Carter Ortese is Trouble - completed (The Boys #1)

Chapter 43: Carter

Getting up the next morning to go to school feels wrong. Emma's still in the hospital and will be for the next several days, pending on her progress. Her mother ended up coming in shortly after I had settled back into my chair. Thankfully, the timing worked out in our favor. Her mother might tolerate me, but likely would have felt differently if she had seen me making out with her hospitalized daughter.

I am half-asleep as I pour cereal into two bowls. We're out of coffee, so I slosh milk into a mug and add some chocolate syrup in it. I make an agreement with myself to go grocery shopping after school so my mom doesn't have to worry about it tonight.

Voila. Breakfast of champions.

I set everything down on our small dining table and shove cereal into my mouth as my mom comes out of the bathroom. Steam billows out behind her, but she's completely clothed with her hair and make up done. It almost looks like a magical spell has been cast to prepare her for her day. And if our bathroom didn't always smell like mildew from the lack of ventilation, I might believe it.

I push the bowl in her direction.

"Thanks, Carter."

Yawning, I give her a nod. "About this school thing—"

"You're going back to school," she says as she sits down.

"Yeah, but—"

"Don't you 'Yeah, but' me. I was the queen of 'Yeah, buts'."

"Should I heat up the chocolate milk?"

My mom shrugs and grabs both of our mugs. She shoves them in the old microwave, and it whirs to life with the sound of a jet engine. At least it's still working. I wonder if our landlord will actually fix it if it stops. Probably not.

"School will be fine. You'll see."

I shove another bite into my mouth so I can't argue with her. Everyone at school already hates me, and what will they think now that I'm the last person to see Emma before the hospital? I know what my school is like.

The rumors are probably intense and completely unfounded. I wish exaggerations were as easy to take back as they were to create in the first place. It's not like I'm scared, because none of my peers are worth that much of an effort. I hate the attention, and I don't want any more of it.

Nothing has changed, except it has.

"I don't want to deal with it today."

"Then don't. Flick everyone off."

I arch an eyebrow.

"Sorry, I guess I'm still tired. The motherly advice is 'Flick everyone off metaphorically speaking.'"

"Sure." I roll my spoon through my cereal and watch as the crunchy bits start to absorb the moisture. "I guess I'm tired of facing it—the endless grapevine and assumptions. I want it to be different."

"You didn't let this get to you before." Mom places a hand gingerly on my arm. "Are you sure you're okay, Carter? And I'm not talking about school."

I take another bite and give her a curt nod. I refuse to have this conversation today. If I have to go school, I'll steel myself for it. "It'll be fine. You're right. I'll give them all the metaphorical finger."

Mom forces a smile, but she knows I'm not telling the entire truth. I can see in the way her eyes narrow at the corners. "I'm here if you need me, okay?"

"Yeah, got it." I pull my hot chocolate out from the microwave and give it a sniff. It's lukewarm despite being in there for two minutes, so I down it in a few large gulps. I grab my backpack from my room and head out the door with a stiff goodbye to Mom. When I get to the bus stop, I pull my hood over my head and put my earbuds in.