Текст книги "Freeing Carter"

Автор книги: Nyrae Dawn

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Copyright © 2012 by Nyrae Dawn

All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval systems, without prior written permission of the author except where permitted by law.

Published by

Nyrae Dawn

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No matter your battle, this book is dedicated to everyone fighting to be free.

Acknowledgement

Thanks so much to my friends and family. My beautiful little girls. My critique partners Wendy Higgins, Kelley York and Jolene Perry. Another huge thanks to the people who pre-read this for me: Kristy, Andrea, Valerie, Jen, Janette, and Mary. You ladies rock.

Chapter One

"Carter," Mom mumbles as I struggle to carry her up the stairs. "I'm sowwy."

I tighten my grip around her waist, not surprised she sounds like a three-year-old. Still, it's not a fun thing to go through. Every time I come home to this, it's a fist to the gut. Like someone's tied my hands behind my back and is swinging at me. Like my mom is punching me in the gut over and over until I'm puking up blood.

But the kicker? I know how sorry she is.

This isn't what she wants, who she is, or who she wants to be.

People think alcoholics are violent. They don't hold down jobs or they're out drinking every night. No offense to the people who believe that, but they don't know jack. Sometimes, people do it to deal. Because fate sat down and decided, 'hey, let's see how much shit we can throw at this person before they break.' Before all the skinned knees and bruised limbs keep them from getting up after one last fall.

At times like this, it feels like Mom is broken, but tomorrow she'll be fine. 99% of the time, she's the one taking care of everyone and everything, so I tell myself, once in a while, I can be strong enough to take care of her.

"It's okay, Ma. Let's get you to bed so you can get some sleep."

It's always like this when Bill, my sister's dad, takes Sara for his part of the joint custody. It's hard for Mom to let her go. Just another way life dealt her a bad hand, in her mind. Which I don't get. He only lives five streets down and it's not like Bill isn't a good guy. He loves Sara just as much as she does. He would have loved Mom too, but she could never get over losing my dad.

On the last stair, our feet tangle. "Shit." Both of us almost dive headfirst into the landing, but I manage to catch us. Luckily she doesn't seem to notice. Probably thinks we're on ride at the fair. Mom's always liked the rides.

Getting my footing, I head toward her room. Even half hanging in my arms she's out cold, snoring in my ear, the scent of alcohol burning deep into my memory and stinging my nose. When I finally make it to her room, I lay her down. She kicks her foot when I try to pull off one of her shoes. "Come on, Ma. Let me get your shoes off."

My voice seems to soothe her because she stills. "Tommy," she sighs. You'd think it would be strange to hear her moan my dead dad's name, but she does when she gets like this. I'm the closest thing she has to him.

One shoe drops to the ground, followed by the other. I pull the blanket up to her chin.

"Carter...sowwy. Love yooou." Then it's another snore. My stomach wants to retch like I'm the one who took a few too many Tequila shots tonight.

This sucks. Sucks so fucking much. But what am I gonna do? Tomorrow she'll be fine and I probably won't have to worry about this again for a little while. It's not often she drinks the whole time Sara's gone, even though that's the only time she has to do it. And when she does it? It's always this. I'm pretty sure there are people in the world who were never meant to touch alcohol. She's one of them. She can't do the one-drink thing. One always turns into two, three, four, and five.

Another lesson I've learned: you don't have to drink every day to be an alcoholic. Even though I hide it, even though I never bring it up to her and act like it doesn't happen, I know this isn't normal. Most people will never in their lives have to carry their drunk parent to bed. People always say it's good to be different. Screw that. I want to be like everyone else. And when Mom isn't drinking, I can pretend I am.

I bend over and kiss her forehead. "Night, Ma. I love you, too." Blood pumps fiercely through my veins, but my voice is calm. My whole body itches, like it's about to bust out of my skin. Who was that Avenger guy? The Incredible Hulk—it's like that. I want to burst free from myself. Transform into that big ass green guy and thrash whatever's in sight.

It's after ten at night, but I don't care. I can't sit in my room—in this house where the air is thick with the tang of alcohol. A scent no one else would notice, but one that makes me want to explode. My basketball is waiting by the door. One scoop and I have it in my hand, slamming it into the ground bounce after bounce until I'm in the driveway.

I dribble, spin like someone's guarding me, shove off an invisible player then run at the basket. As soon my feet are off the ground, I'm free. There's no one but me, the ball, and the basket. No tangy scent, no tears to make me feel guilty for being angry. No sister who always smiles because she's sheltered from the shit that rains down on us. Which is what I want, by the way. Her to be sheltered. Sara doesn't deserve the clouds. I want her to have the sunshine.

When the ball slides through the hoop, I catch it and start again. Over and over I run at the basket.  Free throws, three pointers, lay-ups. My feet slam against the pavement the way I want to throw my fist through a wall. Sweat stings my eyes, but I keep going. Keep going until there's nothing left in me to give.

***

"Carter fucking Shaw. What's up, homey?"  Travis nudges me from behind, then rubs his eyes. I, on the other hand, am trying not to laugh my ass off at him.

"Homey? Did someone forget to tell me it's 'Back to the 90's' day or something?"

Travis twists his Kings hat around backward. "Homey is a cool word. I already brought sexy back, so now I'm bringing homey."

"Dude, you can't bring the Kings back, what makes you think you can bring back homey?" I flick the hat off his head.

"Whatever." Travis shoves me, but I'm too busy laughing at him trying to pick up his hat to care. When he retrieves it, he slides it back on, and by then we're at our lockers down senior hall. "So, what's up? Where's your girl? Did she loosen the leash enough to let you walk to your locker by yourself?"

All I have to do is give him a look and he nods his head, knowing his girlfriend, Trina, is just as bad as my Mel is. What is it with girls? Is it too much to ask for a little room to breathe? The thing is, it might be different if Melanie were ever really here when she's here, but she's not. Don't get me wrong, I know Mel is into me, but she's into herself more. I pretend not to notice because, honestly, it works all right for me. I have enough to deal with.

Right as the first bell rings, Mel and Trina join us. It's a reminder of one reason I stick around: Mel is hot. A little less so because she's hot and she knows it, but not enough to take away the fact that she's gorgeous. I'm pretty sure it's a California State law that everything has to look good on Mel. Her red hair is long and straight just like her legs and unlike the short skirt she's wearing.

"Hey, baby," she says, taking my mouth. I let the kiss linger, sucking the strawberry gloss off her lips.

"Hey." I'm not sure if she even hears me because she's already saying something to Trina. Like a basketball, Trina passes back to me, Mel's attention shifts again.

"Carter, your hair is messy and your jeans are all wrinkled. You look like you just rolled out of bed." She grabs for my hair, probably planning to try and flatten it, but I kind of jerk my head away before she can touch it.

"Rawr. I just wanted to help."

Ugh. I hate that. If you aren't a pissed-off cat, you shouldn't make noises like one. "Sorry. Didn't sleep well. Got up early." I shrug.

The halls are starting to clear out by now. We all have the same first period, so we start down the hall together. I make myself hang toward the back.

"Come on, baby. We're gonna be late," Melanie says.

"Yeah, baby. Hurry your ass up," Travis teases.

I flip him off. "Go ahead. I gotta check on something."

A few seconds later, they're gone. That's how easy it is. I'm not sure if it's because I'm good at pretending everything's perfect or they don't pay attention, but it's never been hard to keep my secrets. Sucks to know the one thing I'm good at is lying. Well, lying and basketball.

When the halls are silent, I dig my cell out of my pocket and dial, that familiar punched-in-the-gut feeling teasing me.

"Delilah's Hideaway, this is Delilah speaking."

The internal knot loosens. All it takes is one word, the sound of her voice over the phone. One quick glance in person and I can tell if she's had a drink that day. So far, she's fine. If I hadn't been too chicken, I would have known that this morning, but I couldn't make myself stay home long enough to see her. "Hey, Ma. Just wanted to tell you I might be a little late this afternoon. Is that okay?"

Another lie. What I really should say is, I needed to make sure you weren't too hung over to leave the house, but that would be acknowledging the big, dark secret we pretend doesn't exist.

"Sure, kiddo. You don't even have to come in, if you don't want. I don't mind staying all day."

In other words, she feels guilty, which makes me feel guilty. It's not her fault. If her dad hadn't been such a jerk, or my dad hadn't died, or Sara didn't have problems, she wouldn't be so stressed. She wouldn't have to work so hard or need to get away in the only way she can.

"No, I don't mind." But then I think better of my answer. Being at work is better for her than being at home. She can't drink at the store. No one knows how she gets. What she does. Our secrets belong to me and the walls of our house. It’s the only place she ever drinks. "Unless..." Like most of the time, I don't know which way to go. What's the right thing to do? Everything in my life is different shades of gray, so for now, I wing it. "I'll call you later and let you know, k?"

"Okay." Pause. "I love you, Carter."

"I love you too, Ma." And I do. There is no doubt in her words, either. Does it make it harder or easier? I don't know.

I hang up my phone and run to class.

The morning crawls by like only a day in school can. By lunch time, I'm already dragging, my eyes burning because I stayed up way too late last night. I'm a sleeper. Nothing better than letting the world go black for hours on end, but when my mind is racing, my blood rushing, it's impossible. When I have a bad night, there's a switch in my head that won't turn off. I hit the button, but it doesn't shut down, overflowing my head with all the crap I don't want to think about.

"Carter, why are you so quiet today?" Mel squeezes my leg. We're eating outside, which is the only place we eat when we stay at school. There are a ton of tables, but we always take the spot on the hill. Trina keeps a blanket in her locker so she and Mel don't get dirty and we always chill here.

"I told you, I'm tired." I rub my eyes.

"You sleep like the freaking dead. I don't know how you can be tired."

I shrug because there's no  answer I can give her.

"You should come over today after school. My parents won't be home. We can take a nap, then maybe do some homework or something." She lays her head on my shoulder. This is the Mel I like. The one who makes things easier instead of more work. It's not often she isn't pointing out all my flaws, or worrying about what everyone thinks. So when she goes through this little transformation, I savor it.

"Maybe. I might have to go to the store and help my mom." My fingers thread through her soft hair and I close my eyes. These are the moments I can be the Carter everyone sees. My problems are gone and I'm the guy with the hot girlfriend, good friends, and who is known as the basketball God. Right now, all I know, all I feel, is her softness.

"You're going to mess up my hair, baby." Mel ducks her head away and grabs my hand instead. "And that's why you're tired. School, working with your mom. What are you going to do when basketball practice starts tomorrow? Your mom shouldn't make you work. It's kind of selfish."

Spell broken.

Softness gone.

Walls up.

I toss a quick glance at Travis and Trina. Travis is trying to pretend he can't hear us, but Trina's eyes flick back and forth between the two of us. I don't care. "Not all of us are spoiled, Mel. Mom isn't trying to torture me. She needs my help."

"Why can't she hire someone else?"

"Why do you give a shit?" I feel like the Hulk again. All itchy and tight in my own skin. My mom-defenses rear up. She doesn't understand how hard it is for Mom—holding it all together and running her own store. Mel's mom has never had to work a day in her life. I mean, it's not like we're poor or anything, but we're also not loaded like Mel..

"Why do I care? I'm your girlfriend, Carter. I'm just looking out for you." She rolls her eyes.

In her own way, I kind of think she is. Still...I also know Mel looks out for herself more than anyone else and she doesn't want to be known as the girl with the boyfriend who's never around.

I stand up. "Whatever. Just don't bring her into it. She doesn't make me work. I do it because I want to."

Travis stands up, too. "All right, All right. Simmer down, you two." He pats me on the chest. "Shaw didn't get his beauty rest last night so he's a grump. Mel, kiss him and make it better or something. You guys are seriously screwing with my chill right now."

As soon as he finishes, the bell rings. Mel rises to her feet, Trina right behind her, before saying, "Whatever," and walking away.

"Uuuugh. Thanks, bro. Now I'm going to have to hear it from Trina, too. Don't you know if Mel is mad at you, Trina is mad at me by default? This is what happens when I have your back. Now I'm going to have to kiss T and make it better...oh, wait. Why am I complaining? Makin' up is fun."

Travis laughs, making me laugh too. "You're such a douche," I tell him.

"Aww, I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me." He pretends to wipe his eyes while we head back into school.

I'm dragging my feet because I really don't want to go to English today. Actually, I don't want to go to English any day, but especially today. "You ready for practice tomorrow?" I ask.

"Yep. Senior year. We're going to own it." We own every year, but he's right. This one is going to be the best. Electricity zaps through me at the thought of getting on the court again. Hearing the crowd scream for us. Knowing it's the one thing that's mine. There's nothing like it.

"Coach said he's heard talk of scouts coming to check us out."

"Obviously, we're the shit."

We laugh and slip into class right before the bell rings. I take my seat in the back corner of the room behind Travis. Sinking into the chair, I fit myself so I'm right behind him as though it will somehow make me invisible.

"New girl, twelve o'clock," Travis mutters.

It's more like one o'clock, but who’s counting? There's a girl standing by the door wearing some long hippie-looking skirt and a pair of combat boots. She's kind of exotic looking, with light brown skin and tons of thin, long black braids with purple tinting here and there. She's thin, but curvy in all the places girls should have curves.

Cute. Not the most gorgeous girl in the world, but definitely cute.

She hands a sheet of paper to Mrs. Z, who skims over it briefly. "Class, this is Kira. Kira, this is the class." Mrs. Z smirks. She's cool. Too bad she teaches, English, the worst class in history.

"You can sit in the back. Take the empty desk next to Carter, the guy with the messy brown hair." She points to me. "You might have to give him a kick once in a while because Mr. Shaw likes to fall asleep in my class, but other than that, he's okay."

Kira smiles before walking back and falling into the seat beside me.

"Don't worry, I don't kick too hard," she whispers at me.

Looking to the side, I smirk. "I fight back."

"Okay, then I do kick hard. That way you can't get up."

A laugh kind of tumbles out of my mouth. Her words surprise me. "I'll remember that."

"Good idea."

Mrs. Z starts talking and I slide back down into my seat. I miss half of what she says, trying to keep from falling asleep. I don't know how they expect anyone to stay awake through Shakespeare during normal circumstances, but I'm functioning on about an hour and a half of sleep here.

All sorts of stupid Shakespearian names start blurring together. Crap about symbolism and metaphors no one really understands anyway. My struggle to keep my eyes pried open gets harder and harder until the bell ringing jerks me awake and I realize I lost the battle.

Kira is standing up, pulling on her lime green backpack. All sorts of different pictures are drawn on it with marker.

"You didn't kick," pops out of my mouth.

She shrugs. "Figured I'd give you a pass. I've heard it's not nice to kick people on your first day."

Travis slips up next to me. "Hey. I'm Travis. Welcome and all that stuff. Sorry, but I gotta steal my boy before I go crazy because his girlfriend won't stop blowing up my phone."

I fight a groan.

"Actually, I'm going to steal 'your boy'," Mrs. Z's voice sounds from beside us. This time, I really can't hold it in. Just what I don't need right now. Travis nudges my arm and laughs. Kira is right behind him as they sneak out of class. Me? I'm trying to slow down my jack-hammering heart.

"So...basketball starts tomorrow?" Mrs. Z sits on my desk.

"Yep. Senior year. Have to make it count so I can get into a good college next year." College is a good thing to throw into a conversation like this, right? Suck up a little.

"Good grades will do that too, Mr. Shaw. You're not doing so well in my class. Missing assignments."

My heart pounds harder. Don't do this. Please don't fucking do this. "I'll get my grade up. Extra credit. Whatever it takes."

She sighs. "Carter, is there anything you want to tell me? I can help. If I can't, I'll find someone who can. You're a smart boy. There's nothing wrong if you don't underst–"

My hands tighten into a fist. "It's fine. Everything's fine. I don't need help. I'll fix it. Whatever I have to do, I'll fix it." My voice sounds as tight as my fists are. I can't lose basketball. Can't.

"You need to fix it because if you don't, I can't let you play. I know how much you love basketball and I've seen you on the court. I know how good you are, but there are more important things. One of them being your education."

A breath finds its way from my lungs. No questions. No lies. "I know. I've been screwing around, but I won't anymore."

She gives me a quick nod and holds a folder out to me. "It's early in the year so it shouldn't be hard for you to get on track. I shouldn't...but I'll let you make up your missed assignments. If you do that and keep track of what we're working on now, you'll be okay."

I take the folder. No, things are never okay. Not for long.

Chapter Two

I let Mom cover at the shop tonight. With the way I feel about basketball and everything else, there's no way I can be there, helping little old ladies pick their favorite candle scent or a book on poetry. Sometimes I wonder if Mom wants to be there because she knows it will be easier if she's working late and not at home where it's easy to grab the vodka she keeps hidden in a box, under my old baby blankets in her closet. Is that a sign, I wonder? If there's some way I've driven her to this place in her life—where she wants to forget everything so instead of grabbing a basketball, like I do, she chooses to get lost in a bottle.

My backpack sits under the hoop on the far end of the court. Each time I run that way, see it sitting there with the work I know I should be doing, I push harder, run harder. My cell is going crazy, ringing and beeping every two seconds. But instead of answering, I jump, letting the ball roll off my fingertips just right. It arcs in the air, hitting nothing but the bottom of the net.

Five more minutes. Then I'll go over to Mel's to apologize, then head home to bust my ass learning Hamlet and reading books that will have no effect on my life whatsoever.

My muscles are tight, Mrs. Z's words from today slamming into me.

Mom's apology from last night taunts me.

Instead of grabbing the ball, I start running lines. From one side of the court, to the free throw line, and back. Three point line and back. Half court, and then owning the other side too. By the time I'm done, my lungs ache, but in a good way. My way. Not giving a shit that I'm in the middle of a public basketball court, at a park, I collapse on the ground, one arm covering my eyes.

The warm pavement feels good against my back, seeping through my shirt. There's a part of me that's screaming at my muscles to move, to make myself get up and do all the stuff that I don't want to do, but nothing happens.

My phone goes off again. Mel's going to kill me. I need to talk to her. It's not her fault I was in a bad mood today. Not her fault I stayed up all night then took it out on her. In a way, she's like basketball for me. An escape. Maybe a much moodier escape, but one all the same.

As soon as I make the decision to get up and go see her, I hear a voice.  "Second time in one day I could have kicked you. You sleep a lot."

My arm drops. Kira is standing above me, the setting sun peeking out from behind her. "I didn't fall asleep in art," I say. "That has to count for something." She'd been in my art class this afternoon too. "And I'm not sleeping now. Just resting." I stand up.

"Yeah, you were in the zone out there."

"Practice starts tomorrow. Just getting ready." I look around to see if anyone else is watching that I didn't know about. We're both quiet for a few seconds. I'm not sure what to say to this girl I don't know, I lift my arm to scratch my head instead of talking.

"Is the team any good? At my old school they sucked pretty bad. It was embarrassing."

This is something I can talk about. "We're the best. Probably take the conference this year, at least. It won't be embarrassing to cheer us on."

She laughs, and I wonder what I said that's so funny. "I'm not the rah-rah kind of girl."

I take a step back, my eyes darting to the ground. Words lost to me. It takes me a minute, and then I wonder what I'm doing. Why am I letting myself clam up like I've never talked to a girl before? Raising my head, my eyes find hers. "That's because you've never had me to cheer for." I wink at her, playing the game.

"No!" she shakes her head, laughing. It's a real laugh. Not one of those fake I-want-your-attention laughs. "Don't do that. Bring back the guy who was so into the game. The one who obviously loves what he's doing and actually cares about something. Don't be a stereotypical, cocky teenage boy."

My mouth opens. Closes. Opens again, but nothing comes out. The urge to scratch my head again comes back, but I don't let myself do it. Who is this girl? I've talked to her for a total of like 2.2 seconds my whole life, and she talks to me like we're long lost buddies or something.  Am I slipping? No. Just lost step a bit. "I'm allowed to be cocky because I'm good. I can back it up. You'll see once you watch me play."

For the millionth time my phone goes off. Mel, she's who I need to see right now. I'll get lost in her, make up for being a jerk earlier, and then get down to the folder in my backpack that I don't want to see. "That's my girlfriend. I better go. You need a ride anywhere?" The words just come out, but I regret them afterward. Mel will kick my ass if I let this girl in my car. Drama is the last thing I need.

Luckily for me, Kira shakes her head. "Nope. It's a gorgeous day for a walk. Plus, I don't take rides from strangers." She winks and walks away, leaving me behind to wonder what just happened.

***

"I'm sorry." The words jump out of my mouth the second Mel opens the door. "I was being a jerk earlier. I just...I had a really bad night, but I shouldn't have taken it out on you." This is something I don't like admitting, even to myself, but there's a piece of me screaming to break free that wants her to ask me what happened. To ask why I had a bad night so I can tell her. Actually speak the freaking words that are bottled up inside me like a shaken up coke can. Once the top is popped, I'm scared it will all burst out, spilling over and making my life sticky—more of a mess than it already is.

But that would mean needing her. Showing her I'm not the guy she thinks I am. Not an option for me. Probably not an option for her, either, so even if she does wonder, I know I can't tell her. Even if I could do it to myself, I couldn't do it to Mom.

She looks at her nails, studying them in mock-nonchalance. "You're right, you shouldn't have. Basketball starts soon. Cheerleading, too, and on top of it all, you work. We'll never see each other and when we do, I don't want to spend that time fighting with you."

I step forward. My voice drops a little. "I know, baby. I said I'm sorry. Forgive me?" I wrap my arms around her neck. When she nods against my chest, I let out a heavy breath. I need this...the dose of normal Mel gives me. Or, at least, to pretend or make myself forget Mom, forget the homework.

She lifts her face, giving me permission to kiss her. The second our lips touch it takes me away and makes me forget the sound of Mom's voice when she said she was sorry. The look on her face when I wrapped my arm around her to help her up the stairs. Behind the bloodshot eyes, I saw her—the real her that hates herself for what she does.

Forget that I can lose basketball. The only thing that means as much to me as Mom or Sara.

Trying to push those thoughts away, I deepen the kiss. Mel's hand weaves through my hair before she pulls away, kicking the door shut behind her and leading me to her living room couch.

An hour and a whole lot of making out later, I come up for air. "I should go," I tell her. "I have a ton of homework to do. Gotta keep my grades up for basketball." Keep them up, not pull them up, because Mel doesn't know how badly I'm flunking English.

"No." She kisses me again. "For one second, forget basketball." Another kiss. "Homework can wait. I'm more important. Let's go upstairs."

It's me who kisses her this time. I know I shouldn't, but I do exactly what she says.

***

I don't get home until 8:45. My backpack still taunts me, whispering that I should have come home earlier. There's so much work to do in English alone that I'll never get caught up if I don't start now.

Mom's blue Toyota sits in the driveway. She can't have been home for very long since the shop closes at eight. Still, nervous energy skitters through my veins. Adrenaline, but not the good kind that makes me feel like I can fly on the court. More like the one that overdoses me until I feel like puking. Or having a heart attack. Or both. No matter how much I know she's not an everyday drinker, or how much I know an episode like last night usually buys me some time before it happens again, I still think about it every day. Always wondering which version of Mom I'm coming home to.

"Mom?" I push the door closed and head toward the kitchen. Luckily, it doesn’t smell like alcohol, but Chinese food. My stomach growls. I could so go for some Chinese right now. She knows it's my favorite.

"Hey, you." Her voice is high-pitched and way over excited. "How was your day?"

That cracked-out feeling slips away with those two sentences. This is Mom. Guilty Mom, but still Mom. "Good. How about you?" I head over to where she's standing, Chinese food on the counter in front of her. "I'm starved." When I reach my hand for the carton, she playfully smacks it away.

"Sit down. I'll fix you a plate."

Now this isn't normal. Mom's an equal opportunity employer. I've been carrying my weight—hell, more than my weight—ever since I can remember.

Guilt. That's what this is. Does it make me a jerk that I'm going to sit my butt down, let her fix me a plate, and enjoy it?

Tossing my backpack to the floor by the table, I fall into one of the red and black checkered chairs. After putting a huge plate of pork fried rice, chow Mein, and sweet and sour pork in front of me, she sits down.

"My day was okay. We were pretty busy, which is always good."

Mom's store is kind of a mish-mash of any and everything. She sells books, those little knickknack things that people put all over their house for no reason, some arts and crafts stuff. She paints and sells some of her stuff there, too, though she hasn't been doing it much lately.

"Cool." I shovel a mouthful in.

"What about you? Anything new? How's Melanie doing? I don't see her much."

That's because I try to keep her away. Not that I can say that. For some reason, it just doesn't feel right having Mel around my mom. I'm freaked Mel will figure me out if she spends too much time with her. Plus, Sara doesn't really like Mel, which is crazy because Sara likes everyone. Not that Melanie's exactly kid-friendly, if you know what I mean.

My shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. "She's busy. School, cheer's starting."

We're quiet for a few minutes, but it's the good quiet. One where I don't feel darkness tingeing the corners of it. Right now, I can just chill, none of the weight trying to crumble me.

"Speaking of cheer...I know that means basketball, too. I've been thinking; it's your senior year. I want you to enjoy it. With school, your friends, and basketball, working at the shop might be too much."

My eyes snap up to hers. "Huh?" I've always, always worked in the shop. Not every day. Usually we split the evenings. Mom will bring Sara with her or they'll spend the evening at home and I work. It's the way things have been for a few years.