When Sydney Sherwood was thirteen, she fell in love. She was utterly enamoured with Carter Pearson - the cute, enigmatic, brilliant fourteen year old who lived across the street. But, after only a few months, Carter and his family disappeared, leavi...
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The sound of my phone vibrating against my bedside table woke me suddenly. It was still completely dark in my room, no light peeking in through the gap in the curtains, and besides, my alarm had a sound, not a vibration. Disorientated, I picked it up and squinted at the screen.
Carter.
Quickly, I fumbled to press answer before it rang out and held the phone to my ear. "Hi, Carter, what's up?"
"Syd, you busy?" His voice was too muffled for me to be able to determine much from it.
I frowned, moving my phone from my ear to check the time. 04:12. What did he expect me to be doing at 4am? "I was asleep, why?"
"I'm outside."
"What? Why?"
Of course he avoided me and ignored my texts for weeks then showed up outside my house in the middle of the night, anything else would be too logical and boring for him.
"Can you come let me in?"
I sighed, really not feeling in the mood to finally have the conversation we desperately needed.
After I didn't reply, Carter added weakly, "Please, Sydney. I need you."
So, I did the only thing I could do; I climbed out of bed, turning on my desk lamp so that I could see what I was doing as I grabbed the nearest thing to pull on over my scruffy pyjama top. Rubbing sleep out of my eyes, I headed to the front door and pulled it open.
When I laid eyes on Carter, I gasped, the sleepiness jolted from my system. He was leaning against the doorpost, looking like it took all of his effort to even stand. His lip was split and oozing blood, and his t-shirt was ripped slightly at the collar.
I thought Kyle had said he was coping better, but this looked like evidence of the opposite.
Instantly, I forgot all about everything that had happened between us recently and all the tension and awkwardness it should have caused. Carter needed me, so I'd be here for him. It was as simple as that.
Taking hold of his arm, I guided him inside then shut the door behind him, careful to be quiet so as not to wake the others. I led him to my bedroom and onto my bed.
When he still hadn't spoken, I asked, "What happened?"
"There was a fight," he said candidly.
I could tell now that he wasn't drunk like I'd initially suspected when I answered his call, but I presumed there had been alcohol involved in his night at some point.
"Oh, Carter." I couldn't help the despairing tone to my voice. "Why?"
His posture straightened, defensive. "I didn't fight anyone. It was one of my friends and some random guy; I was just trying to break it up. I hate fighting, or any violence. I thought you'd know that."
