ReCAP: A NORMAL Novella

by Danielle Pearl

  I wait for her to meet my eyes, and she looks so helpless in this moment, so innocent and hopeless that it tugs at something inside me. I've never been so affected by another person, but this girl somehow just has an invisible hold on every part of me.

  When I speak, I do so slowly and carefully. "I should have told you when Pitser left. I didn't realize it would matter," I tell her honestly. "That's my fault. I didn't think. I am the one who is sorry, okay?" And I won't fucking let it happen again, I silently swear.

  She stares at me for a long moment, and I hope to God that I'm getting through to her. She deserves no guilt, no shame. None.

  "I don't know why you're so nice to me," she breathes, and I feel my entire body relax. I hadn't even realized quite how tense I was.

  I smile at her and let go of her wrists. I brush away the last of her tears. They don't belong on her perfect face. Only that smile I've seen just a few times does, and God would I do anything to see it in this moment.

  "We're friends, Ror," I remind her. "That's what friends are for, right?" And I mean it. I tell myself to ignore the fact that there isn't another friend in the world who makes me feel the things this girl does.

  She nods in agreement, and my gaze drops to her lips.

  I feel a pull in my groin, and it's completely inappropriate considering the circumstances. I stand and go to pack up my books, trying to get my head straight. It doesn't help that she's so fucking beautiful. I pack up her books next and then place them in her bag.

  I hold out my hand to her, and it's kind of a test. I don't want to push her, but I need to know if she still trusts me. "I got you, Pine," I promise her, and I tell myself I will always have this girl's back. She needs that. Someone to look out for her. Despite her tough persona, we all need support sometimes. "Come on, let's get you home. You must be tired." She looks exhausted. Still gorgeous as all hell, but tired and drained.

  She takes my hand, and I walk her through the building. Vaguely I try to remember a time when I've held a girl's hand like this, and I can't. Other than Bits when she was little. It feels good. Strangely right. Rory's hand is small and delicate, so unlike her spirit, and it reminds me that despite her ferocity, she just a girl. A beautiful, incredibly strong girl, but a girl nonetheless. One who needs help sometimes, who needs support. I want to be that person for her, and I silently resolve to be the best fucking friend she's ever had.

  We arrive at the point where I usually leave her to go bring her car around, but I don't let her hand go. I don't want to. But she doesn't try to pull hers away either, and I don't know what she needs right now.

  "Ror?"

  "I can't walk by the locker rooms," she whispers meaningfully. Vaguely I think I'd probably burn the fucking gymnasium wing to the ground if it would make things easier for her.

  "Can I walk around the building with you?" I ask. There's no way I can let her go alone. Not this late, and especially not after she was so upset just minutes ago.

  She nods, and I exhale my relief, and lead her out the door. I can feel her returning to herself with every step, and when we get to the student lot, she takes a deep breath and lets go of my hand. I let her. I look her over, watching for any signs that she's still in danger of panicking, any signs that maybe she shouldn't drive right now, but she just seems embarrassed.

  "I really am sorry, Sam," she says to her feet. I can't listen to her apologize. I'm the one who's sorry.

  "Enough, Rory," I tell her. "You have nothing to be sorry for, okay? I'm sorry for putting you in that position, but you know what? You're stronger than you think you are."

  She snorts, and it irritates me - how blind she is to her own strength.

  "You are, Ror. I obviously did something to trigger you to panic, but you got through it all on your own. You didn't need a pill. You did it yourself." How doesn't she see that? She's a fucking force, and she doesn't even realize it.

  She stares at me a moment, considering my words, and it's like she's looking right into me. Like she can see things that no one else can, that no one else should be able to see. It's unnerving.

  "I didn't need a pill," she says contemplatively, "but I didn't do it on my own, either." There's gratitude in her eyes, awe even, and it's a heady feeling. It makes me feel strangely powerful, and vaguely I think that in this moment, if I had the choice of any superpower, I would choose to be able to quell Rory's panic attacks with a hug. "Thanks," she says meaningfully.

  I give her a small smile. I'm completely thrown from this whole evening, from this whole month, really. What is this girl doing to me?

  "Hey, I got you, Pine, what are friends for?"

  ****

  You're The Problem

  My boys are all getting insanely excited for break, and I find myself mirroring their enthusiasm despite myself. Of course, I'm fully aware that the timing of my own eagerness for the trip and Rory's commitment to attend are no coincidence, but I don't tell anyone else that. Unfortunately, at least Tucker knows me well enough to be suspicious of my intentions with Rory, and I can't even count how many times I've assured him that there's nothing more than friendship going on.

  It doesn't help that I refused to blow off tutoring her the other night when he wanted me to be his wingman with some "hot college bitches" he met while visiting the Hofstra campus. I'm pretty sure he was never going to follow through, since, despite putting up a good front, I know he hasn't slept with anyone but Carl for months - maybe even since he started hooking up with her in the first place. But he keeps up the act, and for the life of me, I don't know why. I suppose it's because he doesn't think Carl wants more than the casual friends-with-benefits thing they supposedly have, but if she didn't, they wouldn't get into argument after argument over who was doing what, with whom. I'm pretty sure they're both just trying to save face, and it's pretty ridiculous.

  I, on the other hand, am "distracted", according to Tuck. And he's not wrong. It has been a while for me - since before I started tutoring Rory and we became friends.

  I can't say I'm either upset or concerned about it. Because the truth is, I'm in a good mood, and I don't really have anything to complain about.

  We're already seated at our usual booth when the girls walk in. They usually arrive a few minutes after us on the few days a week we eat lunch together, because Rory still walks around the building to meet them. Her gaze finds mine immediately and I offer her a genuine smile. I have been smiling a lot more than usual. She returns it and I feel that new sensation she elicits – that little flutter in my belly and the fullness in my chest. It's a strange feeling… but a good one.

  Chelsea and Lily follow right behind Rory, Tina, and Carl, and we get up to let the girls in. My eyes compulsorily drop to Rory's ass as she slides into the booth and it instantly affects me in a way that's annoyingly inconvenient given our current location. I slide in after her, glad to hide my lap under the table, and start thinking about my Grandma Lena, but it only works somewhat since Rory's thigh is pressed up against the length of my own. I sigh, and silently remind myself to stop checking out a girl who is supposed to be nothing more than a friend at every fucking possible turn.

  We order and get into conversation about our upcoming trip. I tell Tucker about the surf boards my Uncle Kelly, who is an executive for the W Hotel Group, is hooking us up with during our stay. They're pretty sweet, and neither of us has gotten in the water since Labor Day, so we're both looking forward to it. Tucker tries to talk Carl into getting on a board, though I'd listened to this exact exchange several times over the summer, and it never ended with Carl on a surfboard. Port Woodmere is on the water, and beach clubs line Atlantic Boulevard, but it's only warm enough for beach weather about three months max. When I was a kid we used to spend summer in the Hamptons, which is where I learned to surf, but after my parents' divorce we stopped going to the house we used to rent with my cousins and aunt and uncle.

  "Have you surfed?" I ask Rory.

  She shakes her head.

  "I c
ould teach you," I offer. "In Miami." I'm pretty good on a board – not professional or anything, but good enough to give a lesson for fun.

  "I prefer just to swim," she murmurs, and an image of her in a swimsuit takes over my brain, making me forget what we were even talking about in the first place.

  "She's from Florida," Dave interrupts, "why would she need a surfing lesson from you, Cap? She can probably ride big waves." He smirks and I roll my eyes, but then his gleam with mischief, putting me on edge. "She can probably ride real big-"

  "Damn it, Dave, will you shut the fuck up?!" I growl at him. Fury swarms my body, straining my muscles - they want to do something, to hit something, but I stay in control, just pissed the fuck off at Dave.

  Who the fuck does he think he is to talk to Rory like that?! I feel her tense up next to me at his innuendo, and I resent my friend even more, but he seems confused as to what he did wrong. Fucking idiot.

  "Chill out, man. I was just sayin-"

  "I know what you were fucking saying and I'm saying to back the fuck off. Could you show the girl some damn respect? Jesus."

  What does he think I am, a fucking moron? I got his pathetic joke, I just didn't find it funny. Rory's not some random chick he can tease or insult, and he will show her some fucking respect, I will make damn sure of that.

  My fingers rake my hair in frustration as Dave stares at me like he doesn't know what to make of me. But thankfully he does shut up, though I wish he'd stop looking between me and Rory like we're hiding something, because it isn't helping my agitation.

  "It's okay, it's fine," Rory whispers to me.

  I finally look at her, checking to make sure she really is fine, not just Rory-fine. She doesn't seem especially anxious, which helps ease some of my aggravation. But just because she's fine doesn't mean Dave's comment was fine. He won't be talking to her like that again, and I want her to know it.

  "Well it's not fine with me," I murmur to her. My hand finds hers under the table, and I squeeze it. She does the same, and it helps drain the rest of my tension. Maybe she's the one with super powers.

  "So, Florida? Is that where you're from?" Chelsea asks randomly.

  Rory nods, but she seems suspicious, and I wonder why. Chelsea's just trying to get to know her... I think.

  "I was just thinking, we don't really know anything about you..." Chelsea continues, and now her tone has changed, and I understand Rory's suspicion. Who the hell does Chelsea think Rory is? A serial killer?

  I roll my eyes, but before I can tell her to drop the nonsense, Carl defends Rory.

  "You don't know anything, Chelsea, I've known Rory since I was like four," she says flippantly. I knew that. Tucker told me Rory's grandmother lived next to Carl, and she used to visit her a couple times a year. I picture Rory as a four year old little girl with pig tails and a big smile. She must have been fucking adorable. She still is.

  "Is that so? How is that, since she lived down in Florida until a couple months ago?" Chelsea persists with an annoying amount of false enthusiasm. She's being a bitch, and I don't know why she's just randomly decided to pick on Rory. But I let Carl answer, because I know she has a good one, and I'm hoping it will shut Chelsea up.

  "Her grandma lived next to me. We used to play together when she came to visit."

  "Hmm, so you hung out with her for what? One week out of the year? I'd hardly say you really knew her-" Chelsea accuses.

  Carl's eyes narrow, but so do mine, and I'm just about done letting the girls hash out their own shit.

  "What is your point, Chel? Seriously just get to it already."

  "Well, Cap, I'm just trying to get to know Rory is all. I mean, we're all about to go on vacation with her, and what do we know about her really? She shows up in the middle of her senior year with no explanation and I'm just trying to figure out what she's hiding, after all, I don't want to go away with someone I don't even-"

  "Then don't fucking come," Rory snaps, taking the words right out of my mouth. I want to interject, to tell Chelsea she's being a royal asshole right now, and to back the fuck off, but Rory's defending herself, and I don't want to take that away from her.

  She tries to slide out of the booth, but I don't move.

  "Excuse me," she says, but she shouldn’t have to run away when she's not the one who did anything wrong. I glare at Chelsea – she's the one who needs a fucking time out. Rory tries to pull the hand I still hold, but I don't let her, I want her to know I have her back, and my thumb starts rubbing the back of her hand under the table.

  But Rory doesn't relax, in fact, she grows more agitated with each passing second, and it makes me even more annoyed with Chelsea.

  "You heard her, Chel. If you have a problem going away with Rory, then Don't. Fucking. Come," I tell her, keeping a careful control on my tone lest I start shouting at a girl in a fucking diner.

  Chelsea's mouth drops open in righteous indignation, but I don't give a shit. She's the one in the wrong and she needs to know that. I feel Rory's pulse quicken from where my pinky is wrapped around her wrist, but I don't notice quite how upset she is until Carl says something.

  "Rory, are you okay?" she asks.

  "Please let me out," Rory begs me, and my anger at Chelsea slips away instantly, replaced by deep concern. Shit. Is she having an anxiety attack? Because of fucking Chelsea? I don't know what to do, so I get out of her way as she asked. She grabs her bag and scurries off to the bathroom, and I want to go after her, but of course, I can't. I look to Carl, but she needs no prompting from me, and she's already pushing Tuck off the bench so she can slide out herself.

  "What the fuck is wrong with you, Chel?" I practically snarl at her. But no one judges me, they're all looking at her like she's the asshole, which she is.

  "Me?" she huffs. "I don't know why she's so sensitive. I'm just trying to figure her out, since she's inserted herself in all of our lives."

  "What the fuck are you talking about?" I growl.

  "She hasn't inserted herself in anything, Chelsea," Tina admonishes. "She's been Carl's friend for years, and she's my friend-"

  "And mine," I add.

  "Well why would she react so defensively when I was just asking her about where she's from and whatever?" Chelsea retorts, as if her behavior is even remotely defensible.

  "You accused her of hiding something, Chelsea. You didn't exactly ask her about her favorite movie! I don't know what the hell has gotten into you," I tell her.

  She pouts, disgruntled, but not apologetic. She really doesn't get that she's in the wrong and it frustrates the hell out of me.

  Carl returns looking confused, and I raise my eyebrows in question. She tells me Rory wasn't in the ladies' room, and it has me out of my seat and storming toward the back of the diner in a millisecond. I know she came back here, I saw her.

  I head out the back staff exit, and there she is, sitting on the concrete steps that lead to the parking lot, her face in her hands, and the sight stabs me in the chest.

  I see the pill bottle in her hand, and it makes me angry at Chelsea all over again.

  "Ror?"

  But she doesn't move. I wait a moment, watching her cautiously, and I can sense her calming down, her breathing slowing, and I thank God she had her pills on her. I resent Chelsea all the more for driving Rory to panic, and I resent myself for putting her in the position in the first place. I should have cut Chelsea off right away, and I make a mental note to talk to her about cutting Rory a break.

  "Carl went to the bathroom to check on you, but she said you weren't in there..." I feel awkward, and I don't know why. I've never felt awkward with Rory before. I'm her friend. Actually, we've become pretty damned good friends, and I shouldn't have to give her an explanation why I came to check on her when she's upset.

  But she still doesn't say a word, or even move a muscle. I sit down beside her on the step. "I just wanted to make sure you were all right," I tell her.

  "Fine," she whispers, lifting her head, but not meeting my eyes.
But I want her eye contact. I need it. I need to make sure she's really fine.

  "You took a pill," I state the obvious for no reason at all. I'm just frustrated that this is what she's been driven to, and at what was supposed to be a casual lunch at the damned diner.

  She shrugs, and there's something defensive in her posture, but I wasn't judging her - I would never judge her. "Yeah, I did," she says resentfully. "I took a pill, Sam, because I needed it. And I needed it because I'm fucked up. And no amount of you tellin' me how I'm stronger than I think I am is gonna change that, okay?" Her accent snakes and slides through her bitter words, taunting me with the juxtaposition of something I find so sexy, and words that slice through my chest. I wince. I hate her words. I hate her judging herself, and I hate her thinking I would judge her.

  "You're not fucked up, Ror," I promise her.

  "Yes I fucking am! And if you weren't so damn busy tryin' to fix me, you'd fucking see it!" she shouts, glaring at me as she stands up.

  Her words unsettle me deeply. They cut me to my core. It kills me when she says she's fucked up - she's not - but it's her fixating her anger on me that's got me so deeply on edge. What have I done to hurt her?

  "I'm not trying to fix you, Rory, I'm just trying to be your friend," I say carefully. I don't even know where she would get such an idea. She's the one who thinks she's fucked up, not me – I think she's fucking incredible, so why would I be trying to fix her?

  I've done nothing to warrant her current attitude, and I can't help but resent it, and I clench my jaw shut before I say something I can't take back. Instead of telling her what I'm thinking – that the only thing fucked up is how she's treating me right now – I try to refocus the conversation on the actual issue.

  "You can't let Chelsea get to you like-"