Forever Blue (12 page)

    
“What do you think about?” I asked, absentmindedly plucking at a few blades of grass.

    
“All the cool stuff that would happen.”

    
“You mean like having your picture in all the magazines?”

    
He turned to his side and faced me. “Not just that, but the money part too.”

    
“You could live in a mansion and have a dozen cars.”

    
“Yeah, but those are just dreams,” he said with a bit of despair in his tone. “I’ll never make it that big.”

   
“Aw, don’t say that.” I gently tugged at his sleeve. “You’ve already been in like a million commercials. How much longer could it take?”    

    
“My agent says there are no guarantees.”

    
After a brief moment of uncomfortable silence, I asked, “If you become a movie star—do you think we’ll still be friends?”

    
Carter smiled and shoved me playfully. “I would take you to all the movie premieres of course. Straight up in style.”

     “Really?” I sat up and crossed my legs, Indian style. “To those fancy ones where we arrive in a limo and I can wear my mom’s fur
coat?”

     “Girl, forget your mom’s coat. I’ll have enough money to buy you a dozen of your own.”

   
I looked away and thought about my next comment. “But what if you have to move away?” I asked, dejectedly.

     The entertainment business was Carter’s life. If he continued down the same path as he grew into adulthood, it was bound to happen. As great as it was in some ways, the reality was all too painful in others. But I told myself to hope for the best. I believed that no matter where Carter was in the world, he would
never really
be that far away.

    “I doubt it. Most of the studios are right in Los Angeles—not that far from here, really.”

     I still had a strange nagging feeling. “So whatever happens, we’ll always be friends right?”

     “Always.”

     “Promise?”

     “Better than that.” He grabbed my hand and twisted his pinky finger around mine. “I pinky swear,” he said with one of his classic smiles that made me weak in the knees.

     I licked my parched lips. “Are you thirsty?”

     “Sort of. You want a soda?” he asked.

     “Sure.”

     “Okay. Be right back.” He leapt from the grass and slid through the patio door.

     I patiently waited over fifteen minutes for that soda. I felt a slight tinge of annoyance
after another long period of silence came and went.
I would have bet on everything I had (which at the time wasn’t much more than a grubby basketball) that Carter got distracted and ended up playing video games with Darren. I finally got up to investigate and found the house completely unoccupied.

     “Carter?” I called with a slight tone of apprehension. I was terrified of Mary appearing out of nowhere. Although Mary was home that night, she was nowhere in sight. Thank God.

Only the dull hum of the refrigerator broke the silence. I checked the living room, kitchen and Carter’s bedroom, but he was nowhere to be found.

    
I came out of his
bedroom and heard whimpering coming from the bathroom that
sounded like the cries of a wounded
puppy coming.
My heart beat rapidly in distress.

     “Carter—” I softly knocked on the bathroom door.
“Are you in there?”

     “Go away,” he sobbed.

     I swallowed down a lemon-sized lump in my throat and persisted, “Carter, let me in.”

     “Please, just go home.”

      
He wasn’t going to get rid of me that
easily. I twisted the doorknob, and to my surprise, it was unlocked. I took a deep breath,
opened the door and prepared myself for the unknown. I found Carter sitting on the toilet seat with his back toward me.    

    
“Carter—what’s wrong?”

    
My heart nearly plunged into my stomach
after he turned around.
His delicate
face was puffy and blotchy red, and tears had streamed down his cheeks. I never saw him in such a state of anguish.

     “I told you to go away!” he yelled.

     “No. There’s no way I’m leaving you like this,” I said, seating myself next to him. We were so tightly squeezed together that our legs touched.

     He took a jagged breath and turned back around.
“Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

    “Because I’m your friend and I—I care about you.”

     “You wouldn’t understand.”

     “Try me.”

     After a long stretch of silence, I was sure he was going to straight up ignore me. He
then
swallowed down what sounded like a moan and
finally said, “My mom—”

     All along I knew this had
something to do with his mother.
“What did your mom do?” I asked, turning him around to face me.

     “I overheard her on the phone with my dad.”

     “Your dad called?” I was relieved, but still utterly perplexed. “That’s great news, right?”

     He paused and his eyes filled with tears. “I really don’t
want to talk about this. Please—”    

    
I
could tell something went sour
by the distraught look on his face.
“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me.” I took his hand and entwined his fingers with mine. “It’s okay, Carter. I’m here for you. Like I said, I’m your friend.”

     An ocean of hurt swirled in his blue eyes the moment
he replied, “She told—she told him
that
we never want to see him again.”

      My mouth dropped. “What?”

     “And that we don’t need him in our lives anymore.”

     “But that’s not true, and she knows it.”

     “I’m never going to see my dad again because of her.” A tear spilled down Carter’s cheek. “Never.”

    
My
best friend broke down on my shoulder
before I had a chance to react.
For the
very first time in my life,
I felt completely helpless. I wished I could have just snapped my fingers and made his pain go away, but I wasn’t a magician or a miracle worker. I was just a twelve-year-old girl, and the situation was entirely out of my control. All I could do was wrap my arms around him and listen to him weep.

     “It’s okay, Carter,” I said, whispering reassurances in his ear. “We’ll figure something out.
I promise. You’ll see your dad again.”

     “Carter—” Mary’s voice echoed through the hallway and seeped into the bathroom like a putrid odor. 

     Carter and I froze.   

     “Carter?”

     I caught Mary’s shadow from beneath the bathroom door and shook with fear. God only knew what she would
think if she caught me consoling her
tear-ridden son in the bathroom.

     Neither of us moved a muscle until she finally disappeared. It was like being in a horror flick and waiting for the precise moment to escape the hatchet-wielding serial killer. Although on occasion, Mary Storm seemed much scarier than your typical movie psycho.

As God as my witness, I was not going to sit back and watch Carter deteriorate right before my eyes. Something had to be done.

     “Don’t worry. I won’t let her do this to you,” I cooed.

    
Unfortunately, nothing much changed after that night, and it wouldn’t be for another year that Carter would ever speak of his father again.

Chapter
7:
Intervention

    
After a month of defiant behavior, I slid down a hole so fast that I never saw it coming.  Around this time, I met a girl named Rochelle Woods who spent most of her free time smoking weed and ditching school. Teachers deemed Rochelle as the typical troubled teenager. She paraded around freely with long pink-and-black streaked hair, wore dark makeup, and sported several facial piercings.

    
Encounter number one happened when I passed her
by
at a grocery store.

     “Hey, chick, you got a light?”
Rochelle sat on the ledge of a large cement planter with
a cigarette in between two fingers,
looking
as if she’d been smoking since toddlerhood. “I don't got one.”

     “Sorry. I don’t smoke,” I replied.

     “Figures.” She crossed her arms in irritation and looked me up and down. An Elvis-like curl of disapproval appeared on her upper lip. “Hey, aren’t you supposed to be in school?”

     Amused by her question, I countered, “Aren’t
you
supposed to be in school?”

     She searched her ratty black backpack until she finally found a pack of worn-out matches. “Me? What about you? You don’t look like no ditcher to me. What’s your name?     

     “Looks can be deceiving,” I responded. “And my name is Alexa.”

     “Tell me about it.”

     
I nervously clutched the strap of my backpack. “Sorry. I have to get home. School calls in the afternoon. I gotta delete the message before my mom gets it or she’ll freak.” 

    
“You can
easily stop them from calling..”

    
“Really? How do I do that?”

    
“Just call and pretend to be your mom,” she said with a shrug, as if it were that simple. Rochelle attempted to light one of the dead matches several times, but failed. “It’s the easiest way.”

    
I was intrigued by her suggestion, but I’d never get away with it. “Trust me, they wouldn’t fall for it.”

    
After all her unsuccessful endeavors, Rochelle finally lit a flame. As she took a drag of her cigarette, her lips curled with each puff. “I’ll do it for you.” She blew the smoke to the side and
said, “I’m a pro. Just watch. What’s your mom’s full name?” She took a few more drags, and then crushed the cigarette out in the planter.

     
“Denise Moore.”

    
Rochelle strolled over to a pay phone located by the sliding glass doors of the grocery store. She dug into her pockets for change, but came up empty. “You got a quarter?”

    
Without question, I unzipped my backpack and pulled out my change purse. I made a mental note of the way she eyed my money.

    
“For ten bucks, I could do this for you every day for the rest of the week,” she proposed.

    
I
initially
thought it was a brilliant plan, so I slipped her the cash. A quarter tinkered down the payphone. I stood close to her and put my ear next to the receiver to listen in.

    
“Irvine High,” someone answered.

    
“Yes, hello. This is Denise Moore. I’m calling to report my daughter, Alexa Moore, out ill today,” Rochelle said in a perfect motherly tone.  “She’s come down with a really bad case of VD.” Rochelle held in her laugh.

    
“Venereal disease?” I whispered angrily.

    
“Oh...well…um, please remember to send a doctor’s note when she returns to school,” the female voice said, rather uneasily.

    
When Rochelle hung up
I asked, “Oh my God. Why the hell would you say that?”

    
“Hey, I got the job done didn’t I?” Rochelle said with a proud smile. “Chill.” She fished around in her backpack and pulled out another cigarette. “I told you I’m a pro. Watch out, though, ‘cause sometimes the school can be tricky. One time they called my house in the evening.”

    
Aside from being slightly pissed off, I never met anyone who could pull off a stunt like that. I was more impressed than aggravated.

    
“How old are you?” she asked.

    
“Seventeen,” I said, hoping I was cool enough by her standards.

    
“Technically, you’re still a minor, so they could throw your ass in juvie for truancy.”

   
“I’m not too worried about it.”

    
I was gripped by the crazy notion that if I stuck with Rochelle, I’d be invincible. The next day, I met up with her in the same spot. This time a pack of punk rocker boys hung around.

    
“Hey,” she said, with a cigarette dangling from her lips. “You decided to come back, huh?” A wisp of smoke curled in my direction. “I'm impressed.”

     
“So did you call?” I asked. “I just want to make sure.”

    
“Yeah, a long-ass time ago,” she said earnestly. “Don’t stress out about it. I always do what I say.”

    
“Hey, can I try one of those?” I asked.

    
“You want a smoke?” Rochelle said with a smirk. “No you don’t.”

    
“Yeah I do. What's the big deal?” I asked.

    
Rochelle rolled her eyes and handed me a cigarette. I placed it between my lips, and she lit it with her black fluid lighter. I inhaled too quickly and immediately started coughing. Everyone laughed at my expense.

    
“Obviously you haven’t smoked before,” said one of the boys, who sported as much dark eyeliner as Rochelle.

    
I swallowed audibly and tried another until I got the hang of it. It didn’t take long to understand why everyone was so addicted to those things. When I inhaled, the sensation somehow made me feel numb and soothed, like a wave of relaxation
rushing through me.

    
We walked to a local park
after our smoke break.
This time Rochelle’s drug of choice was a bit different than your average nicotine. The group giggled uncontrollably, acting as though they didn’t have a care in the world. Watching them made me curious. I wanted to know what it felt like to be that at ease and nonchalant, but something in the back of my mind told me not to do it.

    
“No thanks,” I said to Rochelle when she offered me a hit off her joint. I wasn’t ready to go that far—at least not yet. 

***

    
One of the hardest things to do was to get rid of the stench of cigarette smoke. Just before Mom arrived home, I sprayed close to a gallon of perfume all over myself.

     “Hey, honey.” Mom walked through the door and went into the kitchen. “Sorry I’m late.”

     My frayed nerves were so close to splitting.

     Mom came back into
the living room, and gave
me a hug. “Why do you reek of perfume?” she asked.