Page 34 of Shots on Net

“Who was that?” I ask, curious.

“No one. Just the restaurant calling me back, I guess.” I watch as he switches his phone to silent and slides it into his pocket.

“The restaurant?”

He glances up at me and back down to his plate. Scowling, he pops a bite of food in his mouth and chews slowly. “Yeah. I had reservations at a place on the coast, so I’m sure they were calling back to try and reschedule.”

Setting my fork down, I press my hands against the table. “You had reservations somewhere? For tonight?”

“Yeah. It’s not a big deal.”

“Oh, Carter. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.” No wonder he looked put out, earlier; he might have had to pay to reserve a table. “We should have just gone, instead of doing this stupid party. I’m really sorry.”

“It’s fine, Zeke, seriously. I just want to do whatever you want to do tonight, okay? You tell me.”

I frown, looking down at my hands and scratching a fingernail against the plastic top of the table. “Let’s not stay long at the party. We’ll go, say hi to Jefferson, and leave.”

“Sure,” he agrees, and reaches a hand out to the young girl who just walked up with our bill. He glances at it, jots down the amount he wants added for a tip, and then hands it back to her with his credit card. I wait until she’s out of earshot.

“What do I owe you?” I ask. He looks at me, incredulous.

“I’m paying.”

“We always split,” I remind him. I’d finally talked him into letting me pay my half of the bill whenever we went out to eat, and I wasn’t about to lose that ground now.

“Not tonight,” he says, firmly. When his receipt is handed to him, he shoves it roughly into his pocket and stands up. I want to ask to see it, so I can Venmo him my half, but he looks…strange, again. There is a barely discernable air of melancholy around him tonight, the downward tilt to his mouth lacking its usual anger as it leans toward sadness.

“Is something wrong?” I cannot take it any longer. Guessing what is happening inside his head is getting me nowhere, and obviously I can’t do anything right tonight.

“No.”

He holds open the car door for me again, waiting until I’m seated before closing it gently. I wait until his own seatbelt is clicked into place before turning as much as I’m able and facing him.

“Something is wrong.” For a split second I think he’s going to tell me. He glances at me and back to the road, fingers clenching around the steering wheel.

“Do you have an address for this party?” He asks. I pull it up on my phone and wordlessly hold it out to him. I’ve never been comfortable with confrontation or silence, so I keep up a cheerful stream of chatter all the way to the party and hope that whatever is bothering Carter will be forgotten. By the time we’ve pulled up in front of the house, I’ve teased a couple of laughs out of him and the set of his mouth is less severe.

Unfortunately, all of that goes out the window when we arrive. Carter walks a step behind me as we enter the party, scowl firmly in place, and unfriendliness radiating off of him like heat waves. It’s later than I had expected to get here, so the front room is full of people milling about and lounging on the furniture. It looks more like a book club meeting than a party.

“Zeke! Carter! You guys made it.” Jefferson’s voice calls out and he threads his way over to us. Carter is standing so closely to me, I can feel his chest brushing my shoulder blades when he breathes.

“Hey, yeah, we made it.” I smile at my friend and hear Carter mumble a greeting of his own.

“Do you guys want something to drink? Have a seat.”

I look around. There are no places left to sit down, unless one wanted to sit on the floor. Instead, I lead Carter over to a group of people standing by the far wall; luckily, I know all of them. The moment we join the group and I introduce Carter, I’m pulled into a conversation about a recent article that was published in National Geographic Magazine about astrophysics.

Carter is silent as a statue beside me; he’s very obviously being left out of the conversation, and a part of me wonders if they’re doing it on purpose. Jefferson, who’s thinking the same thing, judging by his furtive glances toward us, makes a wildly transparent effort to change the subject.

“So, anybody going to the hockey game tomorrow? Zeke, Tessa, and I have tickets.”

Everyone looks at him like he’s just asked them if they’d be up for a bout of freedom running. Gemma, whom I know from chess club, shakes her head. “No. Do you play hockey, Carter?”

“Yeah,” he replies, and they all stare at him as they wait for him to say something more. He doesn’t, so I rush to fill the dead space.

“He’s the goalie. The team has only had two losses, this season. Everyone keeps talking about how this is the best hockey team SCU has had since the club was formed.”

I can’t hide the note of pride that threads its way through my words. I want them all to understand how hard he works, and what an accomplishment it is to play as well as he is.

---