Her Feet in His Skates
Chapter 6
On the way back home, I'm still a blubbering mess, and my brothers keep saying they're sorry for doing that to me on what was supposed to be a good day.
I keep waving them off, wanting to be alone until Adam sits down next to me. I glance at him and his face, a completely blank expression on it. "Mom was really excited when she found out you were a girl," he says simply, half a smile the only hint of any emotion.
I look at him, confused as to why he's bringing this up. "She always said that she would finally have a mature person in the house." He looks at me when he completes his monologue, "It's not your fault that she died, Sam. Dad doesn't blame you, we don't blame you. Stop beating yourself up about this." I look away as my vision begins to cloud but Adam pulls me into his arms and allows my tears to soak his polo.
----
Later that day, Third and Kendall come over and we pull out a yearbook talk in alphabetical order about where everyone in our 319-person class is going to college.
When we get to Carter early on, the room tenses so much you could cut it with a butter knife, no matter how cliché that sounds.
We all have our reasons for hating Carter, besides the generic, "He's a fucking traitor for leaving when he did, blah blah blah." They're all different and no one has yet to share what exactly their reason is, myself included.
-flashback-
"Hey, Samantha," Carter says jokingly as I enter his house at the usual two hours before the game of the week.
"Carter," I reply. He looks at me for a second, almost trying to figure something out. I squirm under his gaze, "What?" I snap. He shrugs and plops down into his dad's recliner next to the sofa I just sat down on.
I can feel his eyes on me as he looks up at me every few minutes. "Carter if you're just gonna sit there and sta-"
“I’m leaving," he says, cutting me off.
"Wh-what?" I stutter, caught off guard by his interruption.
"Brampton offered me a guaranteed spot on the top line on their varsity team."
"So?" He looks at me, dumbfounded. I can't help but laugh at this. Brampton?
"Yeah, Brampton. How could I turn their offer down?"
"Oh, I don't know, Carter. Maybe a no would be a start! It's spring break. School's over in a month and a half anyway!"
"They offered me a scholarship too," he says nonchalantly.
"Sports scholarship and a spot that is competed for throughout the entire city of Chicago, guaranteed for a month, huh?"
"What the hell makes you think it's not an academic scholarship?!" He yells angrily, standing up.
I scoff, "It's Brampton and Carter. They don't have academic scholarships, dumbass. And I doubt you'd be able to get one anyway," I say quietly, willing the tears away.
"What? How are you not happy?"
"Why the fuck should I be happy?!" I yell. "My best friend since first grade is a traitor. To think I ever felt how I did."
"Excuse me?" He asks, surprised. I jump, not thinking he heard me when he clearly did. I shake my head, denying recognition of his question. There's an awkward silence for a few minutes as the pre-game begins, muted on the TV.
"Ya know, I was all cliché, before," I say, referring to a conversation we had had a few years ago about our cheesiness. His face, full of confusion, scrunches up like it always does when it doesn't know what the hell is going on. "A romance cliché. Feeling something toward your best friend," I rush, shoving my phone into my pocket and racing for the door."Tell the teams that I'm not up to it today."
I keep waving them off, wanting to be alone until Adam sits down next to me. I glance at him and his face, a completely blank expression on it. "Mom was really excited when she found out you were a girl," he says simply, half a smile the only hint of any emotion.
I look at him, confused as to why he's bringing this up. "She always said that she would finally have a mature person in the house." He looks at me when he completes his monologue, "It's not your fault that she died, Sam. Dad doesn't blame you, we don't blame you. Stop beating yourself up about this." I look away as my vision begins to cloud but Adam pulls me into his arms and allows my tears to soak his polo.
----
Later that day, Third and Kendall come over and we pull out a yearbook talk in alphabetical order about where everyone in our 319-person class is going to college.
When we get to Carter early on, the room tenses so much you could cut it with a butter knife, no matter how cliché that sounds.
We all have our reasons for hating Carter, besides the generic, "He's a fucking traitor for leaving when he did, blah blah blah." They're all different and no one has yet to share what exactly their reason is, myself included.
-flashback-
"Hey, Samantha," Carter says jokingly as I enter his house at the usual two hours before the game of the week.
"Carter," I reply. He looks at me for a second, almost trying to figure something out. I squirm under his gaze, "What?" I snap. He shrugs and plops down into his dad's recliner next to the sofa I just sat down on.
I can feel his eyes on me as he looks up at me every few minutes. "Carter if you're just gonna sit there and sta-"
“I’m leaving," he says, cutting me off.
"Wh-what?" I stutter, caught off guard by his interruption.
"Brampton offered me a guaranteed spot on the top line on their varsity team."
"So?" He looks at me, dumbfounded. I can't help but laugh at this. Brampton?
"Yeah, Brampton. How could I turn their offer down?"
"Oh, I don't know, Carter. Maybe a no would be a start! It's spring break. School's over in a month and a half anyway!"
"They offered me a scholarship too," he says nonchalantly.
"Sports scholarship and a spot that is competed for throughout the entire city of Chicago, guaranteed for a month, huh?"
"What the hell makes you think it's not an academic scholarship?!" He yells angrily, standing up.
I scoff, "It's Brampton and Carter. They don't have academic scholarships, dumbass. And I doubt you'd be able to get one anyway," I say quietly, willing the tears away.
"What? How are you not happy?"
"Why the fuck should I be happy?!" I yell. "My best friend since first grade is a traitor. To think I ever felt how I did."
"Excuse me?" He asks, surprised. I jump, not thinking he heard me when he clearly did. I shake my head, denying recognition of his question. There's an awkward silence for a few minutes as the pre-game begins, muted on the TV.
"Ya know, I was all cliché, before," I say, referring to a conversation we had had a few years ago about our cheesiness. His face, full of confusion, scrunches up like it always does when it doesn't know what the hell is going on. "A romance cliché. Feeling something toward your best friend," I rush, shoving my phone into my pocket and racing for the door."Tell the teams that I'm not up to it today."