Freeing Carter

"Yep. I know it was. I've met like three different girls since then!"

He sounds like Travis when he's speaking, but something is different. His face is sort of tight. Maybe it's just that he hardly ever wears his hat like that.

"Oh, Orange. Twelve o'clock." He nods his head behind me. I turn and see the top of an orange head above the crowd. It's faded a lot since yesterday. I'm assuming she spent like three hours in the shower trying to get that crap out. Now it's more like an orangish-brown leaf instead of a carrot.

No matter what color it is, she's not tall enough for her head to be over the crowd like that. "What's she doing?" I ask, as if Travis knows more than I do.

"Don't know. Let's find out." He starts weaving his way through the crowd with me at his heels. The closer we get I realize she's standing on a coffee table. Standing isn't the right word, she's dancing up there, like she's in her own little world. It's not really a fast song, but not a slow song either, but her body is swaying back and forth to the music. Her eyes are closed, so lost in what she's doing that I wonder if she's made herself think she's alone. I could never do that—block everyone else out like that. Well, I guess I kind of do when I'm playing, but it's different.

Kira turns, puts her arms above her head and shimmies. There's a group of people standing around the table, watching her, but I know she's not doing it for them. She's doing it for herself.

She's wearing a leather-looking skirt and a short shirt. A sliver of caramel skin on her stomach shows when she lifts her arms.

"Wow..." Travis says from beside me.

I can't find the words to reply.

A guy jumps up behind her, wraps his arms around her waist to try and dance with her. My feet start to carry me forward, but I stop when she pushes him down, then gets right back to what she's doing.

The song fades into something louder, harder. She jumps up and down to the beat a couple times and then leaps to the floor. All the people around her are talking to her, but I can't hear what they're saying. She smiles at them all, replies to a few, but starts walking our way.

Once she gets through her crowd of admirers her eyes scan the people before landing on us. Or me. Or us. I'm not sure.

"Fancy seeing you here." I'm not sure if she's talking to me or Travis, but I'm hoping it's me. She wipes her forehead and I swear, it's never been so sexy to see a girl sweat before. Back up, Shaw. You still have a girl. Stop calling this girl sexy.

"It's a party. Not like we'd miss it." Travis answers her. She turns to me.

"Are you a party animal, Carter? You don't seem the type." Her voice is light, flirty.

I hold up my soda. "Nope. I'm benched."

She smiles, grabs the soda out of my hand and drains it. "Thanks, Sleepy. Though I'm not sure I can call you that anymore. I'll have to think of a new name for you."

I'm struck dumb. I can't think of anything to say. My name is Carter? Why do you need to come up with a new name for me? All of it makes me sound like a loser so I nod, which I'm pretty sure has the same affect.

"Good game, guys. Congrats on your first win."

"Thanks."

Travis has suddenly started talking to someone else who walks up. It shouldn't, but it makes me happy. I’m not sure why, but I want this girl all to myself right now. Which is all kinds of dumb. Might make me an asshole too since my girlfriend is somewhere at this party, but it's not like I'm doing anything wrong.

"So does that mean you're going to come to the games? Now that you know we won't embarrass you?"

"Ugh! I guess. Thanks a lot. Normally I'm not really a sporty-kind-of-girl, but I actually enjoyed it a little. Now you're giving me a personality complex."

I'm pretty sure she's always had one. It's on the tip of my tongue to ask her what kind of girl she is. She's not a sporty girl, not a cheerleader. She dances on tables and would rather walk than get a ride. She doesn't even dress in the same style two days in a row or keep the same hairstyle or color for long. Does she know who she is? I'm dying to find out.

"Everyone should love basketball. You should be happy I'm making you love it. It's the only place in the world I can totally lose myself."

Holy crap. I can't believe I just said that.

She puts her hand on her hip, looking thoughtful. "And why would you need to lose yourself, Carter Shaw?"

All sorts of lies start popping into my head. Covers for what I meant. Jokes to play it off, but I can't make any of them come out. Instead I go back to my earlier method of making myself look like a loser by standing there and doing nothing.

"Let's bail!" Travis grabs my arm, pulling my attention away from Kira. "A couple guys are going to start a game outside."

My limbs start feeling jumpy, ready to let loose on the court.

"You just got done playing. You guys are obsessed."

Nope. Not obsessed, but definitely needing to clear my head. This girl makes me feel like I've been drinking more than caffeine and sugar tonight. "You don't get this good by not practicing." I wink at her, feeling a little more like myself, but also knowing it's a good thing for me to get away from her. I might not know what's going on with me and Mel, but I do know I do not need to let myself get wrapped up in someone when l have a girlfriend.

"Catch ya later, Kira."

"See ya, Carter."

***

It's not a challenge to play ball with a bunch of drunken, or at least buzzed, people. But it's definitely fun. My cheeks hurt from laughing so hard at all the times everyone except for me has landed on the ground, tossed the ball over the backboard when going in for a layup, or even bounced it off the rim, hitting themselves in the head.

These are the kinds of drunk people I can handle. Kids are supposed to screw up and drink, right? I mean, that's what being young is about. Screwing up and learning from it. By the time you hit Mom's age, you're supposed to know better.

Speaking of... "I'm done!" I call out.

"What? Are you wussing out on us?" Travis replies.

"Nope. I'm going to find my girlfriend." Which I don't really want to do, but I guess it's time, right? Even though she's ditched me all night, somehow it will be my fault so this way, at least I can say I tried. But that's after I do what I really stopped to do.

Walking toward the side of the house, I pull out my cell phone, hit the number two and wait for it to call Mom. It's eleven, but I know she's up. She usually reads or watches TV in bed until I get home. Well, when she's sober she does.

My heart rate picks up a little, jumping from the already accelerated beat from playing. Will she be sober? But then I remember she will. She told me it wouldn't happen again and Mom wouldn't lie to me.

"Hellllllooo."

Ice freezes across my body. That one word. That one hello changes everything because I know what kind of greeting it is. It's not a tired hello. It's a drunk hello. I hear it in the tone of her voice. The way she drags the syllables out. That's all it takes.

"Mom?"

She pauses before saying, "Hey!" Her voice is a little clearer, but it's too late. I already know.

I feel like there's a basketball shoved in my throat. Like my heart has multiple personalities, switching between a rapid beat and wanting to stop all together. How could I have thought she'd quit? Or quit for me, I mean.

Somehow I find a way to exhale a breath around the basketball. As long as she meant it when Sara's home, that's all that matters. She never really promised to quit all the time. Just with Sara.