice is great, but there's nothing like a game to make everything else go away. Somehow we managed to score two Friday home games in a row.
"You have plans after the game?" Travis asks as we're tying our shoes in the locker room. "It's like, I don't even see you anymore." He fakes a cry. "Like, we're not boys anymore or something. I miss you, man!" Travis moves in like he's going to hug me. Laughing, I push him back.
"You're such an idiot."
"Is it someone else? Tell me you haven't found someone else!" He's laughing so hard he hardly gets the words out. It feels good to laugh. I haven't really felt like it all week. When we settle down enough to talk, he speaks again. "Seriously though...we're both single now. Let's go out. Have fun. Be wild. Meet girls. Kiss girls. You know, like back in the day."
And I need it, but the thing is, I'm not really in the mood. Which makes me all sorts of lame because what guy in his right mind doesn't want to go out on a Friday night? "Let me talk to Mom after the game. Make sure..." everything is okay. "She doesn't mind."
"Sounds good. Let's go kick some ass."
***
It's halftime and the wrong team is kicking ass. It's killing me because we don't lose. Not like this, and by the way everyone on the team is looking at me, I know they think it's my fault. I'm playing like crap. Can't get my head in the game. Mom always comes to my home games and she's not here. My eyes won't stop scanning the crowd for her and Twig, willing them to be here. Needing them to be here so I can stop wondering if something's wrong. Stop seeing her passed out in her bed, this time with Sara there and me losing a game instead of protecting her.
"Shaw? You okay tonight?" Coach yells at me during the timeout.
No...No, I'm not. "Yeah, I'm good." Stay or go? What will happen if I walk out of the game? I'll lose basketball, that's for sure. The selfish part of me is too scared to take that risk.
"Take a little break," Coach tells me. "Michaels, go in for Shaw."
Everything in me wants to fight the decision. This is my team. My game, and I'm never pulled out because I can't get
it done, but right now, I can't.
I fall into the chair, burying my face in my hands. My leg is bouncing up and down like the rabbit in the deer movie Sara watches. I don't even notice the last minutes of the half tick by until I hear the loud buzz letting me know it's halftime. I'm the first one on my feet, needing to get to the locker room where my phone is.
"Carter! Carter!"
Sara's voice makes all the tightness evaporate out of my body. It's almost too much, my whole body going limp in relief. I turn to see her walking up to me with Kira. Not Mom. Just Kira and Sara. Without a thought I jog over to them, Sara's on her way toward me too.
"Carter!" she says again.
"Hey, Twig. About time you got here." Does my voice sound calm? I need it to sound calm, even though, inside, I'm freaking the hell out.
She wraps her arms around my waist and I look at Kira, pleading with her to answer the questions I can't say out loud. Is she okay? Why isn't she here?
"The store was crazy busy. Your mom worried about me staying without her so she talked to Lana, and let me come with Sara."
Sara steps back. "Kira can drive like you!" The rest of her words are a jumble of excitement that I don't understand.
"Not as good though, I'm sure." I wink at Kira, needing to joke so I can calm myself.
"Shaw! Stop flirting and get into the locker room!" Coach yells.
I look at him, then back at the girls. "I gotta go. You guys are good?"
"Carter! Carter!" Sara cheers for me, her ponytails flopping around.
"I gotta go," I say again, and start running toward the hall.
"Coach!" I turn back to Kira.
"Don't worry. Everything's good." She looks at me for a few seconds, her eyes trying to tell me something I'm not sure I understand. "I promise."
I let out a deep breath, somehow believing her words. Even though she doesn't know everything, she would know if something's wrong.