Twelve Steps to Normal

by Farrah Penn

  “Hey, Alex!”

  I turn to see Lin waving at him from across the hall. My pulse sputters for a quarter of a second. We have algebra together and have already been through the polite, Hi! Hey! You’re back for good? Yeah. That’s awesome. Yeah, it is, routine. This is the first time I’ll voluntarily be in his presence, and my stomach is all nerves.

  You need to talk to him.

  He waves before changing direction and walking toward us, but I shake step 7 and the entire list out of my head. It’s not the right time.

  His text pops back into my head. i know my timing is off—

  Lin’s voice interrupts my thoughts. “Do you have tech first period?”

  “Yup,” Alex replies. He’s not wearing his beanie today, but he is wearing a navy deadCenter Film Festival T-shirt with a long sleeve black tee underneath. The double shirts are typical Alex Ramos attire. His hair is slightly damp and curling at the ends, as if he rushed out of the shower to get here in time.

  Lin holds out the step stool to him. “Would you mind running this back with you? I have to deliver the extra flyers to Mrs. Dwight’s room before the bell rings.”

  “No problem.” He takes it from her, then glances at me. “Are you rejoining Earth Club this year?”

  His tone is friendly. If he’s holding a grudge against the whole text thing, I can’t tell. But it’s his smile that throws me off kilter. It’s a sincere smile, something I didn’t expect.

  I find I can’t look away.

  “Yeah, I am.”

  “Cool.” He looks back at Lin. “See you guys later.”

  I watch him head down the hall, adjusting his backpack as he goes. I never told anyone about the text—not even Lin. My friends knew about Alex’s obvious crush on me in middle school, but since we’d gone our separate ways freshman year I’m sure they assumed those feelings evaporated.

  As I watch him disappear down the hall, a strange feeling of loneliness lingers in the corners of my heart. But as fast as it comes, it fades just as quickly when I turn away.

  I’m in a surprisingly good mood when I walk into Algebra II after lunch. Raegan had a Leadership meeting and Whitney had a dentist appointment, so it was only Breck, Colton, Lin, Jay, and me at the table—which meant Jay made eye contact with me on more than one occasion. He even offered me some of his cheese fries without doing that weird jaw-clenching thing he does when he feels uncomfortable. It was as if we were both relieved Whitney wasn’t the barrier between us having a friendly conversation.

  On the flip side, I feel guilty that I spent all lunch feeling relaxed without her there. I felt even guiltier when Jay pulled his notebook out in AP US History and drew us up a hangman game to play as Mr. Densick explained today’s Data Based Question. Even though we stuck to movie titles, I couldn’t help overthinking it. I mean, this was our way of flirting with each other before he officially asked me out. But he has Whitney, so this definitely isn’t flirting. Or is it sub-flirting?

  Then I’d caught him staring at Jana Nelson’s cleavage while thinking of a letter to guess in the puzzle and decided that I was surely overthinking it. Did he do that when we were dating? Stare at other girls? No. I mean, I would have noticed. At least, that’s what I tell myself.

  But a tiny part of me questioned how much he’d changed since I’ve been gone.

  The warning bell rings just as Alex flops into his assigned desk next to me. My eyes catch his profile. He looks tired, as if he didn’t sleep well last night. I didn’t notice it this morning, but there are dark circles under his eyes. Alex has never been one to party. I guess the stress of this week has caught up with him.

  When he catches me staring, he pulls his beanie out from his back pocket and tugs it over his hair. He rests his head on his arms, then pulls the beanie over his eyes. Well. Okay then. I grab my spiral and flip it open to a fresh page.

  Mrs. Donaldson walks into the room and begins scrawling something on the board. I hate math even more because of Mrs. Donaldson. She never slows her pace, which makes it hard for me to keep up, and she hates when students ask too many questions. Whitney and I had her freshman year for Algebra I, and I barely passed with a low C. I don’t know what I did to disturb the karmic gods to have her again.

  “Good afternoon, class.” She taps her dry erase marker on the board where a sequence of numbers is written. “Today we’re talking about radical numbers and square roots.”

  Riveting.

  I open my textbook and do my best to pay attention to the formulas she scribbles, but my mind wanders back to Jay and Whitney. This week she made it very clear that they’re already planning on going to homecoming together. It’s obvious that she wants my past with Jay to have nothing to do with her present relationship. I guess I can’t blame her, but I wish it were easier to get my head around.

  For now I’m going to focus on Whitney. I can’t control her relationship with Jay, but I can control my friendship with her. That’s why I’m glad Raegan invited us over to her place tomorrow. Maybe if it’s just the four of us without the guys, things won’t be as awkward.

  I copy the example problem from the board. I try and understand it, but I’m already lost in the terminology. I wish Mrs. Donaldson would go easy on us.

  Next to me, Alex twitches in his seat. He’s asleep on his arms again, head on top of his notebook. I stare down at my own spiral and realize nothing I’ve written down makes sense.

  Mrs. Donaldson sets a wicker basket full of Jolly Ranchers on her desk. “For the last ten minutes we’re going to do some Radical Races.”

  I sink in my seat, anxiety swelling in my chest. This is not a game I enjoy. At all. Two people are called up to the board to solve a problem from today’s lesson, and whoever solves it before the timer stops wins a Jolly Rancher.

  Blood rushes to my head and whirs in my ears. I know she thinks it’s good practice, but it’s too nerve-wracking for me to be put on the spot. I never won any rounds, but at least I had Whitney to laugh it off with after class. Sometimes she would even give me her Jolly Rancher, and I never thought it of as a sympathy gift. She was just being a good friend. This year I’m completely on my own.

  “Mr. Ramos.” Mrs. Donaldson is looking straight at Alex. He startles in his seat before lifting his head to look at her. “Perhaps you’ll join us at the board?”

  The whole class is staring at Alex. He blinks away the tiredness in his eyes and says, “Uh—”

  “Now, please.”

  Alex sighs, then slowly shuffles to the front of the room. With his back to the class, he chooses a blue dry erase marker and waits.

  Mrs. Donaldson’s eyes scan the room. I pretend to look really, really interested in the textbook in front of me.

  “Miss Seneca?”

  Crapsticks.

  “Please join him at the board.”

  My chest tightens. A cold panic falls over me. Every single nerve in my body is on high alert. I stare down at my spiral one last time, hoping something sticks, but all I see is a blur of numbers and letters that don’t make sense.

  I stand next to Alex at the board. God, I hate this. I hate her. I would rather endure a pop quiz, because that way I would be able to fail in privacy.

  I pick up a purple marker and stare at the whiteboard in front of me. I try to slow my racing heart by taking a deep breath. It doesn’t work. I know I shouldn’t care what the class thinks, but I do. I remember the look of relief on my classmates’ faces when they were called up to race against me freshman year. They knew it was basically guaranteed they’d win, and they wouldn’t bother hiding their smug looks when they did.

  I don’t look at Alex.

  Mrs. Donaldson reads the problem to us. As soon as we finish writing it on the board, the timer starts. I stare at the jumble of numbers in front of me, wishing I could somehow decipher how to solve it. I raise my marker, but I can’t make my brain understand the functionality of the problem. I need to write something—God, anything—at this point.

 
I hear Alex’s marker tapping the board beside me. My anxiety intensifies. I feel my mouth go dry. I’m about to lose to someone who spent the entire class sleeping. And everyone knows it. A lump builds up in my throat. Instead of concentrating on the problem, I blink back tears of frustration.

  “Time,” Mrs. Donaldson calls. “Please face the class so they can see your work.”

  I hang my head and cap my marker. From beside me, Alex doesn’t make any effort to move, either. I resist the temptation to look at his work.

  “Please face the class,” Mrs. Donaldson repeats.

  I do. As slowly as possible. From my peripheral vision, I can see Alex turning to face the front as well. Instead of looking at the class, I stare down at my oxfords. I pretend I’m anywhere but here.

  A few students let out surprised gasps. That’s followed by a few chuckles. My throat tightens. And then I’m mad. Really mad. I refuse to play a part in this stupid game just to get mocked by my own classmates. I can’t be the only one who doesn’t understand this, but it’s my humiliation that Mrs. Donaldson chooses to put on display.

  Mrs. Donaldson’s voice booms across the room. “Now, what—?”

  Before I can fully comprehend what I’m doing, I march to my desk and grab my things. I don’t have to put up with Mrs. Donaldson belittling me by explaining that this problem was so easy and that I really needed to pay better attention. I refuse to be made a mockery in front of my classmates just because I can’t solve one algebra problem.

  “Miss Seneca!”

  A few hushed whispers fall over the room as I sling my book bag over my shoulder and push my way out the door. Mrs. Donaldson is still calling my name, but I don’t care. There are only a few minutes of class left anyway, and I can’t stand to be in there another second.

  I rush to my locker before the bell rings and grab everything I need for my last three classes. Then I think better of it and grab all the books I’ll need to do homework this weekend. I’m embarrassed enough as it is, and now the entire class knows I’m still an incompetent idiot.

  I slam my locker closed and wander down C hall right before the final bell rings. Crowds of students press around me, and I try and pretend I’m invisible. I allow a few tears to fall down my cheeks before wiping them away, taking a deep breath, and pushing my way into the chemistry classroom.

  NINE

  I’M LOADING DISHES INTO THE dishwasher after dinner on Friday, which is a not so pleasant indication of my current social status. Since there wasn’t a game tonight, Raegan and I grabbed limeades from Sonic after school, but she was spending the rest of her evening developing the Leadership Council agenda for next week. Lin’s parents were dragging her to her cousin’s birthday dinner, and Whitney and Jay went to go see the latest end-of-summer blockbuster. I only know this because at lunch I asked Jay what he was up to tonight and he stumbled awkwardly through his reply.

  I tell myself it’s fine. Good for them. I mean, it’s not like I don’t have plans. I need to practice next week’s Wavette routine and start on a paper for AP History.

  The only reason I’m not holed up in my room right now is because my dad bribed me with allowance money if I helped with chores around the house. And since allowance money equals gas money, I can’t say no. I’ll have my car back soon, which means I’ll be able to escape whenever I choose.

  I can hear muffled conversation coming from the backyard. Short bursts of laughter follow every few minutes. I didn’t make it home in time for the formal sit-down dinner, but Peach saved me a bowl of her stew in the fridge along with a note written in her loopy cursive: Kira! Missed you tonight. Enjoy!

  I’d inhaled it before she could see. I didn’t want her to think she was winning me over because I thought her food was delicious.

  After I turn on the dishwasher, I creep to the back door and peer outside. Saylor’s doing some kind of arm balance on his yoga mat, his long ponytail flopped into his eyes. Nonnie watches from the hammock—When did we get a hammock?—and cheers him on. In the dim lighting, I can see she’s wearing a multi-colored cheetah print head wrap with a bright-orange muumuu.

  “They’re close.”

  The voice startles me. I whirl around to find my dad standing behind me.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says.

  I shrug. He holds out a blue and silver bag and offers me a chocolate-covered peppermint square. For as long as I can remember, he’s always had a stash of them hidden somewhere around the house. He hid other things, too, like liquor bottles, but part of me wants to believe he’s done with that. Whenever I was upset over silly fights with Whitney or if I’d bombed a test that was worth a large chunk of my grade, he’d slip a silver-wrapped square under my bedroom door. It meant he was there if I wanted to talk. That simple gesture always made me feel a little better.

  I stare at the bag. He’s trying. Step 1 is learning to forgive him, and I can’t do that if I don’t hear him out.

  I accept one.

  “They met at the ranch,” my dad continues. I unwrap my chocolate and take a small bite. “Saylor’s parents kicked him out when he was in college.”

  “For drinking?”

  “Among other things.” He stares at Saylor as he twists himself into a backbend. “He started living with Tessa. That was his girlfriend at the time. She’s the one who suggested AA, but when he stopped attending meetings she told him to leave.”

  I can’t find the sympathy to feel bad for him. If he wanted to change, to fix the relationships he was ruining, then he’d have to try to do it.

  “Anyway, he ended up dropping out of OSU so he could work full time at a grocery store to afford rent.” My dad finishes chewing. “But he was evicted after spending nearly all his paychecks on alcohol. Eventually, his friends wouldn’t let him couch crash anymore, and he was spending his nights on park benches. That was his rock bottom, I think. After that he went to the library to use the wi-fi and found Sober Living.”

  I’d expected him to say that Saylor went back to his parents for help, that they were the ones who sent him away. The fact that it was his decision surprises me.

  “Nonnie was the first person at the ranch who didn’t go easy on him,” he continues. “On the first day, he cut in front of her in the breakfast line. Oh, man. If there’s one thing everyone learned that morning, it was not to mess with Nonnie. She called him out in front of the entire room, and I don’t think he was used to anyone telling him that he couldn’t get what he wanted.”

  Saylor kicks his legs up, going into a handstand. Nonnie waves her hands in the air, her mouth moving as she tries to control her grin. Saylor ends up on his back with his hands clutched to his stomach, laughing.

  “Sober Living is a huge support team, and that’s what he needed. He really has come a long way.”

  I crumble my foil wrapper into a tiny, silver ball. The chocolate feels heavy in my mouth. I know what he’s doing. He’s trying to convince me that his friends are good people. That maybe if I have a little bit of empathy, it’ll make it easier for them to live here. But learning to live in the absence of Grams means attempting to be a family on our own, and that’s not easy to do with three strangers living under our roof.

  I fold my arms across my chest. “Then what?”

  My dad’s forehead wrinkles in confusion. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, what’s the next step? Interviewing for jobs he obviously doesn’t want? Won’t that just make him even more miserable than before?”

  My dad shakes his head. “He wants to become a certified yoga instructor, but he needs to find a job so he can pay off his rehab first. It’s a step in the right direction.” He stares back out the window. “Now that he has a goal, he’s more positive about the outlook of his future.”

  I watch Saylor kick himself up into a handstand. It’s selfish, but I hope he lands a job soon. That way I’ll complete step 11—getting him to leave.

  I point to the hammock. “Does he sleep out there?”
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br />   “Yeah. Says it brings him peace, being out there with nature and all. The first night he got eaten alive by mosquitos, so I bought him a net. But he says he’s comfortable. I guess that’s all that matters.”

  Nonnie struggles to get out of the hammock. After a moment, Saylor stands up and helps her.

  I turn away from the screen door. My stomach twists in uncomfortable knots. I can’t really explain why. Maybe it’s because I used to have the same comfort and familiarity with my dad and Grams as everyone here has with each other, and now I don’t have either. They support each other. Trust each other. It’s everything I want with my own dad, which makes step 2—learning how to come together as a two-person family without Grams—all the more important.

  I start to head upstairs, but my father’s voice stops me.

  “Listen, Goose.” He runs one hand over his dark stubble. “We haven’t had an opportunity to talk about things.”

  I grab a strand of my hair between my fingers, but I don’t look at him. “I think things are pretty self-explanatory.”

  His eyes widen. “You do?”

  “You’re so disconnected from your old life. All of you. You don’t get that this isn’t the way the real world works.”

  “Hey now, I don’t necessarily think that’s fair to say.”

  I know I’m taking out my annoyances on him, but it’s as if I’m the only one who doesn’t think this entire situation is absurd. “Then why are they here? Because you’re overcompensating for your loneliness? You had Aunt June. You had me. But you think you don’t have anyone but these people who understand what it’s like to feel the same way you did.”

  The light is gone from his eyes. “Kira—”

  “Now it’s like you’re all hiding out here. You’re not ready to let go of whatever bullshit positivity and rainbows they fed you at that ranch—”

  “Kira.” He says my name with more authority now. “I know I’ve let you down in the past, but if I didn’t believe I was ready to be a responsible father figure for you, I wouldn’t be here.”