A Forte Unseen c3c4e

A FORTE UNSEEN

ABBY JORDAN

Copyright © 2015 Abby Jordan.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock. Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

ISBN: 978-1-4808-1717-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-1718-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015905122

Archway Publishing rev. date: 4/6/2015

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

CHAPTER 1

I awoke. I think that’s one of the best feelings, if you’re not being forced to get up on a school morning while you’re still dazed and your body is still craving more sleep. To just slowly wake up to nothing but peaceful bliss, or in this case, the muffled buzz of chatter coming from my back porch. I wondered how many of our family friends had arrived to our cookout so far as I rolled out of my sheets and took a shower in record-breaking time. The smell of burger over charcoal slowly wafting its way through the house made my mouth water as I buttoned up my baby-blue collared shirt and pulled on a pair of khaki shorts. Mama’s friends always made such a fuss over how I dressed like “such a gentleman,” and this evening would be no exception. I bounded up the stairs from my basement bedroom and walked out into the foyer of my house just in time to hear Coach Bossert’s big, booming voice greeting my family, just as excited to see us as he was last time he came over, and the hundreds of times before that.

“You been stayin’ outta trouble, AJ?” Coach Bossert chuckled as he shook my hand.

“Trying to.” I answered. “How’s the team looking?” And so the evening’s conversation began. Small talk at my family’s cookouts always seemed to revolve around football among the men and neighborhood gossip among Mama’s friends. I followed Coach Bossert out to the grill while listening to him talk excitedly about lineups and plays.

Dad was manning the grill, absentmindedly flipping burger patties and talking to Mr. Davis when he heard Coach Bossert approaching. He perked up instantly at the sight of his childhood best friend. “Hey,Keith!” he said as he shook Coach Bossert’s hand. The two went back and forth for a minute, picking on each other

for every gray hair and extra pound, the way men do.

“Dad, you need any help with the grill?” I finally asked.

“Eh, I think I got it,” he answered. “Thanks, son.”

“Well, if you change your mind,” Coach Bossert butted in, “Chase will be more than willing to help.”

“Ah, Chase! Bring him out here,” Dad said, excitedly. “I bet the squirt has grown another foot since I last saw him. Maybe I can show him the work I’ve been doing on the old Ford out in the garage.”

“He’d love it!” Coach Bossert said, graciously. “That boy can’t get enough of anything with a motor on it.”

“AJ,” Dad said, turning back to me, “Will you go get Chase and send him out here? And ask Mama if she needs help with anything in the kitchen.”

I nodded and smiled as I spun on my heels to make my way back inside. I felt that gnawing again, the one I always tried to push away the second it washed over me. The feeling that kept me up at night, tossing and turning, wondering if everyone in the world thinks I’m fragile and breakable, like a child. I wondered, if I’m not strong, will I ever even truly be a man? It leaves me so anxious that I find myself physically shaking at times, wishing I could shake the thoughts out of my head as quickly as the trembles rack my body.

“Hey, baby,” Mama said as she kissed me on the cheek and handed me stacks of paper plates and cups. “Can you go set these out on the porch and patio tables? We’re gonna need lots of silverware, too. Most of my small group girls are gonna be able to make it!”

“Oh, AJ. You’re such a sweetheart,” Mrs. Bossert gushed. “I can’t even get Chase to fix his own plate at supper. He’s too busy playing with his toy trucks, or running around in the yard with a muddy ball.”

“He’s all boy, that’s for sure,” I laughed. “Where is Chase?”

“Right here!” Chase squealed as he slid into the kitchen in his sock feet, Tonka truck in hand.

“Go see my dad outside. He’s got something to show you.”

The child sprinted out the back door before I could get another word out, just as our company began coming in the door in a steady stream of ladies in sundresses, most of them with a husband on their arm or a child on their hip. The Ellisons from church were first, followed by Ms. Cranston and the Neeleys from Mama’s small group. The cutest three year old I know, Brianna Glaze, came tottling in before her parents even made it up the porch stairs. Ms. Carmen, my mom’s cooking class instructor, made her entrance carrying a homemade banana pudding. Mrs. Mauldin, Mrs. Fennel, and Mrs. Geer, three neighborhood mothers with equally annoying eight year old girls, arrived together. In my head, I referred to them as “The Feds,” because they were always in everyone’s business. Mary and Bill Hall, Dad’s high school friends and drinking buddies, straggled in with windblown hair from the ride over on their matching Harleys.

As more and more people filled my kitchen and living room, the conversations and laughter all around me began to improve my mood. My parents throw such lively parties that oftentimes, I get taken back to a simpler time and place – one where I was the kid out in the yard with the muddy football. In that world, I was strong, life was good, and the possibilities were endless. It’s nostalgic and heartbreaking all at the same time, but if Mama has taught me anything about being a good host, it’s that you must remain in a happy mood.

“Look at you, AJ!” Ms. Carmen beamed, looking me up and down. “You are so grown up, and a gentleman at that!” The Feds echoed their agreement.

“Thank you, ma’am.” I smiled as I reached down to hug her, and, gesturing down to the banana pudding that she was still holding, I added, “Looks good!”

“AJ, look at my toy twain!” said Cade Harris, as he tugged on my shorts. At two years old, the child had wandered through my house and found me without any help from his parents, who were already making their way out to the patio.

“Oh, I love it,” I replied, picking him up. “You’ve gotten so big!” I shifted him over to ride piggyback on me as I ed plates and cups out on both the indoor and outdoor tables. It was always entertaining to watch the different people interact at these parties. The Feds usually stayed huddled up off to the side, watching and gossipping and holding their daughters close by. Mary and Bill sat outside, beers in hand, laughing at everything my dad had to say. All the church people sat together, just enjoying each other’s company, or doing a great job of faking it. Others came and went, ing by each group after making small talk for a while and eventually settling somewhere in between, content to watch the children play. I gazed out past the tiki torches and patio chairs to see Cade, who had jumped off my back as soon as he caught a glimpse of Brianna Glaze, clumsily making his way over to her. He sat down next to her on the edge of the pool and dangled his feet into the water, mimicking her. The two looked off into the distance, past all the surrounding houses to where the Blue Ridge mountains

could be seen against the fading blue sky at this time of day, and I smiled thinking of how their parents had always joked about the two of them ending up being high school sweethearts. I turned my attention to the far corner of my backyard to a picturesque view of Chase and Coach Bossert throwing the football back and forth, the best form of father-son bonding, with Matthew Ellison occasionally butting in. I knew Coach Bossert was probably already picturing those two third-grade boys bringing home a state title their senior year of high school.

“Hi, AJ,” a familiar voice chimed, startling me from behind. I turned to see Madeline Fuller grinning up at me. Her thick brunette waves had been tamed into perfect tresses that cascaded down to her waist; her eyes were the kind of brilliant blue that could look right through you. These days, it seemed she was more and more striking every time I saw her.

“Hey, Madeline,” I answered, embracing her. Turning towards her parents, I added, “Y’all made it just in time.” Mr. Fuller shook my hand and Mrs. Fuller came swooping in for a hug even quicker than her daughter had. She gushed over me until I could feel my face turning red, and, as if on cue, my dad interrupted all the evening’s conversations to let us know that dinner was served.

Flipping the last burger patty off of the grill and onto a tray, Dad called, “It’s ready! Y’all come wash up and we’ll say the blessing.”

“All the fixin’s for the burgers are inside,” Mama added. “AJ ed out the plates earlier, so everyone just pick a spot – there’s a table inside for anyone who wants to get out of this heat.”

Gracious remarks sounded from our guests and the chatter resumed, as kids raced to be first in line to fix their plates and their parents politely stood back.

Mr. and Mrs. Fuller went to claim their spots next to my parents, but Madeline hung right with me as I fixed my burger, filled up a glass with Mama’s sweet tea, and loaded a heaping spoonful of Ms. Carmen’s banana pudding onto my plate. We sat at one of the patio tables with most of the rest of the kids, and Madeline was just a little too eager to grab my hand when it was time to say the blessing. Before Dad could say “Amen,” I could feel her drawing little circles on the back of my hand with her thumb. As we opened our eyes to eat, I avoided eye with her, trying to act oblivious to whatever she was doing.

I’d known Madeline my whole life, and she had always been friendly, but lately I’d noticed she was becoming more and more flirty towards me. It was like we couldn’t be around each other anymore without her doing something to suggest she was starting to feel more than friendship towards me – her pulling me in for the hug first and holding on a half second too long, giggling at something I said that wasn’t even intended to be funny, paying me compliments that she never had before. It suddenly seemed that she was much more concerned with what I was doing, where I was, and who I was with than she had been previously, and to the point that it felt odd, almost overbearing. Hoping she wasn’t looking, I snuck a glance in while she was sipping her tea. She has gotten pretty, I thought, and we’re so much alike. Oh, and our parents would be overjoyed if we ended up together.

And then I felt my phone buzzing in my pocket. I quickly pulled it out, Madeline watching me carefully. I saw her crane her neck slightly to look at the phone screen, and she read the name at the exact same time as I did.

“Carrie Wardlaw.”

And suddenly, all my gentleman-like manners disappeared, all my melancholy thoughts of earlier were gone, and Madeline wasn’t even a consideration. A phone call from Carrie could take me away, just like that.

I pushed back from the table without excusing myself and headed quickly back inside my house, slipping downstairs, unnoticed.

CHAPTER 2

“I’m home!” Carrie squealed as soon as I answered.

“How was your trip?” I asked, pacing my room the way I do when I’m on the phone.

“Great,” she breathed. “I’ll tell you all about it when I see you. Can I come over tonight?”

“Of course!” I answered, maybe a little too excitedly. “But we are having a cookout, so it might have to be a little later than usual. Sneak in just like always.”

“Midnight?” she asked.

“Midnight,” I affirmed, grinning from ear to ear and I knew she could hear my smile through my voice. I looked in the mirror after we hung up and shook my head at myself. I was far too excited to see her, but I didn’t care.

The rest of the evening could not have dragged on any slower. Suddenly completely disinterested in the cookout, I was bored and the anticipation of seeing Carrie was killing me. I tried to be polite and still make conversation with Madeline, but my mind was obviously elsewhere and I probably seemed distant. Nobody else noticed my preoccupation – the kids were busy splashing around in

the pool or running around with the football and the adults were busy laughing over stories of the good ole days. Madeline, however, was clearly bothered. She ed me as I got up from the patio table and moved to the porch swing to watch the Braves game on TV. When it wasn’t football season, baseball would usually suffice around here.

“They’ve had a little too much to drink,” Madeline prompted, gesturing towards the tables of parents and family friends. “If my mom has a couple more margaritas, we’re gonna be carrying her home.”

“Not like it hasn’t happened before,” I laughed. “Good thing y’all live next door – it has sure come in handy all these years at all these parties.”

She laughed harder than she should have. I turned my attention back to who was up to bat on the big screen as she turned to face me. “I love your shirt,” she said, reaching out to lightly touch my arm. “Blue is your color.”

“Thanks,” I responded, feeling like I should say something more but not knowing what to say. I smiled at her, realizing she probably needed to be reassured that I was paying any attention to her at all. “I probably should go clean up a little bit,” I added, looking for something to the time that didn’t involve forced interaction with Madeline. I rocked forward and slid off of the porch swing, looking back to see her staring blankly at her phone screen. “You should go play with Brianna – she loves you,” I said, trying to help her make use of herself.

She nodded, smiling up at me. “Are you trying to get rid of me, AJ?” she asked, sarcastically.

“No!” I answered, probably too quickly. “I just wanna go ahead and get a head start on cleaning up so I can go to bed early tonight. I’m exhausted.” I really hoped she couldn’t tell that I was making up my excuse for my antisocial behavior on the spot.

“You’re such a grandpa,” she laughed, finally getting up to walk down to the pool where Brianna was running and jumping off of the top step in the shallow end. I watched Madeline as she went, hugging and smiling at everyone that she hadn’t already talked to as she ed the tables of adults. She then continued on her way, kicking off her sandals when she got to the edge of the pool. She pulled her dress back to keep it from getting wet as she sat down and dipped her toes in the water, immediately pulling out her phone.

I went inside, enjoying a little bit of peace and quiet as I gathered up all the plates, cups, empty bags of chips and juice boxes that had been sucked dry and tossed them into the trash. I divided up the leftover burgers, baked beans, and banana pudding into styrofoam boxes, one for each family to take home and enjoy for lunch the next day. I watched the last of the brilliant pink and orange Carolina sunset disappear as I wiped down the counters and by the time I finished washing dishes, it was almost ten o’clock. Household chores always seemed to be so much less of a pain when I was trying to the time until plans I had made with Carrie. A few of the families with younger children began ing back through my house, gathering up their kids’ toys and other belongings and saying their goodbyes for the night. The older ladies all came in for one last hug from me before they thanked my parents and headed home as well.

“AJ, can you grab me a beer?” Coach Bossert asked as he opened the door behind me.

“Yeah,” I answered, pulling a Corona out of the bottom drawer of the fridge. I walked with Coach Bossert, following him from my kitchen through the screen

porch and back down onto the patio. Mama, Mrs. Fuller, and Mrs. Bossert were sitting together at a table, ed by Madeline. Mr. Fuller and my dad were standing around the fire pit with Mary and Bill Hall, and the Mr. Ellison had finally ed his wife in trying to calm down a very hyper Matthew. Chase, always the more well-behaved of the duo, was sitting calmly by the fire roasting marshmallows on the end of a stick.

“How are you, AJ?” Coach Bossert asked in a much lower voice than he typically used. I fully expected him to turn and walk towards the fire pit where the crowd was, but he kept going out towards the pool.

“I’m good,” I answered, walking right with him.

“You liking your new truck?” he grinned at me, knowing he didn’t even need to ask. For my birthday back in April, my parents had surprised me with a blacked out F150.

“Yes sir.”

“It’s hard to believe you’re driving,” he said, shaking his head. “I the day they brought you home from the hospital. I had you running around with a football by the time you were three, I was pulling you on skis on the lake by the time you were seven …” he trailed off, and I could tell by the misty look in his eyes that he was reminiscing.

“Yeah, you’ve always been like my second dad,” I said. And I really meant it.

“It’s been an honor, AJ, watching you grow up into the young man you are,” Coach Bossert said, “which is why I wanted to talk to you.”

“What’s up?” I asked.

Coach Bossert stopped pacing back and forth on the pool deck and looked me dead in the eye.”I wanted to let you know that you always have a spot on the team,” he said.

My heart felt like it was in my throat. Although this offer was something I probably should have seen coming, I couldn’t have been more blindsided. Coach Bossert being the head football coach at Will Owen High School, the school that everyone in this town not only attended, but loved dearly, usually felt like such a convenience. It was easy to get the inside scoop on what was going on, especially with the team. If I ever needed anything while I was at school, all I had to do was find Coach Bossert and say the word; dozens of times had I been asked if I was his son by teachers and students who weren’t from around here. But suddenly, I found myself wishing that he wasn’t in the position as to make me such an offer.

“I can’t play,” I pointed out, breaking the silence by completely stating the obvious. Of course he knew I couldn’t play. He had been just as devastated as I was when we found out.

I sat down in the deck chair next to him as the flashbacks began. The ones that kept me up one my worst nights and lurked in the shadows of my mind on even my best days. I ed the first day I noticed that something was off with me – it was after church one Sunday, about four years ago. Springtime of my sixth grade year, I had just turned twelve a few weeks before. It was a gorgeous day, the first sunshine we had had in several days, and all I wanted was to get out

of those church pews and get outside. When the chords of the last hymns finally faded out, Chase and I made our way out while the grown ups talked. Four at the time, Chase’s favorite thing to do was jump off of the tailgate of Coach Bossert’s truck into my arms. He crossed the church parking lot at an impressive speed, knowing that his mama didn’t really like for him to do it. I helped him up, and he didn’t miss a beat, jumping into my arms before they were even fully extended. I caught him, but as I was lifting him back up for another turn, I noticed my arms beginning to quiver under his weight. I didn’t say anything though, letting him jump again, and this time finding that I was slow to be able to lift him back up at all. It was requiring not only my trembling shoulder muscles, but all of my leg and back muscles as well. After a couple seconds of fighting to get him back up on the tailgate, I finally did. “Again, AJ, again,” he called, but I knew I couldn’t do it. I leaned up against the bed of the truck, finding myself completely out of breath and shaken up. As the weeks wore on, I started noticing more and more how I felt weaker. Little things, like opening jars, running up the stairs too fast, and wrestling with my dad, became more difficult and began to tire me out faster than they ever had before. Mama and Daddy decided to take me to the doctor after I finally itted to them what I had been noticing. I didn’t really understand what was going on as the doctor asked my parents question after question about their families’ medical histories – I would later find out that Mama’s side of the family was responsible for what was wrong with me. “It’s called Becker Muscular Dystrophy,” the doctor explained after the results of my blood test came back. “The women on your mom’s side of the family could have been carriers of the gene for generations, but never known because girls can’t get the disease.” All I was the confusion that was closing in on me, suffocating me, making the world look dark in that all white examination room as I held my crying mother.

“I know you can’t play,” Coach Bossert said gently, snapping me back into the moment at hand. “But I was hoping you could still be a part of the team somehow. You’d be a good influence on the guys – some of them really need that. And,” he struggled for words, “well, I guess I just wanna see you out there on that field. I was always so sure that you’d be in that Will Owen blue and gold.”

I was speechless. What was I supposed to say? My initial reaction was a feeling of complete and total embarrassment. Coach Bossert had always had a huge heart, but now he was pitying me, which was surely why he was making me this offer.

“Look, AJ,” he continued, “I just know how much you love the game. And all your best friends are on the team, and I hate seeing you missing out on the experience of getting to play ball beside your best friends. I just figured you could be a team manager or something – you could help call plays, keep stats, watch film, carry balls, set up drills. Heck, you know so much about the game, I might just let you take over head coach!” Obviously trying to lighten the mood, he laughed before rambling on, “We could talk to your trainer about you even working out with us a little bit …”

“Thank you for the offer,” I began. He could tell from my tone that it wasn’t going to be the answer he wanted to hear, and he broke eye with me and looked out over the pool. “I just don’t know,” I continued, “I don’t want anybody’s sympathy. I already get enough of that.”

“I’m not doing this because I feel bad for you, AJ,” Coach Bossert countered, “I’m doing this because I want you there.” He paused, and when I said nothing, continued, “But I will respect your choice. I understand where you’re coming from. If you ever change your mind, just let me know. It’s always an option.”

And with that, he got up and crossed the yard back over to the fire pit, where he scooped up a sleeping Chase from the folding chair into his arms. Realizing that everyone had left besides the Bosserts and the Fullers, I frantically pulled out my phone to check the time. 11:08. Phew. Still plenty of time.

“Hey,” Coach Bossert nudged me from behind, “I just wanted to say I love you,

AJ, and I could never be disappointed in you. I just want you to be happy.”

Tears sprang to my eyes, all the pent up emotions of the evening finally breaking me down. “Thank you. Love you too,” was all I could manage. The last thing I wanted was for him to hear the lump in my throat. Be strong for once, I thought. I walked back towards my porch and hugged Mrs. Bossert goodbye; after they left I found myself once again faced with Madeline.

“I’m heading to bed,” I announced, pretending to be exhausted and bummed that I couldn’t stay up to all hours of the night with the group, which had dwindled down to just my parents and the Fullers.

“Why ya heading on so soon, AJ? Too cool for us old folks?” Mrs. Fuller laughed.

Because I’m not in the mood for your daughter’s games, I thought, but all I said was, “Y’all are the ones who wore me out from partying so hard all night!” After Mrs. Fuller and Madeline laughed way too long, I hugged them both and thanked them for coming. A hug and a kiss from Mama and Daddy and a couple “goodnight” and “I love you”s later, and I was finally free. Back into my house and down the stairs to my basement bedroom I went, now counting down the minutes till midnight.

CHAPTER 3

I walked up my stairs at 11:58 and looked around the corner and out the windows onto my back porch, where my parents were still sitting with the Fullers. Madeline was staring down at her phone and only looking up occasionally to smile or answer a question. My parents were turned away from me, facing out towards the pool, and Madeline’s parents were facing the house. If they weren’t so lost in conversation, they probably would have seen me peeking my head out from around the corner. Instead, the talked on, their voices muted by the glass that separated us.

I texted Carrie, “You can come in the side door now.” I checked to make sure the door was unlocked and the floodlights on the left sideof the house were off. Within a couple minutes, I heard the doorknob beginning to turn. Carrie opened the door just enough to stick her head in and find me in the low light. She grinned and closed the door behind her.

“Hey,” she whispered, hugging me. There was no better feeling than her head against my chest and arms around my waist, and I rested my chin on top of her head, closing my eyes and inhaling her familiar scent. We stayed like that for a long time, and then she grabbed my hand and led me back downstairs to my room.

“So, tell me about your trip,” I prompted, hoping she couldn’t hear my heart pounding. I laid down on my bed and she sat next to me, stretching out her legs and kicking off her shoes to reveal a flip-flop tan.

“Oh my gosh. Where to begin?” she laughed. “Well, I’m sure I’ve told you about

my dad’s family. Grandma is usually so relaxed but she hates when we call her Emmy. So naturally Sullie and Blaze called her that the whole trip,” she paused, turning to look at me. “Those boys are in college and they act like they’re little kids. And Uncle Ben and Aunt Eliza just laugh!” She scrunched up her brow in anger for a second before breaking into a giggle. “It was pretty funny though. We would be playing cards at night and Sullie and Blaze would say ‘Your turn, Emmy!’ And Grandma would try to calmly explain to them why it’s disrespectful to call her by her first name, but we could all tell she was about to explode on the inside. I’m so glad they’re just my cousins who live in Texas, not my brothers.” As she continued on, telling me about their trips to the arcade on the beach, bike rides, crabbing off the pier, and her crazy Aunt Blythe who never married, I noticed how cute it was when she talked with her hands. I suddenly wanted her to keep talking, if for no other reason than to just be mesmorized by her for a second longer.

“Well I’m glad you had fun,” I said, realizing she had gone quiet.

“How was the cookout tonight?” she asked.

“The usual,” I answered. “The whole Bossert crew was here, plus Mama’s friends from her cooking class and all the neighborhood moms. Lots of people from church came, too.”

“Your life is perfect,” Carrie blurted out, grinning at me sideways.

“No, it’s really not,” I countered. She was so far off with her observation that I was confused as to how she even got the idea. “It’s far from it. What makes you say that?”

“Look at it!” she breathed, turning away from me and motioning around my room. “Look at this three-story brick house, complete with the white picket fence and swimming pool outside. Not to mention the inside – pool table, minimovie theater, wet bar, a different football game on each flat screen throughout the house. Your dad is a chiropractor and your mom is a trophy wife, your big brother was a football star in high school and your big sister was a cheerleader.”And as she continued on, telling me about the things my family owned and the status we held in this small town and the seemingly perfect, allAmerican lifestyle we had, I couldn’t help but think of all the things missing. Carrie had just told me about her multiple cousins, aunts, and uncles, and that was just one side of her family. She had three of her four grandparents still alive and she was closer to them than ever. I, on the other hand, had no aunts, uncles, or cousins because both Mama and Daddy were only children. Mama’s parents died before I was old enough to ever know them, and Daddy’s lived in New Jersey. I had lived at 419 Skyview Drive since the day I was born, and although my family had the means to travel, we rarely left. I had heard of hundreds of places I would love to go, things I would love to try, and we just stayed right here because my parents were content with soaking up their small town fame. I made good grades at school, but deep down, I knew I wasn’t that smart, just dedicated to studying. Since I got sick, I had begun to feel that maybe, just maybe, if I made good enough grades, I might still have a chance at making something of myself. Without football, it seemed, it was my only chance.

I didn’t realize how distant I must have seemed, lost in my own thoughts, until Carrie finally trailed off and sighed as she sideways grinned at me. “Are you getting sleepy again?” she asked, playfully pushing me. I played along, rolling over and burying my face in my sheets. “Come on, it’s only one in the morning!” she taunted, giggling as she tugged at my tee shirt.

“That’s late for normal people,” I teased.

“I can’t help it I’m a nighttime person!” she laughed. “The sun sees your body. The moon sees your soul.”

“That’s true. I do think a lot at night,” I mused.

“What’s on your mind tonight, AJ?” she grinned. The way she said it, I could tell she was genuinely curious. With Carrie, it always felt safe to be honest and vulnerable, and that was a rare feeling for me.

“Well,” I began, “Coach Bossert talked to me tonight about basically being a team manager.”

Carrie’s expression remained blank, her hazel eyes fixated on me as she waited for me to go on.

“And I just don’t know if I can do that,” I continued. “It would be so hard for me, going to practice everyday and dressing out on games on Friday nights but not being a legitimate part of the team.”

“I understand,” Carrie soothed. “It would be hard to be that close to something that you love so much and not be able to play. Like it would always be right there but just outside your reach.”

“It’s not even that though,” I said. “I would love to be a part of it, even if I couldn’t play, just for the experience. But what I don’t want is the special treatment that’s gonna come along with being a team manager.”

She thought about that for a moment, then asked, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I already get special treatment all the time, but I just don’t want to give everyone another reason to walk on eggshells around me. To treat me like I’m breakable and like they always have to be extra nice to me,” I thought for a minute. “I just am so tired of everyone going easy on me.”

“That really bothers you, doesn’t it?” she asked, already knowing the answer. Of course it bothered me.

“Do I really talk about it that much?” I asked, embarrassed.

“No, no,” Carrie said. “That’s not what I meant. This is the first time you’ve ever actually voiced that to me, but I just can see it in you.”

And in that moment, a moment in which I normally would have become incredibly self-conscious, I felt peace. With anyone else, I may have gotten defensive, feeling attacked and criticized. With Carrie, it was like a huge weight being lifted off my shoulders, like a breakthrough moment of realization for me. It was something that, as much as I didn’t want to hear, I knew I needed to hear, and I couldn’t have picked a better person to hear it from. Carrie didn’t just look at people, like everyone else. Carrie saw people. In my small town world full of gossipy mothers and sports-obsessed men and shiny new cars and lavishly furnished homes bordered by perfectly manicured lawns, it was easy to feel as if I was just another piece of the puzzle, always being looked at and then stuck wherever it seemed I’d fit. To be seen, past all the appearances and straight down to my core, now that was rare. It was refreshing and frightening all at the same time, and it was enough to make me question … a lot.

“Well, yeah,” I continued, “It does bother me. I’m scared that I’m never going to

be taken seriously.”

“I take you seriously, AJ,” Carrie pointed out.

“But that’s rare. Nobody else really does, or at least that’s how I feel. I just want a normal high school experience,” I said as I sat up to look her in the eye. “You know, like you always talk about.” I thought about Will Owen High School, all the band nerds and rednecks, the hippies and stoners, the party people and the artsy individuals, the constant church goers and of course the football guys. I thought about all the walks through the hallways, the conversations over our barely edible cafeteria food and the down times in class that were spent becoming best friends with the stranger in the next desk over. The mixture of all the personalities and the clashing of different opinions and interests made it feel like its own little world. And then I thought about the way Carrie had always talked about her high school experience, how she had been challenged, even tested, and made to feel not good enough at times. She said that for every blessing there was also a lesson and it really made me wonder: Am I missing out? Does everyone feel bad for me like Coach Bossert does? I knew one thing, the last thing I wanted was sympathy. I wanted the full experience, both good and bad, but I couldn’t think of one time that anyone had challenged me or made me feel bad about anything. I racked my brain desperately for some profound lesson that high school and its troubles had taught me, but I came up short.

Carrie looked confused. “It kind of sucks, honestly,” she chuckled.

“But at least you’ve had to figure yourself out. And you’ll spend the rest of your life figuring things out for yourself, because nobody is gonna feel bad for you and try to do it for you. And even when it sucks, at the end of the day, at least you’ll know that you’re strong enough to make it out okay. I might never know,” I said.

“You are strong,” Carrie reassured me in a soft tone. “Just because you’re not strong in the same ways as everyone else doesn’t mean that you’re not strong. You’ve had to learn to be strong in your own ways, and from my perspective, you’ve held up well.”

I smiled at her, making sure to seem as if all my problems had been solved with the words she’d just spoken. I could tell that Carrie didn’t fall for my act by the unsatisfied look that came across her face, but I changed the subject before she could continue. I had rambled on far too long about my feelings, and I didn’t want to burden her.

“When does volleyball practice start up?” I asked, sprawling back out across my bed now that the conversation had moved to something more relaxed.

Carrie hesitated to allow me to change the subject, but finally answered, “We’re just doing workouts right now, but Coach Taylor signed us up for team camp next month, and then it’ll be August and we’ll start practices and scrimmages.” I loved the twinkle in her eyes, the smile I could hear through her voice when she talked about something she cared about, volleyball especially. As she continued talking, she too finally relaxed and laid down next to me, her raspy voice growing sleepy as the minutes ticked by. As that muggy summer night drug on, we both were fighting a losing battle with sleep. Over and over again, our eyes closed for long periods of time before we realized we were drifting off, but the silence had never felt more comfortable to me. Just like everything else with Carrie, it was so effortless and natural, not having to work for conversation or entertain her, but just to be in each other’s presence. We were beautifully, blissfully at ease.

I took one last look at her before the sleepiness finally took over for good. For the first time, I really paid attention to every detail of her beauty – her round cheeks, her straight and narrow nose, her heart-shaped lips, the rise and fall of her chest as she slept. Her long, dirty blonde hair was fanned out around her, the

thin strands being lightly blown by my ceiling fan. One arm was up by her head, the other laid across her stomach, and her shirt had come up just enough to expose a couple inches of her midsection, hip bones peeking out of her shorts. Noticing the goose bumps on her legs, I sat up to pull the covers over her and rolled over to finally give in to sleep.

My seventh grade best friend doesn’t seem so seventh grade anymore, I thought as I was drifting off, completely in awe of the stunning young woman that laid next to me.

CHAPTER 4

Carrie woke me up around 4 a.m. to let me know she was leaving, and I fell back asleep until late in the day. When I woke up and wandered upstairs for something to eat, I found myself home alone with the exception of our cleaning lady, Annie.

“Where’s my mom?” I asked.

“Yoga and pilates,” she answered, “It’s Saturday.”

“Right,” I said. I always get my days so mixed up in the summer. My house had felt especially empty this summer, with my dad working a lot and my brother and sister not coming home from college as they usually would. Caleb was doing mission work in Kenya and Kensley was constantly on a different beach trip with her sorority sisters. As much as I missed them, it was kind of nice having the house to myself a lot.

That night, I picked up Connor Bowen and John Garrity, two guys who had grown up right along beside me in my neighborhood. Their mothers were friends with mine, and although we had known each other since we were in diapers, we only hung out occasionally now that we were all older. They preferred to spend their time swinging away at the golf course or finding new girls to have on their arms at their parents’ formal events. Once we got downtown we picked up Daniel Jordan, my best friend, who was a little more like me. He spent half of dinner telling us about his biggest catch of the day, and I couldn’t help but laugh as he added a couple inches to his demonstration each time he retold the story. After dinner, we decided to drive down to Y-beach.

Clemson is composed of three main roads, with the downtown and college campus sitting right in the middle of them. Cobblestone sidewalks line T-shirt shops and crowded restaurants and the sounds of the ongoing apartment construction always echo through the miniature city. Like a king on his throne, Tillman Hall sits centered high above all else and watches the bustle of resident and college student life alike. Bowman field spreads out from there, and on any given sunny day, one can see hundreds of students out chasing frisbees or lounging in hammocks hung from the ancient oak trees. Churches, athletic fields, and academic halls dot the remaining space; the abandoned Astro movie theater sits vacant at the far end of downtown.

The thing about living in small towns is that a typical day consists of ing through several towns, even counties. As we left the downtown area and approached Highway 123, we had several options. Going straight through the four-way stop would take us into Central, where Will Owen was located, and from there we could find our way to Liberty, Six Mile, and Pickens, all tiny mountain towns. Turning right onto 123 would eventually take us to Easley, then Greenville, and turning left would take us to Seneca. Since we had decided to go to Y-beach, we took a left. The sun setting over Restaurant Row, as we had come to call the fast-food hub of Clemson, was not an unfamiliar sight. As we crossed the bridge over Lake Hartwell and neared Y-beach, Daniel turned my radio down to read his texts from some girl to Connor and John.

“That’s bad off, bro,” Connor laughed when Daniel was finished.

“Yeah, she’s thirsty,” John chimed in.

“I’d still hit,” Daniel smirked, and Connor and John both erupted with laughter. I chuckled too, hating myself for it but not wanting to feel any more left out of the conversation than I already did. When it came to girls, I usually looked for the

quickest way to change the subject.

“Y’all wanna walk down to the dock?” I asked, pulling into a parking space.

“Hell yeah!”

“Fine by me!”

Doors slammed and, as expected, the fairly long walk through the damp sand down to the dock turned into a race. Daniel won, pulling his shirt off in one swift movement and diving head first into the murky lake water. The other two sat down on the dock, Connor pulling out his phone to scroll through the nightly feed of pictures and updates. John pulled out his hookah stick and, after taking a hit, handed it down to Daniel, who was still in the water. I looked out at the final colors fading from the darkening sky; the tree-lined shore on the other side had turned to a black sillhouette. The Clemson rowing team ed in front of us, their practice concluding with the finale of the sunset and the distant echos of their coach’s yells.

I checked my phone for the first time all evening. Carrie Wardlaw, 1 New Message. My heart skipped a beat as I opened it and read, “I’m not doing anything tonight.. you?”

After taking a moment to look around at the idiots I called my friends, I realized that they’d probably have some party lined up for later, so I told Carrie to sneak in around eleven. As always, knowing I had plans with her for later, time dragged on. When it was finally pitch black dark, the guys and I hiked back up to my truck. I really should have expected what came next, if only I hadn’t been

so preoccupied.

“AJ, let’s go back to your house,” Daniel said. Connor and John echoed their approval of the proposed plan. I sure wish I was better at saying ‘no,’ I thought, as I ed by downtown where I normally would’ve turned to drop Daniel off and continued for home.

“Boys! Oh, it’s so good to see y’all,” my mom practically shrieked as we walked through the front door of my house.

“Good to see you, too,” Connor said as John went in for a hug. Daniel grabbed a Dr. Pepper out of the bottom drawer of our refrigerator.

“It’s only been a few days since they were over here last, Mama,” I teased her. The way she acted, one might think it had been years since she’d seen any of my friends.

“Oh hush, AJ,” she blushed. “How’s everyone’s summer going so far? I know it’s only June – anyone doing anything fun?”

“We’re going to the Bahamas in a couple weeks,” John piped up.

“Oh, right. Your mama told me all about that,” my mom said. “How exciting! I’ve heard it’s beautiful,”

“We’re going downstairs,” I cut in.

“Alright. Would anyone like something to eat? I have cookie dough,” Mama grinned, knowing exactly how to please a house full of teenage boys.

“Sounds good to me,” Daniel said, and my mom laughed, already preheating the oven.

A couple hours, and a lot of chocolate chip cookies later, it was almost time for Carrie to come over. I grabbed a couple empty milk cups and took them upstairs to the kitchen. Most of the lights in the house, with the exception of a lamp or two, were off. I pressed my ear to my parents’ bedroom door and, after hearing my dad’s familiar snoring, I texted Carrie to let her know she could come in the side door. The minutes ticked by slowly, as they always did while I was waiting on her, but finally, the doorknob turned.

“Hey,” she whispered, stepping inside and into my embrace.

“I hope you don’t mind a little extra company,” I warned as we made our way back downstairs.

“Of course not,” she said, easy-going as always. Rather than continuing back to my bedroom, we stayed out in the bar area of my basement, where the guys had begun another intense game of pool.

“How’s it going, Carrie?” Daniel asked when he saw her.

“Carrie! What’s up?” said Connor.

“Oh, hey Carrie,” John said, popping up from behind the bar. Practically in the same breath, he asked, “AJ, I can have some of this, right?” I looked over to see him holding up one of my dad’s bottles of whiskey.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” I said, not wanting to cause any tension. “Just make sure you’ll be fine to go home in a little bit.”

“Let’s watch a movie on the big screen,” Carrie suggested, turning to me. “Go pick one out. Anything you want.” As I walked over to our shelf stocked with DVDs, I continued to pay attention to Carrie. I listened to her make conversation with my friends, watched out of the corner of my eye as she tossed her head back to laugh as they cracked jokes. I loved the way she could blend right in, her very presence making everything comfortable. I picked up the first movie I saw, Step Brothers, and put it on.

“I love this movie,” Carrie exclaimed as soon as she saw what it was, coming over to sit next to me on the couch. “Will Ferrell is so funny.” Laughing alongside her was such a good feeling – it was what I had been waiting for all evening. A few scenes into the movie, however, I noticed that the intense game of pool among the guys had turned into a drunken game of pool, and they were beginning to tire themselves out.

“Do you mind if I take them home real quick?” I asked Carrie. “I’m so sorry for being so rude.”

“No! Don’t worry about it. I’ll be here when you get back,” she said, giving me one of her sweet smiles.

“Alright,” I said, turning to the guys, “Hey, y’all go up and get in the truck. It’s time to go home.” They whined a little bit but then proceeded without much trouble. After an obnoxiously loud walk up to my truck, they all seemed to crash once I started driving and turned the radio on.

“You can just drop me off here, too,” John said as I pulled into Connor’s driveway. The two fumbled around for a minute with a flashlight and Connor’s housekey before finally making it in for the night.

“What’s up with you and Carrie?” Daniel asked sleepily as I cruised towards downtown.

“What do you mean?” I said, answering his question with a question.

“I mean, you having her over to watch movies at night.”

I thought hard for a minute. Carrie and I had never hung out alone much before these past couple months, but we had never decided to stop hanging out in big groups of people together. We had just kind of naturally drifted closer, and as busy as we both were, it had just become easiest to stay best friends by moonlight, her sneaking in at the end of a long day so we could catch up on whatever was going on in our lives.

I caught a glimpse out of the corner of my eye of Daniel turned towards me, smirking. My momentary silence while trying to think of an explanation for the recent closeness between Carrie and I had led him to believe something completely different.

“My boy,” he laughed, slapping me on the back. “You found yourself a fuck buddy, didn’t you?” The way he said it, it was the proudest I’d seen him in a long time.

“No, it’s not like that,” I said, feeling my face turning red.

“Why not? She looks good.”

“We’re just friends,” I said, relieved to be pulling into his driveway.

“Bullshit! And even if that is true, that doesn’t mean you can’t still get you some.”

“Go home, Daniel, you’re drunk,” I laughed. He opened the door and stepped outside but leaned back inside, propping himself up on his elbows on the enger seat.

“You like her, don’t you?” The way he said it, it wasn’t a question.

“I respect her.”

“You always say that, about every girl I try to get for you.” He waited for me to respond, ready to fire back another argument as to why I should try something with Carrie. I didn’t bother. His last words, “get for you,” echoed over and over again in my mind. The way he spoke about girls – well really, the way every guy I was friends with spoke about girls – made it seem like they were some kind of possession, like I was supposed to just go down to Walmart and see about picking up one for myself. Except, of course, I was the poor crippled friend, in their eyes, who couldn’t do anything for himself, so Daniel was stuck with the job of finding me a “fuck buddy.” The whole thing disgusted me. A couple seconds of silence ed, and he said, “Text me tomorrow and we can go fishing. Hunter knows a good spot on Hartwell, but we can try Keowee if you want.”

“Alright,” I said, and he slammed the door.

Pulling out of his driveway, I found myself with the same old feeling I always got after hanging out with my friends. Daniel, one of my best friends by far, wasn’t so bad, but sometimes just the idea of being around the guys at school in general sickened me. It all felt so routine, every conversation taking the same twists and turns – sex, football, weed, sex, some ridiculously exaggerated story from the previous night, girls, sex, a meaningless comment here and a stupid joke there, oh, and more sex. It wasn’t that I thought I was too good for anyone, it wasn’t that I was some sheltered home schooled freak, it wasn’t that I had some righteous moral standards that I was trying to obtain to. I simply felt disinterested, disconnected, unsatisfied and not fulfilled by all of the things that were supposed to bring me fulfillment.

And then it dawned on me, Maybe that’s why I like being around Carrie so much. Carrie was able to sit in silence, to enjoy each and every moment and just be, without feeling the need to fill the silence with meaningless chatter. Something about her felt real.

The light turned green. Realizing I had been cruising along rather slowly, lost in thought, I now accelerated quickly in a hurry to get home. I didn’t want to miss one more moment of silence, or laughter, or conversation, or really whatever, as long as it was with her.

CHAPTER 5

Back on the couch, Carrie turned towards me and we both tuned out the rest of the movie. Occasionally she would look back up at an especially funny part to laugh, but we mostly talked for the rest of the night.

Some may deem it a coincidence, whereas I, on the other hand, see it as something a little more along the lines of fate, how just a few minutes before, I had been thinking about meaninglessness. That is, I had been moping over the meaninglessness of almost every aspect of my life in this particular season, just minutes before the conversation that would radically change the course of my life as I knew it. The stars had aligned just right to ignite something in the deepest corner of my heart, a place I hadn’t visited in a long time. The funny thing about it is, I didn’t even know the significance the conversation would have on my life until much later on.

I was rambling on about some extraordinarily unfortunate luck I’d had with a parking ticket situation down at Fike a few weeks back. That’s where it started. I was half raging, half laughing at myself as I told the story, and it ended somewhere along the lines of “I have the worst luck ever.”

“Story of my life,” Carrie said with a giggle. She started to go on, but I cut her off, a gesture of rudeness that was completely out of character for me.

“What is?” I asked.

“What do you mean?”

“What is the story of your life?”

“Oh, I have bad luck, too. I’m always saying that I have the worst luck ever.”

“No, no,” I pressed on, “What’s your story?” I didn’t know where all this was coming from, but I kept talking as if my mouth had a mind of its own. I didn’t know where this was coming from, but I liked where it was going.

“You know me, AJ,” she said, almost bashfully.

“I know things about you, sure. You grew up here in South Carolina. You’re sixteen years old. You’re an only child. You play volleyball, you have lots of friends, you’re smart but lazy when it comes to school …” I rambled on, her laughing at some of my observations and grinning at others. Finally, she took the words out of my mouth.

“So, you wanna know the deeper stuff. The behind the scenes,” she said.

“I want to understand you. I want to appreciate you.”

A slight gasp escaped her lips and she seemed completely taken aback. The slow smile spreading across her face reassured me, before her words could, that I had not lost her. That I had not come across as some lovestruck teenage poet who

was trying (and failing) to be romantic. Those weren’t my intentions at all. If I had been asked five minutes prior, I wouldn’t have been able to say I had any specific intentions with Carrie at all that night. But now, laid out in front of me, I saw the opportunity to express everything I had long been trying to put into words about Carrie. She made me curious, she had a certain spirit about her that I desired, and I intended to find out every little clue. Because, quite frankly, the more I saw of her, the more I liked, and usually I was quite the opposite.

“Well, that’s gonna be a hell of a long story,” she said, breaking the silence.

“That’s okay.”

“You wanna know a secret?”

All of them, I thought. But I just nodded.

“I write,” she said. I waited for her to go on, but she didn’t.

“Why is that a secret?”

“It’s so vulnerable. But,” she went on, eyeing me, “I might show you one day.”

“What kinds of things do you write?”

“All kinds of things,” she said, “Mostly just the things I think about often. But, I have written my story down before. I didn’t know why I was doing it, but I just started as far back as I could and wrote up to present day.” She spoke carefully, but with ion.

“I want to read it,” I said, holding nothing back.

“You have to promise me, AJ,” she said, “That you’ll keep it here. A special spot in your room, somewhere safe. And that you won’t show anyone.” She smiled, as she often did when our conversations grew intense. It was her little way of keeping things light, but I could tell she was really serious.

“I promise.”

And that was really it. Of course, we kept talking for the rest of the night, but the life-changing conversation that I didn’t yet know was life-changing was complete. Set in stone, stuck in the past. The subject was changed a million times, but Carrie’s story wasn’t brought up again until she hugged me goodbye in the doorway at the top of the stairs around 3 a.m.

“I’ll give it to you next time I see you,” she whispered.

“Give me what?” I asked, confused and forgetful as a result of sleepiness.

“The beginning,” she said, smiling sweetly at me. And then she was gone.

It was painful getting up early for church the next morning with how late I’d been awake, but I had no regrets, of course. I sat at the breakfast table, with my arms being the only things holding my head up out of my bowl of grits. Mama flitted about, topping off my glass of orange juice with every sip I took and bringing me strips of bacon hot out of the pan and little saucers of fruit salad as she cut it up. Neither Dad or I ever understood why church put her in such a good mood on Sunday mornings, but it never failed, and Dad lapped it up whereas I just tolerated it. Too early.

Everyone who was anyone in this town attended church where we did. My family typically sat with the Bosserts and the Ellisons; sometimes the Fullers tagged along. Men in suits and bowties paraded down the aisle as deacons and offering collectors. Old ladies all the way down to little girls fussed with dresses in every color of pastel and monogrammed sunhats that were wider than their shoulders. It was stuffy and smelled like old carpet and peppermints. A cross hung on the back wall behind the pulpit; stained glass windows covered the walls, each one depicting a different event from Jesus’ life. From the plump old lady playing the organ, to the hymns sung over and over and over, to the redfaced, saliva-spraying, forehead-blotting, finger-pointing, evil-spirit-banishing preacher, it was everything Southern Baptist. When the final “Amen” was said, everyone headed out of the auditorium and into a huge room full of tables and folding chairs and Crockpots and casserole dishes for a fellowship lunch.

Madeline, dressed to the nines in a Lilly Pullitzer dress, four inch wedges, complete with a long strand of pearls around her neck, sat beside me. I hadn’t seen or heard from her, or thought of her for that matter, since my carefully executed escape from her at the cookout a couple nights before. She was good at flirting, I’ll it, but I felt that I did a pretty good job of timing my bites of potato salad and deviled egg to where I didn’t have to say much back to her. Simple nods and smiles seemed to satisfy her so long as my mouth was full of food.

“Do you want the rest of my macaroni?” she asked.

“Yeah. Thanks.” I shoveled it onto my plate.

“What are you doing after church?”

“Napping, like I always do.”

“You should come over when you wake up. Mama and Daddy are going out tonight and I think I’m gonna have a little get together.” She winked. She had had lots of practice at that.

I smiled back at her, finally giving in and just giving her what she wanted. “Okay,” I said, “I might stop by.”

Apparently every single sophomore, junior, and some of the just graduated seniors from Will Owen had the same idea as I did about stopping by. Jeeps and trucks and various girly cars filled Madeline’s driveway, continuing out in lines on both sides of the street and littering the culdesac and her yard. Thankfully I only had to walk over, saving myself the nightmare of the parking situation.

Daniel and I walked in together. The bass in the song blaring over the speakers was so loud that it could feel it deep in my chest. Lights low, the smell of cheap beer and smoke in the air, and people from school in every direction, it was exactly as you’d see a high school party depicted on some ABC Family show.

The football guys always hung together, sometimes breaking off into smaller

groups along with various other guys who maybe didn’t play football but were still cool enough. At Will Owen though, not playing football and still being “cool enough” was kind of a rare thing, as those two things didn’t typically go together, especially not in my grade. The other thing about football players in general is that they’re very loud; I could hear them whooping and hollering from upstairs in Madeline’s bonus room.

It was mostly girls downstairs, with the exception of the group of stoner guys in the grade below me smoking out on the back porch. I hugged Emily, Allison, and Catherine, a few younger girls I knew from church – I was surprised to see them there. They were all sweet, but I always had a hard time telling if it was the genuine kind of sweet, or the I-feel-bad-for-poor-AJ kind of sweet, or the I-seerich-popular-upperclassman-so-I’m-going-to-act-adorable kind of sweet. I’d experienced plenty of all three. I didn’t even bother talking to the older girls who were there – they had always been conceited and rude and it didn’t help when they got liquor into their systems, which was all the time. Katelyn Carter, one of the nicer ones, squealed my name when she saw me and ran, stumbling, to plant a slobbery kiss on my cheek. She smelled like vodka and perfume. The girls in my grade were my favorite, though. They mostly sat in Madeline’s living room, sipping their drinks rather than chugging, talking and laughing and acting like normal human beings, rather than creating the tension that some of the other girls seemed to create at parties. Abigail Whiten and Christina Pace were playing a dance game on the Wii, which Daniel seemed mesmorized by for a second. Mikayla Morris and Alaina Bradford came cheerfully over to greet Daniel and I with, to my relief, hugs and only hugs.

“You made it,” Madeline said from behind me. I spun around on my heels to face her. How did she keep sneaking up like that?

“Yeah, not exactly a little get together,” I said, trying to joke with her and keep things light. She hadn’t even looked at Daniel yet, just continuing to stare at me and smile.

“I’m going upstairs,” Daniel said. “Thanks for having me, Maddie.”

“Yep,” she said, barely nodding in his direction.

And then I was alone with her. Shit.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” she asked, already bending down to get a beer out of the cooler next to the kitchen counter.

I assumed the beer was for her, and I was saying, “Just Coke,” just as she was winking and placing the beer in my hands. “Thanks,” I said out of habit, “I’m gonna go upstairs with Daniel.” The cool, confident smile that she kept on her face at all times faltered for just a moment, and I thought she was about to protest when I saw the doorknob turning on the front door. God, I thought, isn’t it funny how that’s how all my encounters with her have started lately. And sure enough, in stepped Carrie.

CHAPTER 6

Things lit up when she was around. She walked from group to group of girls on the whole main floor of Madeline’s house, smiling and waving and hugging everyone as if she were best friends with them all. By the way the other girls reacted to her, you’d think they were best friends. They didn’t just look up and smile and give a half-hearted “Hey girl,” the way they’d all previously done with each other. They said her name adoringly, giving it a ring. She confidently made her way out to the smoky back porch and disappeared from sight momentarily.

I looked back at Madeline, who I had forgotten was standing right in front of me, and who had been watching me watching Carrie. I could see her, the Madeline Fuller, struggling for words. That was a first. After a slight pause, all she could manage was, “Carrie’s here.”

I kind of laughed. “Yeah.”

“I love her,” she went on, “We used to get in so much trouble together back in Mr. Dubose’s class. She’s so pretty.” I didn’t really know what to say to that, so I was glad to see that Carrie was walking up to us. “Speak of the devil,” Madeline said, in a sticky sweet, high pitched voice. “I was just telling AJ about freshman year science class.”

“Oh my gosh,” Carrie said, laughing. “Mr. Dubose hated us.” I liked her voice. I liked the way it was low and raspy, but still high pitched when she giggled like that. But most of all, I liked the way it made me listen. I had to listen if I wanted to hear her over the sounds of the guys stomping around upstairs and the girls chattering downstairs and the music and the cans being tossed into the metal bin

every time someone finished a beer. And I really, really did want to hear.

“I know,” Madeline said. “You look pretty, by the way.”

“Thanks,” said Carrie. “So do you.” Turning to me, she said, “Hey, stranger.”

“Hey,” I said, pulling her in for a hug without waiting for her to initiate it. I like to think I give good hugs, because I don’t just throw one arm over someone’s shoulder. I pulled Carrie in all the way, body to body, and held her like that. She wasn’t dressed in her typical sneak-into-AJ’s-basement clothes which consisted of athletic shorts and a T-shirt. She was dressed in white denim cut-off shorts, showing off her tan legs and making them appear even tanner. She wore a crop top that exposed about half of her stomach, the fabric ending just soon enough to show off a dangly silver belly button ring. Did I know she had her belly button pierced? I wondered. She was so hot. As unlike me as it was to let those kinds of thoughts dwell in my mind, I could not stop looking at her. So, needless to say, I hugged her very tightly.

It took me a while to notice that Madeline was still standing there, rather awkwardly. I knew what she was doing, and that she was going to make sure that Carrie and I did not get a second alone. “I’m going upstairs with the guys,” I said.

“Don’t get too crazy,” Carrie said, smiling at me. Madeline simply turned and made her way back to the couch where she sat down in the middle of a pile of girls.

Upstairs, the rowdiest possible game of air hockey was going on between Austin

and Dante, two offensive linemen. The other guys stood around watching, egging them on, some breaking off into little groups to play darts or X-box or whatever. As soon as I walked up, they all greeted me with something that felt more like a coming home celebration for a long lost friend rather than just a few friends saying “hi” to each other at a party.

“AJ! What’s going on, dude?”

“My man, AJ!”

“How you been, bro?”

And then there were those who just shouted my name or “aye” or something along those lines. Anyways, point is, I felt at home. I’d grown up playing rec ball with these guys, and nowadays, when football wasn’t involved, I was completely one of them again.

Ty Becker yelled for me to come over and their dart game, so I did. As the night went on, I had more fun than I’d had in quite a while, even cracking open my beer and taking a couple sips. Not chugs, like the rest of them took, but that was still a noteworthy thing for me. Nights like this particular one made me think about how much I was going to miss all these guys when high school ended and we went our separate ways. I held on to every little thing just a bit harder with each ing moment; I almost even felt like a normal teenager.

As it got later and people began leaving to be home by curfew, I went back downstairs with Daniel. A few girls still laid on the couch, but most of them had left as well. I hugged Madeline and thanked her for having me, looking over her

shoulder in the process to see if Carrie was one of the girls on the couch. She wasn’t. Dang. Selfishly, I was a little disappointed that she had left without saying goodbye.

Daniel and I walked back over to my house and went downstairs to head to bed. Daniel was already sprawled out on one of the couches when I got a text from Carrie: “I brought it.”

“Brought what?”

“The beginning. You still want to read it right?”

“Of course. Come to the side door.”

A minute later, the door opened, and she appeared holding a couple pieces of ripped-out-of-the-notebook paper. She slipped them into my hand as she hugged me, breathlessly, and whispered, “ your promise. A safe spot and a secret.”

“I promise.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you.”

She smiled. “Do you want to come downstairs for a while?” I asked.

“I probably need to be heading home,” she said, “My parents …” she trailed off.

“Yeah, that’s fine. I understand.”

“Goodnight, AJ,” she said, hugging me again. As she opened the door and a bit of moonlight shone in on her, she turned back around to smile at me one final time.

“Goodnight, Carrie.”

To my disappointment, Daniel was sitting up on the couch when I went back downstairs. I folded Carrie’s story in half and stuck it in the waistband of my shorts under my shirt before he could see it and ask what it was. “I thought you went to bed,” I said.

“I can’t sleep. Which means workouts are gonna suck tomorrow.”

“I’m right there with you,” I said, laughing. Except of course, I wasn’t. In just a few hours, we’d both wake up, both shower (or in Daniel’s case, put on some deodorant and it off as the same thing), we’d both put on workout clothes, both eat Mama’s homemade breakfast and watch TV upstairs. And then we’d both go get in our cars and drive to our workouts, except Daniel would head to Will Owen for football workouts, and I would make my way through downtown

Clemson and onto the university campus. I’d squeeze into a narrow spot behind one of the athletic office buildings and walk up the stairs and inside to find Ms. Donna, my trainer. We’d carry on small talk in practically an identical conversation to the one we’d had last time, and the hundreds of times before that. I’d stretch for a good thirty minutes before Ms. Donna would walk me through my workout for the day, a different combination of the same old exercises. Jog on the water treill. Jump rope on the pogo ball. Push-ups from my knees. Squats – on a really good day she’d let me use one of the heavier medicine balls for that part. Oh, and crunches, lots and lots of crunches. Not exactly a high school football team’s idea of a killer workout. I could say, “I’m right there with you,” as much as I wanted, but I never exactly would be. Daniel went to football every day while I went to physical therapy and if that didn’t sum up my entire life then I didn’t know what would – I got the watered-down, less legitimate version of everything. Beginning with my diagnosis, it was like the people in my world had set me down in a box with the word “Fragile” scribbled across the lid, cushioning me in every way they knew how.

“I wish you could come workout with us,” Daniel said.

I debated on whether or not to tell him that it was an option. Not tonight. “Yeah, me too,” I said.

“I can tell Coach Bossert wishes you were there,” he continued.

That one tugged on my heartstrings a little bit. I didn’t want to be sad at the moment. I wanted to lay down in my bed all alone and read Carrie’s story by the light of my ugly, halfway-broken lamp and I wanted to lay there and wallow in my growing feelings of affection for her until I fell asleep. Was that too much to ask?

“I’ll have to stop in one day,” I said, hoping to appease Daniel so he’d fall asleep. He didn’t stop talking. As my responses to him got shorter and shorter, his voice started to grow sleepy and there were long pauses between each time he spoke. Every time I thought he had finally drifted off, he would move or laugh at something on the TV.

Fine, I thought, He’s gonna stay awake and make this hard. “I’m going to brush my teeth,” I said. Daniel groaned some kind of response. I shook my head as I walked to the bathroom and shut the door behind me. Finally, peace and quiet. I sat down on the cool tile floor as I pulled out Carrie’s story and flattened out the creases in the papers. Her handwriting was a large, neat print, with the endings of words occasionally turning into a strange sort of cursive, as if her thoughts were spilling out onto the page faster than her pencil could keep up. Without further ado, I began reading.

For the first seven years of my life, I lived past Will Owen and on towards Six Mile, right beside Issaqueena in a little cabin up on a hill. Rugged wooden front porch, green paint on the front door, Japanese maple trees framing the sides of the house, stone chimney, rickety swingset in the back. Almost all of my memories from my early childhood take place outdoors – exploring the woods surrounding our house, sitting in a treestand on Daddy’s lap, walks to see the neighbors’ horses, bike riding up to Maws, picking muscadines off the trees to taste the tart juice, riding up to Anderson to swim in Nana and Pop’s pool, fingerpainting on the front porch, spinning around in a field till I fell, laughing, in the tall grass as the breeze blew my hair and the sun kissed my freckled cheeks. I was always very close to my family, including aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents. My best and only friend until I started school was Sydney, my mom’s best friend’s daughter. She’s a year older but we’ve always been like sisters. I got along with everyone I met though, always very sensitive and caring and just a tad bit shy. I was brilliantly smart and always mature for my age, imaginative, hard-working, independent, well-behaved, and very appreciative as well. Being so young is such a sweet time of innocence and simplicity, a time that is so fleeting and precious. I was intrigued by everything in my world and the light of each new day and all the adventures that I knew it could bring brought me sheer joy. I was so in love with life, my life, and myself

that I never wanted anything to change. When change did come, I was excited that I was having many new experiences, and although it was a little scary, it was a cool realization about growing up. I didn’t feel any less like my old self, it’s just that new parts of me were starting to come into the picture, and that was okay. I was learning – something I loved to do more than just about anything else. I was a very cultered person, and interested in learning about everything, from fossils and nature and the way the world works, to art and history and all the books there are to read. I was definitely a tomboy for a while – sometimes I still am. Girl Scouts and various sports filled my afternoons with fun in the sun and after school snacks and picking flowers. Gymnastics eventually won out in the sports department because I was nothing less than infatuated with it. I also spent a lot of time writing – some things never change, I guess. Childhood is such a beautiful season of life because nobody judges, nobody excludes, at least not in my world. I didn’t know how to be anything but myself, so that’s all I ever was – even being so young, I always had an incredible sense of identity and knowing myself. At the time, I based my idea of who I was off of my broad range of interests, my personality and character traits, and my family heritage. I knew my experiences only added to who I was and that they, like me, were unique, so I cherished them. I cared about the little things. As I got older, pressure from others didn’t phase me – I still grew at my own pace and spent time with who I wanted, not just the people who were “cool.” My love for myself reflected the love shown to me by my wonderful family, and it reflected the love I had for life. See, I read books that taught me about true beauty, inner beauty, early on. I never doubted that I had this inner beauty, and I never hesitated to find it in others. I just understood from the beginning that being secure and confident rather than compensating for insecurity by being arrogant meant finding my worth in things that actually mattered. Things that had meaning, things that wouldn’t fade or fail me. I didn’t live imprisoned by the need for superficial value. Because of this, I was free to be who I was and be satisfied. I knew that my mind and soul and heart were the most beautiful things about me and that they provided all the worth I would ever need. I was a pretty deep kid, I guess.

Thanks for reading this, AJ. It’s nice to have someone who wants to know more about me than just the surface level stuff. It’s kind of like we’re starting a little adventure together. Thanks for never judging me and for being such a great guy. Never change! I’ll write you more of my story soon, that is, if you’re

still interested.

Love, Carrie

CHAPTER 7

Workouts the next morning weren’t so bad, after all. Ms. Donna and I talked about her nephew in governor school and how nice downtown Greenville had gotten with all the updates and she told me for the tenth time that I really shouldn’t go on the rope swing because people got hurt that way. I didn’t mention to her that I’d just gone a few nights ago, and practically every B-day during the school year when I skipped study hall with Daniel and the Bolick twins. What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her, right?

Dad asked me to meet him at Pot Belly Deli, a hole-in-the-wall kind of place in Clemson with vinyl records covering every inch of the walls. One of the many good things about Dad being one of the best doctors around was that he could pretty much make his own schedule. I always loved summertime because he texted me to meet him for lunch several times every week. We never once ran out of things to talk about, partly because Dad loved to tell the same stories over and over again, forgetting that I already knew them all word for word. Although he could be frighteningly serious at times, he typically chose to be laid-back and goofy. Today, however, he seemed a little different. Distraught, maybe? I couldn’t put my finger on it. He forced a smile as we sat down across from each other at a little booth.

“How have you been, AJ?” he asked me.

A little taken aback, I said, “Fine?”

He bit into his sandwich and didn’t say anything for a few seconds. After swallowing, he asked, “And how about Daniel?”

“Daniel’s good, Dad. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine. I just know that y’all are driving now and it scares me, as much as I trust you.”

I didn’t really know what to say. I kept eating. I always felt bad when my dad brought up car safety because, on top of all the accident victims he had treated over the years at work, his younger cousin had been killed in an accident when she was in her twenties. It was still a sensitive subject.

“I just want you to know that if you guys are ever doing anything, that’s fine, just make sure nobody’s driving,” he continued.

“I don’t really drink, Dad,” I said.

He smirked. “Yeah, I used to say that, too. But I know how it is. You can have people stay the night over at our house anytime, or you can call Mom or me anytime if you’re out somewhere else. Just please don’t ever get behind the wheel or let one of your friends who’s been drinking get behind the wheel.”

“Okay. Thanks, Dad. And I won’t.”

He smiled at me and his demeanor relaxed. I could tell he trusted me. And he should, because I’d never given him any reason not to trust me. I was possibly the most uneventful person I knew.

“Thank you,” he said, getting up to refill his sweet tea. When he sat back down, he said, “Hey, did I ever tell you about that time in college where Eddie and I got the keg – “ I knew the rest of the story already, but I’d let him tell it, in great detail, like he always did. It made him happy to feel like he could tell me about his wild years, and I couldn’t complain. I loved how close we were when it came to that stuff, or really anything. I guess being the last kid left in my parents’ almost empty nest did have its perks, after all.

Dad trailed off, looking past me and over my shoulder and smiling. “Hey, Mr. Bryce,” a familiar voice said behind me.

“Hey, Madeline,” Dad said, smiling up at her as she stood over our booth.

“Hey, Maddie,” I said. She seemed satisfied that I called her by a nickname. Crap.

“Mr. Bryce,” she said, turning back to my dad, “Y’all need to have the next church cookout at your house. I know I say this every time, but your burgers are just so good.” Ew. I practically shuddered. She was sickeningly good with adults, a royal kiss-ass if you asked me.

Dad, of course, was beaming and making some stupid joke and Madeline was laughing like it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard. Before walking away, she made sure to say, “AJ, come to the movies with us later. A bunch of people are going at seven.”

“Okay, thanks,” I said, looking down and taking a bite of my sandwich.

When she finally walked away, Dad lowered his voice a little bit. “Did something happen between you two?” he asked, cutting his eyes over towards Madeline’s table.

“No.”

“You’re not very friendly to her.”

“She gets on my nerves.”

“How?”

I debated on whether or not to even try to explain. After all, it was the Madeline Fuller we were talking about, the girl around here who could seemingly do no wrong. I went for it anyways: “Don’t get me wrong, she’s alright sometimes. I guess it’s just that I’ve watched her look down her nose at people all her life.”

I waited to see if he approved of my reasoning for disliking Madeline. He didn’t seem as surprised as I thought he would be. “I can see that,” he said, “Her mom can be the same way. They’ve just always been so nice to us.”

“Yeah, because we’re worthy in their eyes. They want to be able to say ‘We’re best friends with the Maretts’ because we’re one of the families in this town,

Dad.”

“So, you think it’s all fake?”

I thought for a minute. “I don’t think it’s all fake,” I began, carefully choosing my words as I went. “I do believe they genuinely like us. But I think they really enjoy associating with people of such high status. I think if we weren’t who we are, if we were just an average family, they wouldn’t care as much about being friends. They’d think they were too good for us, just like they do most people.”

He thought for a minute. “Yeah,” he said, “I think you’re right. But, everyone has their flaws, AJ.”

“That’s kind of a big one to just overlook though.”

“Well, I don’t know what you expect me to do about it.”

“I don’t either.”

“I’m not like them, AJ. I know I’m not perfect, but I’m proud of the man I am. I’m proud of the woman your mom is. And I’m proud of who we’ve raised you to be,” he said, pausing for a second to smile at me. “There are a lot of families around here like the Fullers. Hell, there are a lot of people in life like them. You’ve just gotta who you are, and forgive them for the way they are.”

“I don’t hold a grudge, Dad. I’m nice enough to them. I just don’t love spending time around them.”

“That’s understandable. But AJ, they love the Lord, and those kind of friends are the kind of friends that you need to keep around. Just keep that in mind,” he said.

I couldn’t believe he was pulling the God card on me. I couldn’t do anything but nod and shove the final bite of my sandwich in my mouth. I could keep my dad perfectly satisfied as long as I kept him believing that he had instilled his priorities in me – God, family, friends, and football. Those things seemed to be all anyone around here cared about – they used to be all I cared about, too – but lately I just wasn’t so sure.

After we left lunch, I texted Carrie. To my surprise, her reply was instantaneous. Upon her request, I met her at the dike beside the rowing docks in Clemson. She parked her little blue SUV next to me and jumped out, smile on her face, to greet me with an overwhelming hug. She wore a navy blue skirt that flowed down to her ankles and a white tank top that stood out against her glowing bronze skin.

Not long after we walked out onto the dike, she asked, “So, did you like my story?” She grinned up at me.

“Yes,” I said, “I can’t wait to hear more.”

“It’s not all that interesting,” she said, laughing. I could tell she was relieved to hear that I liked it, though.

“I beg to differ.”

“Once I got to middle school, anyways,” she said, “Those were everyone’s dark days.”

We looked at each other and laughed. Flashbacks flooded my mind of the dances in the cafeteria where couples slow danced as far apart from each other as they could get while still keeping their hands on each others’ waists and shoulders. I could when Carrie and I became friends in seventh grade, when we both still had braces and wore graphic tees from Hollister everyday and I would shoot paper hornets at her from across the room in a feeble attempt to flirt.

“I hated sixth grade,” she said.

“Me too,” I said, ing how the weakness had begun to consume me that year, weakness catergorized by the name of Becker Muscular Dystrophy that had slowly trickled in and left a dark cloud to forever hang over that year in my mind.

“It was the first time in my life that I was ever just not good enough,” she said, looking out over the lake as she spoke. “You know McKenna Shye, right?”

I grimaced just thinking about McKenna Shye. One of the few people at Will Owen who I had never had much of a desire to befriend, she was about eighty pounds of total skank. At pep rallies, the other cheerleaders would lift her on top of the pyramid as she pulled one leg up by her head, revealing what was underneath her cheerleading skirt and causing a reaction among the guys in the room that went something along the lines of “Show us something we haven’t

seen.” Not to mention, McKenna was known for stabbing her few friends in the back every chance she got and then lying about it when confronted. “Yeah, I know her,” I said.

“Well, we were best friends in sixth grade,” Carrie continued. “We had every class together and we were in gymnastics together. Of course, she was always better than me because she’s half my size. Hell, even when she wasn’t better than me, she would twist it in some way so that she still ended up on top. She always had to win.”

“Yeah, I know a few people like that,” I said.

“It was bad,” Carrie said, “She knew every insecurity I had and she picked me apart with them. My biggest insecurity being Seth Oley …” She trailed off.

“What do you mean?”

She laughed. “I mean,” she said, “That I was infatuated with that boy, and McKenna always made sure to throw it in my face that he liked her best out of the two of us.”

“How could anyone like her better than you?” I asked, repulsed by the thought.

“I was a better person, for sure, but she was prettier,” she said with a shrug.

I thought about that for a minute. I couldn’t what either of the girls had looked like in sixth grade, but now that we were older, McKenna’s choppy brown hair and boring features were no comparison to Carrie. “I can’t see that,” I said.

“It shouldn’t have mattered as much as it did,” Carrie explained, “I let her get to me, to the point that I would hide away parts of who I was. I didn’t lose myself, but maybe hiding myself to avoid her teasing was just as bad.”

“What did you hide?” I asked.

“Just little things. I played piano sixth grade year, but nobody ever knew. I loved it, but I was never able to tell anyone.”

“We have a piano at my house!” I said, “You should play for me.”

“I was terrible,” she said, laughing, “I only took lessons for six months. But I loved it all the same.”

“Well, what’s another sixth grade secret?”

“Hmm,” she thought aloud, “Oh! I killed my first deer sixth grade year. 113 pounds, just a little doe, I got her down at my dad’s hunting club. It’s this plantation near Charleston.”

“Okay. Cool. What else?”

“I can’t think of anything else right now.”

Fair enough. I looked out over the lake and then down at the huge rock we had chosen to sit on. Two daisies that were pushing their ways up through a crack in the rock and reaching towards the sky caught my eye. I plucked them and handed one to Carrie, taking the other one and gently tucking it behind her ear with a lock of her golden hair. She looked down, then up at me, then back down with a bashful grin, eyelashes fluttering and a comfortable silence encoming the moment. Finally, she broke the silence with a small giggle.

“Sorry,” I said, feeling self-conscious, “I know it’s cliché to give a pretty girl flowers.”

“No, thank you! They’re beautiful,” she said, holding the one in her hand up to her nose and inhaling its sweet fragrance. “And, AJ, don’t apologize for the clichés. Don’t ever apologize for them.”

“You just don’t strike me as someone who enjoys cliché things. You’re not a cliché person.”

“True, in the sense that I’d much rather do something like this,” she explained, motioning to our surroundings, “Than a fancy dinner and a movie. But I do see the value in clichés. They’re overused because they’re worth it.”

I didn’t understand, but I nodded anyways.

“You know what I mean?” Carrie asked, willing me to follow her logic. “All the little cliché sayings about life, the ones you read on Hallmark cards or hear in songs or that your Grandma tells you, they’re all true. Even though sometimes they seem so irrelevant to our lives or like they just don’t make any sense.”

“I haven’t had that experience,” I mused, thinking of all the times I’d been told that ‘Family, friends, faith and football are all you need in life’ or to ‘Just have fun while we’re young’ or ‘God had a plan when He gave you your illness’ or my personal favorite, ‘Fighting this disease is only making you stronger.’ None of these had exactly proven to be noble and virtuous and satisfying mindsets, and the last one was utterly ridiculous.

“I guess that’s just part of the journey, is learning it all for yourself even though it’s what you’ve been told all along,” she explained. “You have to see how it applies to your life to appreciate it.”

Oh, how I wanted to believe her. I really did. She was so wise, so sure of herself. Carrie was the kind of person who seemed to have experienced a lifetime’s worth in a matter of sixteen years. The way she spoke made me want to believe her, but I couldn’t. Sure, it was easy for Carrie to say that all the clichés were true because she didn’t live the same life that I did, she wasn’t told over and over and over again the things that I was. My parents and Coach Bossert and Ms. Donna and all the countless doctors weren’t the people pouring their “wisdom” into Carrie – they were pouring it into me. So maybe for her, all the clichés proved true because she’d actually been told truthful things by genuine people and she lived a normal, yet wildly fascinating life. But as for me, I was starting to realize that I had been fed complete and total bullshit by well-meaning but ignorant people to try to help me make sense of the seemingly trivial and tedious life I lived.

“It’s always in the most unexpected of ways, though,” Carrie said, continuing her explanation after the long pause where I was lost in thought.

“You’re probably right,” I said, even though I didn’t believe it. Sometimes, when people are as perfect as she was in that moment, you let them be right.

CHAPTER 8

An interesting benefit to the emphasis on football at Will Owen and in the surrounding towns was that it brought people together who otherwise would never interact. A prime example of this particular phenomena arose later in that same day when I received a text in a group message. It was from Jason Durham, one of the Six Mile boys. There were several guys from Six Mile who were on the football team and were very well-liked by everyone at Will Owen despite their many flaws. To put it nicely, they were rowdy, ignorant, racist, and rude, but their “good ol’ boy” personas always seemed to serve as some sort of excuse for their behavior. What was so peculiar about receiving an invitation to hang out from Jason Durham and his crew was not that they invited me, but that they also included Dante Williams and Ty Becker and a couple other black guys in the group message. Only thanks to football and the grace of God did Jason Durham or any of the Six Mile boys associate with anybody who had a little pigment to their skin. Everyone knew it, too, but quietly accepted it and looked past it. It was just one of those things about these small, Southern towns where our roots were planted.

As decided upon after several rounds of the “I don’t know, what do y’all wanna do?” shit in the group message, we all met at the monsoon room in Clemson, which ended up being bolted shut and barbed wired across the top. Nobody ever understood why it was so illegal to go inside – after all, it was just a room with waterfalls raining down from the ceiling. Personally, I never understood why it was such an attraction to every high schooler in the tri-county area – after all, it was just a room with waterfalls raining down from the ceiling. Something to do, I suppose, an adventure, but one that was clearly off limits. Plan B consisted of throwing the frisbee on the field at Fike for a grand total of twenty minutes before we were bored and sweaty and ready to do something else. We ended up at the Patrick Square clubhouse, a huge house in one of Clemson’s finest neighborhoods that was available to the residents at any time, free of charge.

“Y’all are so lucky I live in here, or y’all’s asses wouldn’t have anything to do tonight,” said Ashton Marks as he swiped his resident key and let us inside.

“The three muskateers get the pool table,” Jason announced as we made ourselves at home, “Who wants to be on Dustin’s team? I call Casey on mine.” Dustin and Casey, the trusty Six Mile sidekicks, followed behind Jason to the billiards room, laughing as they went.

The T.V. flickered on, a kaleidoscope of shapes and colors darting across the screen as Connor and John channel surfed. A bunch of us piled up in the swings on the sprawling back porch that overlooked the gorgeous pool and brick patio. We sat there for a while, staring off into the night in all different directions and talking and laughing until our bellies and throats ached. We made a late night Cookout run, singing lyrics at the tops of our lungs the whole way. When we got back to the clubhouse, we carried our milkshakes and corndogs and burgers down to the pond with us, along with Daniel’s tacklebox and fishing poles. As Daniel helped Dante cast his first line out into the water, Ty plopped down beside me on the wooden dock.

“Fishing isn’t really one of my favorite pastimes,” he said, his voice low and steady.

“I can take it in small doses.”

“Yeah. So how have you been, dude?”

“Good. You?” I always gave the standard answer, whether it was true or not.

“I’ve been good,” Ty said, “Much better since I moved in with Dante.”

“I’m glad you’re happier over there,”

“Yeah, I love my mom but I couldn’t take her husband anymore. He’s such a dick.”

“Damn, dude. Do you ever talk to your dad?”

“Sometimes. Jail’s made him mean, though.”

“I’m sorry.” I felt awful, like I should have said something more, but what?

Ty shrugged. “Eh,” he said, “It ain’t a big deal – actually, it ain’t even a deal.” A moment of silence ed where I almost said something about how Ty was a much better man than his father was, despite knowing about his constant drug use. I didn’t though, couldn’t bring myself to the right words before the moment was past. “Look at this, bro,” he said, motioning to the night sky above us dripping with glittering stars like grains of sand.

“It’s such a clear night,” I said, drinking it all in with my eyes.

“We’re not the only ones out there. There’s no way,” he shook his head, “There

are other worlds out there, maybe even other people like us, and that’s a fact.” He looked at me expectantly. I didn’t have much of a response other than to look back up at the vast canvas above that seemed to be pressing in on our little world. “Don’t you wanna know what’s out there?” he finally asked.

“Yes,” I replied, “Yes, very much so.” I was surprised by the seriousness of my answer, and even more so by the overwhelming realization that my answer was very honest. I liked the sudden and intense curiousity I had in the galaxies above and beyond.

Ty seemed satisfied. “Me too. I love just looking up and wondering, but I’d like to have an answer one day,” he said. Back up at the clubhouse pool, we heard a yelp, then grunts, a huge splash, and cackling laughter as Jason and Dustin threw Casey into the pool against his will.

I chuckled. “You’re next, Daniel,” I called out to the other side of the dock where Daniel and Dante leaned against the wooden posts. I looked back at Ty, who was still in a very serious mood and was back to staring up at the constellations.

“Do you have anything that you’re just, like, ionate about?” Ty asked me.

I thought for a brief second before saying, “I wanna be a pharmacist.”

“But do you have any real ions?” Ty pressed.

“Of course I do,” I said, hoping he wouldn’t ask me to list them because I had no idea what I would say.

“Okay good,” Ty said, “Because a pharmacist is just what you wanna be when you grow up. It’s just a job. It’s not who you are, or who you will ever be. It’s simply a career path.”

“Yeah, I’ve never thought about it that way, but I like the sounds of that,” I said. “Hey, what about you? What do you wanna do when you’re older?”

“Well I’m still banking on football getting me somewhere, since that’s my main ion,” he said, “Coach Bossert thinks I’m good enough. But, even if I do end up making it big and going pro, I don’t wanna just be another generic, big shot athlete. I’m gonna go to school to be a business man, and I’ll do that either way, regardless of if I need the money or not.”

“That’s awesome, man,” I said, in genuine awe of the ambition and depth that I had never really known Ty had.

As I lay in my bed that night, with my friends sprawled out on my floor or the couch, I was overwhelmed with an incredible feeling that could only be described as fullness of heart. It was a wonderfully joyful feeling that I got occasionally on nights like this particular one, nights that I believed to be unique to high schoolers in small towns like my own. Perfect nights where nobody’s parents were being buzzkills, there was no drama, just good friends and good vibes. The stars in the sky shimmered a little brighter, the late night drive-thru munchies tasted a little better, and the laughs rang out a little louder. Such nights could make even the most restless gypsy souls want to stop and stay a while and could stop each and every one of us right in the middle of all our searching and trying and failing and take us back in time to the feeling of perfect peace that we

all had as children. To the feeling that all was as it should be and everyone loved everyone unconditionally and that I wouldn’t trade this life for the world.

I tossed in my sheets and flipped from my back to my side. As I shut my eyes and felt myself slipping away from consciousness, I thought, “This is who I am. This town, these people, they aren’t as bad as I sometimes think. This really is it for me.” With that on my mind and a smile on my lips, I fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

The next night, I came home early from a game of hostage (which involved blindfolding of the opposite team, dropping them off in the middle of nowhere and forcing them to find their way back to their teammates) and talked to my mom about her girls’ night out before kissing her cheek and turning in for the night. Of course, I didn’t actually turn in, because as soon as I heard my parents’ bedroom door shut, I texted Carrie and gave her the “okay” to come in the side door and down the stairs.

She looked adorable, wearing a loose tank top and high waisted denim shorts and her hairy in a messy bun, thin strands falling forward and framing her face. I noticed how the sun had kissed the skin right up under her eyes, her freckles more prominent than they had been before. The girl had crinkly-nose grins that were to die for.

It was a really random night. Carrie showed me pictures of what she had made her best friend for her birthday – decorated mason jars with little candles down inside. She made me watch an hour and a half of Law and Order: SVU. I showed her a new Shwayze song that I really liked and she seemed to like it, too.

“If you could live in any era, what would it be?” she blurted out. One of her random, conversation starter questions that she always seemed to pull out of thin

air.

“Probably the eighties,” I said, “The era that our parents were teenagers. It just seems like it was so much fun – well, I know my dad had a wild ride all the way up.”

She nodded. Before I could even ask, she said, “I guess I’d pick the fifties. Poodle skirts and diners and skating rinks. Then again, the twenties would have been awesome, too, if you could have lived ‘em Gatsby-style.”

“True,” I said. “Really, any generation besides this one would have been cool.”

“I love this generation!” Carrie exclaimed. “We still have a taste of the good ol’ days, but we’re in the age of information.”

“But I just feel like we don’t have anything that’s ours,” I countered, “Nothing iconic, nothing that stands out to represent us.”

“But I think that’s the very thing that defines us,” she explained, “There’s no mold to fit into in our generation. It’s literally the Be-Whatever-The-Hell-YouDesire era. We’re united in our individuality.”

Blown away. I was absolutely blown away by her. I wasn’t going to give that away, however, so I played it cool: “Okay, yeah. But you can’t deny that our generation always seems to be glued to some type of a screen.”

“Yeah, I mean there are a lot of negatives to all the technology,” she said, “But I try to use it for good. I like the way it has the power to unite people while still letting them be their own person.”

“Whatcha mean?” I asked.

“I mean, because of technology, we can share our own opinions and ways of life. And when other people share with us, it just makes us more accepting of them,” she explained.

“Interesting.”

“Yeah. Hey, I didn’t tell you that I’m leaving tomorrow, did I?”

My heart sank. Leaving?! It seemed like just yesterday that Carrie had gotten home from her family beach trip. “No, you forgot to mention that,” I said, trying to play it off like I didn’t really care.

“Yeah, my mom’s side of the family likes to travel, so we’re taking a little roadtrip out West,” she said, “Nana and Pop, Uncle Tom and Aunt Nina, they all said I could tag along just for the experience of it. Oh, and my cousin, Laura, is coming, too, and bringing her husband and their baby, Alaina.”

“That’s awesome,” I said, “So what are y’all going to do out there?”

“Well, I’ve already been to the Grand Canyon, but it’s so amazing that I wouldn’t mind going back. Same with Meteor Crater, Carlsbad Caverns, all that stuff is incredible, so we might spend a few days redoing that. But I really wanna see the stuff I’ve never seen before, so I’ll probably tell them to surprise me.”

I couldn’t help but be happy for her when she was as excited as she was. She had that glistening in her eyes again, a craving for adventure. I was gonna miss her though, like I always did when we weren’t together, but it would be intensified knowing that she wasn’t just right down the road, but thousands of miles from me and this place.

As the night drug on, we finished the last conversations we would have for twelve days exactly, and Carrie said she probably needed to be heading home. As she stood up to leave, she pulled a crinkled piece of paper from the waistband of her shorts and handed it to me, smiling.

“Thank you,” I said, playing it cool, but my heart was pounding out of my chest. Another letter.

“Goodnight, AJ,” she said, hugging me tightly, “I’ll see you in twelve days. It’ll fly by.”

I didn’t believe her, but of course I let her be right. There was nothing I could do, anyways, to keep her from going, so I walked her up the stairs and out the side door knowing that it was going to be a very slow twelve days.

CHAPTER 9

Drowsy, and slightly depressed from the recent news of Carrie’s early morning departure for her (much too long) trip, I stumbled back downstairs and tossed and turned in my bed for several minutes before ing the letter Carrie had slipped me. I fumbled around in the dim light, finally finding it and smoothing out the creases as I slid with my back against the wall down to the floor. It read:

I believe expression is a part of human nature. It’s always been obvious, from the scribbles of cavemen onto cave walls, to letters tucked in safe places or cast out in bottles, to song and dance and praise. There’s something in us that makes us want to share … maybe with friends and family, maybe with strangers, maybe even with our future selves looking back on a moment captured through our expression. Sometimes we express ourselves just for the pure beauty of what has been bottled up inside of us, growing and shaping and bursting forth from the core of who we are with a rainbow of vitality. There are a million different ways to express, and we do it for a million reasons; we express ourselves to and to forget, to share and to hide, to put things in order only to find them unraveling again as we continue on this crazy journey we call life. We express because it allows us to make sense of things better than we would ever be able to otherwise.

I have always appreciated and even tried my hand at different forms of expression – art, photography, music – but nothing has allowed me to organize and communicate my complicated thoughts better than written words on a page. I guess all the reasons I just listed pretty well explain why I’m writing this. Many times, all that gets me through the day is knowing who I am and what I believe in, and having it written down is sometimes the only thing that saves me from the feeling of losing touch with myself.

The more I began to grow as a person, the more I wanted to share with others who I am and what I believe. I guess I began to see everyday conversation as a form of expression as well. I’m a little bit of everything, and so I easily relate to others and find things in common with them. I wanted to show people this, and I wanted to show them that I’m a deep person who knows the meaning of life and cares about living it right. At first I just set out to express this to the people I cared about – grandparents, parents, cousins, and good friends. But eventually my goal became to express it to everyone in my grade at school because I go to a diverse school and felt that my grade represented every type of person. I spent all of my time my sophomore year of high school going out of my way to have conversations with people that I barely knew and never normally would have talked to. Or I went and found old friends just to catch up. I got close with new friends quickly because I always had things that I felt I needed to talk about. I tried to express every aspect of myself and show everyone that I would always be there to understand them. For some reasons, I am really glad I did it. I’m thankful for the connections and relationships formed through this process. I really am glad that people see that I relate to and understand them without judgment. I talked to people who I normally may not have, which just helped me grow into an even more experienced, wellrounded, and understanding person. And it feels good to have left a more positive mark on my high school than most people do. But, going through this process left me incredibly mentally exhausted. It left me feeling as if I had spread myself too thin and instead of focusing on being the best friend, student, teammate, and daughter possible, I had focused on being everything to everyone. It had gotten to the point where I had become obsessed with being able to come to a compromise with everyone on everything … even if I was trying to make a compromise with someone who was gonna argue over the color of the sky.

From this experience, I took two things. First, just because something is good doesn’t mean you can’t end it in order to pursue great. Like I said, I’m so glad that I made the effort to express myself the way I did. But in all honesty, it was all mediocre. I was ready to stop focusing on that and focus on something so much greater. Like my closer friendships, for example, the ones that will last. It doesn’t mean that I stopped being nice to the new people I met and formed connections with. It doesn’t mean that I can’t look back and still feel accomplished and satisfied with what I did. I don’t have to give up the

experience just because I’m not still living like that. I take that experience with me everywhere I go now; it is forever a part of me, but I can take it and run with it from mediocrocy to greatness. That’s how we grow. Second, I learned how powerful the desire to please other people can truly be. I’ve always been the kind of person who wonders what people think of her, but doesn’t obsess over it or compromise herself for the approval of others. But the desire to make everyone, no matter who they were, see that I could relate to them and understand them became exhausting. Some people just don’t want to be understood and they don’t want to it that they could ever have anything in common with me. I would let it really bother me, to the point that I was overthinking and really stressing myself out over people who would never stress about me. I had to learn how to be thankful for the people who were willing to work with me on compromises, understand me, and allow me to understand them. I had to learn to be grateful for the ones who could see how alike we are and stop focusing on how different we are all the time. And I had to learn to be okay with the ones who are always gonna pick a fight, always looking to tear me down, because although they can teach me some things, they ultimately don’t matter. I learned to stop trying to make people happy who don’t care about making me happy. I learned that it’s more important to focus on what’s going to make me and the people I care about happiest.

Love, Carrie.

I reread it. I liked the way the words sounded when I read them in my head in her voice. I wondered why she had left a huge chunk of her story out – the last time we talked about it, she was telling me about sixth grade, and now she was talking about tenth. She was confusing and complicated and utterly fascinating. I got up, crawled into bed, and for a brief second before falling into a deep sleep, I was aware of a feeling of complete satisfaction that I hadn’t had in a long time. Keep the letters coming, Carrie, was all I could think as I closed my eyes for the last time.

Three days ed very uneventfully before I heard from Carrie again. In the

meantime, I found a safe spot in my room for Carrie’s letters like she had requested – tucked underneath tangled headphones and old books in my nightstand drawer.

Four nights after the last time I’d seen Carrie, I was laying on the couch in the basement watching Ridiculousness and eating chips and guacamole provided by Mama before she had gone to sleep upstairs. I felt my phone vibrate, then again and again. The screen read “Carrie Wardlaw.” My heart skipped a beat.

“Hello?”

“What’s up?” Carrie said. She sounded like she was eating chips, too.

“Nothing,” I said. Literally. “What are you doing?”

“Well, we stopped at a campground in Colorado, and everyone else is inside the R.V. asleep, but I just came to sit outside by the fire for a minute.”

“I’m so jealous.”

“Oh, AJ,” she said, “It’s beautiful. We’re so high up, I feel like I could reach up and touch the sky. All these stars …”

“I bet it’s cold,” I said.

“Eh, it’s not too bad by the fire. Everyone needs their daily getaway, and this is mine.”

“The family too much for ya?”

“No,” she said, “No, it’s not that. I love them, really. I just think we all need a balance in our lives – both alone time where we can think, and time with others to be distracted from our thoughts.”

“I can’t tell you the last time I felt like I had the time to truly think,” I said. It bothered me, the accuracy of the statement I had just made.

“Thought is just such an important part of personal growth,” Carrie said, “Like figuring yourself and the world out. All that good stuff.”

“Yeah yeah. I guess it’s just hard to ever get a minute away and disconnect. Being alone in my room late at night always leads to me thinking about some pretty heavy stuff for about five seconds until I fall asleep.”

Carrie laughed. “Yeah, it can be hard to find that time.”

“Wouldn’t it be nice just to go on a permanent vacation, and never have to come back to everyday life?” I said, daydreaming about laying next to Carrie on a tropical beach somewhere.

“Yeah, isn’t that the dream,” Carrie said wistfully. “Although, I don’t think we need to get away from reality forever. I just would hate to have lived my whole life and look back and say ‘I never got away, not even once.’ That would suck.”

“So you’re saying that if you had the chance to get away from reality forever, you wouldn’t take it?” I asked.

“Yeah, I think that is what I’m saying,” Carrie said, choosing her words carefully. “I think that if you completely lost touch with reality and everyday life, your thoughts wouldn’t be relevant anymore. And you would never be able to practice what you preached.”

“I never thought about it like that,” I said. Understatement of the century.

“Yeah,” Carrie said, “So what would be on your mind, if you ever had a second to think?”

“I’d probably be considering taking the offer that Coach Bossert made to me at my family’s last cookout,” I blurted out.

“I really think you should do it, AJ. You don’t wanna look back and wonder ‘What if.’ Ya know?”

“I just hate it so much. I was gonna be so good. I was supposed to be out there actually playing, winning a state ring, getting a scholarship, making something

of myself. I loved everything about the game. I just wanna play,” I said. It was all coming out so fast, so much built up frustration and hurt. I felt the lump in my throat growing and I was incredibly thankful that Carrie was on the opposite end of the country and couldn’t see me getting choked up.

She continued listening for a moment to make sure I was finished talking for the moment. “I’m sorry,” she said, “That fucking sucks.”

I laughed as a single tear fell from the corner of my eye. “Yeah, it does,” I said. It was somehow refreshing to just hear someone speak the simple truth, no matter how bleak. She didn’t sugarcoat any part of it, didn’t use a cliché to try to comfort me. She was just honest with me, something that had become so rare that it was actually touching in a way.

“I want you to be happy,” Carrie said, “You deserve that.”

“I’ll let Coach Bossert know something soon,” I said, “Maybe I should talk to Ty about it.”

“Ty? Ty Becker?”

“Yeah, that kid is deep,” I said.

“Aww, Ty. I’ve never seen that side of him.”

“Yeah, I hadn’t really either until the other night. A bunch of us were hanging out at Patrick Square and the two of us sat out on the dock and talked forever. I just never knew that a tough guy like him would sit around and think about the same kinds of things that I do.”

“I think we’re all a lot more alike than we realize,” Carrie said. “I mean, yeah, we’re all unique, but we all have so much in common, too. So much to relate on.”

“I agree,” I said, “I really think I should talk to him about the whole football thing, especially since he’s on the team. I think he would understand exactly what I’m feeling.”

“I think that’s a good idea. Let me know how that conversation goes, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Hey, I’m getting sleepy,” she said. I could hear the sleepiness in her voice. “Call me again soon if you want.”

“I will.”

“Goodnight, AJ.”

“Goodnight.”

Three nights later, as I went out to a party at a graduated senior’s house with Daniel, Jason, Dustin, and Casey, I realized for the first time the inconsistency that suddenly seemed to characterize all of high school. Just a week before, on the night I had spent with all my buds at Patrick Square, high school and this town and these people had all seemed so grand. And this particular night just … didn’t. There was nothing wrong, really – the music was just as loud as before, the location just as entertaining, and the night just as endless. People seemed to be having a decent time. I even drank a little bit – just enough to feel warm and talkative, but not drunk. But it seemed that no matter what, it wasn’t as enchanting of a night.

Daniel had disappeared and been gone for ten minutes, and Jason, Dustin, and Casey were being particularly obnoxious, so I left them to hang out with some of my older friends, who weren’t really giving me warm and fuzzy vibes. They were nice enough, but just too self-absorbed at the moment. I noticed that the only time I even saw any of the girls smile was when it was for a camera. Previously, I had never realized how much we all pretended to like people that we didn’t really like. I wondered how many people were only pretending to like me.

“Watch this,” said Alex Sosal, one of my graduated senior friends. “Hey Madeline!” he yelled out over the music, “Get over here!”

I hadn’t even noticed Madeline since I had been there. But sure enough, she came stumbling around the corner, an empty shot glass in one hand and a full one in the other. “Yes?” she said to Alex, giggling, and looking at me as she tossed back more liquor.

“Don’t you think AJ looks like he needs a lap dance?” Alex said, nudging my arm. All the guys within hearing range whooped and hollered and chanted my

name. The girls laughed and pulled out their phones.

Madeline sure didn’t waste any time straddling me and rubbing her body up and down against mine to the bassline of the song that was playing. Rather than thinking about the fact that my childhood friend was attempting to seduce me, I tried to focus on all the senior guys and girls around me, cheering my name and cheering Madeline on. I made sure to look like I was enjoying myself as I looked past Madeline at Daniel, who had suddenly reappeared, and all my other friends who were my age, all standing along the outskirts of the crowd that had gathered. They were laughing and cheering, too, but I knew they were jealous of the attention I always seemed to get from the older, cooler kids and from girls like Madeline. What they didn’t know was that being the center of attention only magnified every insecurity I had about being pegged as the pitiful, sick kid of the school.

Finally, the song ended, Madeline climbed off of me, and the crowd dispersed. People went along their ways, dancing, playing games, taking more pictures, then more shots, then more pictures. I hung out for a while longer, getting highfived or slapped on the back by every guy who walked by.

I felt my phone vibrate, and I hoped it was Carrie as I pulled it out of my pocket. It wasn’t.

“Madeline Fuller,” the screen read, indicating that I had a text message from her. I slid the bar on the screen to unlock it. “Meet me upstairs in ten,” it read.

I contemplated for a minute whether or not to go at all. It was so unlike Madeline – maybe not unlike this new, wild, attention-seeking Madeline that I’d gotten to know lately – but unlike the kid I’d grown up with my whole life. I knew her, and although she had her flaws, she was smarter than to throw herself

at guys this hard.

“It’s too weird,” I said to myself, as I closed the message from her and clicked my phone off. I had been so lost in thought for the moment that I hadn’t even noticed Daniel sitting down next to me reading the message from Madeline over my shoulder.

“Well, are you gonna go?” he asked, smirking at me.

“What?”

He gestured to my phone. “Dude,” he said, “Don’t tell me you’re gonna this one up, too.”

“I don’t know,” I said, “She’s way too drunk. She doesn’t know what she’s doing, and it would just be awkward between us afterwards.”

“Shut up, AJ,” Daniel said, laughing now. “Go. Right now, go!” He nudged me towards the stairs. As I finally agreed to meet Madeline and got up to head that way, Daniel slapped me on the back, a proud best friend.

The only thing I could think as I walked through the smoky hallway and up the stairs in the dark was, “What the hell am I getting myself into?”

CHAPTER 10

I found Madeline in one of the bedrooms upstairs, sitting on the bed scrolling through apps on her phone. She looked up when she heard me open the doors and said, grinning, “I didn’t think you were coming.”

“Yeah, sorry I didn’t answer. My phone died right after I got your text.”

“Well I sent it just in time, then,” she said as she walked (stumbled) over to me and pulled me down to the bed with her. “Are you having fun tonight?”

“Yeah, are you?”

“Obviously,” she said flirtaciously.

“Right,” I said, “Dumb question. It would be impossible not to be having fun with as much alcohol as you’ve got in your system.”

She threw her head back in laughter, then kissed me – it happened that fast. Thick strands of her dark hair fell forward into my face as she climbed on top of me. Her lips were soft and warm and tasted like vodka, but she wasn’t a very good kisser. I gave her the benefit of the doubt and blamed it on her drunken state.

I had kissed girls prior to this night, but this encounter was quickly intensifying beyond anything I’d experienced with a girl before. As Madeline pulled her shirt off over her head, I began to wonder how far she was going to try to take this. Although I was supposed to be opposed to having sex before marriage (according to my parents and my preacher), I wasn’t. It simply hadn’t happened yet. I was completely used to being the innocent one out of my friends, and despite the fact that I usually hated that label, I was suddenly reluctant to give that innocence up. But, I thought, My innocence is already fading fast. With that in mind, I proceeded. It was actually happening. I tried not to think about the fact that it was Madeline.

Just as I was sliding her shorts down over her hips, Madeline said, “Maybe we should stop.”

“What?”

“I don’t wanna go too far.”

“Okay,” I said. She was still trying to salvage some of the good-girl reputation, after all.

“I’m sorry,” she said as she put her shirt back on.

“It’s fine.” I sat up on the edge of the bed and grabbed my phone. I was about to get up and leave when she Madeline turned my face towards her and kissed me again. I pulled back, annoyed.

“We can hang out up here a while longer, if you want,” she said.

“I actually have to go. I forgot I have a curfew tonight,” I lied. Before she could argue, I got up and walked to the door.

“Text me sometime,” she said, “We could hang out again soon.”

Take a damn hint, I thought, but all I said was, “Yeah, okay.”

“Goodnight, AJ,” Madeline said as I opened the door and stepped out.

“Bye,” I said, shutting it.

When I finally made it home that night, I found a piece of mail addressed to me on the kitchen counter. Although I didn’t recognize the return address, I did recognize the handwriting. Carrie.

I crawled into bed downstairs before carefully opening the envelope. The letter read:

Everyone who lives is blessed. As happy-go-lucky or hippie-cliché as that may sound, it really is true. And to appreciate what we have, we must first realize that it isn’t necessarily about the quantity of what we have, but the quality. Yes, knowing that we have more than others can guilt us into being appreciative, but we will never fully understand how blessed we are if we don’t look at the

breadth and depth of everything we have, from the most basic physical needs to the luxuries of love and knowledge and spirituality. It goes to show that having a positive perspective is much more rewarding in life because it allows us to recognize blessings that aren’t just skin deep, things that are taken for granted far too often. Being blessed isn’t even necessarily just about what we have – it’s more than that. It’s about what we are. It’s about appreciating every single experience, good or bad, that we have been a part of. It’s about appreciating the things that grow us as people. It’s about looking around at this mysterious journey we call life, this beautiful and diverse world we live in, and appreciating the fact that we are a piece to the puzzle. Only once we realize what all we have to appreciate can we even begin to comprehend how blessed we are. But once we can comprehend it, we can’t help but feel grateful. People have different views on who to be grateful to – a God, ourselves, the universe, other people – but at the end of the day those differences shouldn’t matter. It’s enough just to be grateful because gratitude leads to humility and to a feeling of satisfaction within us.

However, we must never to settle on what we have so much that we stop striving for more. I don’t mean that we should turn life into a rat race where we are only focused on gaining more material or superficial things. What I mean is this: the world is vast and unknown and we should never settle for only seeing a tiny corner of it. And as much as we may have seen and done, we should always be trying new things, for experience is wisdom. We should never stop trying to better ourselves (no matter how awesome we become!) and do more of what we love. See what I mean? It’s not that we are any less appreciative of the blessings, just that we are able to see room for improvement, something that we all have. We just have to make sure that we are striking a balance between being grateful and striving for more. Everyday we should find a way to remind ourselves to appreciate the blessings we already have, rather than focusing on what we have yet to gain. We also need to realize that what we have or don’t have doesn’t take away from what we are worth. This means that we can strive for literally anything and it’s okay to fail because we know that we aren’t defined by our circumstances. Striving for bigger and better is a good thing as long as it doesn’t become the main thing. It gives us goals and ambitions to live life to its fullest potential, and it gives us an opportunity to grow as people. A life lived in this type of freedom is a life well lived because it means that we realize that we aren’t defined solely by

what we have gained or what we will gain. And that may be the greatest step towards satisfaction of them all.

What is it that causes us to want more? It’s the void that we all have, every person to ever live on planet earth. I’m talking about a void within our souls that we are all searching to fill. I’ve mentioned satisfaction a couple of times already, but never really elaborated on it. Satisfaction is, whether we realize it or not, a huge part of our lives. We are always finding satisfaction in something. No matter who we are or where we are in life, we are always filling the voids in our souls with something, anything, that we think will give us peace and happiness. It’s like a physical hunger or thirst, only it is mental, emotional, and spiritual. Just as we can eat and be full, we can satisfy ourselves with a million different things. But no matter how much we eat in one day, the next day we will still find ourselves hungry at some point. Likewise, no matter how sweet the satisfaction tastes while we have it, eventually it leaves us empty and wanting more. One of the hardest truths to accept is that nothing can satisfy us forever. It’s a scary and exhausting thought to think that while our bodies may settle down, our souls never truly will. And while we can’t find the magic thing to perfectly satisfy us forever, we can make peace with our human condition and humble ourselves enough to realize that nobody will ever have perfection, and not one of us is an exception to that. We can still have peace and happiness despite that fact by having a positive attitude. And maybe rather than looking for complete satisfaction, we should look for deeper and wider satisfaction. Maybe rather than looking for permanent, we should just look for less temporary. The key to better (not perfect!) satisfaction is to look for it in things that have meaning. Satisfaction is a need, just like the need to feel respect for ourselves and respect by others, the need to reach our fullest potential, the need for knowledge and understanding, the need for beauty, either in ourselves or in our lives. We as people need to feel good about ourselves, we need identity and expression, we need to feel like, in some sense, things have been made right. When we find what satisfies us, not completely, not forever, but when we find the few and far between things that have meaning, we need to hang on to them. We need to appreciate them, and we’ll be closer to true satisfaction than ever before.

Food for thought, I suppose, stuff I’m thinking about on this journey out West.

Love, Carrie.

I called her, not expecting an answer since it was almost 2:30 in the morning, but just to hear her voice on the recording before leaving her a voicemail. It rang once, then again, and to my surprise, the line clicked on before the third ring. I heard movement and muffled voices for a few moments before Carrie said, “Hello?”

“I wasn’t expecting you to be up,” I said.

“It’s two hours earlier out here, ? So it’s only 12:30 right now, and you know I never go to bed before 12:30.”

“Right, you’re always the night owl.”

“That’s me. So what’s up? Why are you up so late?”

“Jamison had a party tonight, so I was out at that and I just came home.”

“Oh, how was that?” she asked.

“It was fun, I guess,” I said, “I just can get weird vibes from people sometimes.”

“I can, too,” Carrie said. I was kind of shocked to hear that she could relate because everyone loved her so much. “I think that’s just high school,” she continued.

“That’s exactly what I was thinking tonight!” I said, “It’s so inconsistent. One day everyone is your friend –”

“And the next, you’re completely alone and unwanted!” she said, cutting me off.

“Yeah. Wow, you’ve felt like that, too?”

“Yeah. I think everyone does, though,” she went quiet for a minute. I let her think, knowing she’d have more to say if I did so. Sure enough, she said, “The thing about it is, the bad days make you wanna completely quit caring about it all. But the good days keep you caring just enough that the bad days hurt more than they should.”

“Yeah. Wow, that’s so true,” I said. “Sometimes, it feels like it’s all just a big competition.”

“Yeah, and you might be lucky enough to be first place in one area, but probably not, and you’ll never win at everything.”

“Yeah!” I said, laughing out of relief and practically joy that there was another person who could understand how I felt at the times where I felt most alone. It made it even better that that person was Carrie. She had a way of taking an idea or a feeling that had been rolling around in my head for months, years even, building, sometimes even burdening me, but never coming together into something I could explain, and putting it simply yet precisely into the words I hadn’t even known I was searching for.

“I’m glad you get it,” Carrie said, her smile audible in her voice.

“Oh, I do,” I said, “Do you think it’s just like that in high school? Or do you think that’s just how life is and will always be?”

“I think it’s just high school. There’s no way I’m gonna live the rest of my life that way. People have to grow up at some point.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I mean, I think I am,” Carrie said, laughing. “So anyways, anything interesting happen at the party?”

I debated on whether or not to tell Carrie about Madeline. Finally, I just said, “Well, Madeline was kinda all over me.”

“Yikes.”

“Yeah.”

“I love Madeline and all,” Carrie said, “Well, let me rephrase, I tolerate Madeline’s stuck up ass and try to see the good in her simply because she is everywhere. You can’t get away from her. But I just really don’t understand girls like her who always need attention from boys that badly. It makes me sad, like she can’t see her own worth and she’s looking to all these boys hoping that they’ll see it in her.”

“Yeah, and I have more respect for her than she has for herself,” I said.

“I’m sure that’s true,” she said. “But continue the story. Give me the juicy details.”

“Well, Daniel convinced me to go upstairs to a bedroom with her,” I said, a little ashamed but trying to find the humor in it, like Carrie did. “She was all over me – I thought she was about to try to have sex with me. But then she just stopped, so I left.”

“You would have done it, though?”

“I don’t know. Maybe in the heat of the moment. But I’m honestly so relieved it didn’t happen.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want my first time to be with Madeline Fuller when she’s drunk. I want my first time to mean something. I want it to be with somebody who means something to me.”

There was a long pause, and I felt my face flushing red. I thought back on the words that had just come out of my mouth. Does that make me sound too feminine? I wondered.

“That’s so cute,” Carrie said, her much anticipated answer not giving me much relief from my embarrassment. Cute? I didn’t wanna be a cute boy in her eyes. I wanted to be a man.

“No, it’s not,” I said, “Sorry, that was weird.”

“No, AJ,” she said. “I think that’s so awesome. There aren’t a lot of guys out there who are like that.”

“You’re right …” I trailed off. Crap.

“But I mean that in a good way!”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said, “How’s the trip?”

“So good.”

“I’m glad. I got your letter.”

She gasped a little bit. “Did you like it?” she asked, slightly bashful in her tone.

“Loved it.”

“Can you tell I’ve had a lot of free time on my hands out here?” she giggled. “All this riding, nothing to do but look out the window and write down what I think about.”

“That’s awesome though,” I said, “I’d love to be able to do that.”

“Do it, then.”

“I will one day.”

“Okay, good. Make sure you do. It’s well worth it.”

“I know.”

“Goodnight, AJ.”

“Goodnight.”

CHAPTER 11

It was always hard to come back to the ground from Cloud Nine after a late night conversation with Carrie. The next morning was no exception. I barely tasted my breakfast, only half listened to Mama as she talked to me about how much she loved my friends and how I should have them back over soon.

Workouts weren’t as easy as I knew they should have been – a normal guy my age could have done double the repititions I did in half the time. My fatigue was much more intense and came on much faster than it usually did. Ms. Donna pretended not to notice.

Why is it suddenly so hard for me to do this stuff? I thought, as I struggled through my final set of crunches. These workouts are child’s play, I said to myself in disgust. I finally wrote it off as a result of me taking a week long break from any sort of working out, and as I left the athletic building, I vowed to never take a break like that again.

That afternoon, I was flung across the couch in the living room flipping back and forth between River Monsters and Sports Center when my dad walked through the front door, home early from work.

“Did to invite Mary and Bill?” he asked Mama as he kissed her on the cheek.

“Yes, they said they’ll be here a little late,” she answered, smiling up at him.

“Good. Keith is bringing his crew, plus the Ellisons and the Glazes are coming for sure.”

I sat up. “Wait, what’s going on?” I asked.

“Hey, bud,” Dad said, “We’re having people over tonight, grilling out, doing the usual.”

“Oh.”

“AJ, will you do me a favor?” Mama practically yelled, her head buried in the refrigerator searching for something.

“Sure.”

“Run next door and ask the Fullers to come over tonight. Madeline’s car is in the driveway so I know she’s home, and I think Karen is, too.”

“Why can’t you just text Ms. Karen?” I asked, annoyed.

“Please, AJ. For me.”

Fine. Without another word, I walked out the side door and through the little bit of yard separating mine and Madeline’s houses. As I trudged up the long stairway and up onto the lavishly decorated front porch, I prayed that Ms. Karen would answer the door and that Madeline would be asleep or in the shower. I did not want to have to face her, especially not after the night before.

Of course, as my luck would have it, Madeline was the one to answer the door. She practically gawked at me when she saw me standing there. It was awkward.

When she didn’t say anything for a couple seconds, I finally said, “Hey, we are having people over tonight.”

“Okay,” she said, cracking a small smile.

“My parents wanted me to invite y’all,” I said.

“Okay, thank you. I’ll tell my mom.”

“Alright. See y’all tonight,” I said, turning to make an attempt at a quick getaway down the steps.

“Hey,” Madeline said, stepping out onto the porch and shutting the door behind her, “Can you stay for a minute?” She motioned to the cushioned chairs lining the porch.

“I should really be getting back to help my dad get ready for tonight.”

“Just sit down, AJ,” she said, grabbing my wrist and pulling me into the chair beside her.

“What’s up?” I asked, playing dumb.

“I’m sorry about last night.”

“Oh, it’s fine. I don’t care.”

“Well, I hope everything between us is good …” she trailed off.

“Yeah, it is!” I said, starting to get up.

“You didn’t let me finish. I was saying that I hope everything between us is good because, well, I really care about you, AJ.”

Oh, no. No no no. Not this. Not her. “That’s so nice,” I said, in a feeble attempt to let her down easy.

“Yeah,” she said, clearly not getting it, “I was thinking that, maybe, you know, if you felt the same way, we could start hanging out more.”

“I feel like we hang out a lot!” I said. It was the best I could come up with.

“We never hang out just the two of us, or even in a small group. We always just end up at the same place at the same time,” she argued.

“True,” I said.

“I’m sorry, I know you need to go,” she said.

“Yeah,” I said, standing up, “Dad needs me to get the grill ready.”

“I understand. I’ll see you tonight.”

“Bye,” I said, making the escape back to my house in record time.

And so the night proceeded – family friends once again piling through the doors of my house for another late night of each other’s company. The conversations sounded the same as they always did, rarely any new faces around to get to know and make things interesting. Although I was focused on being a good host as always, I tried to get lost in the blaring music to make it through the night.

I thought about texting Carrie, mostly because I missed her, but also because I didn’t particularly want to be where I was at the moment. A conversation with

her, even through text message, could usually take me away. I decided against it, though, because I felt like I would be bothering her.

I did, however, receive a text from Madeline over the course of the night. It read “This song makes me think of you :).” I had been singing the words to the current song playing just out of habit, but I hadn’t ever really paid attention to what it was saying. What even is this song? I wondered, unable to the name of it for a moment. Drunk on You by Luke Bryan, I ed. For the first time, I really listened:

“Girl you make my speakers go boom, boom

Dancin’ on the tailgate in the full moon

That kinda thing makes a man go ‘Mhmm’

You’re lookin’ so good in what’s left of those blue jeans

Drip o’ honey on the money maker, gotta be

The best buzz I’m ever gonna find

Hey, I’m a little drunk on you and high on summertime.”

Why? Why me? I didn’t know what to think, let alone to text back. So weird. I locked my phone screen and went to see if I could find Coach Bossert. I looked out across the backyard, expecting to see him throwing the football with Chase and Matthew, but he wasn’t there. He wasn’t in the pool either, or sitting around the fire, or helping my dad clean up the grill.

I stepped inside to look for him, and I was just about to give up when I heard, “What’s up, AJ?” coming from the living room in Coach Bossert’s hushed voice. I looked to see him sitting in the dim light with Chase sprawled out on his lap, asleep.

“Hey! I was just looking for you,” I said.

“This one ed out early,” he said, motioning down to Chase. “I don’t think he’s feeling very good.”

“I could use a little nap too,” I said, suddenly noticing how tired I felt.

“I know all this hosting has got to wear y’all out,” he chuckled.

“Eh, not my parents. They love entertaining.”

“I know. You’re dad’s always been the life of the party,” he said, getting a misty look in his eyes. Reminiscing, I suppose. “Friends have always come together at his house, and your parents are practically friends with the whole town.”

“I know. Sometimes I love it, sometimes I hate it. A lot of people in this town are small-talk kinda people.”

“What do you mean?”

I didn’t really know what I meant. I didn’t even really mean to blurt out that last part, but it just kinda came out. Since I couldn’t come up with words to describe anything close to what I was feeling, I just said, “I don’t even know. Just having a teenager moment, I guess.”

“I understand. It’s normal to have mixed feelings about your hometown,” he said. “Just don’t decide that you hate this place too much. The people here mean well, and you belong here.” He smiled and softened his voice at that last part, obviously believing that that was gonna make me feel better.

“Yeah,” I said. Great. I belong here? On that note, I changed the subject. “So, I’ve been thinking about coming to football, like you said.”

He sat up a little straighter in the recliner, jostling Chase. “Really?” I could hear the excitement in his voice.

“Yeah,” I said, “I don’t wanna look back and wonder ‘what if.’”

“Oh, AJ!” he said, grinning, “That’s so exciting! We could really use your help.”

“Yeah, I’m excited about it,” I said. “For a while, I was scared to do it, because I thought it might be hard to be there but not get to play. But now I know it’ll make me happy just to be there.”

“I’m so proud of you. You won’t regret this,” he said. I could tell he really meant it, too.

I turned in early that night, in an effort to avoid Madeline. I waited up for a while after my conversation with Coach Bossert, willing all of our guests to leave so that I could be alone with my parents. Sometimes I just needed them, only them. The night seemed endless, though, so downstairs I went.

As I lay in my bed that night, I realized what I’d meant when I referred to the people of this town as “small-talk kinda people.” People in Clemson, at least most of the ones I knew, were shallow. I’d never noticed it too much until I started spending a lot of time with Carrie, who was the complete opposite. When Carrie talked, it was almost never small-talk. She jumped straight into real conversations about things that actually mattered. Maybe that was why it was so easy to have a real connection with her, none of the fakeness that everyone and everything else had to offer. It actually made me kind of sad to think about how almost everyone else I knew wanted to sit around and talk about the weather or sports or other people, neglecting the bigger and better subjects and leaving them for someone else to talk about, because it was just “too awkward” to have that deep of a conversation. Maybe that was why it had become so exhausting to spend time around my parents’ friends, or even my own friends, because I had to pretend like I cared about what they did.

Thinking about it all gave me the sudden desire to talk to Carrie. I craved that genuine conversation and her soft voice on the other end of the line. Instead of picking up my phone, though, I rolled over and went to sleep. It was my way of supressing the urge, I guess.

“Come on, boys!” Coach Bossert yelled at the wide receivers, “Y’all got butterfingers this mornin’!”

I was actually enjoying myself at football practice. I had been helping move equipment and run drills for the last two and a half hours, and all my friends seemed thrilled to have me there. It was so nice to be back in that setting – I felt at home.

“AJ,” Coach Bossert said, “You’ll wanna just stand off to the side for this last part.”

“What are they about to do?”

“Tire flips. It’s their punishment for leaving the weight room a mess yesterday,” he said. I watched as the assistant coaches dragged the giant tractor tires out from the storage building next to the practice field. The guys lined up in rows and prepared for the feat.

“How many do they have to do?” I asked, as the whistle blew and they began.

“Fifty each,” Coach Bossert said, “It would be more, but we don’t have all day. Or enough tires.”

I watched as so many of my friends and schoolmates struggled and pushed through their fatigue to lift the heavy tires, starting crouched down to the ground

and then standing all the way up and pushing them over, only to start over and do it again and again. I watched as their muscles flexed, glistening with sweat as the sun beat down on that hot summer day. And, just like that, there it was. Resurfacing in my mind from a place where I’d long ago tried to bury it, it was the same feeling that had brought me down so many times before. An insecurity of mine, I guess you could call it, but more than that. It was a fear, an embarrassment. When I looked at all the guys around me, all strong and healthy and thriving, I couldn’t help but to compare myself to them, and I didn’t add up. I was weak, held back by sickness. How am I ever supposed to be a man if I’m not strong? I wondered. Or be good enough for a woman? Girls don’t want weaklings … especially not girls like Carrie. I didn’t want to let it make me bitter, but I couldn’t help it.

Naturally, I went home and took a nap after practice was over.

I woke up to a text. Not from Carrie, though, but from Madeline. I didn’t read it.

I felt like showering, so I started the water, slipped out of my boxers, and pulled my shirt off over my head as the bathroom filled with steam. I looked down at my body. I was just a little thin throughout my upper body, with my naturally slim waist and not much muscle prominence in my arms and shoulders. My lower body, however, was awkwardly shaped – my thighs sickly skinny and my calves enlarged to compensate for my muscle wasting elsewhere, according to my doctor.

I climbed into the shower and closed my eyes as I let the piping hot water run all over me for a minute. I washed and rinsed my hair and body within a matter of five minutes, and then went back to just standing there under the stream of water. I felt so relaxed that I began to get sleepy again, even though I’d just woken up from a three hour nap. I let my eyes close for just a moment, I thought, but the next thing I knew, I was falling. I reached out to catch myself, jamming both my wrists and still landing on the left side of my body, crushing my left leg and hip.

My head collided with the slippery tile side of the shower, sending instant waves of pain to pulse through my skull.

“MAMA!!!” I yelled, water filling my mouth as I did so. I realized right as I said it that there was no use. She hadn’t been home when I’d gone upstairs to check for her earlier, and even if she’d come home since, there was no way she would be able to hear me.

I looked up, water splashing into my eyes all the while, and reached out for the bar on the shower door. My wrist popped several times as I did so. I finally was able to get a grip on the bar and began trying to pull myself up, eventually getting to a sitting position and stopping to take a breather. My left hip throbbed as I bent forward to examine my leg. Nothing appeared broken, but knots and bruises were already appearing in several places. I winced in pain as another wave of pain shot through my head, bouncing from one temple to the other until I felt like it was going to explode.

I once again grabbed the bar and this time tried to get into a standing position. Come on, I thought, Be strong. I bent my right leg close to my body and tried to stand up on it alone, but it wasn’t strong enough to lift my full weight off the ground. My muscles quivered under the pressure and eventually gave out, so I shifted over onto my right knee, my left leg still dangling off to the side. Using both legs this time, I gave it every ounce of strength left in me at this point. Crying out in pain the whole time, I pushed and pulled and maneuvered and finally stood up. I shut off the water in disgust, toweled off, and limped back to my bed. Sleep seemed like just about the only safe haven from reality anymore.

I woke up to Mama’s hand lightly rubbing my back. I rolled over and looked into her deep blue eyes, her brow creased with worry, and I tried to smile to comfort her.

“Everything okay, baby?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said, “Sorry, did I sleep through dinner?”

“No, I was just coming down here to let you know it’s ready,” she said, relaxing a little bit.

“Okay, thank you.”

“It’s your favorite – chicken lasagna.”

“Mmm,” I said, “Sounds good. I’ll be up in a minute.”

“You sure? You can eat down here if you need to,” she said.

“No, I’m fine. I’ll be up in a minute.”

“Okay,” she said, getting up from my bed to leave. As soon as her back was turned, I tried to do the same, but my left leg protested in shoots of searing pain. I knew that getting up the stairs wasn’t going to be pretty.

“Hey, Mama?” I said.

“Yes?” she asked, cocking her head at me from halfway up the stairs.

“Do you think we could maybe, um, eat … down here?” I asked, fumbling for words.

“Of course,” she smiled.

“My leg just …”

“Don’t even worry about it,” she cut me off. “I’m gonna go grab everything. I’ll be back down here in a minute.”

“Thank you,” I said. I was a little embarrassed that I was asking for something extra of my mom just because I couldn’t man-up and get up the stairs. I knew that it was just making her pity me more than she already did. Ugh. I couldn’t worry about it too much though, because the pain in my leg and hip ripped my mind away from anything else every time it started to wander.

Mama reappeared at the top of the stairs, balancing plates of food and glasses of tea on a large tray as she slowly worked her way down the stairs. Finally she got over to me, first helping me prop up on pillows pushed up against my headboard, and then removing her own food from the tray and sitting the tray on my lap. Even in portable form, the food was still perfectly dressed and placed on my mini table. So typical of my mom.

“How was football today?” she asked. She was sitting like a little kid, criss cross apple sauce in the floor next to my bed.

“It was good. Ty is really good at running the trick plays we worked on. Daniel looks good, too.”

“I know Coach Bossert is so happy to have you there,” she grinned up at me.

“Yeah, I think he is, too,” I said, shoveling a huge bite of lasagna into my mouth. “I get to help out a good bit.”

She nodded and sipped her tea. “We gonna beat Easley in the season opener?” she asked.

“I don’t know. That’s always a tough one for us. They’re such a physical team, but we should be able to handle them.”

“I hope so.”

“I fell today,” I blurted out.

“At football?” she asked, concerned.

“No, in the shower. I hit my head and my leg and my hip,” I said, pulling my sheets back to reveal to her the bruises covering my left leg and hipbone.

Mama let out a slight gasp and covered her mouth as she lightly touched my bruises. “Baby,” she said, her voice cracking, “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“Do we need to move you upstairs into one of the guest rooms? The doctors did say that climbing stairs will get harder as time es.”

“No, I like my room being in the basement. Besides, I’ve gotta be able to climb stairs.”

“AJ, you don’t always have to be so tough all the time,” Mama said.

“I’m never tough, or strong. All anyone ever does is feel bad for me.”

“That’s not true,” she said, her eyes going misty. She set aside her empty plate and glass and pulled her legs up to her chest, sitting in a little ball on the floor and rocking slightly. “That’s not true at all. I knew you were gonna be a fighter before you were even born.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, your dad and I wanted a third child so badly, but it didn’t look like we were gonna get one. We had trouble getting pregnant and I had a miscarriage in between you and Kensley. When we finally got pregnant with you, we were so happy. I mean, words just can’t explain the joy.”

“Really?”

“Really. And I ended up having to have an emergency C-section with you, but you fought right through it,” she paused for a moment, looking at me and smiling. “You were always my miracle. Watching you play when you were little was my absolute favorite thing to do.”

“Why?”

“Well, you were so clumsy, first of all,” she laughed, “But every time you fell, you always got right back up. Without even blinking. You’ve always been like that and you still are.”

“So you don’t pity me?” I asked, hopeful.

“No. I mean, it breaks my heart everyday that you can’t play football because I know how much you love it. You don’t deserve to have to miss out. But I don’t feel bad for you. You’ve played the hand you were dealt very well.”

In that moment, sitting under my covers with a half eaten plate of chicken

lasagna, I had a breakthrough. I realized that maybe Carrie had meant it when she said she took me seriously. Maybe Coach Bossert hadn’t invited me to football out of pity, but because he genuinely wanted me there. Maybe my friends actually liked me and wanted me around and didn’t just hang out with me because they felt obligated. I turned to look at Mama, no longer embarrassed that I had brought all this up. In that moment, I felt like a little bit less of a burden.

Without another word, I crawled out of my bed. My leg and hip protested in sharp pains but I didn’t care. I slid down onto the floor, laid my head on Mama’s lap and held her hand. A single tear fell from my eye, a tear of built up frustration turned to relief, turned to overwhelming gratitude for my mother.

CHAPTER 12

From that day forward, things were different, my outlook a little brighter. I must have fallen asleep in Mama’s lap, but when I woke up the next morning, my world was different. I no longer felt illegitimate, no longer believed that the people in my life only felt bad for me. Something about the comfort of my mother’s words changed me, to the point that I never had that nagging again.

Later that night, I went out with Daniel and Dante. I was disappointed when Ty told me he couldn’t come along, but I still went, just for something to do. We walked around downtown Clemson for a while and then went to the boardwalk over the lake. The two of them smoked while I ate a Cookout tray. It made me wish I had saved my three bucks and stayed home.

When I went home that night, I was pleasantly surprised to find Caleb and Kensley perched up on stools around our coffee table playing cards and sipping wine with my parents. Kensley jumped up to hug me when she saw me, calling me ‘Baby Brother’ like she always did; Caleb shook my hand with a firm grip. It was the first time I’d seen either of them all summer.

“How long are y’all here?” I asked, sitting down alongside them at the coffee table as Mama dealt me into the card game.

“Just for the weekend,” Caleb said.

“We both wanted to surprise visit,” added Kensley, “So we thought, ‘Why not do

it together?’”

“And we’re so glad y’all did,” my dad chimed in.

“So how was Kenya?” I asked Caleb, expecting a long answer full of rich cultural knowledge and eye-opening experiences that he had gathered while also doing missions. The kind of answer I would have expected and gotten from Carrie, I guess.

“It was a lot of work,” he said, “Pretty, though. But I’m glad to be home.” Disappointment, if I’d ever felt it.

“I bet,” said Kensley, “I’ve been to every beach on the East Coast this summer, but there’s just no place like home.”

“Good ole’ Clemson,” Dad said.

“There’s just nothing like your high school friends, AJ,” Caleb said, completely shifting the focus in the room onto me.

“Yeah,” Kensley said, “He’s so right. I mean, those are the girls I can count on to always be by my side at football games, or when I go shopping, or to concerts. Wouldn’t you agree, Mama?”

“Oh yes,” Mama answered, closing her eyes and smiling as she nodded in firm

agreement. “Yes, so many of my friends in my cooking class and small group are girls I grew up with right around here. So many of our family friends.”

“I mean, who else would I go golfing with?” asked Caleb. Had he always been this obnoxious?

“Or out on the lake with,” chimed in my dad.

“Yeah, but do you ever get a little bored of them?” I blurted out.

You would have thought I’d just announced a plan to move to Antarctica from the hush that fell over the room and the way my whole family looked at me.

“Wh-wh-what do you mean, bored?” Caleb asked, disgusted.

“AJ!” Kensley said, onishingly.

“I mean, I love my friends! Y’all know that,” I said, trying to back track to save myself a little bit. “I guess sometimes when we hang out it just gets kinda boring.”

“In what way?” my dad asked, trying to be fair to me by remaining calm and hearing what I had to say.

“Well like tonight, Daniel and Dante and I just went and sat at the boardwalk and ate,” I explained. “We just sat there. It would have been different if we had had good conversations, maybe about things a little less meaningless, or if we had done something a little less pointless. Just anything besides the same ole, same ole.”

“But, AJ” Caleb preached, “High school memories are some of the best you’ll ever have. And you have to have your friends to make those memories with. It’s not meaningless.”

“That’s right,” Kensley said, “Don’t ever let go of those friendships. They’re the most rewarding ones to have around.”

“This is your home, AJ,” Mama added.

“I know,” I said, hoping for the lecturing to end.

“One of the greatest parts of life is being friends with people who are similar to you,” Dad said. “People who think like you, live like you, now those are the ones to keep around.”

I was in utter shock and disgust at his speaking of those words. “But isn’t that kind of small-minded? What about seeing the world and meeting new people? Isn’t experiencing different things what makes you a better person?”

“Not necessarily,” said Mama, “I know plenty of good people who have never

left this town.”

“Yeah, I mean there’s plenty to experience right here,” Kensley said.

“I’ll be the first to tell you, AJ, that traveling the world ain’t nothin’ special,” said Caleb.

“See, son,” Dad said, “Different isn’t always better. Don’t get tricked into thinking so.”

From that point forward, I kept my mouth shut. I finished the card game in virtual silence as I sat there and steamed over the grilling I’d just received for having my own opinion about something. I looked at Kensley, who looked and talked just like every single girl at my school, who looked just like younger versions of my mom. I looked at Caleb, my brother who I had looked up to with utmost iration since the time I was in diapers, and saw the epitome of everything that I did not like about this town and the people in it. And for the first time, I realized that that wasn’t who I wanted to be.

In short, my life prior to falling in love with Carrie Wardlaw looked something like this: going to workouts or football practice or both, wishing for stronger legs that didn’t cramp up every chance they got, avoiding Madeline at church every Sunday, missing Carrie, debating on whether or not to text Carrie, deciding not to bother Carrie, and taking as many naps as possible to try to forget about how incredibly bored and unhappy I was with everything.

However, my life after falling in love with Carrie Wardlaw became the biggest and most beautiful adventure where there was meaning and purpose and a reason

to get out of my bed. There was no more boredom, no more longing without reason. It all began on the very first day that Carrie got home from her trip, and it has yet to end.

CHAPTER 13

We couldn’t decide on what to do, so Carrie suggested we go for a drive. “I’ll drive,” she said, “Come to my house.”

I drove into one of the older neighborhoods of Clemson, relying on my memory to guide me to Carrie’s. I hadn’t been to her house very much, and the last time I’d been was in ninth grade. Dead end road, second to last house on the left – somehow I made it there.

Carrie opened the front door as I was walking up the front steps. “Come on! You haven’t seen my room since I redecorated,” she said.

I walked into the dimly lit foyer and looked around. I was beginning to this house now – strange in its set-up, it was rather large and nicely furnished, but plain. I followed Carrie down the long hall to her room at the end.

“It’s kinda messy,” she said. That was an understatement. Clothes were thrown everywhere, covering every last inch of the floor and her bed. Water bottles littered the floor and coffee mugs lined her bedside table.

“Why do you have piles of blankets and pillows in the floor?” I asked, smirking at her.

“I get so cold at night! Even in the summer. I think I have something wrong with

me,” she giggled. She plugged in the colorful strand of lights that was lining the tops of her walls and turned off the overhead light, giving the room a cool glow.

“Who is this?” I asked, gesturing to her computer that was playing music. The song had an interesting rhythm and cool sound effects; the singer was some guy with an amazing voice unlike anything I’d ever heard before.

“The Weeknd,” she replied, “I love him.”

“Hmm,” I nodded. I sat down on her bed and really looked around for the first time. Her walls were a dark blue, not that the paint color mattered much for everything she had hanging up. There were pictures of her standing in front of the Grand Canyon, some cool buildings in Charleston, the mountains in Tennessee, and in front of a marshy waterway sunset somewhere. An old American Idol poster here, a “Go Carrie!!” poster from a volleyball game there. Dozens and dozens of pictures of her with friends, many that I recognized, some that I did not. Inspirational quotes and song lyrics painted onto beautifully decorated canvases lined the walls up and down, too. On her shelf sat piles of notes from friends, seashells, and Mason jars full of sharks’ teeth and arrowheads.

“You used to be in Girl Scouts?” I asked, picking up a dusty shadowbox with ‘Troop 2’ in bold letters framed at the top and pictures and awards filling the rest of the space.

“Don’t laugh,” she said, “I also did a pageant one time. I was terrible at it. Anything else embarrassing you’d like to know about me?” She picked up a picture of herself in an overly girly pageant dress and handed it to me, laughing.

I sat down on the bed, laughing and looking at the picture. Carrie did the same, her hand on my wrist trying to pull the picture out of my view and into her own. I pulled back, playfully pulling her into me and she, giggling and breathless, turned her head to look me in the eyes. I tried to remain steady despite my now pounding heart. I inched a little closer, as did she, until our faces were inches from touching. I let the picture slip out of my fingers and fall to the ground; her eyes fluttered down and then back up to meet mine again. I really thought it was about to happen, but then it didn’t.

“Wanna go for our drive now?” she asked, pulling back a little and removing her hand from my arm.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” I said, still in a bit of a daze. I bent down to pick up the pageant picture and sat it back on her shelf. I followed her back down the long hallway and out to her car. When she cranked it up, air conditioning blasted me in the face, blowing the dream-catcher hanging from her rearview mirror all around.

“We have to listen to country music,” she said, switching out the CDs in her stereo system. “I always listen to country when I go on joyrides.” She rolled the windows down and opened the sunroof, grinning at me as her hair blew all around.

Rather than pulling out onto the main road at the end of her street, she turned a little early and went down a little side road, coming out beside the old Blockbuster building. Although it used to be the place in town to go rent cheap movies, the whole area had been left abandoned when the company went out of business. It looked rather sad, weathering taking a toll on the building and vines overgrowing into the parking lot.

“I used to spend so many evenings walking there with my friends when they’d spend the night and we wanted a movie to watch,” Carrie said, gesturing to the old building. She turned and went up into the nearby shopping center, pointing at an old shop that had gone out of business as well. The words ‘Hudson Bagel Co.’ could still be made out along the awning. “We used to walk up there, too, when we wanted a snack,” she said.

I turned up the volume because a George Strait song that I knew and loved had come on. Carrie sang right along, hanging her hand out of the window and allowing the wind to carry it. She drove for a long time, taking backroads until we were near Will Owen. She didn’t go up past the school though, but continued taking backroads near Issaqueena, which was basically miles and miles of forest and trails.

“You all those nights out here at The Fort?” I asked her. The Fort was a certain spot out in the woods that a lot of the guys at our school had designated as the party spot. They had fixed it up, even bringing furniture and a tin roof out there.

“Yes! How could I forget?” she said. She drove for another minute before pointing out a little side road with woods on one side and a house up on a hill on the other. “That’s the house I lived in from birth until I was seven or eight. We used to walk to see the neighbors’ horses, and I played in these woods everyday.”

“That house is so cute,” I said.

“It is. My parents built it themselves. Hey, you’ve been to the watch tower, right?”

“No. What’s that?”

“Oh my gosh,” she said, “We’re going right now.” She pulled off the road into a grassy clearing and parked the car.

“What is this?” I asked. All I could see in any direction was woods.

“You’ll see. Follow me,” Carrie said, starting through the forest on no apparent trail. After about five minutes of crunching over dead leaves and twigs and getting snagged by briars, we reached a much larger clearing. In the clearing was an adorable little house that was dwarfed by a looming rusty tower. It was held up by metal legs and the only way up was a series of about twenty narrow staircases.

“Are you sure this is safe?” I asked as we approached and the ‘No Tresing’ sign hanging on the tower’s base came into view.

“Yeah! I’ve climbed it so many times,” she reassured me. And so we started up. Carrie went fast, making it to the top in only a couple minutes. I, on the other hand, struggled. My legs burned, then cramped up, and I was out of breath after climbing only a couple of stories. I had been so caught up in doing whatever Carrie wanted to do that I’d temporarily forgotten about my chronic illness.

“Are you okay, AJ?” Carrie asked.

“Yeah,” I called breathlessly. My voice seemed to get lost in the wind.

“Here, I’ll come back down a little bit and meet you halfway.”

“No, no. Just wait on me,” I said. I stopped to sit down and catch my breath for a minute, or attempt to. It wasn’t a very successful recovery period, but I knew I needed to continue the hike upward. I willed my legs to work, ing what Coach Bossert had always told me. When the body wants to give out, kid, he’d said, It’s mental toughness that keeps you moving forward. It’s all in your head.

I just kept imagining the view at the top. That’s what kept me going, numbed me to the pain and fatigue. And by the view at the top, of course, I meant Carrie.

After seven or eight minutes of extreme struggle and pain and willpower, I made it. Carrie was sitting on the top step looking out at the view, but when she heard me approaching, she stood up and gave up her seat to me. She sat down right under me, though, and we continued looking out for a while before anything was said. We both knew that I needed to catch my breath, and I was thankful that I didn’t have to talk for a little bit, thankful that the silences were comfortable with her.

Finally, when I was ready, I said, “So what happened after sixth grade?”

“What?”

“You know. The first letter you wrote to me, you started telling me your story. Then we talked about your sixth grade experience. But ever since then, every letter you’ve written me hasn’t been a continuation of your story. It’s all just been –“ I struggled in my search for the right words. “It’s all just been random thoughts of yours on life and stuff.”

“You’re right,” she said, laughing. “I like writing on that stuff better, ‘cause I feel like other people can relate better. I feel like, maybe, that stuff matters more.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong!” I said, “I love reading that stuff. It’s awesome. I guess I was just curious about the rest of your story.”

She thought for a minute. “Well,” she began, “Seventh grade was the year I started playing volleyball. Which, obviously, changed my life.”

“How so?”

“You’re an athlete. You know how it is. A new sport means a whole new world, and a new friend group, too. They were great girls, and they allowed me to just be myself and be loved for it. For the first time in a while, I was really proud of myself, ya know?”

“Yeah, I do know.”

“So that’s what sticks out about seventh grade. And eighth grade was awesome,

too. I mean, I had always been mature for my age, but it really started showing that year. I gained a lot of wisdom about life and how precious and fragile it is because my Pop had a near-death experience. I’m still very close to all of my extended family, so it just really rocked my world.”

“I bet. What else?” I was intrigued.

“I can’t really pinpoint exact events from eighth grade. I just it as being a good time for me on a personal level,” she said. “I was still so innocent, so content with growing at my own pace. Oh, and I wrote. I mean, I had always written, but that year I started really writing a lot. I had so many opinions and I always wrote about all the little pieces of myself. All the experiences. It was just about the little things, I guess. Nothing complicated.”

“That’s amazing.”

“Yeah. Hey, speaking of little things, look at this sunset,” she said, pointing over her shoulder to the Blue Ridge mountains behind us. I hadn’t even noticed the scenery from up this high, but I could see for miles. All of Will Owen High School looked like a small building, and the stadium appeared miniature. The view alone was breathtaking, but the sun setting over the mountains made it all even better. Our whole water tower town had this orange glow to it.

“This is beautiful. How did you find this place?”

“Chase Marlin and a bunch of his friends brought me here a long time ago, and I’ve just been coming ever since,” she said, “I love it. I always try to look out in every direction and name all the towns. They all blend together from way up

here, but you can still guess which is which.”

I pointed out towards Will Owen and said, “That way is Central.”

“Yes,” she said, pointing to just left of where I’d pointed, “And that way is Liberty. And then Pickens, Six Mile –“ she continued to move her hand a little to the left each time, naming off a new town until she was back around to Seneca, then Clemson, and then Central.

We climbed down after a while, and continued on our drive. It was dusky, but the weather was still perfect, and there weren’t too many other cars out on the road. We headed out to Six Mile almost entirely on backroads – Jones Mill, Furman L. Smith, Powder Mill – you name the road, Carrie knew it like the back of her hand. Come to think of it, I did, too. We drove way out to Durham’s gas station and stopped for boiled peanuts, which Carrie flung out of her window as we cruised down Love and Care Road and Terrapin Crossing. We stopped at Ponderosa Park to swing for a little bit and I felt so at home, mostly because I was next to her, although I didn’t want to it that part.

CHAPTER 14

She gave me a letter that day, as if our adventure hadn’t been enough. Just before I left her house, she handed it to me with a smile more beautiful than any sunset and more familiar than any old backroad. As I drove home, my excitement to read it building, I wondered what this one would be about. I couldn’t even wait until I got inside, so I threw my truck into park in the driveway and left it running as I read:

Why are each of our individual identities so important to us? They’re similar to any other attributes or beliefs on life we may have. Like anything else of true value, they’re more than just skin deep. Identity is both a beacon of hope in the storms of life and an anchor to keep us grounded when we’re at our peaks. When all else fades or fails us, identity is one of the few things we have left. And although upbringing and circumstances may have something to do with it, it’s something that we more or less have control over. It affects the way we view ourselves and others; it affects the way we do life. What sets apart identity from all other beliefs, then? It’s the fact that every single person’s identity is unique – no two are the same. This is because our identities are made up of so many different aspects of our lives, and no two people live the same lives. I believe that our identities are further created and developed daily. Each day as we live, new experiences are added to our souls – new people are encountered, our thoughts and beliefs are tested, and who and what we are can make us or break us. But our identity is made up of the simpler parts of us as well. Our upbringing, who and where we came from. What inspires us, what relaxes us. What makes us cry and what makes us laugh. The best memories we have, the best places we’ve been, and where we still want to go. What our daily routine is, and what we choose to do when we break away from it in bursts of spontaneity. What is on our bucket list. What we would do with a million dollars, and what we would do if we were broke. Whether we prefer to be alone or with others. Who we aspire to be, and how our current self compares to that. What is beautiful to us, what we love learning about. All of our favorite things, as well as our insecurities. All these things and more add

up to make up who we are, and they say a lot . Since there are so many different aspects of us, I don’t believe in placing identity in labels. The world around us tells us that in order to know who we are, we need to pick one label, one steryotype, one type of person to be, and never stray from that. It’s like society brings us to believe that we need to fit every part of ourselves into a box and never live outside of that box. But that doesn’t leave much room for an open mind, for the fullest life we can possibly live, and it doesn’t allow for us to be true to ourselves. For a while, it really messed with my view on myself. As a child, I always knew who I was. I knew what I thought, what I believed, what I liked, and what I wanted to do. I knew that I was unique, and knowing all of this gave me a sense of identity from deep within, even all the way through the awkward, defining stages of middle school. As a kid influenced by society, I often wondered about what box I’d fit into in high school. Knowing every part of myself, I was never able to put myself into a box, and I was okay with that. I figured I would just always continue to be myself, and let the chips fall where they may. When I got to high school, I quickly realized that there was a reason that I could never put myself into a box. Boxes don’t work; they’re not even real. You can’t fit a whole person into one. And while there are groups of friends and different types of people, nothing is to the extreme of High School Musical and Mean Girls (thank goodness). I was relieved to find that I was accepted without having to silence any part of myself. And while boxes became the least of my worries, a new challenge appeared on the horizon for me. In high school, the topic of identity was discussed more than I had ever heard it discussed, by both my peers and the adults around me. Everyone was able to say who they were, very confidently, in just a few short words. I just wasn’t able to do so. It’s not that I didn’t know who I was anymore – I had always felt the sense of security in my own identity. But to put it into words was a harder feat for my fourteen year old self to conquer. I knew what was important to me; I knew information about myself. But I didn’t know why these things were so important to my identity. I knew that I was unique, but I wanted to know what made me unique. I thought about all the different parts to myself, all the different aspects of my life, every piece to the puzzle of me and I tried to pick one thing to define me. In a way, I was still searching for a label for myself by trying to decide which parts of myself to hide and which parts of myself to bring out even more. It took me a long time to accept the fact that, if I’m being true to myself, no label created by society can ever fit me. If I have a label at all, it’s not one I found, it’s one I created. I like to think of myself as being a little bit of everything. That’s the easiest way to sum me up. Coming to the realization that that’s who I’ve always been, and who I

always will be, has been one of the best things to happen to me. It relieved me of the pressure to be just one thing, to see things from a black and white perspective. It explained to me why everything in my life felt like a part of me, but no one thing made up all of me. Suddenly, so much was falling into place and making sense. I finally understood why I’m so gifted at relating to others. I understood why I can be so indecisive, but also how awesome it is that I view everything in a balanced and fair way. It made sense, the way I need alone time as often as I need to be around others, the way I believe that we should all have open minds, but not so much so that our brains fall out. I looked around at every aspect of my life, and for the first time, I had found a way to describe every part of me. I’m a little bit of everything. That’s why I’m from South Carolina but I have dreams of Rome and Madrid. That’s why I’m always having to force myself not to be so stuck on the past and the future. That’s why I’ve always been interested in just about anything I discovered – from hunting to painting to arrowheads, from gardening to photography to history. That’s why I find beauty in everything. Suddenly my beliefs made more sense to me; I got why I believe in finding a happy medium between all the beliefs out there that are wise and noble and inspiring and beautiful. Because I have now accepted and embraced the fact that I’m a little bit of everything, everything that has ever happened in my life feels like a blessing. Good or bad, it was experience, and I want all the experiences I can get. They teach you, they shape you, and at times I may feel like I’m burning in a crucible, but after the flames are eventually smothered (and they always are), I come out, a gem, shining more brilliantly than ever before. I wouldn’t want to live a life with only a few types of experiences, not even a life with all good experiences. I want authenticity, I want life to the fullest, I want the pain so I can learn to appreciate the bliss. I’m unique in that all these pieces to the puzzle, none hidden, all fully exposed, make up a person who is proud to still be the girl that her daddy praised when she was 8 years old. He praised her for being wellrounded, and that she was, and that she always will be.

And you know, the way my parents raised me was pretty awesome. I didn’t have my identity handed to me like lots of people do. I’ve never been the type to let others tell me who I am anyways. I did the best with what I had – as did everyone else, I suppose – and I ended up being a little bit of everything. My parents raised me to be a good person with common sense, but beyond that didn’t make me believe in anything. They never forced me into a sport or put

pressure on me to have perfect grades. They literally gave me free reign and room to become my own person. In ways, they did raise me to be a little bit of everything, someone with balance. But they didn’t force that, they just allowed me to grow into it from all the different experiences they allowed me to have. This explains why ideas and experiences have always been more important to me than people. The cool thing about it is that I know that, had I chosen a more specific, narrow path, they would have ed it. But for now, I just love being the person I’ve grown into. And I want to go out into the world and become even more well-rounded in every aspect of my life, so that way, when it does come time to choose more specific paths, I will be able to honestly say that I’ve tried every option that there is. That way, I won’t have to guess what’s best for me. I’ll know what’s truly me.

Thanks for reading this. It’s the deepest letter I’ve written you yet, but I just needed to tell you who I truly am.

Love, Carrie.

I was amazed. Her letter reminded me of something she had said about herself in one of our conversations a while back. “I’m glad that I say ‘I’m not … ’ more than I say ‘I am … ’” she had said.

As usual, I hadn’t really followed her. “What do you mean?” I had asked.

Laughing, she had said, “I knew that wouldn’t make sense to you. I meant that I don’t get caught up in the crowds of people eagerly proclaiming ‘I am this!’ or ‘I am that!’ just because they’re depserately trying to fit somewhere and define themselves. I’m skeptical of that,” she had explained. “I go alone and carefully figure these things out.”

Her letter also opened my eyes to the possibility – rather, the reality – that I had absolutely no idea who the hell I was. I could safely say “I am not …” with more conviction than I had previously been able to. I was not the town of Clemson. I was not football. I was not my mediocre grades, my efforts, my nice truck, or my house. I was not my friends or my parents or either of my siblings or my church. I was not even who I had been a year ago. And much to my relief, I realized that I was not Becker Muscular Dystrophy. I was not defined by my physical strength, or lack thereof.

As I finally turned off my truck’s engine and slammed the door shut, I began asking myself, With all the things that I am not, what does that leave for me to be? Who am I? I didn’t know the answer as I walked through my front door, or as I laid down to go to sleep that night. I still didn’t know the answer the next morning at football practice or when I went to Daniel’s house the next night or when Mama made me go back-to-school shopping later on that week. And as lost as that made me feel, to not know, I wasn’t necessarily scared. I had peace, comforted by the fact that I was so close to someone who surely did know herself. The light she had was able to shine beauty on my brokenness and somehow still made me feel … found.

So I suppose that that’s when I knew I was in love with Carrie Wardlaw. When I found myself craving her very presence with a new level of intensity because spending time appreciating her for everything that she was gave me a newfound sense of knowing who I was, or at least my purpose in this world. She made me question everything I’d ever known and feel more than I’d ever felt. I wanted her in the middle of the night when I was all alone and I wanted her in the middle of the afternoon when I was out with friends having fun. I wanted her more than I had ever ed wanting anything – intense, ionate desiring like a void that simply could not be filled by anything but that girl. It had started slowly, gradually, growing and then suddenly bursting from within me like fire and kerosene.

CHAPTER 15

After a long, advice-filled talk with my Caleb and Kensley about how much my affection for Carrie was growing, I finally decided to take Carrie out to eat and pay for her meal before asking her on a real date. I picked her up at precisely 7:07 the next evening, arriving at her house just in time to wave at Mrs. Wardlaw as she was pulling out of the driveway in her car.

Carrie came down the front porch steps a minute later and hopped in my car. “You have Black Ice in here, don’t you?” she asked, sniffing the air in my truck.

I pointed to the tree-shaped air freshener around my mirror. “I do,” I said.

“Such a typical boy,” she said, lightly punching my arm, “Where are we eating?”

“What are you in the mood for?”

“Hmm,” she pursed her lips for a minute before deciding, “Mellow Mushroom sound good?”

“Perfect.”

The Mellow Mushroom in Clemson is an old fraternity house turned upscale

pizza parlor. It’s always busy, especially on weekends, with people filling almost every chair in the t, even the ones out on the wrap-around porch. A perky, blonde-headed hostess bounced to a booth and we followed.

Our waiter appeared a minute later, a college-age guy with shaggy dark hair and a vulgar sense of humor that took everything a little too far. “Can I get y’all something to drink?” he asked.

“Sweet tea,” Carrie said.

“I’ll have Dr. Pepper,” I said. He nodded and walked off.

“You come here a lot?” I asked.

“No, actually,” Carrie answered, “It’s kind of a special occasion since it’s a little expensive.”

“Yeah, we used to come a good bit, but my dad gets sick of restaurants fast,”

Our waiter returned with our drinks and asked what we wanted to eat. Carrie and I both looked at each other and laughed, realizing that we hadn’t even given any thought to what we wanted.

“Umm, do you want to split a medium pizza?” Carrie asked.

“Fine with me. What do you want on it?”

“Ham and pineapple.”

“You heard her,” I said to the waiter, winking at Carrie as he walked away.

“Smooth,” she said with a smile.

“I try. Hey, I really liked that last letter you gave me,” I said, “I mean, you know I love them all. But that one was really something special.”

She looked bashful. “Thank you. I’m glad you weren’t bored by it.”

“Not at all. I didn’t think I could get to know you any better than I already did, but hey, what do you know?”

“It was completely transparent, that’s for sure,” she said, laughing a little. “So deep. I would have felt too vulnerable letting anyone else read it.”

“It made me want to know who I am, the way you know yourself,” I said.

“Well, becoming sure of yourself is a process,” she explained. “I always knew who I was, but I can’t say I’ve never doubted it.” She paused for a moment. “Never let anyone tell you you’re being fake because different people bring out different parts of you.”

“Elaborate,” I said. I didn’t want to even try to interpret that one on my own.

“It’s a good thing that you can laugh with your wild friends about your drunk stories and then cry with your church friends about God’s love,” she said, “It means you’re diverse and you’re being relatable. You’re peeling back the layers of who you are in order to see eye to eye with people who may seem different from you at first.”

“You think I’m that way?” I asked.

“Yes. I’m that way, and I see it in you, too,” she said.

I nodded, feeling a little flattered that Carrie had just compared me to herself. As if on cue, the waiter walked up right at that moment and sat our pizza in the center of the table, refilling our drinks while he was at it.

Carrie grabbed a piece first and took a huge bite. Her eyes widened in pain as she spit the piping hot piece back out into her hand, laughing and managing to choke out, “It’s hot.” It wasn’t even gross, just funny with her.

“It’s so weird not saying the blessing at a meal before I eat,” I said once she had

recovered.

Carrie’s eyes got big again. She covered her mouth, this time not in pain and shock but in a rare self conscious moment. “Oh man,” she said with an uneasy laugh, “I feel bad now.”

“No! No, don’t feel bad,” I said, scrambling for words, “I mean, it’s kinda nice, actually. My parents insist on saying it before every single meal. It gets old.”

“So I’m not a bad person for not praying before I eat?” she asked, teasing.

“Of course not,” I said. “I really didn’t mean it like that.”

“Okay, good,” she said. It was silent for a moment. Carrie took a bite of her pizza, the hot and gooey cheese stretching out for over a foot before it broke. I sipped my Dr. Pepper.

“It’s not that I’m not religious,” Carrie said, mouth still half full. Her words took me by surprise.

“No, I know,” I said.

“Well, religious isn’t the right word,” she said, taking a swig of tea. She stared off into space behind my head, something she was always bad about doing when she was thinking. I ate my pizza patiently, waiting to hear what she had to say. I

hated to it it, but I was anxious. I wanted to know that the angel sitting across the table from me would, one day, sit across from me at some table up in Heaven.

“It’s just that life is so unfair if you think about it, so backwards,” Carrie finally said, “We’re all on this, like, quest for eternal happiness. You know, fulfillment and what not. It’s like a thirst that never gets cured in us.”

“Yeah, the human condition. I’ve thought about all that,” I said, not sure where this was going.

“Yes! That’s precisely why I believe in a higher power,” Carrie explained. “There has to be something there to justlfy all this. And not just that, but to help us rise above it.”

“That’s such a sweet little fantasy,” said our douchebag waiter, popping up out of nowhere to refill our drinks.

“Well what’s your take on it, since you seem to have it all figured out?” Carrie asked him.

“I don’t believe in God like I don’t believe in Santa Clause,” he said, “It’s a nice story when you’re five. It gives you something to look forward to, that is, if you’re good. Which I’m sure is your precise problem with it all, too.” I didn’t like the way he was looking at Carrie when he added that last part.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked him without missing a beat. She didn’t even blink, her voice remaining steady.

“Cute girl like you, and you’ve got a mouth on you,” he laughed and shook his head. After a moment, “Look, I just can tell you’re not much of a rule follower.”

“Can we just get the check, please?” I asked.

“Certainly,” he said with a sly smile.

“What the hell was that?” Carrie asked me the second that he walked away.

“I don’t even know,” I said, “There’s no way he’s allowed to treat customers like that.”

“He shouldn’t even be able to treat anybody like that!” she said, outraged. It was really cute, although I knew it wasn’t the time to be thinking so. “I don’t care that he’s waiting my table. He’s a person and so am I. He just doesn’t have the right to be rude to anyone like that, on the job or not.” She sat back and sulked.

The waiter finally brought the check, sitting it on the table without a word. I reached for it and slipped my debit card inside, handing it back to him before he could walk away.

“Wait, what?” Carrie asked, confused once she realized what I’d just done.

“Oh, yeah, it’s on me,” I said.

“Seriously?” she grinned, “Okay, you’ve officially fixed my bad mood.” She looked at me for another unsure moment before asking, “Really, AJ?”

“Yes! My treat,” I said.

“Well, thank you,” she said.

As we walked outside, the sun was setting over Clemson’s campus. Just for those few moments, there was a lull. The bustle of traffic seemed to slow, as did the usual crowd of tipsy college kids walking in groups too wide for the sidewalks. It was a beautiful, rare moment of quiet in our little town.

“Let’s not go home yet,” I said.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Carrie said.

We ended up at the rowing docks, one of Carrie’s favorite places. It’s really nothing besides an empty parking lot and a couple long docks where Clemson’s rowing team begins and ends its daily practice. Nevertheless, it was a beautiful spot that evening, and I’m not sure whether that had more to do with the colorstreaked sky or the girl by my side.

“Well, now that that asshole isn’t here to interrupt you, why don’t you finish what you were saying at the restaurant,” I said to Carrie.

“I was pretty much done, except I wanted to ask you your opinion on all of it,” she said, “Like your real opinion. Not just what your parents think.”

I thought for a minute. It dawned on me that it was the first time I’d ever been asked what I actually thought about God. Most of the time I was being told what to think by my preacher or my parents and friends were assuming that I believed exactly as they did. And why shouldn’t I, considering that that’s how everyone here believed? Of course, there had been times over the years where I had, in secret of course, doubted God. I didn’t always feel Him, especially not in my moments of weakness. But the idea of not believing as I always had terrified me, to the point that I could never seriously consider it. Finally, I said, “It seems like the safest option to go ahead and call myself a Christian. I believe in everything the Bible says.”

“You’re so much braver than me,” Carrie said.

“Braver? How?” I asked, taken aback.

“You have this blind faith,” she explained, “You believe without seeing or even really understanding. I just can’t do that. I have to go out and explore every single option there is before I can settle on something. It’s ridiculous.”

“I don’t know if I would call myself braver,” I said, “Now that you say that, blind faith doesn’t really sound like the best thing. It’s just all I’ve ever known.”

“I know it is. It’s all that most people around here have ever known. And yeah, it may not be the wisest thing,” she said, “But it’s still bold. It’s taking a stand for what you believe to be right.”

“I guess,” I said, “Except so many Christians don’t even do the right thing. They’re not any better than anyone else.” Madeline’s family was all I could think about as I spoke my bitter words.

“I don’t think that that’s Christianity making them bad people though,” Carrie said. “The idea of Christianity is such a good thing. But us humans mess it up, and if someone isn’t a good person to start with, Christianity probably won’t fix them.”

“And it’s supposed to,” I said. There was a long pause.

Finally, Carrie said, “People are gonna be who they truly are, whether they are religious or not. I went through a mainstream Christianity phase, if you can believe it.”

“Really?” I asked, shocked. Not that I had ever thought of Carrie as nonreligious, but now that she mentioned it, the idea of her being a Bible-thumper seemed so ludacris and out of place. That wasn’t her.

“Yep,” she said, “But even through my Jesus phase, I was still me. And I think most people are like that, ya know?”

“Yes,” I said, smiling at her, “Yes I completely agree.” And for the first time in a long time, I truly felt like I understood, like I was able to keep up with her perspective on such a high-level subject. I felt triumphant, in that moment, being able to keep up with a girl of Carrie Wardlaw’s caliber.

CHAPTER 16

We went that night to steal street signs (Carrie’s idea of course) to hang in each of our rooms. We had to drive out to Six Mile to get the road names that Carrie liked the best, but I didn’t mind. We got lost looking for Anchor Drive, but I wouldn’t have wanted to be lost with anyone else.

At the end of the night, as I was about to turn into her driveway to drop her off, I ed the biggest reason why I had asked her to dinner that night. I coasted past her driveway and pulled into the dead end on her road and parked my truck.

“What are you doing?” Carrie asked, confused.

I was quiet for a moment, long enough to let the words to the song playing on the radio echo in my head. My heart pounded, I had butterflies in my stomach, and my hands were cold and clammy from nervous sweat. So lame.

“AJ?” Carrie asked with a nervous laugh, snapping me back into the moment at hand.

“Look, I’m glad we’re best friends and everything,” I began.

“Aww, you consider me one of your best friends?” she asked, grinning.

“Well, yeah, one of my best girl friends for sure,” I said, already starting to ramble. God, I felt stupid.

“Continue,” she said, “Sorry I cut you off.”

“No, it’s fine,” I said, “It’s just that … well … look, I feel like I know you really well and I’ve yet to see anything about you that I dislike. In fact, I like everything about you a lot, and I just feel like we get along really well, and … I just …” I trailed off. I realized I had been staring out of my windshield facing away from Carrie, and that she wasn’t even looking at me either. We were sitting in my dark truck on a dead end road in the rain that had just started and I was trying and failing to ask her out on a date.

“This isn’t good enough,” I said abruptly. I opened the driver door, got out, and slammed it shut before Carrie could even react. I walked around to the enger side and opened Carrie’s door to find her wide eyed and facing me.

“Look, I like you,” I said, taking her hands in mine. “I know we’d be good together. I can see it now, all the times we’d have.”

Her expression softened, but was still unreadable, and she had yet to speak. So unlike her, to have no words.

“We’re going to give this a try, okay? Me and you,” I said. “If you hate it or something, you never have to do it again, but just go on a date with me. Please?” Even I was shocked at my boldness.

“Okay,” she said, her voice small but still sweet. She squeezed my hands to let me know that all was well. And it really was.

With a week left until the first day of school, Carrie and I decided to go out on that Saturday night. Trying to that three day timespan was excrutiatingly tedious. I went to football everyday, which became more and more exciting for me all the time. I never worried anymore about people there not taking me seriously or about them pitying me, or when I did feel a twinge of that worry, I pushed it out of my head. I knew that Carrie took me seriously, and that was the little extra push I needed to remind me that everyone else did, too.

Football was becoming one of the best parts of my life once again, so much so that I became completely uninterested in going to my own workouts with Ms. Donna anymore. On the rare occasions that I did go, Ms. Donna would onishingly remind me how important it was for me to keep myself strong. I could tell she didn’t want to make too big of a deal of it, but also that she was serious. It was just too hard to go regularly anymore, though.

Saturday night finally came – not soon enough, but nonetheless, it came. I picked out my favorite grey and red tribal print shirt from Pac Sun and slipped on my nicest khakis from Southern Fried Cotton. On the drive pick her up, I fidgeted with my stereo nonstop trying to find the perfect station and adjust it to the perfect volume.

Deep breaths, kid, I told myself before I got out of the truck. It’s just me and her. I didn’t get why I was so nervous, but I just was. I realized as I was walking up the front porch steps that it was my first real date. I was mindblown that I was lucky enough to share that memory with a girl like her. I knocked on her door with my fist, my butterflies suddenly drowned out by pure giddiness.

The door opened and Carrie slipped out, shutting it quickly behind her. “Hey,” she said, grinning and going straight in for a hug. She squeezed a little tighter than usual and I held on a little longer than usual and it was already a good night.

“What are we doing?” Carrie asked, once we were headed down the road.

“It’s a surprise.”

I pulled into TCBY, the ice cream shop down the road that Carrie had always talked about loving so much. She practically leaped out of my truck, not even giving me a chance to get the door for her. Inside, she filled a bowl with chocolate ice cream and picked fresh fruits from the toppings bar. She waited for me at the counter as I looked at all the ice cream flavors, overwhelmed with my options. Naturally, I chose vanilla. I sprinkled cheesecake bites on top and drizzled hot fudge over the whole thing. All in all, our bill was $7.43, and it was worth every penny I spent.

We decided to sit outside, slightly behind the building and away from everyone else. The dusky summer air made for a lovely scene as the sun set over the highway.

“Are you going to Kyle’s bonfire later?” Carrie asked me.

“I don’t know yet,” I said, “You?”

“Yeah, I was planning on it,” she said. “It’s supposed to be fun, lots of people.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” I said, “Whatever you want.”

She smiled, calming my nerves a bit. She had a way of putting me at ease. “So, what’s up, AJ?” She asked. “You’re not gonna get all shy and weird on me just ‘cause this is our first date are you?”

“Of course not,” I said.

“Good, ‘cause I’d hate that.”

“Yeah, and hey, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry if it was weird, the way I asked you out so abruptly the other night,” I said. “It’s just something I had been wanting to do for a while, and I’m tired of always thinking about things but never acting on them, ya know?”

“No, no, don’t apologize,” she said, “I’m glad you asked. Very bold of you. And just so you know, I don’t really think of myself as a relationship type girl, but I am open minded to see where this takes us.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” i said. “Can I ask why you don’t think of yourself that way, though?”

“I’ve just found from relationships in the past that it can be very hard to remain

independent while in a relationship. And I’m a very independent person, ya know? I see the beauty and security in being good enough all alone, in having your own substance without another person.”

“Yeah, I understand,” I said, “And I’d never want you to compromise that.”

“Good, thank you,” she said, grinning at me. She popped a berry into her mouth and said, “So let’s just go wherever the breeze takes us on this one. You do you and I’ll do me and we’ll make time for each other somewhere in there.”

“Okay, perfect,” I said, “Watch this.” I pulled out my phone to show her a funny video to try and lighten the mood, and her laugh did the job. At last, things felt perfectly normal again, just me spending the evening with my girl.

We waited until well after dark to head to the bonfire, finding the empty lake lot by following the trail of cars parked alongside the dirt road. When we walked up, to the fire, everyone greeted me just as warmly as they did Carrie, which of course made me feel honored. Everyone loved her so much, it was ridiculous. Girls and guys alike embraced her in huge hugs and called her warmly by name when they saw her. Lots of the guys smirked at me and slapped me on the back apparently the praises I had earned in their eyes for showing up with a beautiful girl.

The fire burned hot, the music blared, the laughter flowed and the beer was plentiful. The night felt perfectly endless. Carrie and I mingled with everyone there, sometimes together, other times not. It felt natural.

At one point, I looked down at my phone to see a text from Madeline. A little

shocked considering Madeline was standing about ten yards away from me leaned up against a tailgate, I responded right away. Our conversation went like this:

Madeline: So I guess you’ve really chosen her over me …

Me: What are you talking about?

Madeline: Carrie. You pick Carrie. I get it.

Me: It was never a competition. I’m sorry if you thought differently. You’re my friend, I thought you knew that.

Madeline: I am just so perfect for you. So similar to you in every way. We grew up together. Carrie on the other hand … She’s not like us. She’s too wild and unpredictable. She doesn’t have the same lifestyle or think the same way as us.

Me: you don’t know anything about her. It’s not your damn business anyways. She’s different, yes. She’s also not superficial and closed minded like you. She does her own thing and I like that.

Madeline: I just know what’s good for me. And I know what’s good for you too … and it’s not her. But okay.

While I had been distracted on my phone, Carrie had been off talking to people

and cutting up and playing with the fire. I walked over to her and ed in, looking up at one point to make eye with Madeline from across the fire. She shook her head and looked away. Much to my surprise, a minute later, she walked over to the group that Carrie and I were standing with and gave Carrie a huge hug. Carrie, of course, was sweet back and talked to Madeline like they were old pals. I was astounded at how Madeline could be so insincere. Then again, it didn’t really surprise me.

As the fire began to die down and the crowd began to slowly file out, Carrie and I decided to leave, too. We didn’t have any other plans, and neither of us had a curfew, but I figured that I shouldn’t be getting her home too late after our first date. I took the long way to her house and once again, pulled past her driveway and into the dead end. I put the truck in park but kept the music playing softly.

“Did you have fun tonight?” I asked.

“Of course,” she said, “We always have fun together. I’m glad we did this.”

My heart felt like it was about to beat out of my chest. I was nervous and excited all at once but once it crossed my mind, I knew I had to kiss her before I took her home. Do it AJ, I told myself. Go for it. Be brave. I leaned across the console and placed my hand on her neck, then moved it slowly up, turning her face towards me and hanging on, praying she was okay with this. I kissed her softly at first, then with more ion once she kissed back. She was so adorable, giggling breathlessly every time our lips separated. I wanted that kiss to last forever.

The thing about Carrie that was different from other girls was that, it never got awkward with her. It always was natural, comfortable, easy. After our kiss, we sat in my truck and talked for another hour about hopes and dreams and

restaurants and a zombie apocalypse and zodiac signs. When I finally drove her home, she kissed me on the cheek before stepping inside for the night.

She was practically all I thought about. It wasn’t just about getting to know her anymore – I was learning to truly appreciate everything I had gotten to know about her. I think that’s what love really is, when everything about a person becomes significantly more beautiful than before.

I strived to be more like Carrie everyday, iring the way she looked at life and carried herself. I almost felt as if her letters had given me life, teaching me the ins and outs of how to live and know oneself from the perspective of a normal teenager, rather than someone like myself, a kid who had it made. I was that kid with the perfect, easy life, with everything handed to me down to the very essence of who I was. With the slight sympathy I had always sensed from everyone in my life, it sometimes felt like I wasn’t really living and learning and being on my own. But Carrie taught me how, miraculously.

CHAPTER 17

At some point, I Carrie giving me another letter, the first one I’d received in a while. When she saw the look on my face, she laughed and said, “Don’t be too excited. It’s just some things you might need to know about me for future reference.” The letter read:

Dear AJ,

First of all, I believe we are all one. There are some things that are just human, that we all have in common. We all look for deeper meaning, all try to reason and understand, all think a lot, all wanna express ourselves, we all have ions and opinions, all wanna know “who we are” we all love adventure and stories. Even many perspectives that appear very different at first glance are ultimately similar. Of course we are all very unique as well, which should be embraced and celebrated and learned from rather than covered up and fought about. With so much of these things about “who we are” being universal, it leads me to believe that in ways, we are all one. We are all having the same experience, just in different orders, different details, different starting points. This means that our background and roots are important to who we are because they make us unique, but we shouldn’t let them divide us and distract us from the bigger picture.

Second, I am very easily influenced. But that’s not a bad thing, like everyone seems to believe. Influences come and go all throughout life, so we should be receptive of them. They’re what shape us into who we are, and for me, I let everything influencing me just make me even more well-rounded than before. I let everything influence me so that nothing influences me too much – the ultimate paradox. Cool, huh? And even as my life changes, my influences change, and I continue to grow, I’ll always have pieces of all my old selves

with me, so I’ll never really lose myself. New pieces can be added, but they don’t take away the old.

Everything with me is relative. If you compare me to some people, I’m much smarter and more put together. If you compare me to others, I’m a trainwreck. I’m quiet compared to some, loud compared to others. It just comes along with who I am. It’s not a bad thing, just another thing, and although it can complicate things, I have to learn to love it about myself anyways.

I never had a specific group or clique to hold me back from changing with the tides, so in a way I’ve followed the trends of society to go from being a bit of a country girl to a bit of a hippie. It’s funny because, I’m still part country girl, and I’ve always been part hippie, but the one showing itself is fairly dependent on who I’m hanging around at the time. It’s crazy because I don’t really feel like I’ve changed. I’m still the same person I was – hippies and country people have a lot more in common than you may think – because I still have the same interests, beliefs, personality, etc. I guess it’s just that my tastes have changed.

Finally, I didn’t grow up like the kids in this town. I didn’t have my identity handed to me by my parents and shoved down my throat by society. I obviously have been shaped in ways by certain people, but ultimately my experiences are more important to me than any particular person or group of people. I became the person I am today virtually on my own, and I truly believe that had I grown up in a different family or a different place, I’d still be me. I’m just that sure of myself, in that way at least. I say “I am not” more than I say “I am.” I don’t jump on bandwagons of trying to be this or that – I’m not that desperate for a place to fit. Rather, I’m skeptical of that, carefully checking something out before I really let myself become a part of it.

Love, Carrie.

I texted her: Thank you.

Carrie: For what?

Me: Sharing yourself with me.

Carrie: I love you.

Me: I love you, too. You make me better.

After that, things really started to pick up. Carrie and I were hanging out or talking almost constantly, and the closer we grew, the more apparent it became to me that I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

As luck would have it, however, the more perfect things got with Carrie, the worse my physical condition grew. It was the first time in several years that I had seen a setback in my progress physically. Slowly, I was becoming the one thing I had always been so determined not to be – weak. I was having so much fun at football every day that I couldn’t stop going, though, finally truly feeling like a part of it again and not wanting to miss a second. Training with Ms. Donna could always be put off till next time, right? For now, I just had to pay the consequences in the form of fatigue and excrutiating cramps. I could deal.

On my first day of school, I met four new teachers, received four syllabuses that required a parent signature and were due back by the next class, and I went to football as Carrie went to volleyball at the end of the day. It felt like a totally

normal first day of school, except that my name seemed to be the buzz of everyone’s conversation, which wasn’t typical for someone like me. “Carrie and AJ” this, “Carrie and AJ” that, it seemed that if someone wasn’t asking me if Carrie and I were dating, they were going ahead and assuming so on their own. I was okay with it, but didn’t want Carrie to be bothered by it. After football, I shot her a text.

Me: Hey pretty girl

Carrie: Hey :)

Me: You wanna come over tonight?

Carrie: Yes. I’ll text you when I’m on the way

Okay, I thought, all must be well. No need to worry. When Carrie finally came over, she snuck in the side door like usual and met me downstairs where I was watching The Purge. She snuggled up beside me to watch, too, turning her head at the violent parts.

“Are your parents still awake?” she asked after a minute.

“Think so,” I said, “Why?”

“I’ve just never met them,” she said.

“No way? All these years we’ve gone to school together?” I asked. “I know they at least know who you are.”

“Nope, never met ‘em,” she said, “I’ve heard good things about them. But I don’t know them.”

“Well then,” I said, “You’ll have to sometime.”

“Well, what about tonight?”

I paused. As important as the whole “meeting the parents” ordeal typically was in a relationship, I’d never really thought about Carrie meeting my parents. It wasn’t that she wasn’t a good enough girl to bring home – just maybe not exactly what my parents were expecting for me. “Why don’t you meet them another night?” I said, “My dad had a long day at work, and I think he just wants to chill tonight. He’s probably going to bed soon.”

“Okay,” she said, a little disappointed.

“But hey, you wanna go do something?” I asked. “We don’t have to stay here tonight.”

“Yeah, that works,” she said, getting her sweet smile back.

We got in my truck and I just started driving. With no destination, it was a “wherever we end up” kind of night. Somehow, back roads turned into the small railroad town of Liberty, South Carolina. I parked in the miniature downtown area that looked picturesque in the fading sunlight, right in front of Tony’s restaurant. Their slogan, “Makin’ dough,” glowed in neon letters in the windows. Carrie and I walked down the cobblestone sidewalks to the outdoor stage standing in the middle of town. Carrie boosted herself up onto it and grabbed my hand to pull me up.

“I think I’ve been here before,” she said. She threw her head back and spun around a few times, arms outstretched. So childlike, so simple, yet so cute. “I used to come to festivals and stuff here, and I’m pretty sure I watched clogging up on this stage.”

“I’ve never really been here,” I said, “I’m not even sure I knew where Liberty was. I just kinda ended up here.”

“You don’t get out of Clemson much, do you?” she asked. She sat down on the side of the stage, dangling her feet over the edge.

“Not nearly enough,” I said, shaking my head.

“That’s okay, because I do,” she said, “I’ll balance you out until the time comes where you can go on your own adventures.”

“Deal,” I said, “And when I do go on mine, I’ll take you with me.”

“I’d love that.”

“We can see the world together,” I said, daydreaming out loud now. “Get lost in foreign cities, wander through country sides, soak up their culture …”

“Eat their food,” she said, cutting me off. “That sounds dreamy.”

“Yes, I’d have your catering services taken care of as well,” I said, laying back to stare up at the roof over the stage. Carrie ed me, taking me by sweet surprise when she snuggled in close.

“I’m so beyond down,” she said softly.

“That’s always been a dream of mine,” I said, “To take awesome people with me on journeys all over.”

“Yeah, me too,” Carrie said, “I’d take Audra and Sydney and Zoe and Jessica. Oh, and maybe Morgan. We’d have so much fun.”

“What about dudes?” I asked. “You can’t take just a bunch of girls, that’s no fun.”

“You’re right,” she said, “Too much estrogen. I don’t know what guys I’d invite, though, besides you, of course. Maybe the Bolick twins, since I’m close with them, and Jacob Sloan and Chase Merck, and all the boys in the grade behind us.

I think I could tolerate them for a whole trip … maybe.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I said, “I’d take Daniel and Ty and Dante, oh, and maybe Ashton. And I can’t forget John and Connor and all the Six Mile boys.”

“Girls?”

“Hmm,” I said, “I don’t really have a ton of girl friends. I like your friends – Morgan and Audra might be fun to take. But you’re the only one I’m really worried about.”

“What about Madeline?” she asked.

“What about her?”

“Well, aren’t y’all friends?”

“Eh,” I said, “She’s just … changed.”

“Is that supposed to be a bad thing?” Carrie asked. Was that a hint of ive aggressiveness in her voice?

“I mean, yeah, in her case it is,” I said. There was silence for a minute.

“I don’t know,” Carrie finally said, “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I used to be afraid of change, too. Nobody likes it. But it’s not a bad thing. Sure, there are some things about you that will always, always be the same. But other things will change drastically. That’s okay.”

“Yeah,” I said, but she could tell I wasn’t put at ease.

“Look, AJ, if something is important enough to hang onto it, then by all means, hang onto it. For dear life, babe. But if not, then don’t resist change. Don’t force it, either.”

“How are you just so sure of all this?” I asked. “You just have it all figured out.”

She laughed like I had told a joke. “All figured out?” she asked. “Not even close. You know I’m a thinker. I reflect, I look ahead, I question things, I let my mind wander, often to the point of overthinking. That’s something I don’t like about myself, and I’ve gotta change it. But,” she continued, “A plus to all my thinking is that I do have a lot figured out. I’m wise beyond my years, always have been.”

“Well, that’s obvious,” I said.

“Well, thank you. I really do appreciate it,” she said, “I just think wisdom is incredibly important. I mean, I guess everyone does. After all, it’s what helps us through life. Everyone’s wisdom is different, too. But anyways, I’m rambling. You can’t let me get sidetracked like that.” She nudged my arm and grinned. “The point is, it’s impossible to have everything figured out, and even if it was

possible it wouldn’t make you happy.”

“Well, I’ve never thought about it like that,” I said, “But that’s very true. I guess, I’m still wondering how you have more figured out than the average kiddo.”

“I don’t necessarily think I’m a special case, I just think I care a lot about this stuff,” she said, “I pay attention. I know that I have enough figured out for where I’m at in life and that I’ll continue to learn as I grow. I know myself and how I think and how I cope well enough that I could handle anything thrown at me, even if it’s well outside the bounds of my knowledge.”

“So you’re pretty much set for life?” I asked. “Can I get in on that with you?”

“Yeah, sure, you can marry my peace of mind,” she teased, kissing me softly. “The answers are within you, dude. Find them. Dig for them.”

“Okay, I will,” I said. “I do sometimes. Believe me. I’m just not quite the digger you are, I guess.”

“Well, you have to be open to the possibility that you might end up believing some of the ideas you discover, even things you told yourself you’d never stand for,” she said, “It helps me out, that I’m a little bit of everything, because it lets me be flexible. I’m not afraid to let new things into my mindset and who I am. And those new things usually fit right in.”

“Makes sense,” I said, “I’m glad we had this talk. It’s been a while since we had

one of these.”

“Yeah,” she said, sitting up and pulling me off the stage with her. “It’s been a wonderful night with you.”

We headed back towards my truck, taking in the small town of Liberty as it was shutting down for the night. The night sky above us couldn’t have been more clear – there seemed to be a blanket of stars covering the blackness. We rode home with the windows down, music turned down low, conversation at a minimum. Just enjoying the moment, like Carrie had taught me how to do.

Before she left that night, I asked Carrie if she had heard people talking as a couple at school. “I did,” she said, “Our business is between us. Let ‘em talk. We know where we stand.” And with that, she kissed me one last time and left. I was too full of butterflies to say much as I walked her outside, but I realized as I walked back downstairs alone that she was wrong. I had absolutely no idea where she and I stood, as far as the technical that our relationship was on. All I knew was that I was madly, hopelessly in love with her, praying she felt the same.

CHAPTER 18

The next weekend, Carrie invited me to go to a family reunion with her. Not really having any extended family of my own, I was ecstatic, of course. I met her mom’s parents, Joseph and Diana Knoll, who were ridiculously Southern Baptist but nonetheless, sweet people. I met her Uncle Tom Knoll, a strange, opinionated man who seemed out of place in every aspect, including his computer geek mentality and Brooklyn accent. His wife, Nina, was a quiet, but sweet woman with features that led me to believe she was of some sort of Hispanic origin. Their daughter, Laura Wood, was also there, along with her husband, Noah, and their little girl, Alaina. Their young family was very suburban, very trendy even down to the way they dressed their two year old.

These people didn’t seem like they belonged in the same building, let alone in the same family. Yet, despite all their contradictions, I caught a little glimpse of Carrie in all of them. The opinions of her Uncle Tom, the strongly rooted beliefs of her grandparents, the lifestyle of Laura and Noah, all their differing interests and desires, it was all present in her somehow. I realized that she had grown up with the stories that they all told, and that this was why she was who she was.

The strangest thing about all of it was Carrie’s parents. They sat with everyone around the huge dinner table, of course, but they weren’t really there. Her mom seemed distant, like she wanted to make the most of this family time but just … couldn’t. She stared off into space, only spoke when spoken to, only laughing when she heard everyone else laugh. Carrie’s dad was nice, but seemed very worn down and irritable. “My parents aren’t in love anymore,” Carrie explained later, “They’re only together because I have a bad relationship with my mom, and she thinks she’ll never see me again if she divorces my dad.” I tried to imagine what it would be like not to have a close-knit family, and I shuddered at the thought.

“So you’re closer to your extended family than you are to your parents?” I asked once we were finally alone later that night.

“Precisely,” Carrie said, “I grew up seeing my extended family all the time. Now that I’m older, I don’t as much, but I still consider them the closest people to me. Now do you understand how I became such a mixed-up person?”

“Yes,” I said, laughing, “They’re all so different, yet you’re all of them.”

“Right?” Carrie said, “And I mean, I’m a lot like my dad, too. He and I are close at times – we have the same personality. I guess that’s why my mom can’t stand either of us.”

“Makes sense,” I said, “All I’ve got is my parents and my two siblings. My family life is much more simple.”

“Yours is so perfect,” Carrie said, “I wish I had siblings, just someone in the home to be close to.”

And that’s what I thought of, her saying such a thing, when I saw my parents the next morning. I hugged both their necks before I left for school, because I’d never realized that one of my very best friends in the world didn’t even really have a family, not in the sense that I did. I felt a little luckier that day, thanks to Carrie.

“Do y’all wanna meet Carrie?” I nervously asked my parents later that evening.

“The girl you’ve been hanging out with?” Mama asked, “Yes, I’ve actually been meaning to ask you to meet her.”

“Sure,” Dad replied ively.

Carrie hurried over excitedly minutes after I texted her telling her that she could meet my parents. She knocked on the front door for the first time ever and came in that way. She shook my dad’s hand and, to everyone’s surprise, gave my mom a huge hug.

“I’m Carrie,” she said, with a huge grin on her face, “Nice to finally meet y’all.”

“Nice to meet you, too, Carrie,” Dad said, “I saw an article about you in the newspaper the other day. I didn’t realize you were such a volleyball star.”

“Oh my gosh, don’t make me blush,” she said, “I love it. I couldn’t do it without my team.”

“But you’re one of the main players right?” Dad asked. “What is it – setter?”

“Yes, I am a setter,” she said, “It’s a hard job, but it’s worth it. It’s the quarterback of the volleyball team.”

“Well, you’ve already earned my respect, then,” Dad said, “Come in, have a seat.”

We sat down at the bar and Mama fixed us all glasses of sweet tea while Dad and Carrie continued to discuss the world of sports. I mostly just listened, chiming in every now and then to remind them I was still there. I could tell Dad loved her right off the bat – now, Mama I wasn’t so sure.

Finally, Mama forced her way into the conversation. Her turn to interview. “So Carrie, where are you thinking about going to college?” she asked.

“Well, I haven’t made any final decisions or anything,” Carrie said, “I mean, after all, we still have a little while to make our minds up.”

“Oh yes, of course,” Mama said, “But I mean, just say you had to pick, right now.”

Carrie paused for just a second too long. “Well,” she said, “I visited my friend at College of Charleston, and I really liked it. I love the city of Charleston.”

“Why not Clemson?” Mama asked, “There’s a beautiful college right here in your hometown. You’re not interested in going there?”

“I just would like to get away, I guess,” Carrie said, “Just broaden my horizons a bit in college. That’s what it’s supposed to be about.”

Mama nodded. I saw her cut her eyes at Dad and suddenly the room felt very tense.

“We’ll be back,” I said, “We’re gonna grab dinner out.”

“We are?” Carrie asked, hopping up from the barstool.

“Yeah.”

“It was nice to finally meet y’all,” Carrie said to my parents.

“Nice to finally meet you, too, Carrie,” Dad said, “Have a nice evening, and come back soon.”

“You, too,” was the only response she got from Mama.

Once we were outside, Carrie asked, “What was that? I didn’t think we were gonna leave for a while.”

“Yeah, my mom started getting weird,” I said, “She can do that sometimes.” I was lying through my teeth. For as long as I could , I had been watching my mother host various events and parties several times a month, and never had I seen her act the way she did that night. Something felt very off, and I didn’t like it, but I had to get it out of my head for a little bit.

I took Carrie to Groucho’s, a sandwich shop nestled in a back corner of downtown. After we ordered, Carrie looked me square in the face and asked, “Do you think they liked me?”

“Yes! My dad loved you, I could tell.”

“And your mom?”

“She really did,” I said, “She just acts funny sometimes. I only left because I didn’t want you to feel awkward.”

“Okay, good,” she said, “Because I love them. They’re awesome.”

“Why is it so important to you that they like you?” I asked, changing the subject.

“Well, you already saw how my family is, right? I’m only close to the family that I never see, and I can’t stand the two that I actually live with. So I’ve never really felt … loved.”

“Wait, what?” I asked, astonished. “You? Never felt loved?”

“I know, I know, I sound so ungrateful,” she said, “But it’s true, I’ve never felt loved. However, I always felt well-liked, so as long as everyone around me likes

me, then I’m okay. That’s a good enough replacement for love.”

The waitress sat our food down and Carrie bit into her turkey-with-cheesemelted-on-top sandwich like she hadn’t just said the craziest thing to ever come out of her mouth. She looked at me with those big, dark eyes, just waiting for a response.

“Wait, but what about all your friends that love you so much?” I asked, taking a bite as well.

“I mean, I have friends, yeah,” she said, “People like me. But do they love me? No.”

“Yes they do!”

“Oh my gosh, are you gonna make me tell my whole high school story right here in Groucho’s?” she asked.

“Yes, if you don’t mind,” I said.

“Alright,” she said, “Just that you asked for it.”

“Deal.”

“Okay, well, where to begin?” she asked. “Okay, so freshman year, I lost myself. I lost my love of life, my motivation in everything. I isolated myself from people and overthought everything, like to the point of having serious breakdowns. I saw myself becoming even more tolerant and open-minded than before, so I feared that I was losing my innocence. I just quit living. I looked to my boyfriend at the time for help, hoping he could pull me out of my rut and return me to my happy self. But no one person can provide that kind of fulfillment, ya know? I was stuck.” She looked down, away from me, like she was ashamed. “I allowed him to begin to treat me badly, which just made it all worse. To keep the negative of our relationship from spilling over into the rest of my life, I had to find a way to separate. I basically became a different person when it came to him. I dumbed myself down and didn’t do what I knew was right, simply because I wasn’t ready to let go of him. It’s crazy because all throughout freshman year, I still knew who I was and what I believed. But I let anxiety and depression get the best of me, and that turned it into the worst year of my life. I was trying to make myself settle, be okay with just staying stuck here forever just being a housewife or something. It made me feel like … ungrateful to want anything else for myself. Like I had to be okay with just the life I’d already lived at only fourteen. And you know I’m a dreamer, so it sucked the life out of me.”

“Whoa,” I said, having no other valid reaction.

“Yeah, sorry, too heavy?” she asked, “I told you it wasn’t really a casual conversation type deal. We can talk about it another time.”

“No, no, keep telling me, please,” I said.

She hesitated for a minute, looking at me for some sign of insincerity in my interest in what she was saying. It was the first time I had ever seen her in a moment of insecurity. It wasn’t unattractive, just … humanizing. “Alright, well the good news is that things got a lot better for me sophomore year,” she said, “Nobody else pulled me back on my feet though; I had to do it myself. I started

living again. I realized that I didn’t have to have everything figured out and that life didn’t have to be perfect for it to be great. I re-fell in love with volleyball, and yes, I was number one setter in the state for several weeks running. Because I was alive and happy again, I made a lot of memories with so many friends. Sophomore year was definitely the year that I spent a lot of time expressing myself and relating to people, so I got to know a lot of new people and rekindled old friendships that had sort of died freshman year when I slipped away. I could hang out with any group of people just doing whatever and it was always fun. I had friends in every group and I defied labels by being able to fit anywhere. It was a year of all new experiences, new people, new places, new songs, new freedom … and I’m rambling. But you get the point. Things got a lot better.”

“That’s awesome,” I said, “I can’t believe that all this was going on inside you all that time, and I never knew. You still seemed just like Carrie to me.”

“Yeah, I like to think I hid what I was going through pretty well freshman year,” she said.

“I always thought of you as a little country girl freshman year,” I said, laughing.

“Well, I kinda was. And now I’m more artsy and hipster,” she said, “It’s funny because nothing about who I am really changed, except for my tastes. I guess, since I didn’t have a group to hold me back, I kinda went with the trends of popular culture.”

“Makes sense,” I said.

“But yeah,” she continued, getting back on track, “If you’re wondering why I

don’t really feel loved, it’s because everyone likes me, I have friends in every group, but there’s no specific place that I fit. I don’t really have a ‘home.’ If I had to make a goal for junior year, it would be to find that home. Having so many friends is fun, but exhausting. I feel like I spread myself so thin, and at the end of the day, have nobody. I need to start putting my effort into specific people, my real friends.”

“Yeah, sounds like a plan,” I said, “As long as I’m one of ‘em.”

“Oh, you are, trust me,” she said. That was all I needed to hear.

The next day at practice, as the guys were doing their cool down stretches, Coach Bossert walked my way and plopped himself down beside me.

“You having fun?” he asked.

“As always,” I said.

“I’m glad to hear it. It really makes a difference, having you out here with us. All the coaching staff agrees.”

“Good,” I said, grinning stupidly, “That makes me happy. I’m glad I’m not missing out on this experience with you and my best friends.”

“Me too, son,” he said, then, after a brief pause, “How’s your girl?”

A little taken aback, I said, “Carrie’s good. She’s not my girlfriend yet, but I think it’s headed in that direction.”

“Good. You being smart?”

“What? We haven’t had sex, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” he said, “Although I’m glad to hear that. But I was just asking if you’re making smart decisions about who you decide to devote yourself to.”

“Carrie’s an awesome person,” I said, a little defensively, “And I consider her to be a good influence on me. One of the best people for me to be around, actually.”

“I’m not saying she’s not, son,” Coach Bossert said, and I could tell by his tone he was trying to keep the conversation light-hearted and positive. “In fact, I’ve never heard a bad thing about the girl. She’s always been very sweet and polite when I’ve talked to her. She’s pretty, too.”

“Yeah, I know,” I said, “So what’s the problem?”

“Look, there’s no problem. It’s just, your mom is … well, she’s just a little unsure about it.”

“And she told Dad and Dad told you?”

“Actually, she told Mary and Mary told me,” he chuckled, “But yes, right idea. She just feels that Carrie isn’t exactly what they had pictured for you.”

“Oh my gosh, how many times am I gonna hear this?” I asked, annoyed, “I know Carrie’s different. She’s not Madeline. She’s not the same as everyone else. Since when is that a bad thing?”

“It’s not a bad thing to be unique, AJ,” he said calmly, “I don’t think that that’s what your mom meant. I think she has heard a couple things about Carrie that are bothering her a little bit.”

“Like what?”

“She’s heard that Carrie has a little bit of a wild side,” he said, shrugging, “Likes to party. Drinker, smoker, that sort of thing. Your mom just isn’t sure that Carrie is the godly girl that you need. And then, of course, it didn’t help when Carrie said that she plans to go to College of Charleston. You know what kind of reputation that school has.”

“Her reasons for wanting to go there have nothing to do with drinking and partying,” I said, getting incredibly defensive. How dare he assume such things about her?

“Alright, son, I’m not trying to accuse anyone of anything,” he said, “I just was

letting you know what your mom said and where she’s coming from. She has the right to be worried and I just wanted to prepare you for that. But it’s not my place, anyways.”

“Okay, well thanks, I guess,” I said, starting to stand up to leave.

“I trust you, son,” he said, placing his hand on my shoulder to keep me there a moment longer, “I know you’ll make good choices. I just love you a lot and wanted to check up.”

“Love you,” I muttered, and with that, I walked away.

I made my way into the locker room, a little tired from the long walk in. Music blared and steam from the showers filled the air, shampoo mixing with the smell of sweat to create the strangest of odors. I went into one of the side rooms where the guys who weren’t showering were getting dressed and goofing around. Ultimate teammate bonding.

Several of the senior guys were huddled together watching a video on one of their phones. They were whooping and hollering and laughing every few seconds, uttering unintelligible phrases in the midst of their laughter.

“It’s your girl, AJ!” one shrieked.

“I can’t believe you let her go out like that,” said another.

Ty and Daniel had come back in the room from their showers at this point, and were just as curious as I was about what the senior guys were talking about. They both made their ways over and maneuvered in between little crowd that had gathered in order to get a glimpse of the video, which had been restarted a couple times now. I decided to stand up, too, and go watch, despite my achy muscles and now racing heart.

The video took place in a dimly lit room that appeared to be the crowded living room of someone’s apartment where dance music was blaring and people were yelling. It looked like a typical college party, and sure enough, right in the middle of it all, stood Carrie. Rather, she was leaned up against a counter talking to whoever was filming the video. Her words slurred and got lost in the waves of noise surrounding her. She was obviously incredibly intoxicated – messy hair, eyes low and red, a glazed over look on her face despite laughing every few seconds at whatever the cameraman was saying. She was still so beautiful, but not in the way that I knew her. She was dressed in a cut-off tank top and tiny shorts – such a sharp contrast to her usual Nike shorts and T-shirt.

A guy that I didn’t recognize walked into the frame and aggressively pulled Carrie into an upright position. He wrapped his arm around her to hold her up as he used his car keys to poke a hole in a beer can. He seemed to think it was all so funny, as did Carrie and everyone else around. He handed her the beer and I watched in horror and she shotgunned the whole thing in three big gulps. When she was finished, she looked for a second like she might throw up, but recovered and started laughing and high fiving people. The video blurred and then ended.

Daniel and I looked exchanged a look as most of the rest of the team either laughed and made comments about Carrie or looked to see my reaction. As embarrassed and shocked as I was, I just shook my head and tried to laugh it off.

“Ty, are you ready?” I asked, trying to shift the focus.

“Yeah, we can go,” he said. We walked out to my truck in almost complete silence. When I pulled out onto the main road, he asked, “Are you mad about that video?”

I thought long and hard about his question before I answered. It definitely didn’t make me happy, that I knew. But was I mad? It was hard to say.

“Do you think she parties like that a lot?” I asked.

“I don’t know, dude,” he said, “She’s been really wild for the past year or so. But I feel like Carrie would be smart about it, and careful.”

“I hope so. I don’t wanna see her get hurt, or in trouble, or on the wrong path.”

“I don’t think you can really control her,” he said, “She’s got that personality – young, wild and free.”

“I don’t wanna take that away,” I said as we pulled up to Ty’s house, “I want her to be happy. That’s just hard for me to watch. Maybe I’ll just ask her about it.”

“Just be careful with what you say,” he said, opening the enger door and grabbing his bag, “She’ll get defensive, she’s stubborn like that.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said, “Thanks, man.”

“Yep,” he said, and shut the door.

I drove home in silence. No music, no thinking aloud, no phone call to Daniel or anyone else I’d typically talk to on a drive. I wanted to reason through this whole thing, but I just ended up blankly staring out of the windshield. When I put my truck in park in my driveway, I immediately had the realization that I had no clue how I got home. I ed nothing about that drive, like I’d been asleep.

Mama greeted me with smiles and dinner when I went inside, but I just wasn’t hungry. I went downstairs and decided that if there was ever a time to ask Carrie, it was now.

I called. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Just when I thought it was about to go to her voicemail, there was a click, and then, “Hello?”

“Hey,” I said, nervously.

“Hey, what are you up to?”

“Nothing, I just got home from practice. You?”

“I’m out right now.”

“Oh. Well do you want me to call back later?”

“No, it’s fine. Do you need something?” she asked.

“I actually wanted to ask you about something.”

“What?”

“Well, I don’t know where to start,” I said. Deep breaths, AJ, I told myself. “Okay, so I saw this video of you today. You were at some party, probably a college one. And I just was wondering if that’s something you do a lot.”

There was silence for so long that I thought the phone call had disconnected. Finally, she said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You were in someone’s apartment somewhere,” I said, “Dressed … different than usual. Talking to the person that was filming you. You shotgunned a beer and that was pretty much it.”

“Who showed you this video?” she asked.

“That’s not the point,” I said, “But it was some senior guys on the football team.”

Still, she said nothing. “Do you even know what I’m talking about?” I finally asked, frustrated, “Do you even that night and who you were with and where you were?”

“I don’t know,” she said, “It’s all a blur.”

“I don’t like the way that guy put his hands on you, Carrie,” I said, “It was too forceful.”

“Okay, you know what, I don’t need you judging me, AJ!” she said, finally snapping.

“I’m not judging you.”

“Yes you are! You and I both know that there’s more to a person than what they choose to do for fun on the weekends. So why don’t you just pay attention to the other things about me if you don’t like that I party?”

“You know that I do,” I said, “I pay attention to every part of who you are. And I love it all, no matter what. But I care about your safety, Carrie.”

“I don’t need anyone worried about me,” she retorted, “I’m fine. I know what I’m doing and I’ve got it all under control. I’m smart about what I do.”

“I don’t want you to get in trouble, either,” I said, “Your future is too bright.”

“I won’t,” she said firmly, and I could tell she was done with the conversation.

“Okay,” I said.

“Okay.”

“I was never mad. Just wanted to ask.”

“I told you I don’t like being controlled.”

“I’m not trying to control you.”

“Okay, good. Because it wouldn’t work.”

“I know.”

“Good,” she said, “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Alright,” I said, and the line clicked off. I should have felt better, but I didn’t at

all.

Over the next few days, Carrie and I barely talked. A text here, a “hey” in ing there, but she made no effort to spend any time together, and I refrained from doing so in fear that I would only push her further away. I had this realization that, maybe I didn’t like being in love. My very happiness had begun to depend on Carrie; she had the ability to make me feel very good or very bad about myself. Needless to say, with us barely speaking, I was more than just a little down in the dumps.

The rest of the week came and went. Not much changed, and by the time Saturday night rolled around, I was on the verge of going insane.

CHAPTER 19

“Just come get it all off your mind tonight,” Ty said, “Ever since I got offered at Clemson, I’ve been hanging out with some of the guys on the team there. They told me I can bring whoever I want.”

So, Daniel and I tagged along with Ty to a huge apartment on campus that was bursting at the seams with football players and frat guys alike. Ty introduced us to Mike, one of the top wide receivers on the team, who offered us a beer and showed us around the place. We ended up sitting on his bed, in a sort of circle with a few other guys. They talked amongst themselves while Daniel and I entertained ourselves for a few minutes, but eventually they turned their attention towards us.

“So, where do y’all go to school?” one asked.

“Will Owen,” Daniel said. “Same as Ty.”

“Cool, cool.”

“So y’all know all about them Will Owen girls then, huh?” another guy said, and the whole group erupted with laughter.

“Oh shit,” Ty said, ing in the laughter. “Did someone finesse one of our hoes? Lord knows we have plenty.”

Some of the guys laughed, others whispered to each other. It was exactly one of the things I hated most about football players, the way they brought things up and then acted like it was some big secret.

One of the players, Jordan, said, “Jessica!” to another player who I did not know. The guy looked guilty and the room erupted with “Oh shit” from everyone.

“Wait, Jessica Clary messed with these guys?” I asked Ty. Jessica was one of Carrie’s best friends, and I’d never thought of her like that.

“I guess so,” Ty said. Just as he did, I heard Carrie’s name screamed and everyone’s laughter. My heart stopped.

“Carrie who?” I asked, my voice shaking.

“Wardlaw, maybe?” one of them said.

“Shit, we don’t even know their last names,” said another.

“Pretty little blonde girl?” Ty asked, glancing at me nervously.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s the one!”

“That girl is wild as fuck.”

I sat in silence as Daniel sorta nudged me. I wouldn’t look at him. I prayed for the subject of their conversation to change; it finally did. The room had begun clearing out as people headed to a different party. Some of the guys in the circle got up to follow, Mike included.

“Y’all coming?” he asked. “You know this wasn’t the party right? Just the pregame. The party is down the road, and it’ll be way more fun.”

“Yeah, I’m coming,” said Ty. “Just give me a minute.” He turned towards me, looking apologetic.

“Dude, are you okay?” asked Daniel.

“Did you not hear the way they were talking about her? Like she’s just some little whore,” I said, fighting back tears.

“She let them use her,” Ty said, “Of course they talk about her that way. I’m so sorry.”

“I just wanna go home,” I said, getting up to leave.

“AJ, you’ve been drinking,” Daniel said.

“I don’t care.”

“This isn’t the way to get it off your mind.”

“Bye. Thanks for inviting me. Sorry I’m leaving.” I pushed my way through the heavy door and the people gathered around outside of it. After walking around the parking lot like a lost puppy for five minutes, I finally got inside my truck and headed home. It was another very quiet drive.

When I got home, I stormed down to my room. I pulled out each and every letter that Carrie had ever written me, all the compilations of her very soul that she had so graciously shared with me, asking me for only one favor in return: that I keep every word on every page safe and sound and most of all, a secret. With every glimpse of each letter, another memory of her came crashing back over me like a wave. The growing lump in my throat began to ache, and it was enough to push me over the edge. The tears that had been slowly filling my eyes spilled over, hot and heavy as they now poured down my face.

I gathered up the letters and ran upstairs to my dad’s office, picking up the papers as they dropped along the way. When I got into the office, I flipped on the light and flung down the papers, collapsing into a heap on top of them. Sobs racked my body uncontrollably for a couple minutes, and when I finally got a grip on myself, I picked up the first letter and pulled myself up. I crossed the room and stopped beside the paper shredder, which had been sitting untouched for weeks.

“Everything changes tonight,” I whispered to myself, taking one last look at the paper in my hand.

CHAPTER 20

I couldn’t do it, though. I never even really considered destroying Carrie’s letters. Rather, I turned on the copy machine that sat beside the shredder. First, I scanned each and every letter onto my laptop and saved them as documents. Then, I made copies of each letter. I flung open my dad’s desk drawer, pulling out several large envelopes and placing one of each letter in all the envelopes. I addressed envelopes to several big newspapers around, to the Clemson University magazine, and to the Will Owen High School student body newsletter. I signed and addressed them all in Carrie’s name, slapped a stamp on them, and dropped them off at the post office.

I think I expected to feel better once I got home. I was wrong. I paced around my room, looking at the clock every couple of minutes. 1:15. 1:17. The later it got, the more agitated I became. Finally, I got back onto my laptop, ready to take it all a step further. I found some shitty blog website and converted all of Carrie’s letters into several blogs, then with a couple final clicks of the mouse, I tweeted the link to the blog for all of Will Owen to see. I slammed the laptop shut, threw the blankets over my head, and cried myself to sleep.

The worst part of earth-shattering events is that when you wake up the next morning, expecting to feel a little better, maybe even praying that it was all just a nightmare, you are disappointed to find that it’s all still very real. It still hurts just as badly, and things don’t look any better just because the sun came back around. That’s what the next morning was like for me. The moment I opened my eyes, I wished that I hadn’t, that I had stayed under the numbing spell of sleep just a little bit longer.

I picked up my phone and had to scroll for several seconds to view all my notifications from Twitter. Over thirty people had “retweeted” the link to the

blog of Carrie’s letters, and hundreds of people had “favorited” it. Several people, mostly girls that I knew, but even some that I didn’t, had commented on how insightful and well-written the letters were, and how awesome of a person Carrie obviously was. I scrolled and scrolled, looking for any indication that Carrie had seen the post and maybe commented on it, or even just favorited it. There was nothing.

I decided it might be a good idea to send her a message. After all, I had just posted her most personal feelings all over the internet, and more than that, she was clueless as to why. I stared at her name in my phone for over a minute before I could make myself start typing. When I finally did, the words came slowly. Before I hit send, I read over the message one last time:

Hey. I know you’ve seen the stuff on Twitter about you. I know I was supposed to keep your writings a secret, but I was really upset last night. I heard some of the Clemson football players talking about you … about what they’ve done with you. It just really upset me and I overreacted. I’m sorry. I hope we can talk about things, and maybe you can try to help me understand the things I heard. I still love you no matter what.

After I sent it, I made my way upstairs to find Mama, perky as always, putting the finishing touches on breakfast. “Morning, baby!” she said, pulling a pan of pumpkin-chocolate chip muffins out of the oven.

“Morning,” I said hoarsely.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Eh.”

“You gonna be ready for church in time, son?” Dad asked, sitting down at the table beside me.

Right. Church. It’s Sunday. “Um, I forgot about that,” I muttered, “I should probably go get ready, I guess.”

“Yeah, I would say so,” Dad said.

Getting ready for church was a blur – in fact, the whole day was a blur. I remained as silent as possible and avoided the typical small talk at the end of church. Afterwards, safely back at home, I did homework. Then napped. Then more homework. Watched film. Watched the Steelers’ game. All the while, I was checking my phone what seemed like every couple seconds. Over and over again, I prayed for Carrie to give me some type of response; over and over again, I was disappointed.

The next week at school, I got even more attention than I had at the beginning of the school year when everyone was “Carrie and AJ” obsessed. Now, people were really wanting to know what the deal was with us. I had no answer for them. Guys, especially football players, kept talking about how cool it was that I tweeted Carrie’s writings. I couldn’t tell who was being sarcastic and who genuinely enjoyed it. Girls kept coming up to me, telling me how they were “so obsessed” with Carrie. Teachers talked about it when the school and town newspapers came out; even Coach Bossert brought it up to me, saying how Carrie was “a lot better of a person” than he had originally thought. It seemed like the only person that I didn’t hear from was the one I actually cared about hearing from – Carrie herself. I knew she was avoiding me when I took all the right routes to see her on the way to classes and out in the parking lot, and I

didn’t find her.

On Tuesday, Mama must have asked me eight different times if I was feeling alright. I was barely eating, I had dark circles under my eyes from barely sleeping, and I was barely capable of holding a conversation. I would start off listening to what she was saying to me, trying to be interested in the conversation. I really tried. But I’d end up in the same place every time, my focus ripped away from Mama and back to Carrie at the earliest opportunity. Apparently, I was staring blankly at Mama by the end of each one of her stories, no response, no expression.

On Thursday night, I tried calling Carrie. No answer.

On Friday morning, I ed her in the hallway. My heart began racing the moment we locked eyes. As I sped up my walking pace and closed the distance between us, I started to say, “Hey!” but just that one simple word got hung up in my throat. It came out as some sort of guttural noise, and she looked away from me halfway through it, anyways. It crushed me.

I went home for lunch that day, rather than enduring another day of Carrie talk in the cafeteria at school. I was surprised to find that Dad had come home for lunch as well, and Mama was busy preparing something for him.

“Hey, baby,” Mama said when I walked in.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you home, sport,” Dad said.

“Well, I wanted to have a little break before the big game tonight,” I said, “Mama, can you fix me some of that, too?”

“Of course,” she said, tossing another grilled cheese onto the griddle and spooning another heaping portion of tomato soup into the pot.

“You excited for tonight?” Dad asked, “First game of the season, and y’all got Easley. You think the boys are ready?”

I was already bored of the conversation. Agitated, too. “Eh, maybe,” I said, “I don’t really care either way. Everyone’s been sucking it up at practice.”

Mama stopped stirring the soup and turned to look at me. She looked as if she’d just seen a ghost. Dad dropped the newspaper into a heap on the counter and looked at me over his reading glasses. “What?” he asked. “Why do you say that?”

“Everyone’s been lazy at practice,” I said, “Too worried about other things. If they lose, it’s what they get. You reap what you sow.”

“AJ, come on now,” Mama said, “Those are your best friends out there. Don’t wish bad things on them.”

“If I was lucky enough to be out there, you best believe I wouldn’t waste it,” I said, “They piss me off.”

There was silence for a minute. I think Mama felt too badly to say much. “What’s wrong, son?” Dad finally asked. “This isn’t really even about football. Something else is bothering you. You never act like this.”

“Nothing, I’m fine,” I said, “Just being honest.”

“I’ll tell you what’s wrong with him,” Mama said abruptly, slamming down the lid on the pot as she did so. “It’s that girl! She’s messing with him.”

“Carrie?” Dad asked, “Come on now, honey. She’s a nice girl, and I like her a lot. I’m sure she hasn’t done anything to AJ.”

“Yeah, Mama, what are you talking about?” I asked defensively.

“She’s a dirty hippie! A party girl! And a druggie, so I’ve heard,” Mama ranted, rage coming over her face and seeping out of her eyes. “Her biggest life goals are to go to College of Charleston and do what? Drink her life away, I suppose.”

“How dare you accuse her of those things?” I yelled.

“Don’t you get a smart mouth with me!” Mama exclaimed, “I’ve seen what you posted on your Twitter, all those blogs she wrote. She doesn’t stand for what we stand for AJ. She doesn’t value what we do. She’s not like us.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I yelled, flinging my grilled cheese and the

ceramic plate along with it. “How can you read those things and not fall in love with her? She’s amazing, and she believes in all things good and pure and peaceful. Those things are like the basis of humanity and she explains them in full detail. Sure, she cares about things a little bigger than football and neighborhood gossip and the country club and Vineyard Vines … but you know what, maybe you could learn a lesson from her on that! She’s different only in good ways. She’s everything I need and everything I wish to be! So fuck you!” And with that, I turned my back and bounded to the stairs leading down to my room, not wanting to face the shit show I had just created.

“AJ, get back here!” Mama screamed as I slammed the basement door. However, I didn’t go down the stairs. Rather, I collapsed in a heap at the top of the steps and pressed my ear against the wooden door. I heard muffled sobs from Mama and the sound of Daddy’s barstool scooting across the floor as he moved to comfort her.

“How can he talk to his mother like that?” Mama choked out.

“I know he shouldn’t do that,” Dad said, “But you really upset him. I know you just want to help, but you took it too far. He would never typically act like that.”

“How did I take it too far? By telling him the truth?” she asked, disgust in her tone.

“I don’t know that that’s what you did,” he said, gently, “You told him what you’ve heard. That may or may not be accurate. And just because she’s a little different doesn’t mean she’s not good. You’ve got to be a little more mature than that, honey.”

“This isn’t about immaturity!” she said, “You should read the things this girl wrote. You can just tell that she’s too free-spirited, just a big dreamer who doesn’t really do anything with herself. AJ doesn’t need that.”

“Well, let him figure that out for himself,” Dad said, “Forcing it down his throat will only make him resist, and hate you in the process.”

“Okay,” Mama said, her voice cracking again, “She’s just bad for him. I can feel it.”

I had had enough. I stopped listening, marched down the stairs, and fell into bed without setting an alarm. I didn’t even care if I woke up for the game or not.

Miraculously, I did. It was 5:32 when I looked at the clock the next time. I’d missed the team dinner of steak and baked potatoes, but I’d still make it to the game in plenty of time. I checked my phone for a message from Carrie. No surprises there.

I successfully avoided both my parents when I left my house, and I made it to the game without hearing from either one of them. I found the team in the locker room, I slipped in unnoticed and found Coach Bossert giving his weekly pep talk. It ended with a quick prayer and the boys huddled up and headed out to the field to warm up.

One thing that would truly never get old to me was the atmosphere of a high school football game, particularly one down South. The smell of the freshly cut grass intermingled with the boiled peanuts sold out of the beds of farmers’ trucks around the stadium. The stands were already about half full on both sides, and

there were still forty-five minutes until kick-off. The summer evening air with a slight breeze felt beyond perfect, and the warm up music was full of awesome bass drops and beats that kept the energy alive.

As the countdown clock on the scoreboard neared zero, indicating that the allotted time for warm ups was almost over, the cheerleaders for both teams surrounded the goal posts and held up the banners they’d made for the week. I watched as the boys went behind the banner, gathered into a huge huddle, and swayed back and forth, their energy pulsing as they chanted. Finally, they burst through the banner, cheerleaders tumbling across the field as they did so. The boys ran out, seniors in front carrying the Will Owen flag. There was a captains meeting, a prayer, and the singing of the national anthem. As the evening progressed, the sun began to sink over the trees, then down over the far stands. The lower it got, the more brilliant pinks and oranges it sent streaking across the sky.

Cheering. Touchdown. Extra point kicked … and it’s good! Cheerleaders. The fight song. The paint up crew doing push-ups for each point we scored – first seven, then fourteen, then twenty-one, and so on as the night progressed. Easley wasn’t a challenge for us as they had been in past years.

After the game ended and Coach Bossert made his “first win of the season” speech, after the boys showered off and the stands cleared, it was just a few of us left standing around in the parking lot beside our trucks.

“Y’all wanna meet at Cookout with everyone else?” Ty asked the group as a whole.

“Yeah,” I said, “And is anyone having anything afterwards?”

“I heard about something going on down at Issaqueena, but it might be a lot of underclassmen,” said Daniel.

“Well, people could just come back to the clubhouse in my neighborhood,” said Ashton.

“Yeah, let’s do that.”

“Somebody bring some bitches.”

“Somebody bring some Fireball.”

I followed Dustin and his crew out of the Will Owen parking lot and onto the road headed towards downtown Clemson. When we turned onto the highway, he got into the lane beside me and started honking his horn. I saw all the Six Mile guys practically jumping out of the windows and sunroof, yelling at me from another moving vehicle. Completely playing around. I rolled down my window to hear what they were saying, but just as I did, a cramp hit.

I had known for a while that cramps were going to start becoming more frequent, and more intense, when I stopped going to training with Ms. Donna. I had just sort of accepted it as a part of my disease. A symptom. Typically, they only occurred when I laid down to go to sleep at night or first thing in the morning, or after random spurts of physical activity. But this one was different, worse than before. It came on much more suddenly. Rather than just feeling like a tightening of my muscles, this was sharp pain. It felt like my entire right leg

was ripping and shredding into pieces with each contraction. It was the kind of pain that ripped my attention away from the truck full of my friends next to me, the kind that even pulled my attention away from what I was doing at the wheel. My first instinct was to reach down and grab my leg to hold it, as if that would help the pain.

“AJ! AJ!!!!!”

I heard the cries of my friends trying to get my attention. Their voices suddenly sounded distant. I realized too late that it was because they had slowed to a stop in the lane beside me, while I was coasting through a red light at a four-way intersection. I looked up in time to see nothing out in front of me, but something in my peripheral vision caught my eye.

There were horns blown, tires screeched, and then an impact. I felt my world rocked, just like that. I heard glass shatter, saw narrow beams of light streaming through the darkness. And then, nothing.

CHAPTER 21

I felt myself waking up long before I ever opened my eyes. I felt myself coming back into consciousness, ri out of dream world. The beeping of the machines hooked to me was the one thing that assured me that I was, in fact, alive.

Immediately, I thought about the day I was diagnosed with Becker Muscular Dystrophy. That fateful day, when we knew something was wrong – we just didn’t know how wrong. Images flashed through my mind of that white room. So much white – too much. The white room where we waited and waited for what felt like an eternity. The room where my life changed forever. The doctor that delivered the news – who pursed her lips when we asked what the long term prognosis was. “Will I die young?” I had asked. “No,” she’d said, “Patients with this disease typically live anywhere from forty years to a normal lifespan. You’re going to be fine.”

Forty years, I thought, now back in the present. I had never dreamed I’d be feeling lucky to still be alive at sixteen.

My eyes fluttered open on that thought, and they met Mama’s. She looked awful. No makeup, tear stains, dark circles under her eyes. Her hair was in a knot on the top of her head and she wore sweats and an old pair of flip-flops.

“Hey, honey,” she said, holding back tears. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” I said. My voice came out much more hoarse than I expected.

“Can I get you anything?”

“Maybe just some water.”

Mama disappeared out of the room, and I heard her say to someone “He’s awake.” Dad stepped in the room a moment later, looking weary but relieved. He crossed over to me, squeezed my hand, and bent down to kiss me on the forehead. “Glad you’re awake, son,” he said.

“What happened to me?” I asked.

“You ran a red light into oncoming traffic. Somebody T-boned you on the drivers’ side,” he explained.

“Where’s the other driver?” I asked. “Are they okay?”

“She’s fine,” he said, “Not a scratch on her. She’s just been so worried about you.”

“What about the truck?” I asked.

“Totaled. But that’s okay. Nothing that can’t be replaced,” he said, “All that matters is that you’re okay.”

Mama reappeared and handed me a small paper cup full of water. As I sipped, she said, “Caleb and Kensley are on their way. And all the football boys have been in and out – there are some still in the lobby. But there’s someone else here to see you.”

“Who?”

“Hang on.” Both of my parents left the room and Carrie stepped in, her demeanor timid. “Hi,” she said shyly, as she shut the door behind her.

“Hey,” I said, feeling a slight gasp escape my lips.

“Is it okay that I’m here? I know we haven’t talked …”

“Yeah, yeah! Are you kidding? Sit down.”

She did. She looked at the floor, then at me, then back at the floor. “So, are you okay? What happened?” she asked.

“Me? I’m fine,” I said, “My leg just cramped up real bad while I was driving. I quit paying attention to what I was doing.”

“That scares me,” she said, “Everyone’s been so worried about you. Calling me, checking to see if there was any news … it was overwhelming.”

“Well, it’s fine now. No big deal,” I said.

“But it is a big deal,” she said, “I almost lost you.”

“No, you didn’t,” I said, “I’m barely hurt.”

“Because you’re strong.”

“That’s a joke,” I said, “Do you know me? Do you know the disorder I have? It’s literally the opposite of strong.”

“But, your name isn’t!”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your name means ‘strong,’ Arthur Jayce Marett” she said, “I get bored sometimes and look up names, typically future baby names for my kid. But sometimes I look up name meanings of people I know, to see if they match their meaning. You know, to see if the name is a good fit. Anyways, Arthur and Jayce both mean ‘strong.’”

“No way,” I breathed, “That’s awesome. I can’t believe I didn’t know that.”

“Yep,” she grinned, proud of herself. “You’ve got a double whammy. Extra strength.”

“Well, I sure could use it,” I said, “And thank you for coming to see me after … everything.”

“I wouldn’t be anywhere else right now,” she said, “I couldn’t live with myself. All that stuff from this past week doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. We can talk about that later. You’re still my best friend.”

“No, I wanna talk about it,” I said, “Carrie, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“No it’s not. I shared your deepest secrets with the world.”

“It’s really okay,” she said, grabbing my hand in an effort to comfort me.

“No,” I said, “What are you really thinking? Did I make this past week bad for you?”

She closed her eyes and sighed. I could tell she was hesitant to talk about this under the current circumstances. She thought she was being selfish, but I was so genuinely concerned over her feelings about the situation that in a way she was being selfless, relieving me of the possibilities that had been racing through my mind with the simple truth.

She opened her eyes and with a faint smile she breathed, “Everyone was so sweet.” I waited for her to say more but she just looked at me, her expression unreadable.

“Are you sure?” I persisted.

“Yes, AJ. I’m more than sure … I don’t even know how to explain the praise I got from people. I mean, the girls at school especially, but even teachers, Coach Taylor, and – “ she paused, giggling. “Don’t even get me started on work last night. It seems like everyone’s read little bits and pieces.”

“I’ve been so worried,” was all I managed to choke out. I could hear how small my voice sounded. I knew I should feel much more relieved, but I did not. She seemed happy, so why was the burden only halfway lifted off of my chest?

She countered with, “Don’t be worried! People who I never even talk to were coming up to me complimenting me, and I could tell it was genuine. My friends kept telling me things like how they’re so lucky to know me, how I’m so honest and wise and mature and open-minded.” She paused, and I could feel that my expression remained unsure. She continued, “I think Maggie was the most amazed of all – of course she wanted to hang out right after she read everything. We had this long, deep conversation where she was telling me that she could see

how my writing actually reflects on my life – she said that she can see it in the way I learn from experiences, the way I’m unique but still fit in, how I connect with people, how use my differences to learn – “ she trailed off, as she always does when she becomes self-conscious that she might be rambling.

I forced a smile that must have been somewhat convincing because she relaxed. As I filled the silence with a half-hearted, “That’s great!” and “I’m so glad!” it finally dawned on me. Carrie had only told me what other people were feeling about her writing. The praise, the compliments, the attention in our tiny town were but a small part of what either of us were truly concerned about – I found myself still completely in the dark about what she felt towards me for exposing her. “But how do you feel?” I blurted out, before she was able to change the subject.

“But how do you feel?” I asked. “You know, put what everyone else says aside. How do you feel about it?”

“I mean, I’m definitely flattered,” she said. “But I do feel exposed. Maybe a little betrayed, if I’m being fully honest. I just wish I knew why you did that to me. I mean, yeah, things got a little rocky when you started questioning me about my partying. I know we didn’t talk for a couple days. But I was just having my space. I still thought everything was good between us and then …”

“I don’t have a good excuse,” I said, hanging my head in shame. “Although, I wish I did. I went out on Saturday night – god, I can’t believe that was only a week ago. But anyways, I met all these Clemson football players. And they just started talking about doing stuff with you right in front of me.”

“So naturally, you’d send my letters out for the world to see?” she asked sarcastically.

“I just needed people to see you for who you really are,” I explained. “I couldn’t stand for people to be talking about you so disrespectfully. They were looking at you for so much less than you’re worth and it was eating me alive. I had to show them you’re so much more than that. You’re more than your body Carrie, you’re more than what they do with your body, you’re so much more than the attention they give you. You just don’t deserve to be used like that. I don’t know, maybe it wasn’t the right way to go about it – but I was desperate.”

I had looked away on my little rant, and when I looked back at Carrie, tears were streaming down her face. She was smiling, though. It looked like sun and rain. She picked up my hand and put her face in it. “How do you love me?” she sobbed.

“What?”

“I don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t deserve me?” I asked, dumbfounded. It was comical. “Baby, you’ve got that twisted. I don’t deserve you.”

“You would say that,” she said, sniffling, “You’re way too good for me. I’m such a mess.”

“Do explain.”

“AJ, I’m not what you think,” she said, “I’ve made you believe I’m perfect because I’ve told you all these things that I believe. Yeah, I have good intentions. But I can’t seem to live by what I say I do. I know better, but I don’t do better. And that’s just as bad as not knowing better at all. I’m the girl who is supposed to be a little bit of everything and be able to talk to everyone, yet I still run out of things to talk about. I’m too sensitive. I either care too much or not at all, and I can’t find the balance. You say I’m confident? Eh – only when it comes to some things about me. Not my personality. I’m so insecure about that.”

“Your flaws don’t change the way I feel about you,” I said, “I knew all along there had to be something about you that wasn’t perfect. I mean, geez – you’re the most incredible human I’ve ever met. So what you have some imperfections? The worst of you is still better than the best of anyone else.”

She shook her head, unable to speak through her tears. I could tell that she was tasting tears of both joy and pent up hurt.

I sat up a little bit, reaching out my hand to her, “Carrie, I have tried writing you letters to tell you this. You’re the only thing out there that’s ever inspired me to write. But I don’t have a way with words like you do. Somewhere between my heart and my head and my pencil, the words get hung up and they just don’t come out right. But I can tell you that I love you.”

She propped her face up on my hand, now looking me dead in the eyes while tears poured from hers. “Someone finally loves me,” she said, “Not just likes me. But loves me.”

“I do,” I said, “And please, whatever you do, don’t waste another minute on people who don’t appreciate you.”

“I love you, too,” she said, squeezing my hand and wiping off her face. She was already back to being strong. “Do you need anything?” she asked.

“No, I’m fine,” I said, “But wait, are we good? Are we together?”

“I got accepted to College of Charleston a year early,” she blurted out, looking away from me.

“What? I didn’t even know you were applying,” I asked, shocked.

“Well, I had sent them a few things I’ve written just to see about maybe getting involved in their programs down there ahead of time. But after you made that blog website with all that stuff I wrote, I sent them the link to that,” she explained, “They asked to see my test scores and then basically offered me a scholarship to come write for them. I just can’t that up – I didn’t even know if I was gonna get to go to college because of cost, and now here I am, getting to go for free.”

“That’s amazing!” I said, “You’re gonna be so perfect for that.”

“Thank you.”

“So what does that mean? You’re leaving next fall?”

“Yeah,” she said, “That’s why I hesitate to say ‘yes’ to us being together. I don’t want this to end in heartbreak when I leave in the fall.”

“You wouldn’t wanna try long distance?” I asked, my voice growing softer.

“We both know how that ends up,” she said.

“I’m gonna get in there, then,” I said, “It’s that simple. I’ll follow you. I’ll make this work.”

She kissed my forehead as she stood up to leave. “You do that for me, AJ, and my heart is yours. Forever. I mean it.”

“I promise,” I said.

“Okay,” she said, “I’m glad we worked everything out. And I’m glad you’re okay. I can tell you’re getting sleepy from all this emotional talk, so why don’t I let you rest up? That way you can feel better when the football boys get here to see you later?”

I just nodded and smiled, for she knew exactly what I needed. I slipped under moments later, into a deep sleep, the most peaceful of the sort that I’d had in quite a while.

CHAPTER 22

When I finally checked out of the hospital, I did not revert back to what had become my daily routine. Although I had fallen behind in my physical progress, Ms. Donna helped me get back on track when I started seeing her again daily. I focused most of my attention on my schoolwork, and picked up some extra classes so that I could have enough credits to graduate early like Carrie. I only went to football about once a week, hoping that Coach Bossert and my friends would understand. They didn’t seem to mind, since I was still by their sides on the field every Friday night.

Mama raised holy hell when I told her I was planning to apply to the College of Charleston. When she found out I was applying a year ahead of time, she didn’t speak to me for three days.

Sometimes, when my class load seemed overwhelming or I felt anxious about getting into college, I wondered why I was doing all this. What’s the point, I asked myself, When I could just stay here and have a relaxing senior year with my friends just like I always pictured? I had moments of doubt, yes, but I never once changed my mind, not even for a split second. Honestly, I think it was Carrie that kept me going, even more so than my own motivation. It was something about the way she lit up when she talked about “next year,” the way she said she’d always felt the most “at home” when she was in Charleston, the pictures she showed me over and over of the art and architecture that the city had to offer. I realized that when you love someone, you let them follow their dreams, but when you truly love someone, their dreams become your dreams, too.

The next few weeks were full of ups and downs. It was all a whirlwind of Carrie and rushing home to see if I’d gotten any mail from College of Charleston, only

to have my heart drop in disappointment every time. I’d been struggling physically with Ms. Donna due to the mental stress, and it was playoff time for football. We’d breezed through first and second round, but barely scraped by third round against A. C. Flora and after a nail-biter of a game for Upper-state, we were on our way to state in the first weekend of December. Mama and Caleb were finally fully speaking to me again, while Dad and Kensley were downright excited for my future plans. Despite their happiness for me, though, I still had yet to hear back from College of Charleston. As Carrie and I fell deeper and deeper in love with each ing day, we both became very worried about the possibility of me not getting in.

I drove us down to Columbia and to Williams-Brice stadium for the state title game. I stood by Coach Bossert’s side the whole time and helped him call plays in his moments of indecision. We hung right with Myrtle Beach High School for the whole game, then lost by a field goal with two seconds left on the clock.

I think what stung the most was watching the fans on the opposite side of the stands go crazy in celebration, watching their boys jump and huddle together in the proudest moment they’d ever lived. It was the “That could have been us,” realization that really killed me. Coach Bossert hung his head and didn’t have much to say – not because he didn’t have much to say but because he didn’t want us to see him getting all choked up. I didn’t start crying, though, until I saw the tears pouring down my best friends’ faces all at once. I just held Daniel and Ty and let them sob into me, knowing that there was nothing I could say to make it better.

I found Carrie after the game and we rode back together in complete silence other than the slow country music playing in the background. She stroked my hand to comfort me, and offered to drive when she could see me getting sleepy.

My parents beat us back to my house, and I could tell they were acting strange right away. My mom pretended to be sad losing the state game, but it

was apparent her mind was a million miles away.

“AJ, why don’t you look through that pile of mail?” Dad finally said.

I glanced over to the pile he pointed at. A large envelope immediately caught my eye. I walked over to it, holding Carrie’s hand the whole way. I picked up the envelope, ripped it open, and read the letter as quickly as I could. Carrie read over my shoulder.

“You got in, babe,” she squealed, “You did it!”

“We’re going to college together,” I said, picking her up and spinning her right there in the middle of my kitchen. And that was the strongest I’d felt in a long, long time.