Sophie & Carter Read Online Free

by the bag of groceries, but I don’t cry. He doesn’t want me to. He probably doesn’t even want me to acknowledge his gift.
    I answer him, “It was typical. You?”
    We don’t look at each other, we stare into the night. It’s different now, than it was at school. There’s no flirting. No teasing. No laughing high school seniors.
    This is reality and with it comes a heaviness.
    The night is unusually dark, the streetlights scaring away the stars and the trees hiding the moon.
    But the darkness is peaceful.
    He answers me. “Ah, you know. Gnomes and fake bugs. The usual.” He sounds fine. He’s not.
    I nod because there’s nothing to say. We sit in silence, the only noise the slow creaking of the porch swing and the crickets.
    He’s breathing, I’m breathing.
    This is my favorite time of day.
    It’s easy and calm. There are no crying kids, or strung-out moms, or invisible bugs.
    I look down at Carter’s arm and eye his long scar.
    Or violent dads.
    He sees me looking at his scar and shifts in his seat. He’s not hiding from me, there’s no use. But he doesn’t like to talk about his dad and the scar reminds him.
    I was ten the first time I saw his dad hurt him. I was in my room staring out my window, wishing we were still in the big city, when I heard a faint howl.
    I peeked out my window and saw Carter huddled down in his bedroom. My light was off, but his was on. He was hiding, but his dad found him.
    He always found him.
    Carter’s father used only his hands that night. Blow after blow I watched in horror as Carter’s small body became more and more limp. I cried at my window, watching long after his dad had left Carter unconscious on his bedroom floor.
    I was ten, I didn’t know what to do. I watched and watched until Carter came to and slowly rolled over. His face, his hands, his head, all were bloody. He started crying, which made me cry harder.
    I was so scared for him. I trembled in my princess nightgown, safely hidden behind my window in the darkness of my room.
    The fights got worse as we grew older. Carter’s dad started using baseball bats and golf clubs instead of his fists. I got used to seeing bruises on Carter’s body and cuts on his hands.
    I told my mom once, about the boy next door whose dad hurt him. My mom said we needed to mind our own business or we would get hurt too.
    I was a kid. I believed her.
    “We graduate soon.” Carter’s still looking out at the street. His face is beautiful, even with the scars and the shadows of the night.
    I nod, “Yeah. They say that’s when life starts. You know, after high school.” I’m stressed out all of a sudden.
    Carter doesn’t move. “Life. Whatever that is.” He’s down. I hate it when he gets discouraged. He doesn’t think he can have a real life because he needs to take care of his mom. It’s a problem without a solution.
    “Life is what we make it.” I say, but my words sound empty.
    He scoffs, but he’s not trying to be mean. “Sometimes I just wanna get away from it all, ya know?”
    I nod, “Yeah. Just pick up and…leave. Start over.” I sigh, “I think about that all the time.”
    He nods, “Me too.”
    We sit in silence for a minute. Thinking about the freedom we don’t have and the future we can’t control.
    I pause, trying to figure out how to say what I’m feeling. “It’s not all bad, you know.” I clear my throat, “At least for me.” I shift in the swing. “It’s not all stressful and unfair. I have you. You make my life…I don’t know…better.” My words don’t sound empty this time.
    He turns to me and cocks his head to the side. He studies me and I don’t look away.
    I wait.
    “Sophie,” he says my name again and I’m flying. “You make my life way better than…better.”
    I know this. I feel it. And I’m grateful for it.
    The streetlights turn off and, usually, that’s our cue to end our time on the swing. But neither of us moves to leave.
    We don’t usually touch. We’re just