Am I Normal Yet?

by Holly Bourne

“I just want him to be a tiny bit sorry,” I said.

  “He isn’t…otherwise he wouldn’t have done it in the first place…I bet…”

  “HUSH,” Lottie yelled across the table, cupping her mug of weird herbal tea. “No talk of guys, remember? Let’s discuss world domination instead.”

  Thus all talk of Ethan, footballer-stander-upper guy, and all Lottie’s conquests ceased, and we chatted about ourselves instead. I learned Amber wants to go to art college. How she hates her little stepbrother because he calls her “Ginger Pubes” and her dad won’t do anything because he is whipped by her evil stepmum, so she put hair-removing cream on her stepbrother’s eyebrows whilst he slept. Then Lottie filled me in on everything I’d missed since we were eleven, laughing about how she’d almost been chucked out of her posh school after getting arrested at a May Day protest. “But Mum and Dad were really proud,” she said. She updated me on her hippy parents… “Dad is refusing to wear anything on his bottom half when gardening and the neighbours keep calling the police.”

  I listened and laughed and sipped my latte, downplaying any question they fired at me about my life.

  I didn’t really have any shareable anecdotes. That’s the thing about anxiety – it limits your experiences so the only stories you have to tell are the “I went mad” ones. I drank all my coffee as they giggled and shared and I wondered what they’d do if I leaned over and said:

  “The funniest thing happened when I was fourteen. I, like, completely stopped eating because I thought all food was contaminated and would make me sick. Hilarious, huh? I dropped, like, two stone initially. Great diet, I know! And then, there was this one time, when my mum tried to force-feed me. She held me down and globbed mashed potato around my face, crying, and screaming, ‘JUST BLOODY EAT, EVIE.’ But I wouldn’t. And then I collapsed and they took me to hospital and misdiagnosed me with anorexia. So funny, right? And then I was super thin and still wouldn’t eat so they, like, SECTIONED ME. And it took them, like, WEEKS to finally diagnose me with OCD and Generalised Anxiety Disorder. So, anyway, have you guys ever been sectioned?”

  I couldn’t really tell them that, could I?

  Especially as I liked them so very much already. And telling them was a certain way of wrecking the friendship.

  Don’t argue. I’m right about that. Trust me. I mean, look at Jane. She’d run the first chance she got.

  They allowed me five minutes of Ethan analysis as we walked back to our respective houses.

  “It’s simple,” said Lottie. “Just look him straight in the eye and say, ‘You are nothing to me.’”

  “Erm. Isn’t that a tad dramatic?”

  She shrugged. “Maybe. But imagine how much it would hurt if someone looked you in the eye and said that?”

  BAD THOUGHT

  Someone might look me straight in the eye and say, “You are nothing to me.”

  “That, my friend, is a fair point.”

  I had sociology and my Ethan-altercation first thing. I was supposed to be walking in with Jane, but she cancelled again. To go in with Joel. Again. She didn’t even ask how my date went.

  Both Amber and Lottie – however – messaged on my way in.

  You go girl. Remember he is NOTHING to you. – Amber

  Good luck today! Let’s celebrate with an all-day breakfast afterwards. They do one in town for only three quid. You have second period free, right? – Lottie

  Ethan was already sitting in the classroom. In his usual spot, watching for me to arrive. He looked sheepish. I smoothed down my T-shirt.

  You are nothing to me.

  His eyes followed me as I wobbled to my chair and concentrated on getting my book out of my bag. We were both early and the only two students there.

  “Evie,” he said, all urgent and pleading.

  You are nothing to me. You are nothing to me.

  I gave him my best ever glare. “I am nothing to me.”

  Darn it!

  “Huh?”

  “I mean, you are nothing to me,” I corrected myself.

  “That’s not what you just said.”

  “Yes it is. Shut up.”

  “Have you been practising that killer line all morning and now delivered it wrong?”

  I felt my face burn. Ethan’s eyes were almost dancing with the hilarity. Git.

  “No. Why would I waste brain tissue thinking about you?”

  His look softened and he leaned over and clasped my hand. I looked at it. “Evie. I’m so sorry about Saturday night.”

  I pulled my hand away. “Which bit? Getting completely bladdered, sexually assaulting me and blaming it on a rare neurological condition? Or, I don’t know, GETTING OFF WITH SOMEONE ELSE ON OUR FIRST DATE?”

  A girl walked into the classroom, midway through my yelling. She heard what I said and glared at Ethan. Solidarity. That’s what girls need more of. Solidarity.

  “All of it. I’m sorry for all of it. But mostly I’m sorry I’ve messed things up with you.”

  “Or just sorry that you’ve been caught?”

  “I really like you, Evie…”

  I dared myself to look at him again. His hair fell into his eyes. His dimples lay dormant but you knew they were there…

  “Yeah, well, your penis seemed to really like someone else on Saturday.”

  “My penis likes you too.”

  He was smiling. Like it was all a big hilarious joke.

  I took a deep breath. “Please just leave me alone.”

  More students trickled in, buzzing with their own conversations, emptying the contents of their bags onto desks. Class started in five minutes.

  “Won’t you at least hear what I’ve got to say?” he begged.

  Although it wasn’t protocol, I figured I may as well hear him out. Besides, I was curious… “Go on then…”

  “I’m being serious now…Evie…” He took my hand again and I reluctantly let it stay there for a bit. “I’m actually worried about myself. I think I’m a…a…sex addict.”

  I laughed so hard actual spittle flew onto our entwined hands.

  “Seriously,” he protested, not noticing the spit. “Why are you laughing? It’s not funny. It’s a very serious condition.”

  I tried to calm myself. “Well, technically, it’s not been confirmed as an actual medical condition (the things you learn from fellow patients), but I’ll go with you for a second…why do you think you’re a sex addict?” I giggled on the last two words, but Ethan looked positively devastated.

  “I’m telling you, I’m really scared of myself, Evie. I, like, literally can’t stop thinking about sex. I think about it all the time…” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I like you…I really do…but I get the impression you’re not…you know…easy…and then this girl, Anna, was all over me when you went off, and I thought…I need to get my fix…”

  I very deliberately removed my hand and wiped the back of it on my jeans. “Ethan. You’re not a sex addict. You’re just a sixteen-year-old boy.”

  “No, I have a problem! I watch porn all the time.”

  “Which is disgusting and probably not very good for you, but, again, unfortunately for society as a whole, totally normal.”

  “Will you forgive me? I’ll get help. For you, I’ll get help.”

  I’d always been so mad at myself for missing out on dating, so keen to catch up. I’d always mourned the years lost where I was supposed to be getting touched up at parties, and getting songs dedicated to me by spotty boys at the ice-skating disco, and kissing other mouths and enjoying how they felt rather than mentally calculating how many billions of bacteria must be on their tongues… Anyway…I’d really felt I’d missed out on boys. Now…now I was beginning to wonder what the fuss was about.

  “Ethan, you don’t need professional help. You just need a wank, and what you really need is to leave me alone, for ever.”

  “Evie, please?”

  “Just leave me alone.”

  Six

  Amber cut a piece o
f sausage and examined it glistening on her fork. “Coming out for breakfast is possibly the best idea you’ve ever had, Lottie,” she said. Then she ate it.

  “I told you it was amazing,” Lottie replied, poking shiny scrambled egg onto a spoon. “May this become our new Monday ritual.”

  “I still can’t believe he told me he was a sex addict,” I said.

  “Shh,” Lottie said. “Not in front of the eggs.”

  They’d taken me into town in our joint free period, promising fried food was the answer. We were in a grotty cafe, one that Lottie promised actually did amazing food. She was right, but eating a delicious breakfast with a plastic knife and fork ruined it a bit. Bacon had helped, to some extent, but I still felt this burning desire to discuss and analyse every molecule of what had gone down with Ethan. Preferably on a loop. Over and over.

  “I hate him,” I continued, showing no respect for the eggs. “I hate him and yet I still feel this burning desire to discuss and analyse every molecule of what’s happened. Preferably on a loop. Over and over.”

  “Welcome to the world of boys,” Amber said, puncturing another sausage.

  Lottie put on a sugary voice. “I hate you, and yet I want you to like me, and I want to know everything about your brain.”

  I smiled weakly, took a bite of toast and pushed my plate back. “I hate myself. One date and look what’s happened to me.”

  Lottie pushed the plate back towards me.

  “Which is why you must have restorative meat and friends who won’t let you talk it over on a loop.”

  “He’s an arsehole though, right?”

  “We’ve already agreed that he is.”

  “And, he’s not really a sex addict, is he?”

  “Evie!”

  “Okay, okay.”

  My appetite for discussing Ethan was still vastly undented, but Lottie had just used the word “friends” and it made my stomach goo more than Ethan’s smile ever had.

  “Let’s change the subject. How’s the smoking going?” I asked Amber.

  She shook her head and swallowed. “It’s not. I gave the rest of the cigarettes to my stepbrother.”

  “AMBER,” we both yelled.

  She didn’t even try to look guilty. “What? He’s the Antichrist. I’m doing the world a favour.”

  “How old is he anyway?”

  She blew a wisp of reddish hair out of her face. “I dunno. Ten, maybe younger?”

  “AMBER!”

  “He’ll be fine.” She batted our protests away with her fingers. “I don’t want to talk about him. So, you two… How did you become friends?”

  Lottie and I looked at each other. “We went to the same primary school,” I said.

  “Yeah.” Lottie smiled at the memory. “We had to do extra lessons after school together because we weren’t challenged enough in the classroom.”

  Amber pointed an accusing finger at me. “Wait, you didn’t tell me you’re a genius too, like Lottie here.”

  “I…”

  I had been. Clever, I suppose. Once. Now I had barely any qualifications to my name, and I’d ruled out almost all A level subjects based on their potential to trigger a relapse.

  A levels I couldn’t do

  Geography – Out of the question. Learning about volcanoes? And earth crust? And ice ages? And all the other geological phenomena I couldn’t control and could kill us all dead? Are you kidding?

  Biology – Oh, cancer. Let the person with diagnosed Generalised Anxiety Disorder and OCD learn about cancer? Next!

  French/Spanish/German – Why bother learning a language when it’s highly unlikely you’ll ever be well enough to leave your own country? I’d barely left the county… Only that one time for a cousin’s wedding where I completely lost it at the finger buffet and Mum and Dad had to drive us home through the middle of the night…

  Philosophy – Don’t even get me started on what existentialism does to my mind.

  Psychology – We’ve already discussed this.

  And so on and so on and so on, until I took sociology, film studies and English language. Nice and safe. No scary ideas.

  “She’s well clever, aren’t you, Eves?” Lottie asked, disrupting my inner ramblings.

  “I’m okay. I guess.” Sarah once said it takes quite a high level of intelligence to dream up every worst-case scenario for every situation. Ever. Like I can…

  Amber mopped up her beans with her stiff triangle of white toast. “So did you guys not stay in touch when you were at different secondary schools?”

  “I…”

  Lottie interrupted. “I tried. But after Year Eight, Miss Snooty Knickers here fell off the planet and stopped answering my calls.”

  She said it friendly enough, but a bit of hurt was there.

  “I…I… Sorry, Lottie. Secondary school kind of swallowed me up whole…”

  “And spat you back out again?” Amber finished for me. “That’s what happened to me. I hated school so much. I’m so glad I’m at college. You two are the first people I’ve met in a long time I actually like.”

  We all beamed at each other, though inwardly I felt queasy with guilt…and grease. I hadn’t meant to ditch Lottie. I just…ditched life, and Lottie was part of that. What was I supposed to do? Answer her calls and say “Sorry I can’t come out tonight, I’m writing the sell-by dates of every food item in my house into my special OCD diary”?

  She wouldn’t have understood. Or worse, she would’ve pretended to understand but then got annoyed when her support didn’t magically cure me and buggered off.

  Just like Jane.

  “Right, I’m stuffed,” I announced. “And film studies beckons.”

  Amber narrowed her eyes. “Lottie. You said the girl was smart. And she’s off to film studies?”

  “Hey! I’ll have you know we have to write essays!” I protested.

  “Yeah, yeah. About what?”

  “Casablanca and stuff?”

  “Cassawhatta?”

  “I’ll pretend you didn’t just say that,” I said.

  We all chucked our money on the garish tablecloth and scraped our chairs back to leave. An autumn chill hit us as we trundled back to college.

  Guy was just leaving as we got to the gates. He was smoking a suspicious-looking roll-up, his hair stuffed into a grey beanie hat.

  “Evie,” he said, far too pleased to see me. Definitely a suspicious cigarette. He held out his hand for a high-five. “How was your date in the end?”

  I high-fived him back unenthusiastically. “Not great. He went upstairs and shagged someone else.”

  Guy tried and failed to hide a burst of laughter. “On your first date?”

  “He’s a sex addict,” I explained. “Well, that’s what he told me anyway.”

  This time he didn’t even try to hide his giggles. He bent over, clutching his ribs. The roll-up dropped out of his mouth onto the pavement. Guy didn’t notice.

  “Seriously?” he asked, his head still upside down.

  I looked to the others for support. They just gave me “we’re talking to this loser again?” looks.

  “Seriously. That was my weekend.”

  “Christ, you make me laugh.” He got himself upright again, realized he’d dropped his joint, and ducked to pick it up off the floor.

  “Yeah, well, at least I’m not plucking a soggy roll-up out of a gutter with an indeterminate tribal scar forever etched onto my body.”

  “Fair enough.” Guy was waterproof against insults once he’d had a smoke. “Anyway, you got class now? Bye, ladies.” He re-lit his smoke and sauntered off.

  Amber didn’t look impressed as we watched Guy cough his way down an alley. “That’s the guy from the kitchen, right?”

  “Yeah, Guy. He’s okay really. He’s Joel’s best mate.”

  “And Joel is?”

  “Jane’s boyfriend.”

  “Ahhh, Jane.” Amber gave Lottie a knowing look. I tried to read into it but the bell went.

  “
See ya,” I yelled behind me and I ran off to class and Casablanca.

  “See ya.”

  Seven

  I was almost late for film studies and sat down all a-bluster, grabbing my notebook out my bag and rushing to get to the right page. My rush was wasted though as our teacher, Brian, walked in wearing shades and bashed his head face-down on the desk.

  “All right, class? I’m hung-over as sin,” he told the wood. “Take it easy on me today.”

  From what I could tell, Brian was a frustrated director with a drinking problem. Yet he was worshipped by the rest of my class for his tendency to yell “NO YOU’RE WRONG” and smash the table if you dared suggest Forrest Gump deserved that Best Picture Oscar over Pulp Fiction.

  “So…” Brian continued to address the desk. “As I need to spend most of the next hour focusing on not vomming my guts up…” I felt sick, instantly sick. “Here is a very easy task for you. For some unknown reason, the examining bastards have decided to add noughties films to the exam syllabus. I haven’t read which ones they’re testing you on yet, so turn to the person next to you and discuss your favourite three films since 2000. Then report back at the end of the class. GO.”

  I counted around the circle of desks to work out who I was paired with.

  One…two…one…two…one… I looked to the left of me, and found myself staring into the most impressive pair of cheekbones the world has ever known. They were attached to this guy, a smiling guy, as he’d already worked out we were partners.

  “Hi, I’m Oli,” he said.

  “Oh, hey, I’m Evelyn…well, Evie.”

  He smiled again. The cheekbones. The almighty cheekbones. His face looked like it had been chiselled out of butter by the gods, and yet he was all shy and looky-downy. Ding ding ding. My innards were lighting up like a slot machine. I promptly forgot all about worrying I’d fail my AS level due to Brian’s teaching.

  “I’ve not seen you in class,” I said, knowing I certainly would’ve noticed THOSE cheekbones before. “Did you just switch AS levels or something?”

  He coughed and his smile dropped slightly. “I…no…er…there was a problem with my admission…” His voice went up like it was a question, and he carried on. “They thought I was staying on at my old school’s sixth form…paperwork muddle. This is my first full week.”