Since Carter’s death I’ve visited the rockery that the school put together nearly every week. It’s located in the courtyard between the rinks at NU. It’s a place where I can talk to him. The school offered me someone to talk to but that doesn’t feel the same. I don’t want to find new ways to deal with it and find a way to turn all my dark thoughts into something positive. I just want to talk to him.
Even if he can’t talk back, just sitting here surrounded by all the things that remind me of him make me feel closer to him.
Carter was practically my brother. Growing up, he spent a lot of time at my place when he was in a tough place with his older brother while his parents working. Ethan would use Carter as his punching bag instead of working out his frustrations in a calm way. His parents never caught onto it, but I did. Sometimes, he would stay with us for weeks at a time, basically moving in when he didn’t want to be alone with his brother. It felt like an extended summer camp. My parents didn’t mind and neither did Clara. They all loved him. He was an easy person to love.
He was funny and smart in a casual way. Always too good for anybody. Always rational but fun. He constantly had this light energy about him that not only drew people towards him but made him light up any room he was in.
We discovered our love for hockey early on. As kids, we would go to the games with our parents who were huge hockey fans and when we got older, we started to enjoy the game more. First it was the ice, then it was the adrenaline rush, then it was the crowd and the support and then before we knew it, it became our lives. We started off in little leagues, slowly getting better and stronger until our high school won the championship. It was always our dream to play for the Grizzlies in the NHL. If that didn’t work out, which we were sure it would, we’d become coaches or personal trainers. All we wanted was to play, side by side, and win the Stanley Cup.
Those dreams feel so out of reach now. This was supposed to be our year. We were supposed to train harder than we had ever done, stick to a strict diet and win the championship for NU. We were supposed to be featured in the school newspaper. Miles Davis and Carter Reyes,it was supposed to say,carrying North University to another victory.Instead, I’m wasting away my days and nights with a bottle in my hand.
“I’m sorry, Carter. It’s been another bad week,” I say to him, adjusting his large picture frame on the rockery. “I keep telling myself I’m going to try but every time I get near our rink, I freeze up. It doesn’t feel right without you. I know I need to try harder. I know I do. It’s just so difficult. This was supposed to be our dream. Our year. Not just mine. I can’t even put on my full gear without throwing up. I have managed to wear my jersey again but the thought of picking up a stick makes my stomach turn.”
I laugh to myself, feeling pathetic. A car drives by and goosebumps rise up my arms rapidly. Although it’s often noisy here on campus, talking to him here is better than trying to do it at home. After he died, his parents came to get some things out of his room but other than that it's been untouched. It still feels like him. Still smells like him. Nobody goes near it, and nobody mentions it. We’ve not held a party there since. His room is in the basement and the thought of someone accidentally walking in there is too frightening to risk.
“Enough of the sad shit. I met someone, sort of. She’s a piece of work but, so am I. She tough and so fucking gorgeous. I’m positive that she hates me but that onto makes me like her more. She’s funny without trying and I can’t help but think that the world is trying to tell me something. The second I get benched, there she is, like an angel or some shit. She’s been everywhere and I can’t get her out of my head. I’m trying not to fuck it up, but she’s had my number for a week, and she hasn’t said anything.”
Each time I talk to him, I keep thinking that he’s going to speak back. That he’ll tell me in some way that he’s okay. To tell me that I need to get my shit together. Or that one day, he’ll just jump out of the closet and say, “I got you!” But it’s been three months and nothing. I ‘m just stupidly waiting for him to come back.
CHAPTER 6
WREN
Idon’t know what to do. I’ve been thinking over different approaches to this for the past week and a half, but I’ve come up with nothing. It doesn’t help that Scarlett is sitting an exam so I can’t ask for some rational advice. Instead, I’m sitting in the on-campus café, Florentino’s, with Kennedy who is on her break from working behind the counter. She is not helping. At all.
“It’s not that hard, Wren,” Kennedy sighs, taking a sip of her iced coffee. “Just tell him you want to hang out and then bring up the plan. Easy peasy.”
“But then he’ll get excited and think I actually like him,” I groan.
“Why are you making this hard for yourself? What isn’t there to like? He’s hot, you’re hot, you both… like ice.”
“He doesn’t take things seriously. The last two times I’ve had a conversation with him, he reeked of alcohol. And not to mention he’s a hockey player. I don't date hockey players. In fact, I don't date anymore, period.”
“You’re a skater too. It’s practically the same thing.” Kennedy dismisses with a wave of her hand. I throw her a rude look but instead her eyes widen. “Did you hear about what happened with Millie Trainor and Ty on NoCrumbs?”
NoCrumbs is a notorious gossip page based around colleges and universities in Utah, primarily in Salt Lake. There’s a chain of them up and down the country, most likely run by Mason Greer and his little minions.
NoCrumbsSLC posts almost daily updates on the latest scandals our school and nearby schools have had. It’s a pathetic waste of time for people who run it, but it gets everyone glued to their phones. I used to be one of those people: refreshing the page to wait for an update, numbly scrolling through the account to read what teacher said what about whoever. It’s easy entertainment and a perfect icebreaker for any conversation with people in the area.
“No, Ken, I haven’t.”
“You’re so chronically offline, I swear,” she huffs, pushing her brown her over her shoulder. “She basically catfished him formonthsand when she finally told him, he was fine with it. They’re still dating now, and it’s even become an inside joke for their relationship.”
“I don’t see how that’s relevant to anything we’re talking about….”
“It is but it isn’t. Look, all I’m saying is you should give him a chance to see how this could work. You know how insane everyone gets around hockey players.”
“I want to preform again, that’s it. I don’t want anything more than that. Ican’thave anything more,” I relay. She gives an understanding smile in return, not knowing whether to push it or not.
“A bit of romance wouldn’t hurt, y’know? Even if it’s fake. You need to loosen up a little,” she presses softly. I try and let the idea go down for a second, but it doesn’t sit right.
“I don’t know anything about him,” I protest when it's the first thing to come to mind.
“Like what?”
“Like, where does he stand on basic human rights issues? Does he care about climate change? That sort of thing.”
“Wren, doyoueven care about climate change?” Kennedy challenges.
