Sincerely, Carter (Sincerely Carter #1)(14)
“Fuck you.” I spat. “You don’t know shit about me, and I don’t care whether you don’t understand a decision I made regarding my own life. Live your own.”
“I’m just saying…”
“You won’t be saying much of anything else if you continue,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him. “Don’t let this suit fool you.”
He looked at me in utter shock.
“And for the record,” I said, stepping back—giving myself some space, “Michael Jordan was a goddamn professional athlete when he played with the flu, I wasn’t. Yes, Willis Reed was one of the greatest centers of all time, but he retired because he couldn’t stop getting hurt, correct?”
He said nothing—just stared at me, so I walked away. I didn’t bother addressing any of my classmates or stopping by the dessert bar. I needed to get home so I could be with people I actually wanted to be around.
I slipped into my car and turned the music all the way up, trying hard to put that * and his opinions out of my mind, but it was no use. Everything began to play in front of me like an antique film reel—frame dissolving into frame.
Five years ago, I didn’t have to think about taking the LSATs or picking an academic track at all; I was being scouted as one of the top high school basketball recruits in the country. I was the “unexpected phenom” and “unbelievable talent” who’d only started playing basketball during my junior year of high school.
From the outside looking in, I really looked like I was passionate about it. I spoke to coaches from colleges all over the country, led my already-talented team to a state championship my senior year, but I was only using the attention as a deflection from my pain. Pain I hid all too well.
I spent extra hours every day at practice because I didn’t want to think about anything, not because I wanted to improve my game. I pretended to be crushed and disappointed when we lost or when I missed a critical shot, but I didn’t really give a damn.
I even felt slightly guilty about accepting a full athletic scholarship to South Beach University—knowing that I didn’t want to play, and the media attention I was getting reached an all-time high freshman year.
Yet, four games into the season, I tore my ACL and my coping mechanism was ripped away from me within seconds. The media attention that was sudden and swift when it started, seemed to come to an abrupt stop.
Yes, the doctor had told me that I could play again with extensive rehab, that I could take six to eight months to heal and be just fine, but I asked him to write me a “should probably never play competitively again” diagnosis instead; I couldn’t bear to live the life of a college athlete for another day. I had to force myself to find new ways to cope.
Since I had no family to call anymore—only memories could bring them to life every now and again, I relied on my friends.
Just friends.
There was Josh—my closest male friend, current roommate, and fraternity culture obsessed confidante who had an excuse for almost everything. There was my former teammate Dwayne—soon to be a professional athlete and first round draft pick, who still got me tickets to every campus basketball game. And of course, there was Arizona who’d stuck by me through it all—never letting me read what the papers were saying about the “Questionable Diagnosis,” always there when everyone else had left me behind; she was my best friend—the ultimate person I could count on no matter what. And, for whatever reason, she was the only one who was standing in my kitchen when I finally made it home from the awards ceremony.
“You wanted to have a graduation party with just four people?” she asked as I came inside. “You know you could’ve easily gotten one hundred people here, and that’s just me counting your adoring female flock.”
“It just kills you that I’m sexually attractive, doesn’t it?”
“It kills me that you can actually describe yourself as “sexually attractive” without laughing at how ridiculous that sounds.”
I smiled. “Would you like me better if I was modest?”
“I’d like you better if you were honest.” She laughed, and Josh and Dwayne came inside the house at that moment—arguing about basketball stats as usual.
“You were serious about only inviting the three of us?” Dwayne asked, looking around. “No other girls but Arizona?”
“Is there a problem with that?” I asked.
“No.” Josh shrugged, setting a bag on the counter. “After going to ten parties this week that were far too crowded, I think I’d much rather hang out in a small group tonight. Well, minus Arizona. I’m with Dwayne on that one. We can always do without her being here, and since I live in this place as well, I vote for her to go.”
Arizona threw up her middle finger at him.
“I picked up a cake for you, Carter,” Josh said, taking a six pack of beer out of a bag before handing it to me. “I figured you’d want an official one to celebrate tonight. Plus, I got some new alcohol that I need to use on a few of the slices later. Me and a few of my fraternity brothers want to run an experiment we saw on YouTube.”
“Of course you do.” I flipped the lid off the box, shaking my head once I read the lettering on the light blue cake. “Congratulations, it’s a Boy?”
“They ran out of graduation cakes.” He shrugged. “Better than nothing, right? Should I have gotten, Congratulations, it’s a Girl?”