Carter's Big Break by Brent Crawford Page A

gets home from work, and how I wish Abby were here. I really should have apologized to her this morning. I like to copy her moves when we dance, and I want to talk to her about C. B. and tell her about CrossFit. She would dig it. I want to tell her how much my “perspective” has changed. It’s only been a day, but I already miss her. . . . My boys are right, I am whipped!
    After a while C. B. leaves to buy more alcohol, and since this isn’t my first rodeo with high school kids and booze, I split before he gets back and learns the secret reason you’re not supposed to buy beer for teens: We’re assholes.
    I watch the Ferrari tear off down the road, and grab my bike out of Nick’s truck. I’m looking at my watch, trying to figure out how fast I need to ride in order to get back to school before drama camp lets out, when my sister steps out of the house and breaks my train of thought by yelling, “You better have a good excuse for what you did!”
    Dang it! I look into her eyes and know that someone just tattled. “I kind of do, but I can see that you won’t agree, so forget it.”
    She’s glaring at me like I stole this bike from a blind kid. “You just think that you’re sooo special because you’re auditioning for this movie and hanging out with this writer, but if you think you can start treating the people who care about you like dirt, you’re going to seriously regret it. Like you’re Christian friggin’ Bale all the sudden?!”
    “Shut up! I don’t think that, and I’m going to go apologize right now.”
    “Good! Regret is a decent place to start, but you need to show how sorry you are. You need to work extra hard to prove you’re remorseful, and you’ll be on your way to getting the things you want.”
    Is she telling me how to get Abby to put out more? Why is she using this weird, inspirational code language? That’s not usually her style. “Okay, oracle, so if I’m not supposed to ‘just ask for it,’ how do I get her to give me a blow job?”
    Her left eye snaps shut like she’s just eaten a lemon, and her head cocks to the side. I don’t think we’re talking about the same thing.
    I throw up my hands and say, “Wait! Let’s start with what you think I should be sorry for.”
    She considers her next statement very carefully, tapping her lips with her index finger before seething, “I thought that you should be embarrassed that our father is sitting in the backyard with a broken heart and a pile of lumber because his only son is nowhere to be found. . . .”
    Dang it, I totally forgot about him!
    She continues. “But unless I’m mistaken . . . you’re telling me that you’ve also asked Abby—the best girlfriend you’re likely to ever have—to give you a . . . ahh . . . it’s so disrespectful that I can’t even bring myself to say it.”
    “Ah come on, you can too . . . BLOW JOB! It was just a question—I didn’t throw her off the rocket-ship slide. It doesn’t hurt to ask, and you’re the one who told me to use questions in the first—”
    Her face contorts even further as she barks, “Stop right there, idiot! I told you to ask questions about her, questions that would make her feel special . . . not degrade her! Do you know how that makes a girl feel?”
    I obviously don’t, so she continues, “Like a used object! Things like pushing a girl’s head down into your crotch are techniques that guys use on girls that that they don’t care about. I’m not telling you those things won’t work on insecure skanks, because they do. There are moves you make on girls you respect, and they are different than the ones you use on girls you DON’T. Trust me, we know the difference! Pity the boy who thinks he has control. Girls of quality will do these things if and when we want to . . . or we won’t. All you can really do is get us not to do things. And the best way to not get a cool chick to do something . . . is to push her.”
    I drop my head onto my handlebars in