by Farrah Penn
“So, wow, eleventh grade? That’s a big year.”
I take a huge bite of garlic bread. I’m not feeling up to small talk.
My dad speaks on my behalf. “Yup, I can hardly believe it.” He turns to me. “Do you need to sign up for the SATs soon?”
“Everyone takes them first semester of senior year.” I’m annoyed he doesn’t know this.
“What about pre-SATs? You do the practice test, don’t you?”
I give an indifferent shrug. “I guess.”
“Well, good. Okay then.” He lifts a forkful of spaghetti to his mouth, then stops. “Should I get you an SAT study book?”
“I—”
“I’ll get you a book,” he decides.
“Veronica might have one,” Peach jumps in.
The table goes quiet with the exception of scraping forks. I don’t know who Veronica is, but I don’t want her books. I don’t want anything from anyone at this table.
“You don’t have to reach out if you’re not comfortable,” my dad says.
Nonnie leans over to me, her turquoise frames slipping down the bridge of her nose. “Veronica’s her daughter. Went off to college last year.”
I give the slightest nod, but I really don’t care.
“No, I should.” Peach sits up a little straighter. “It could be a good ice breaker.”
Saylor grins at her. “Maybe it’ll be tomorrow’s SS.”
Peach gives a hopeful smile. “It could.”
“Again,” my dad says. “No pressure.”
I let my fork clatter on my plate. I’m entirely over talking about embracing positivity through acronyms like it will solve all our problems. “Can I be excused?”
Peach looks at the mass of leftovers on the table. “I think we made too much.”
My dad pats his stomach. “I could pastably eat more for lunch tomorrow.”
He looks to me for a laugh, but I don’t give him the satisfaction. Instead I clear my plate and leave it in the sink. Before I can head upstairs to my room, my dad joins me in the hallway.
“Listen, Goose,” he says, lowering his voice a bit. “I know I wasn’t a father to you those months after Grams died. And I’m working on that just like you’re working on trusting me. But while you’re under this roof I expect you to respect my rules and authority. Okay?”
It’s a reasonable request. I nod curtly, but all I want to do is go up to my room and be by myself.
“You don’t have to like these people, but they’re my friends. All I ask is that you treat them with respect.” He looks me in the eyes for a moment. “They’re all here for you if you need anything. Don’t hesitate to ask. I promise they’re good people.”
I glance back into the dining room. Nonnie’s using her napkin to wipe a splotch of sauce off one of the neon-green cheetahs on her blouse. Peach has another gash of magenta lipstick across her top teeth, and Saylor’s humming with his eyes closed, rocking side to side as if he’s gone into deep meditation at the dinner table.
I can’t possibly imagine what I’d need from any of these people.
“I’ll be fine,” I say, scooting past him. “I have homework.”
“All right.”
There’s hesitancy in his voice, but I pretend I don’t hear it as I take the stairs two at a time. Once I’m in my room, I close the door and sit down at my desk. It was a yard sale find from a few years ago. The white paint needed to be retouched, but instead of repainting, Whitney, Raegan, Lin, and I Sharpied every inch of it.
The surface is covered in Lin’s cartoon bunny doodles and Whitney’s inscription—DANCE 4 EVA—in bright purple. There’s an Eleanor Roosevelt quote in Raegan’s handwriting near the center. I drew stick figures of the four of us in different neon colors, but that’s not what catches my eye. In bright green, we’d written our names in big, bubbly letters. Lin had scrawled, BESTIES BETTER THAN THE RESTIES in block lettering around it.
I know it was only the first day back, but I hate feeling so far removed from them. The memories they’ve made without me make my stomach twist. If there was a way to make things go back to normal, I’d do it in a heartbeat.
Wait.
I dig through my book bag until I find a spiral notebook. I open it to a blank page and grab a pen from the collection in an old mason jar on my desk. It’s not enough to wish for something to go back to normal. If I want my life back, I need to do something about it.
Aunt June was the one who told me about the twelve-step program after my dad attended his first few AA meetings. They’re a set of twelve principles that present a guided path toward recovery that involve bettering yourself by admitting your addiction, fixing situations with people you’ve wronged, and committing to eliminate all bad behaviors that led to the addiction in the first place. If these principles were followed and practiced, a person would be able to go back to living their life the way it was before addiction.
I know the steps didn’t work for my dad the first time, but it was like his grief over Grams prevented him from really trying. I have to believe he’s trying now. He’s made progress, and if the steps did contribute to his sobriety, then maybe abiding by my own steps could help me, too.
This is what I need. Principles. Rules. A process that I can easily follow to get my life back on track.
I pick up my pen and start writing.
EIGHT
KIRA’S 12 STEPS TO A NORMAL LIFE:
1. Forgive Dad
2. Learn how to be a family without Grams
3. Make amends with Whitney
4. Be a better friend to Raegan
5. Make sure Lin feels appreciated
6. Reconnect with Jay
7. Talk to Alex about that text
8. Help Breck get on the decathlon team
9. Support Colton’s music
10. Convince Nonnie to move out
11. Push Saylor to leave
12. Make Peach go home to her family
These twelve people are a significant part of my life now, whether I want them to be or not. If I focus on each of these steps, my life should revert to how it was before I left Cedarville. That’s all I want, really. For things to be how they once were.
And I’m certain this is the way to do it.
After Grams died, my dad’s addiction, neglect, and lack of communication drew us apart. While I was able to cope with my grief over Grams when I was living with Aunt June, it still doesn’t make coming back any easier. I’d almost hoped nothing changed—that Grams would be here, in this house, waiting to hear all about my time in Portland. Learning how to be a family without her, when that’s all my dad and I have known, is going to be a challenge of its own. But if we’re going to ever try and get back to the type of father/daughter relationship we had when she was alive, it has to be an important part of the list.
Of course, there are some major problems. Obviously, I want Peach, Nonnie, and Saylor to leave, but it’s not purely because they’ve caused an unexpected disruption in my home life. No, because if they don’t leave, Margaret is going to make sure I leave. Again. And being back has shown me that this is where I belong. It’s not only my home—my whole life is here. My dad. My friends. My school. If I truly want things to go back to how they were, I can’t risk exposing the fact that we have other recovering addicts here. The only way to extinguish that threat is to get them out.
In the meantime, I can make sure nobody—especially Margaret—knows they’re living here. They may be a bit odd, but I don’t think they’re a bad influence on my dad. But after speaking with Margaret the night I arrived, it seemed that anything she found out of the ordinary would get both me and my dad sent away.
I won’t let that happen.
And then there’s the questionable: reconnecting with Jay. Okay, maybe I still have feelings for him. But what if he has feelings for me, too? Shouldn’t we see where it can lead?
It’s a thought that’s layered with guilt. He’s dating one of my best friends. I wouldn’t make a
ny moves on him, but I could leave the door open for the possibility of an us again. Like Lin said, Whitney is a serial dater. Their relationship may not last. If I reconnect with him on a platonic level—that wouldn’t be so bad, right?
And yet, I want to make amends with Whitney. I know I hurt her with my silence, but if I can prove that I can be a trustworthy friend again, maybe we could pick up where we left off. Lin and Raegan deserve the same treatment. I mishandled friendships with people who truly care about me, and I’m determined to make up for it.
Even though I was never super close with Breck and Colton, we still hung out nearly every day. Thankfully there’s no weird tension in the air with either of them, but I’d like to show them that I can be as good of a friend as Lin, Whitney, and Raegan. Supporting Colton’s music and potentially helping Breck get on the decathlon team—depending on Breck’s motives—seem like the best ways to do that.
Then there’s Alex, who sent me That Text the weekend before I moved to Portland—after I’d already broken it off with Jay. Which he knew. Everyone knew. And even though I deleted the text, I still remembered what it said:
ALEX: i know my timing is off, but i wanted to tell you i’ve liked you… a lot. for a while.
My heart stopped when I read it.
His timing. Was. Awful.
I didn’t know it was possible to be flattered and hurt and enraged all at once. Why was he telling me this now? Didn’t he already know having to leave Cedarville was painful enough? It’s not like I could do anything about it. Why did he decide to say anything at all?
I never replied. And after seeing him in the office, I regret not saying something. Because I miss his friendship. We always had a natural rhythm, and it was always so easy to talk to him. If I’m lucky to even get that much back, I’ll consider it a success.
Then there’s quite possibly the most difficult step: Forgiving my dad. He’s trying. I can see he’s trying. He’s not drinking, he has a steady job, and he’s building his trust with me. The very least I can do is be open to forgiving him, but that’s something that takes time. And it’s hard not to be difficult when he’s brought home strangers to live with us when he should be focused on fixing our relationship.
It’s even harder not to harbor the resentment I’ve held on to.
As the next week goes by, we fall into our own routines. Nonnie typically keeps to herself in Grams’s room, yet she’s unsurprisingly forward about blaring Queen every single morning. Peach has been sleeping downstairs on the fold-out couch and keeps her arrangement of conservative skirts and boxy blouses in the hall closet.
Aside from rearranging the living room furniture to create an open practice space, Saylor does little to disturb anyone. Although, I’m convinced he doesn’t own a pair of shoes because he’s always walking around barefoot in his loose yoga pants. I’ve started going straight to my room after school to avoid him asking me if I want to practice with him.
On the upside, despite a slightly rusty performance during Wavettes tryouts (we had thirty minutes to learn and rehearse a thirty-second routine in small groups and I’d accidentally stepped right instead of left, throwing the routine off for a moment), I’d earned my old spot back on the team.
Raegan was the first person standing in front of the list when Coach Velasquez posted it. She threw her arms around me and jumped up and down, and I couldn’t help but bounce back in excitement. Even Whitney congratulated me at lunch.
My dad was ecstatic that I’d remade the team, but that enthusiasm faded when I politely told him I didn’t want him at the games. I know his presence would only draw attention from my classmates, and I’m trying to put that part of my life behind me.
One afternoon, I come home after school to find Peach cooking in the kitchen. I try not to let it annoy me too much that she’s taken charge of dinner. That used to be something my dad and I did together. Sometimes we would even imitate Chopped and pull random ingredients from the kitchen and attempt to make a dish from it. Whenever it came out tasting horribly, we’d order a pizza and laugh about where we went wrong.
My dad isn’t home yet. I decide this is a good opportunity to work on step 12 and push Peach toward going home to her own family.
I sit on the barstool, casually flipping open my history book. “Brisket?” I guess from the savory smells wafting from the oven.
She glances up. “Absolutely.”
“I bet your family misses your cooking. What’s your daughter’s name? Veronica?”
Peach pauses for an instant, and I can see a wave of sadness fall over her delicate features. “Yes.” Her tone is soft for once. “And Bailey. Who’s a sophomore this year.”
I let silence hang over us for a moment. Before I can chicken out, I say, “They’d want you to come home, right? You should, you know, talk to them.”
The edges of her mouth jump into a frown. Her gaze is distant, and I can see I’ve dug my way into a sensitive topic. I try not to feel bad, but if I don’t get them to leave, then things won’t go back to how they were before.
Peach excuses herself. When she returns a moment later, I notice her eyes are a little red.
I tell myself it’s better this way, but the guilt clings to me like a static garment all through dinner.
The next week at school is better, but not easier. Especially during lunch. Jay barely makes eye contact with me, yet he’s always more than happy to talk to me during history. Whitney only directs attention toward me when I ask her a question. It’s not like she’s pushing me away—it’s worse. She’s basically attempting to ignore my existence.
But with my twelve steps in the back of my mind, I’m attempting to right things with my friends. So I sit and listen as Raegan freaks out about presidential responsibilities and while Lin stresses about the decathlon team. I’ve only genuinely laughed once, and that was when Colton started throwing tater tots at Whitney to make her stop talking about a Kate Spade purse she was obsessing over. He quickly shut up when she threatened to chuck his iPhone across the cafeteria.
I tell myself that if I keep making an effort, it can only get better from here.
It’s Friday. I’m feeling pretty confident in my toffee oxfords and speckled navy top that I’ve paired with my favorite jeans. I’ve even accessorized with a pair of golden pineapple stud earrings.
Today I’m focusing on step 5—making sure Lin feels valued in our friendship—which is why I got up extra early to help her hang Earth Club posters throughout the school before first period. I find her standing on a step stool she borrowed from the theater department. She’s placing a piece of tape over the first flyer. I read it as she slaps it on the wall.
Earth Club!
Let’s do our part to help our environment
Tuesdays at 3:50
Room 208
(Free cookies during 1st meeting)
“We’re not beneath bribing people with food?” I ask.
Lin scoots the stool over several feet. “I’m not letting Principal Lawrence cancel the only club I care about.” She places another flyer on the wall. “So I’m hoping my cookies will bring the boys to the yard.” After a brief pause, she adds, “And girls.”
“I didn’t know Earth Club was so sexual.”
“Oh, shut up. Hand me another piece of tape.”
I do, then we move another few feet down the hall. “Are you coming to Raegan’s on Saturday?” I ask. It’s not unlike Lin’s parents to spring a family gathering on her at the last minute.
“Yup,” Lin replies. Today she’s wearing a knee-length flouncy skirt with a white V-neck that has a giant recycle symbol printed on the front. She pushes her frames up the bridge of her nose before saying, “I haven’t been to her house in a while.”
“You haven’t?” I assumed the three of them stayed close over the summer.
Lin shakes her head. “Raegan’s mom is pregnant—”
“WHAT?”
“I know!”
“How—?”
�
�Are you really asking me that?”
I shake my head, shocked. Raegan’s always been an only child, and she certainly acts like an only child. She’s always been confident in her personal achievements, but she can be a little self-centered. Like the time she made Whitney and me help her find the classiest pair of heels to wear to her cousin’s wedding when she knew we both had a major biology exam the next day. She would have outright refused if the situation were turned around, which makes it hard to picture her as a big sister.
“Sorry, I just—wow. That’s a surprise.”
“I’m pretty sure it was a surprise for them, too, but they’re embracing it,” Lin says as we round the corner at the end of the hall. “I didn’t see her for most of the summer because she was working as a counselor at Camp Bridgeport. She wanted a summer job where she could escape her mother’s hormonal episodes. Plus, Whitney was super busy with dance camp.” I hand her a piece of tape so she can secure the next flyer. “Meanwhile I signed up for an online pre-SAT class because I was that bored without you guys.”
I won’t lie. This makes me feel a little better.
“Hey, so,” I say as we move into a different hallway. “Have you figured out if you’re going to let Breck on the decathlon team?”
Lin lets out a deeply annoyed sigh. “It’s just—” She thinks for a moment. “I don’t understand why, you know? It makes no sense. And I don’t want him screwing up our chances if he’s not going to take it seriously.”
I nod. As much as I want to work toward step 8 and be a good friend by helping Breck out, I also understand Lin’s concerns. She’s really put her heart in this over the last two years.
“I can find out,” I offer.
She raises an eyebrow, skeptical. “Yeah?”
I shrug. How hard can it be? Breck is pretty transparent.
Ten minutes before the bell rings, the halls become more congested. We’ve successfully hung three dozen flyers down three different hallways. I’m putting the extras in Lin’s binder as she collapses the step stool.