Callie's Sister

Chapter 11

“To the house?” he asked. I nodded, looking out the window and then over at Cam. The bleeding had stopped and I crumpled the bloody napkins and put them in the plastic bag. Cam looked at me and I turned away. I wasn’t ready to talk about it yet.

“So how does the Duke basketball team look this year?” I asked, turning down the music. If we couldn’t talk about the biggest thing, at least we could chatter away about something stupid. Though to Cam, Duke basketball was anything but stupid. That kid came out of the womb a Blue Devils fan. Fanatic. His parents had met at Duke and named him Cameron, after Duke’s Cameron Indoor Stadium. Big legacy, right? He was so into Duke that when he was eight he drank a whole bottle of blue food coloring in hopes his skin would turn Duke blue. It didn’t. Realizing he was never going to be a stellar basketball player, he turned his full obsession to his studies, hoping to get in on academic merit. He even chose to play French horn, figuring if he couldn’t play basketball, at least if he mastered an obscure instrument he would have a better chance of being in the marching band and he could travel with the team. I was not kidding when I said he was a planner.

“They only lost one not-so-great Senior and got the hottest Freshman recruit of the year, so this could be their season,” he said. If I had asked him the free-throw percentage for each of the five starters for the past three seasons, I was sure he could have provided that, too.

“Hey, when’s your application due?” I asked. I was enjoying the distraction of talking about him for once. Seemed like lately, the conversation had been very one-sided.

“Just sent it in,” he said.

“Early decision?”

“You need to ask?” I smiled at him.

We passed the diner with the Indian head on the sign. We were almost at the house. When we were little, Callie and I used to have contests to see who could spot the Indian first. We gave him all sorts of Indian names like “Eats a Lot of Bacon” and “Likes Free Coffee Refills” and other diner jokes we’d crack ourselves up with. Even when we were little, Callie had more cool in her little manicured pinkie finger than I had in my whole body. And her laugh was pure music. I would try my hardest to be funny around her so she would reward me with that laugh. As we got older I was much better at pissing her off. And she me. Much more screaming than laughing between the two of us. Most of it was over little things. I learned quickly that as cool as she was, she got hugely cranky if she couldn’t find her favorite lipstick or she thought I didn’t put the blow-dryer back in its place. Which probably made me do it more.

I sensed a munchkin hangover coming on; I was getting fatter just sitting there. Why is it that you can eat a whole chicken dinner with veggies or a gigantic salad and feel nothing, but the second you eat a cupcake or scoop of ice cream you can feel the fat growing in your butt and thighs? I was regretting my donut gorge.

I started to do butt clenches. I saw the trick on one of the morning TV shows. They were trying to help office workers use their sedentary desk job time to stay in shape. You squeeze your butt muscles and hold for a count of five. Then you increase the hold count to ten, fifteen, twenty, etc. It was a great trick and I often would do the butt clenches while sitting in class. And during all the other sitting I’d done the past four months.

“What are you doing?” Cam asked. Wow, I always thought they were subtle and no one noticed.

“Butt clenches.”

“Why?”

“I’ve got to counteract the munchkins.” Okay, this was the difference between guys and girls. A girl would never have to ask why. I continued to clench. Cam continued to drive.

We sat again in silence.

Until Cam’s cell phone rang.