Something Like Normal

by Monica James

  I straighten out the hem of the strapless top and scrunch up my nose when it falls flat across my measly chest. I’m not really blessed in the boob department, and a top like this would flatter someone like Tabitha, who has a curvier frame than me.

  “Um… is there something a little less pink, and not so… revealing?” I ask, not wanting to offend Tabitha.

  Tabitha cackles, “I never took you for a prude.”

  I open my mouth to protest, but close it a second later, because I guess I am a little prudish. I never had time to shop back home, and well, honestly, I would look kinda ridiculous in a pink number like this while walking the seedy streets of L.A.

  “Okay, how about this one?” Tabitha asks as she flings another three tops my way.

  Thankfully, they look a little less pink and not so booby.

  Clutching them to my chest, I duck behind the curtain to try them on.

  “This is so fun!” Tabitha says loudly.

  I hate to admit it, but it is kinda fun. Every time I doubt Tabitha’s idea of ‘fun,’ I’m proven wrong.

  Fiddling with some clip thing on the top and cursing under my breath, Tabitha asks, “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, all good,” I reply, not wanting her to barge in as I’m standing in just my bra and denim shorts.

  I let another string of profanities fly out, and Tabitha giggles. “Watch out, I’m coming in.”

  Before I have time to decline or cover myself up, she comes storming in, sliding the curtain across the rod with serious force.

  “Eeep!” I yelp, dropping the top to the change room floor and lamely covering myself with my hands.

  “Oh, Paige, please. I have boobs, too.” She looks at me and giggles, not at all phased by my near nakedness.

  She stops laughing however when she looks down at my beige bra.

  “Oh my God, please tell me you are wearing your laundry day underwear.”

  Wrapping my arms around myself tighter, totally embarrassed, I fess up. “I don’t know what that is, but this is the only decent bra I own.”

  “Nooo!” she says, eyes wide and her mouth open in disbelief.

  When I don’t reply, she closes her mouth.

  “You’re serious? No offense, but my grandma has sexier underwear than that beige piece of boring!”

  I shrug, not getting what the big deal is.

  “You are serious! Stay there,” she says and ducks out behind the curtain, leaving a whoosh of wind behind her at how fast she exited.

  I don’t get it. Who cares what I wear underneath my clothes? I don’t even care what I wear on the outside. This whole being a girl thing is foreign territory, and it looks like I have a lot to learn.

  Tabitha is back within a minute, and once again forgets all about personal space as she pulls the curtain open and strolls in, hands filled with all different kinds of underwear.

  She dumps them onto the bench seat and picks up the red lacy bra sitting on top of the mountain of goods.

  “No way!” I say, shaking my head and waving my finger at her. “There is no way I’m wearing that. It’s see through!”

  Tabitha laughs, fingering the soft material between her fingers. “C’mon, Paige, live a little.”

  I flinch when she uses the same phrase that Quinn did last night.

  A surge of confidence sweeps over me, and I yank the bra out of her hands defiantly. “Fine, I’ll try it on.”

  Tabitha claps her hands together and takes a seat, watching me.

  “Um, are you going to stay in here?” I ask, looking at her bashfully.

  Tabitha finds my shyness hilarious and laughs loudly.

  “Oh, okay, sheesh,” she says after a minute of giggling, and covers her eyes with her hand.

  Good enough for me, and I quickly strip off my bra, tossing it to the floor. I slip the fiery red number on, adjusting the straps and making sure I’m done up before I mumble self-consciously, “Okay, you can look.”

  Tabitha removes her hand and it drops to her lap with a thud. Her mouth falls open and she nods up and down quickly, her eyes wide in excitement.

  “Hot!” she yelps, clapping enthusiastically and bouncing up and down on her seat. “If you don’t buy it, I’m buying it for you!”

  I shake my head. “No, you will not.”

  I won’t have her buying me underwear, even though I know she can afford it; that’s beside the point.

  Looking at myself in the mirror, I actually think I don’t look half bad, and my boobs… wow, I have some.

  “Why are my—” I point down to my chest, still looking at them in the mirror, “—so… perky?”

  Tabitha cackles, and holds her sides in laughter. “You are so fun to shop with! It’s a maximizer bra.”

  “A what?” I ask, looking at her in the mirror, cocking my eyebrow.

  “Never mind. Here, try this one on,” she says, ruffling through the pile, and pulling out a plain black satin one. “This one,” she says, handing it over to me with a wink, “is a push up bra.”

  “A what?” I ask again, taking it from her gingerly.

  “Trust me,” she says with a sinister smile. “You think they look perky now, just wait until you try this one on.”

  ***

  Well, who would have thought that I would ever be an underwear slut.

  I left the store with three different bras, all with matching underwear. They didn’t cost as much as they normally would because Tabitha had some store loyalty card, and I got twenty percent off everything. That’s why I could justify buying all three pairs.

  As we are sitting in the food court, Tabitha talking her way through dinner, I actually realize what a good time I’m having. I never thought I would enjoy myself doing something as normal as shopping, but I am.

  “We still have lots of other stores to visit,” Tabitha says, waving her fork at me menacingly.

  Giving her a small smile, I take a bite of my burger, as I have no intention of arguing with her.

  We’re silent for a moment, and my thoughts wander to the condom wrapper I saw this morning, and my thoughts about sex. Maybe I could… no, I couldn’t, surely that would be considered kinda creepy, right?

  “Spit it out,” Tabitha smirks, her bright eyes shining with knowledge.

  I shrug, suddenly feeling really stupid and wishing I wasn’t so transparent when it came to this.

  “Ooh, it’s got to do with a boy!” Tabitha says, resting her fork against the rim of her plate and steepling her fingers excitedly.

  “Not a boy,” I reply, well it does, but not just him. “It’s about all boys, and well, their…”

  “Penises!” Tabitha shouts, filling in the blanks.

  A table of elderly women turn to look at us, giving us serious stink eye, but Tabitha ignores them.

  “What about them? Boys, not penises,” she giggles, needing to clarify what she is referring to.

  I playfully roll my eyes at her and she suddenly gets all serious.

  “I’m no expert, but I can try my best,” she says sincerely, and suddenly I feel like a total ass bringing this up, as I know her experience with sex has been anything but pleasant, thanks to Brad, the A-hole.

  “I dunno, how does it… feel, or work,” I mumble, falling over my words uncomfortably.

  Tabitha bites her lip to stop herself from laughing.

  “Oh, never mind,” I say quickly, waving off the topic and stuffing my face with fries to stop myself from further embarrassment.

  Tabitha shakes her head, her long red hair swaying with the motion.

  “No, I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you, Paige. I’m just laughing because I’m happy.”

  “You’re happy that I’m an uneducated moron,” I add, tossing a fry at her.

  Tabitha catches the fry and tosses it back at me.

  “No, I just meant I have never had this before. I’ve never had a friend like you… ever,” she admits timidly.

  Her confession touches me, so I decide to fess up.
>
  “Wanna know a secret?” I say, indicating with my fingers for her to come closer.

  She nods, leaning into me.

  “Me neither.”

  A big, dimpled smile spreads across her rosy cheeks, and she is quiet—which is a first for her.

  After a few minutes of us finishing off our meals, she whispers, “It hurts.”

  “What does?” I ask, swirling my fries into a pile of ketchup.

  “Sex,” she confesses.

  “Oh,” I reply with a frown, kind of disappointed. “What’s the hype about then?”

  Tabitha shrugs. “I’m not sure. It might feel different with someone who cares about you, but for me, it hurt, and I hated it.”

  As I clench my fists, my blood begins to boil because I realize I am actually angry for her. And I feel like using Brad’s face as a punching bag.

  And that gives me an idea.

  “Tabitha, have you ever boxed?” I ask seriously.

  Tabitha shakes her head, looking a little afraid.

  “Do you want to come to the gym with me and give it a go?”

  Tabitha understands my train of thought and nods happily, “Fuck yeah!”

  I can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of my throat. Maybe this friendship thing isn’t as hard as I thought it would be, because I have the right person I want to be friends with.

  “Here’s trouble.”

  Tabitha and I both look up to see a smiling Tristan hovering above us.

  Tabitha subtly fixes her hair, and I narrow my eyes at her as I witness her blush slightly. If I didn’t know better, I’d say Tabitha is totally crushing on Tristan.

  But who wouldn’t? I mean look at him.

  Wearing black skater shorts and a charcoal tight t-shirt, with all that messy hair falling into those hypnotic eyes, who wouldn’t have a major crush on this sweetheart?

  “Hi, Tristan.” I smile as he pulls up a seat, sitting near me.

  “Whatcha girls talking about?” he asks, which sends Tabitha into a further blush.

  I laugh and shake my head. “Oh, trust me, you don’t wanna know.”

  Tristan laughs and pulls on his lip ring, which he hasn’t changed from the night of the party.

  “Okay. So what are you doing now?” he asks, looking at me, and then at Tabitha.

  We both shrug and Tristan smirks, and I swear, I hear about five girls sigh in lust, Tabitha included. How the hell have I missed this? Maybe it was there all along, and I just didn’t know what to look for. Maybe I really am getting better at being normal.

  “Well, did you wanna come watch Clerks with me?” he smiles. “‘I know it’s an oldie, but definitely a goodie.”

  Tabitha looks at me, nodding eagerly. I know she’s asking me to please come along, as she wants to spend every minute she can with him.

  “Sure, why not. I love Clerks.”

  What the hell is Clerks?

  ***

  Turns out Clerks is a movie.

  As we’re waiting in line to buy our tickets, I subtly check Tristan out, out of the corner of my eye. I’m only doing this because I can see the similarities between him and Quinn, now that I know they’re brothers.

  I have been dying to ask where Quinn is, but kinda feel like a creeper if I do.

  But fate, in a morbid way, is looking down on me as Amber appears out of nowhere, latching onto Tristan’s arm.

  “Hey, hottie,” she purrs.

  Tristan pulls his arm out of her claws, and takes a step closer to me to get away from her.

  She looks just as trashy tonight as when I saw her last. She’s wearing jeans that are basically painted on, which sit so low I can see her disgusting hip bones. It doesn’t help that the blue top she’s wearing barely covers anything.

  “Where’s your brother?” she asks, eyeballing me.

  I take a step closer to Tristan, ready to claw her eyeballs out if she says another word about Quinn, which is totally irrational.

  “I don’t know, Amber. I’m not his keeper,” Tristan replies, making it more than obvious he has no time for her.

  “What is with the Berkeley brothers being so untouchable?” she sneers, looking at me heatedly.

  “‘Maybe we just don’t want you touching us,” Tristan replies smugly.

  I choke back a laugh, impressed with Tristan’s insults. Amber ignores me, knowing what happened the last time we spoke.

  “I didn’t hear your brother complaining last night.”

  That wipes the smile off my face. Last night? That’s impossible. I was with him last night. But I wasn’t with him all night.

  I haven’t heard from him all day, and I admit, I was kind of hoping he would magically appear at work, especially after last night. Is the reason why he’s been MIA standing right in front of me? That thought turns my stomach, and suddenly I feel like I’m about to hurl.

  “Hey, guys,” Tabitha says, walking over, phone in hand.

  She looks at Amber, then at me with wide eyes. I just shake my head and subtly roll my eyes, hoping she gets my facial charades.

  Luckily, she does.

  “Anyway,” Amber purrs, running a manicured finger down Tristan’s chest. “Tell Quinn hi.”

  “Tell him yourself!” he says, smacking her hand away, giving her a nice view of his back.

  She leaves in a huff, and we all kind of stand around awkwardly for a second or two.

  “So, I hate to be a wet blanket, but my mom wants me home, like now,” Tabitha says, frowning.

  I know her mother is the Queen Tyrant, and when her mother wants her home, Tabitha is not to keep her waiting.

  “Sorry, Paige,” she says, looking at me sheepishly. “But we gotta leave in like thirty seconds; otherwise World War Three will break out.”

  “That’s okay, Tabitha, I can just walk home. I’m outta your way, and I don’t want your mom chewing out your ass over me.”

  Tristan looks between us and kindly offers, “I can take you home, Paige. If you wanted to, I mean, after the movie.”

  Seeing a movie is the last thing I want to do after Amber’s admission, so I politely decline. “No, it’s cool, I might split now anyway.”

  Tristan looks slightly disappointed, and Tabitha just looks plain guilty.

  “It’s fine, guys, I don’t mind walking,” I say, looking at them both with a small smile.

  “No!” Tristan and Tabitha shout at the same time.

  I hide a smile and we exit the line so the people behind us can take our spot.

  “You’re not walking by yourself,” Tabitha says, shaking her head quickly as we make our way to the elevators.

  “I’ll be fine,” I stubbornly argue, while pushing the call button in haste.

  “No way, I’ll take you,” Tristan says as the elevator doors open and we step inside.

  “What are you doing? I thought you wanted to see the movie,” I ask, confused, looking into his honey colored eyes for answers.

  “It’s not important, getting you home safely is.”

  Well, God damn, chivalry isn’t dead apparently.

  I know this is an argument not worth disputing, because judging by the hard set of Tristan’s jaw, he’s not changing his mind.

  We quickly exit the elevator and Tabitha gives me a big hug goodbye before sprinting to her car. I can hear her phone echo in the distance, no doubt her mother beckoning her home.

  I follow closely behind Tristan, as I have no idea what he drives, but his means of transport is the least of my problems as I can’t stop thinking about Amber and Quinn.

  Amber and Quinn… naked.

  The thought makes me gag and I begin coughing loudly, thumping my chest to swallow past the lump that is currently sitting in my windpipe.

  “You okay?” Tristan kindly questions as he stops quickly, reaching for my arm to steady me.

  “Fine,” I say, after I stop gagging.

  We reach an old Ford pickup which screams, Sex Appeal.

  “Nice ride,” I say, running my
hand over the black side panels.

  “Thanks. Wish it was mine. Quinn let me borrow it,” he says, not knowing I have just secretly sighed at the mention of his name.

  Tristan opens the passenger door, which eases open with a sexy smoothness—just like its owner.

  As soon as I take a seat on the red bench seat, I am engulfed in the world of Quinn Berkeley. I reach forward and finger the miniature Jack Skellington, bobbling from the rear view mirror, and smile as I imagine it bopping away with Quinn at the wheel.

  Tristan hops in and starts the engine, which purrs to life, reminding me of Quinn, fiddling under the hood of Hank’s truck.

  “So, where to?” he asks, interrupting my daydreams of when I was ogling Quinn’s butt.

  Shit, I could lie and tell him I’m staying someplace else, but what does it matter. I’m sure he’ll find out sooner or later that I’m staying at Hank’s.

  “Night Cats,” I confess, looking over at him warily, which is ridiculous, as it’s not like I’m staying there forever.

  Why does that thought leave a bitter taste in my mouth?

  “Oh, you’re staying with Hank. Awesome. I didn’t know you were staying there,” he says as he zips into light traffic.

  I nod, but don’t speak as I brush a piece of hair behind my ear nervously.

  “Quinn works there,” he says casually.

  “Yeah, I know,” I reply after I’ve calmed down enough to not embarrass myself with incoherent babble.

  “Oh?” Tristan asks, looking over at me as we stop at a red light.

  “I work there, too. I’ve seen him around,” I answer, trying to appear carefree, but know I look anything but as I begin fiddling with the frayed edges of my denim shorts.

  “He never mentioned it,” he says, and takes off as the light turns green.

  I lift my shoulders in a shrug, not that he can see me.

  “Hank knew my parents,” Tristan confesses after a moment of silence.

  I don’t fail to notice his use of past tense.

  “Oh?” I reply, not wanting to push and appear nosy.

  “Yeah. Bobby Joe is my grandma.”

  “Oh.”

  However, when I say ‘Oh’ this time, it’s with a lot more enthusiasm.