Book IV of UNC Series
Carter Blake hates the world, but most importantly, the people that occupy it. He wants to insulate himself and only focus on getting through school and basketball. After suffering at the hands of his alcoholic mother, he wants...
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It's been a rough few days—not just the usual stress from work and school, but also because, despite moving in with a roommate, I haven't heard from or seen Carter since I settled in. It feels like I'm sharing my apartment with a ghost. He leaves long before I wake up, usually before I can even take Olive for her morning walk. And he doesn't return until late at night, sometimes not until the early hours of the morning, only to start the cycle again.
I barely notice him coming in. It's usually Olive's whining and scratching at my bedroom door that lets me know he's home. He must be sleeping somewhere during the day—perhaps at a girlfriend's, though I've never seen anyone with him. I rarely spot him on campus, either, which isn't surprising since I don't know which school he actually attends. For all I know, he could be at the University of North Cardill instead of Western Cardill, where I'm enrolled.
In truth, he's a phantom in his own home. There's no sign he lives here beyond the furniture in the living room and the appliances in the kitchen. The fridge only fills up when I buy groceries, and the only mail addressed to Carter is a pile of junk flyers. Aside from his room, there's no tangible evidence of his presence. I haven't dared to venture into his space; I'm afraid that the moment I do, he'll suddenly appear or somehow sense my intrusion, like a hound detecting unfamiliar scents.
He's certainly a strange guy. I realize I've wasted too much energy worrying about what might happen in his space when it's really not his space at all.
Shaking Carter from my mind, I lean my elbows against the icy railing, the cold metal contrasting sharply with the warmth of my skin, and gaze down at the indoor turf field below. High school girls dart around, chasing a soccer ball, their ponytails swaying behind them. Some girls have long braids cascading down their backs, while others wear messy top knots.
One girlin particular I'm looking at has her straight-cut bangs brushing against her lashes. Every time she pushes them away in annoyance, a small smile tugs at my lips, evoking fond memories of her playful antics from our past. Her long, dark brown hair, which used to graze her shoulders is now gathered in a low ponytail that reaches the bottom of her shoulder blades. Her olive skin is flushed from exertion, and her amber eyes—so similar to her siblings—sparkle with determination as she chases after the ball. She's grown tall and graceful, her limbs now defined, likely taller than me, having already matched my height five years ago.
She's a senior now, just about to graduate from high school.
My heart clenches as I watch her, painfully aware that she's likely given up on me after I stopped answering her calls. Memories flood back—our playful pranks, the affection, the hurt I caused her when I vanished. I know I broke her heart when I ran away, but I couldn't escape the pain of watching her either.
In so many ways, Penny Bishop is a reflection of the sister we both lost. Being near her brings a wave of nostalgia that broke me more than healed me. I was fortunate to run into Penny during my freshman year while she was here for a soccer tournament. Since then, I've secretly followed her games from a distance, making sure she's okay. She's transformed so much since we last saw each other that she seems like an entirely different person. Yet one thing remains clear: she still bears a striking resemblance to her older sister.
