Carter's Shadow - 7. Chapter 7

"Careful, she's contagious," his mother warned as West came through the back door heading for his sister, who was battling the evil homework for yet another night. He paused, looking her over; she didn't look sick...

"What's wrong?" he asked, puzzled, setting down his hockey bag and standing his sticks up in the small alcove by the door.

"She caught cooties today," his mother stated with a knowing look. "The only known cure is doing all your homework and eating lots of green vegetables."

West hid his grin and nodded. "Right, don't want to catch that then," he said, screwing up his nose at her. "Boys get it from girls..."

"Nuh-uh!" Sammy shook her pigtails. "Girls get it from dirty boys, and we give it back to them!"

"I knew there was a reason I'm..."

"West!" his mother warned, folding her arms on the front of her apron.

He flashed her a sheepish grin; it wasn't that his mom didn't want Sammy to know about him, it was just that she didn't want Sammy to know about sex, period, at least not yet. If she had to explain why Sammy's brother wanted to kiss boys, that would lead to a whole bunch of other questions she would need a stiff drink to answer.

"I'm going, I'm going," West said throwing his hands up into the air. "Oh, and Paris is the capital of France."

Sammy blinked at him, grinned and scribbled furiously into her schoolbook before she snapped it closed, grabbed her books and dashed for the TV. Her mother rolled her eyes and perched her hands on her hips looking at him. "So how was practice?" she asked him, as she handed him some plates to set out on the table.

He set them out and shrugged. "They wanted us to do some drug tests," he said as he walked around the table. "There've been some complaints our team's cheating."

His mother gave him a worried look. "You haven't, right?" she asked carefully.

"No," he said looking up at her, surprised she would even...

"I had to ask," she said sympathetically, coming around to touch his arm reassuringly. "I was eighteen once you know, plus you're..." she sighed, "it's very easy to get them at gay bars, and I know what it's like to want to experiment and..."

He shook his head firmly. "I've never, I would never do that stuff," he said, taking a moment to realize she wasn't accusing him of anything, she was just worried about him. He rested his hands on the back of one of the chairs at the table, "I don't smoke, I drink only when I'm not driving, and even then only rarely, and I don't do drugs."

"I should hope not," his father said coming through the back door, hanging up his jacket. "They check for that when you go into the army, it could cost you your scholarship."

"I know," West insisted, "they just wanted to test us to prove we're not on anything performance-enhancing..."

"Well," his father said with a shrug, "they did strip that snowboarder from Montreal of his gold medal at the Olympics after testing positive for marijuana." He shook his head as he poured himself a glass of water at the sink, "And the only times I ever saw that 'enhance' a person was when they went searching for munchies. Man there was this one time..." He got a disapproving look from his wife and dropped his story, coughing in mild embarrassment, "Yes, drugs are bad, you should never do drugs, go to your room at once..."

West chuckled as he shook his head, "Seriously though, it's nothing. I've never taken anything so it's not like we have anything to worry about."

"Well dinner should be in an hour," his mother said looking at the clock on the wall. "I have a lasagne in the oven. Get your homework done."

He nodded as he walked through to his room, sliding open the door and closing it. He adjusted the curtain as he sat down at his desk, jiggling his mouse to wake up the sleeping computer. He'd forgotten to shut it off and the row of flashing blue message windows completely filled his taskbar.

He sighed glancing over them, mostly people he knew from school and his friends yelling hey to him digitally. He cleared most of them, catching that Brad wanted to talk to him, but had gone offline. He shrugged as he sent a quick hi to Jenny-Lynn as he booted up his word processor to finish a lab report he was writing for chemistry class.

It was pretty simple stuff; so long as he kept the format clear and got the math right he would do okay. He leaned back staring up at the map of the world he had on the wall, marked with notes and messages; he'd had it up there ever since he'd moved down to the dining room. There were phone numbers and reminders from years ago, and he stared at if vacantly as he worked through one of the calculations.

The trill of his MSN caused him to glance down and he grinned at Jenny-Lynn's window flashing for his attention.

Hey, she'd written, how was practice?

Not too bad, he'd replied, You hear about the tests?

Yeah, Brad's worried.

Brad? West blinked, Why?

I don't know, he wouldn't tell me earlier.

West scratched his head. Brad didn't take anything, wouldn't take anything. He was many things, rude, obnoxious and a thug at times, but he wasn't a cheater. He certainly wouldn't put the team at risk doing so either. It was kind of an unwritten code, the team came first no matter what. And even though Brad was the captain, he was still only as good as his team.

I'm going to call him, he typed, see if I can figure this out.

Thanks West, she replied, if you need to talk about it, you know how to reach me.

Sure do. TTYL

Later.

He sat back in the leather chair, keyboard braced half on his lap half on the arm of the chair, staring thoughtfully at the screen. Brad couldn't cheat, wouldn't cheat. It was a kind of disbelief that had settled over him, and he shook his head to clear it. No, Brad was probably worried about something else showing up. As his Dad had said earlier, the test would show pot, and pot, while a drug, was hardly performance-enhancing.

He got up, walked to the couch and recovered his cordless from where it sat between two cushions. Clicking it on and dialling Brad's number, he crossed to the window at the foot of his bed, pushing apart the blinds so he could look out over the driveway to the field beside their house. One of his dad's cows looked back, chewing its cud lazily.

"Hello?" came the voice of Brad's mom.

"Hello, it's West, is Brad there?" West turned from the window.

"No, I'm sorry Wesley," Brad's mother always called him that and it always made him feel like a little boy. "Brad went out, he seemed upset."

"Well, can you tell him I called, Mrs. Lapointe?" West asked hopefully.

"I will," she reassured before hanging up.

West let the phone drop to his side as he thumbed it off. There was really nothing he could do till Brad called him. He went back to his homework, setting the phone down onto the desk in front of him, waiting for the inevitable call back.

* * *

It was getting late, and still no call. West was lying in bed wearing only his boxers as he channel-surfed before bed. He should be asleep, but he kept glancing at the phone sitting in its cradle on his nightstand.

He got up after a bit, wandered through to the kitchen and pulled open the fridge. Scooping up the milk he took a drink from the carton, enjoying the refreshing taste of the milk as he leaned against the fridge door.

"Mom's gonna freak if she catches you doing that." Joey's voice startled him and he turned quickly to see his brother sitting at the kitchen table, one foot braced against it, leaning back in his chair.

"What are you still doing up?" West asked glancing at his brother, who was dressed to go out.

"Just meeting somebody in a few," Joey said dismissively. "Nice boxers."

"Mom know you're going out at midnight?" West asked glancing at the clock, ignoring the subtle dig over the plaid boxer shorts he was wearing.

"You kidding?" Joey asked adjusting the knit ball cap he was wearing. "She'd kill me if she found out I was going out on a school night."

"So I'm not seeing this, right?" West asked setting the milk back into the fridge. His brother was typically pushing his luck; if his mom found out she'd ground him for sure. It was the one rule she was firm on, curfew.

"Yeah," Joey replied. "You're not gonna sell me out, right?"

West shook his head, "I see nothing, and I say nothing. Just be careful and don't get caught."

Joey nodded his thanks, getting up at the telltale flash of lights that said his ride was there, and grabbed the CD case he carried with him everywhere, sticking it under his arm as he vanished through the backdoor to go meet his ride.

West wandered to the window and glanced out at the black sporty Celica that Joey was climbing into, the kind of tricked-out car that was better suited to street races in LA than the rough roads of Ottawa. It turned quietly gliding back up the driveway and out onto the street where it roared off. West wondered how long Joey had been sneaking out late at night and what he was up to.

He blew another sigh, wandering back into his bedroom, stopping to check on his downloads; a couple of hours and he'd have a couple of films to burn to CD and watch. It wasn't exactly legal, but then he enjoyed watching movies and TV that way--he could watch stuff on his own schedule and not have to worry about missing his favourite programs.

The way of the future: TV on demand, 24/7 lifestyles, and drug testing school kids. He went back to his bed and lay back down, reaching out to trip the light off, settling in with the light of the TV--Southpark on the comedy channel. He didn't mind it; tasteless humour but he got a laugh out of it occasionally...

* * *

Peter was sitting in the bleachers watching him as he skated around the rink. It wasn't a game, there was no reason for the guy to be there, and no one else was on the ice. West was just skating for the sake of it, and Peter watched for the sake of it.

West wanted to say something to him, but it seemed every time he tried to talk to Peter he found a new way to put his foot into his mouth. It was like he found the perfect way to say all the wrong things, all the things that seemed to piss Peter off and make West sound like a total jackass.

West switched to skating backwards, one foot sweeping back behind him as he glided around the smooth surface; he was fully dressed, team jacket tossed over his usual careless attire. It wasn't as if he was there to practice, he just wanted to skate.

He looked up at the stands where Peter was sitting, sketchbook in hand and his pencil going, those shy blue eyes peering up from the page every now and again, staring through the blond fringe that hung down over his eyes almost hiding them. He would catch West's eyes, and a thoughtful look would pass across his face as he sketched some more.

West wanted to know what was on that page; whatever art he was inspiring, he had a burning desire to see it. Peter was supposed to be one of the best artists in the school; they routinely put his artwork up on the presentation board outside Mrs. McGorlick's art class. West often passed it on his way to History, and Peter's work always had an A on it.

He smiled. "So is it a masterpiece?" he called out.

Peter sat silently, continuing to sketch as West curiously pushed himself towards the doors, off of the ice. He clumped his way to a bench, pulled off his skates and, not bothering with sneakers, jogged in his socks up the steps to where Peter was.

The young man stood, wearing a blue Hawiian shirt, white Corona tee shirt and with blond hair spilling down his face, clutched the work behind his back. He was breathtaking, and West felt as though he were seeing the guy for the first time.

Strange how he'd known Peter for years, and yet this was the first time he was actually seeing him.

He swallowed, "I want to see..."

"What's it like to want?" Peter asked him quietly.

West took a deep breath reaching out a hand to touch Peter's arm, Peter closing his eyes as the two began to kiss, a passionate perfect kiss that echoed the want West was feeling. His hand ran up to run through the fine blond hair on Peter's head, running through it and wondering why he'd never thought to do that before.

Peter was kissing him with abandon as he slid that garish nightmare of a shift off of his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor where the art book had fallen...

* * *

West awoke with a start as he always did when he had dreams like that. He took a moment to catch his breath and blinked as he realized he was still at home in his bed, it was close to four am, and he had a problem.

He rolled his eyes, it was his own stupid fault; if he'd taken care of himself recently he wouldn't be dreaming like that, and it saved embarrassment. He got up gingerly and changed. Balling the boxers up he walked across to the laundry hamper in the bathroom, pushing them down into the hamper where no one would look and they would sit until they were dry.

He stopped when he felt a small hard object that felt odd in the hamper. He let go of the shorts and pulled out the small baggie about the size of a dollar coin, a black ball of something inside it. He lifted it up and frowned at it as he turned it over. It looked like a bit of badly formed obsidian glass, except it had been shaved on one side, a piece of it curling up that showed it was softer than it looked, and was brown not black.

"Odd," he commented to himself, walking back into his room and tossing the baggie onto the edge of his desk; he'd look at it in the morning and figure out whose it was. For the time being he was tired and should be asleep.

* * *

"Good morning!" Sammy burst through his door and was up and onto his bed before he could work out what was up and what was down.

He sat up in surprise, his head colliding with the shelf over his bed, and he winced in pain as he fell back down, clutching where he had given it a stout bumping. "Ow!" he complained forcing one eye open despite the pain to look at where his mom was smirking at him from the doorway.

"Get up, sleepy head," she said with a smile, as she held the door open for Sammy to go rushing through, heading for the kitchen and her breakfast of Fruit Loops.

"That's so unfair," he grumbled still rubbing his head as he sat up, still trying to wake up.

"Gets you out of bed now, doesn't it?" His mother smiled at him, "Come on, or you'll be late for school and I need you to give Sammy a lift this morning."

"Cool, so I get the car?" he asked, smiling. Normally he only got the Bronco on days he had practice; he would take it every day if he could, rather than riding the bus into school, but his father firmly believed the car was a privilege that needed to be earned.

"Yes," his mother said as Joey came rushing down the stairs, a panicked look on his face as he ran into the bathroom slamming the door. "She has to be there early; her class is putting on an assembly for the other kids, and they have to get ready."

"Sure thing," West replied getting up and grabbing some clothes out of the drawers under his bed--the one disadvantage of having the dining room for a bedroom was that there were no closets. Not that he needed one, he smirked.

He tucked his stuff over his shoulder as he headed towards the bathroom, Joey coming out of it a strained look on his face as if he was looking for something. West thought about the thing he'd found in the hamper; setting his clothes down he went back and got it, finding Joey overturning cushions in the living room, he held it up.

"This it?" he asked.

Joey looked up, and his face went white, "W-where?"

West shrugged, "Found it last night in the hamper." He looked at it, "What is it?"

"For chemistry;" Joey said quickly, extending his hand for it, "part of a project."

"K," West said handing it over to his little brother, shaking his head; all that panic over a rock.

He had a little time and took a long shower to wake himself up, scrubbing himself clean and shaving. Primping and preening, his mother often called it. He liked taking some time to get ready; after all he was supposed to look good. But at the same time he couldn't look like he spent time to look good. The trick was looking naturally good.

It was a well-practiced art form, and one he had come to perfect, in his opinion.

Satisfied with the way his hair was sitting he came out of the bathroom, to the exasperated tapping of his father's foot, who was staring at his watch. "I swear you take longer and longer in there every day," he accused, shifting his newspaper to his other arm.

"You're a fine one to talk," West shot back. "You get in there and that's it, we're all stuck waiting."

"Why I oughta...!" His dad playfully lifted the newspaper as if to spank West on his way past; the young man grinned and ducked under the arm, and jogged into the kitchen, heading for the coffee pot.

"Don't you dare!" his mother warned.

"Aww come on," he said turning with a grin. "I've been drinking coffee for two years now, you'd think you'd let me have a cup."

"Where have you been drinking coffee, and you'd better not do it where I can see you," she said clearing away Sammy's bowl.

"Tim Hortens on the way to school," Sammy stated. "He always stops there..."

"Snitch," West accused with a grin.

"West!" his mother gave him a disapproving look.

"See ya," West replied grabbing his bag. "Quickly to the car before she bursts a blood vessel," he said holding open the door for Sammy to run out.

"You haven't had breakfast," his mother said frustratedly.

"I'll just stop at Timmy's on the way to school," he fired back, laughing as the door rattled closed and he hopped up into the truck. Sammy was already sitting beside him, firmly claiming shotgun before Joey could even finish getting his shoes on.

West adjusted the mirror, glanced up at the beautiful spring day as he started the Bronco. He reached into the glove compartment for his sunglasses, as Joey piled into the back, and they rolled their way to school.