Sincerely, Carter (Sincerely Carter #1)(13)

“So…” She looked really nervous. “How should we start?”

“Well, first…” I stood in front of her and made sure our shoes were touching. Then I did the thing I always saw my dad do whenever he kissed my mom—tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“And now, we’ll kiss on three.” I cleared my throat. “One…”

She shut her eyes and grabbed my hands.

“Two…”

“Wait! I forgot something!” She pulled a tube of lip gloss out of her pocket and glided it across her lips. “Now, you can count.”

Ugh! Girls…

I rolled my eyes and started over. “Okay, starting again…One…Two…” I shut my eyes and leaned forward. “Three…”

We pressed our lips together and let the seconds pass, waiting. Waiting for something.

It was nothing like the movies. Nothing was happening at all.

“Um…How long are we supposed to stand like this, Carter?” Ari asked, her lips still touching mine.

“I don’t know…Maybe five more seconds?”

“Okay…Cool…”

I softly counted to five and stepped back.

“So…” she said. “Did you notice my braces? Were my lips too glossy?”

“No to the braces, but make sure you put on the gloss before you get to him. How about me? When my forehead touched yours, was it itchy?”

“Nope. It felt normal, but when you kiss Rachel, just count to yourself and not out loud.”

“Got it.” I grabbed her books and handed them to her. I unlocked the door and twisted the doorknob, but it opened before I could push it forward.

“What the!” The school janitor, the man who made us help him clean up sometime during detention, looked back and forth between me and Ari. “You know what? When it comes to the two of you, I don’t even want to know. Get out. Now.”

“We weren’t doing anything!” Ari snapped.

“Then hurry up and get out of my closet before I tell everyone that you did.”

We both rushed out of there and went our separate ways—her to Dawson and me to Rachel for our very first kisses…

Track 4. Sad Beautiful Tragic (4:13)

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the dean of Political Science spoke into the mic, “please welcome our last honoree of the night, Carter James!”

There was a loud applause as I walked onto the small stage and accepted my award—a silver plaque with “Student of the Year,” etched across its front.

Tonight was the private post-graduation ceremony for the top students in my major. For whatever reason, the officials thought it would be a great idea to have it several days after all the other departmental graduations. They also thought it was smart to have it on the roof of a famous hotel, so those of us who got bored could easily stare at the beach in the background and look like we were paying attention.

“Thank you all so much for coming out to honor the top twenty students in our department,” the speaker continued. “We’ll also have you know that each of the students we honored tonight has scored a 177 or higher out of a perfect 180 on the LSAT.”

More applause.

I looked at my watch.

“Help yourself to plenty of the gourmet dessert before you leave, and please be sure to keep in contact with us as you start your exciting careers in the law!”

When another round of applause began, I stood up and headed toward the dessert bar—to say goodbye to the few classmates I actually talked to during undergrad.

“Well, if it isn’t Carter James…” A grey-haired man stepped in front of me, blocking my way. “What an interesting transition you made, huh?”

“Excuse me?”

“Superstar athlete to superstar student.” He smiled, looking at my right leg. “It’s too bad you got injured. I think the team definitely would have gone places if you’d never gotten hurt. Supposedly…”

I clenched my fists, somewhat grateful that I was wearing a suit; the fabric was less than forgiving if I needed to punch someone.

The man didn’t wait for a verbal response, he continued talking—confirming what I’m sure every sorry ass fanatic on this campus wondered from time to time. “You don’t think you should’ve gone to another doctor for a second opinion? The doctor you went to wasn’t the best one. The school even offered to send you to New York to get tested. They also offered you rehabilitation, didn’t they?”

“They did.”

“I mean, don’t get me wrong. Making the Dean’s List every semester and scoring a 177 or higher on the LSAT—”

“I scored a 180.”

“Right.” He cleared his throat. “Well, that’s impressive, son, but you could’ve gone places. Michael Jordan played in a pivotal playoff game with the flu. Hell, Willis Reed—one of the greatest centers of all time—played with a broken thigh bone. Broken. Plenty of players come back from the type of injury you had, so I just don’t understand why you couldn’t give it a try.”

“Are you done now?” I kept my fists low.

“What did your parents think about your decision?” He wouldn’t stop. “Did you ever talk to them about it? I’m sure your father would’ve never—”