Free Carter Finally Gets It by Brent Crawford Page B

Rock’s new movie, I would know that he had saved the day. But with these damn art movies, she may have told him to drop dead and that she was really a man after all that. I’ll never know because we have to get out of here! It stinks really bad, and I don’t want Abby to have to hold my hair when I start puking.
    She’s not talking; she’s so pissed at me for farting on our first date she’ll never talk to me again. And she’s totally going to tell everyone, and I’m going to have to transfer to a religious school where they can’t judge me. Dang it, I’m never going to have sex! I’m definitely not getting another good-night kiss. Actually, I don’t think I’d be interested even if she were offering.
    We’re walking out toward the parking lot when she starts sobbing. “Carter, you have to say something! I’m so embarrassed, I want to die!”
    “What, why? Just because you puked back there? Nooo,” I reply.
    She laughs. “Oh, Carter, don’t make jokes.”
    “I’m not joking, you shouldn’t be embarrassed. I’m the one who detonated the T-bomb and made you ralph,” I confess.
    “No, that wasn’t you. It was that big guy next to me! You didn’t smell the first one because you were in the bathroom. I had to cover my face with my shirt. But that second one. It was just so strong and vile!” she cries.
    I was honest. I told her it was me . . . once. But I see no reason to beat the point to death. She’s in much too fragile a state right now to listen to who did what and when, so I just let it slide . . . literally!
    I give her a kiss on the cheek (I don’t want to get too close to her puke shooter) as her mom pulls up, and I say, “I’ll see you on Monday,” because I want the memory of this date to die down before we talk again.
    “Okay,” she says as she shuts the door.
    I give her a wave as they drive away, and then drop another earth shaker. Man, I need to see a doctor!
    I flip off the Taco Belle with both hands as I ride by, but then I realize I’m hungry and still have a couple bucks burning a hole in my pocket that could start burning a hole in my colon instead. I’ve got football practice tomorrow, and nothing’s funnier than ripping a Taco Bell bomb in the huddle. Nobody can scream or run away, because Coach’ll freak out and yell, “You boys need discipline!” and we’ll have to run until we puke, so they just have to stand in the stench and cuss under their breath, “Who the . . . ? Aww!!! Not cool!” I never thought I’d actually look forward to football practice, but here I am.

13. Kindergarten
    Sometimes I can’t sleep. I just can’t shut down the mainframe. Images zip around in circles. The trick is to take some deep breaths, try to clear my brain out, and focus on one thing. Girls in bikinis usually does the trick, but tonight even that isn’t working. I know better than to bring naked girls into the picture. They get me focused, but not on sleep.
    I can lie awake for hours sometimes, staring up at the cottage-cheese ceiling from a bed that’s clearly too small for me. My feet hang ten inches off the bottom. I don’t fit anywhere.
    I was thinking about hairstyles earlier, and a joke Abby told me about leprechauns before the movie. Then I tried to figure out why Andre doesn’t like me for a while. I smash my head into the pillow a few times, and now I’m focused on what Coach said to me during our first game. How life is going to pass me by because I’m always dreaming. I wish I was dreaming right now. I think I do a pretty good job of hiding the fact that I don’t know what’s going on most of the time. I really do try hard, but then I forget to try hard for a second, and it all falls apart.
    I’ve been in high school almost a month, and it’s nothing like I thought it would be. Life just goes on. I thought there would be this click in my head and everything would make sense. But so far, nothing! I’m the same stupid, scared kid I’ve always been. I feel