Twelve Steps to Normal

by Farrah Penn

Alex’s phone alarm beeps. He shuts it off, then looks across the street. “I better go get them.”

  Oh, right. His little cousins. I slide off the bed of his truck. “I should get home,” I say. We’re both well aware I haven’t answered his question.

  I hear Alex’s engine start as I walk to my car. I slip into the driver’s seat, but I don’t start it right away. Once I see his truck disappear in the elementary school parking lot, I start the engine. But I can’t seem to shake Alex’s words from my mind the entire drive home.

  Is this what I really want?

  TWENTY ONE

  THE NEXT DAY IN HISTORY class, I don’t spare myself any glances at Jay. At least, not until he taps on my arm, asking to borrow a pen after Mr. Densick hits us with a pop quiz on the Revolutionary War.

  I hand him an extra from my bag, noticing he has a dried smear of toothpaste under his bottom lip. Those were the lips I’d imagined kissing over and over while I was living in Portland. I fantasized about him grabbing my hand in a dark movie theater, and how my stomach would flip whenever his steady blue eyes fell on mine.

  But then I remember those small memories that tugged at my brain over the past few weeks. He’d never checked up on me when I was in Portland, not even through text. Then there were trivial things, like how he hadn’t put any effort into my Christmas gift and homecoming mum when we were together. Plus, at Breck’s party… it was like talking to a stranger. Not to mention Friday night at Sonic, when he made a not-so-innocent move on me and then ditched me to get drunk at Winsor Lake.

  A funny emptiness sits in the pit of my stomach. That’s when I know—it’s different now. I don’t feel like my nerves are on fire when I look at him. Those overwhelming feelings have diminished. There’s a small pang of sadness in my chest, but I know it’s not because he’s with Whitney.

  It’s not until after class that I realize—maybe this is what it feels like to fall out of love.

  I text my dad after school to let him know I’m staying a little later to watch Lin’s decathlon practice, where they’re having a mock competition to prepare for the Super Quiz, which is an event open to the public that doesn’t happen officially until early next year. But, as Lin says, preparing ahead of time in front of an audience doesn’t hurt.

  Mr. Densick is the teacher in charge of the team, so everyone meets in his classroom after school. They’ve managed to rope in two other students to observe, and for the next forty-five minutes they do their best to answer a series of challenging questions Mr. Densick has prepared.

  Lin second-guesses herself a lot, and I know the pressure of the time limit doesn’t help. Surprisingly, Breck answers a good amount of them correctly. I can tell he’s proud of himself, too, especially when Mr. Densick compliments him at the very end.

  Once they wrap it up, I see her breathe a sigh of frustration. Breck must notice as well, because he holds up his hand in a high five, which Lin dejectedly meets.

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” he’s saying as I walk over. “You did good.”

  “You did good,” Lin replies, and it’s not at all sarcastic. “I’m the one who sucks.”

  “No negative attitudes allowed in this room,” Mr. Densick says, shuffling through papers on his desk.

  I give her an encouraging smile. “Breck’s right. Also, you both were great.”

  Lin gives me a quick hug. “Thanks for sticking around.” She turns to Breck. “Honestly? And don’t get an even bigger head, but I’m glad you’re on the team.”

  Breck lets out an exaggerated gasp, clutching his chest dramatically. “Did everyone just hear that?”

  “Okay, I literally said—”

  “LIN PHAM IS GLAD I’M ON THE TEAM.”

  I wave good-bye to both of them. “I should get home.”

  She’s trying not to smile at Breck’s enthusiasm, but cracks. “Thanks again for com—”

  “LIN THINKS I’M THE BEST.”

  “Don’t twist my words!”

  I can’t help but grin. It makes me happy to see them succeeding with Breck’s contribution to the team.

  When I get home, I don’t go inside right away. I sit in the silence of my car and scroll through old photos on my phone, stopping when I find the section of selfies I’d made Jay take with me after a football game freshman year. We’re both in uniform making silly faces, except for the last one where we’re both cracking up over something.

  My heart remains still in my chest, not fluttering even once.

  It feels so weird. Final.

  I pull the keys out of the ignition and walk inside. Wallis bounces around me in his familiar enthusiastic greeting, but once he gets the attention he desires he pads away.

  I set my book bag down by the stairs and wander into the kitchen. Peach is sitting at the kitchen table, my dad’s laptop perched in front of her. She’s wearing thin frames as she studies the screen. A pile of opened mail sits beside her.

  “Hey!” she says. “I brought home some cupcakes from the bakery. If you’re hungry, there’s stew on the stove.”

  I’m about to thank her when my eye catches the piece of mail at the top of the stack. It’s addressed to my dad, but I notice the return address reads CEDARVILLE HIGH SCHOOL. I pick it up, realizing that it’s my progress report.

  I’m immediately infuriated. “Did you go through my mail?”

  Peach glances up, startled. Then she notices the envelope in my hand.

  My dad emerges from his room. “What’s going on?”

  I cross my arms, glaring at her. It’s not enough that they’re infiltrating my home. She has absolutely no right going through my personal items.

  My dad takes my progress report from me as Peach tries to explain. “Your dad wanted me to help him get some things in order. I’m filing all of it for—”

  “Kira, you have a D in algebra?”

  There’s anger in his voice, but I’m too mad to worry about that. Instead I turn to Peach. “You can’t just go through my stuff whenever you feel like it.”

  “It was in your daddy’s name, I just assumed—”

  My dad steps in. “That’s okay, Peach. I know you’re trying to help.”

  I can’t believe it. My dad is actually defending her. I thought we were on the verge of a breakthrough after we talked the other night on the way to Lucky’s.

  My face heats up, and I feel my defenses rise. “It’s not okay. What about this is okay?”

  I can tell by the look on my dad’s face that my outburst is not welcome, but I don’t care.

  “Grams used to take care of the finances,” he says. “I needed a little help getting organized, that’s all.”

  Peach stands up. “I—”

  “No.” I don’t want to hear it. I’m tired of her always hanging around, worming her way into my life. “I don’t care what my dad says. I don’t want your help—I don’t want you here. You’re not Grams, and you’re not my mother.”

  Silence.

  Dead. Silence.

  I can’t look at my dad. I know he’s furious, but he’s not the only one. I don’t even know why he wanted me to move back here in the first place. Not when he has his Sober Living friends that apparently make his life so much better now.

  “Kira, please apologize.”

  His authoritative tone is back. I ignore it, taking the stairs two at a time, already aware that I’m going to be in huge trouble, but I don’t care. I close myself off in my room. All I wanted was a normal life with my dad. My dad. Nobody else. I don’t need anyone taking Grams’s place.

  Wallis scratches at the door. Sighing, I get up and let him in. He sniffs around my bed skirt before nudging my hand with his nose, urging me to pet him.

  I remember Nonnie mentioning that she was the fourth person to adopt Wallis. It’s weird, because even though his prior families abandoned him, he still has this automatic trusting demeanor. He’s been cast aside so many times but gives each new person another chance.

  A voice in the back of my
mind says, You’re the one not giving them a chance.

  It says, You’re being too hard on him. On everyone.

  Wallis paws at my bed. I let him jump up, which causes the mattress to creak and sag under his weight. I’m still convinced he’s part Shetland pony.

  I don’t do my homework. Instead I walk over to my desk and unfold my twelve-steps list. My dad and I need to learn how to make a life for ourselves, and that means he can’t use them as a safety net anymore.

  It’s time for us to start being our own family, just the two of us.

  TWENTY TWO

  AFTER LAST NIGHT, I PLAN to leave for school without interacting with anyone. I’m still not in a stellar mood. It’s one thing for my dad to let the recoverees stay here, but to let them meddle in my life? That’s a boundary I’m not about to let any of them cross.

  My dad is buttering a piece of toast when I walk into the kitchen. I brace myself for some type of scolding, but I’m surprised to see the softness in his expression when he meets my eyes.

  “Goose, about last night.” He sets the knife down beside the plate. “I understand why you’re upset. I don’t want you to feel like anyone is trying to fill Grams’s shoes.”

  The defensive side of me begins to dissolve. Could he actually understand why I’m upset about involving them in our personal life?

  “But I’d still like you to apologize to Peach. It wasn’t fair to lash out like you did.”

  And there it is: The proof that he doesn’t really understand. Because to him, it’s more important that I apologize when I’m the one whose life has been completely derailed not only by his addiction, but by inviting these people here and expecting me to act like everything is perfectly fine.

  I grab an apple from the fruit bowl. “I’m going to be late.”

  Then I leave. I tell myself it’s not as harsh as it feels.

  My lunch period was spent listening to Raegan discuss Leadership Council plans for the homecoming dance while Whitney ran through her hair, nails, and makeup appointments with Jay, who seemed like he was only half-interested. But when Jay mentioned his “brilliant idea”—his words—of having the guys’ basketball team moon the Homecoming King and Queen during the first dance, Raegan almost snapped the pencil she was holding before going off on him. After my recent revelation, I was certain that any feelings I may still have had toward him had completely evaporated.

  I’m pulling into the driveway after the homecoming parade—which was organized flawlessly, all thanks to Raegan—when I spot a black sedan I don’t recognize in front of my house. I slide the gear in Park and step out as Margaret emerges from the car.

  All the blood in my body freezes.

  She’s smiling happily as she walks over to me, her tall heels clacking on the pavement. When she removes her Audrey Hepburn–style sunglasses, I’m relieved to see that she doesn’t have any concern expressed across her face.

  “Hello, Kira!” she says, her tone friendly. “I know this is unexpected, but I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d swing by.”

  I try and keep the panic off my face as a million different thoughts churn in my brain at once. Does she suspect something? Did the neighbors report unusual behavior of us having too much company here? No, that couldn’t happen. Because even if they did, how would they know Margaret is my social worker?

  “Oh, well, I guess you have good timing.” I hold up my dance bag. “I’m just getting home from practice.”

  She nods, looking toward the front door. “Mind if I do a walk-through?”

  This is a nightmare. I can’t outright say no, because then it’ll definitely look suspicious. I also have no idea who’s home right now, waiting to give away all the big secrets I’ve conveniently left out of my conversations with Margaret. Despite fighting with my dad and Peach over my grades, I wasn’t ready for this moment. I’m happy here. I can’t be sent off again.

  I do my best to give an easygoing shrug. “Sure.”

  We walk up the front porch, and my hands shake as I unlock the front door. When I start to open it, there’s a booming woof as Wallis comes charging toward us.

  I take hold of Wallis’s collar, but don’t put too much effort into stopping him from jumping on Margaret. Maybe Wallis’s enthusiasm will make her uncomfortable, therefore getting her out of here quicker.

  “Well, this is certainly a new addition.”

  “Yeah, he’s our rescue.” Wallis rubs his nose over her pencil skirt, and she takes a tiny step back. “He’s good. Just extremely friendly.”

  “Mmm.” Her eyes wander down the hall that leads to the living room, and I’m relieved to see that no one’s occupying it. Still, I can’t let go of the anxiety in my chest as she moves onward. If anyone is here, I hope to whatever higher power exists that they don’t choose now to come out and say hello.

  “Your father isn’t home?” Margaret says once she’s surveyed the kitchen.

  His car wasn’t in the driveway, so I know he’s not here. It’s a miracle that no one else is home, and I don’t need anyone walking in right this second. I have no idea how I would explain.

  “Still at work,” I tell her, still trying to figure out how to end this as quickly as possible. “Sometimes they need him to stay a bit later.”

  She nods. It’s hard to read her expression, but she doesn’t seem troubled. “I have confirmed that your father is continuing his AA meetings.”

  This doesn’t surprise me, especially since he’d told me he was in touch with Michael. He really is committing to his sobriety.

  “And counseling,” I add, hoping she can’t sense the anxiety in my voice.

  “Good, good.” She takes another look around as Wallis sniffs at her ankles. “I was hoping to check on him, but seeing you was really the goal. Let me ask you this, though. Have you picked up on anything that could be considered out of the ordinary for him? Any unusual behaviors?”

  The truth gathers on the tip of my tongue. What if I told her, admitted everything about the recoverees living here? She might be able to use her power to kick everyone else out without sending me back to Aunt June. It’s a tempting thought, but one I’m not willing to risk.

  I shake my head.

  “We’ve been good, really. But I have your number and, honestly, I appreciate you being here for me.”

  It’s blatant sweet talk, but not necessarily untrue. Still, Margaret looks pleased. “Of course, of course. I’ll get out of your way.” She gives Wallis a reluctant pat on the head, and the touch of affection causes him to happily roll over onto his back.

  As we’re walking out to her car, I spot a familiar figure walking down the sidewalk in the distance. No, no, no. It’s Saylor. My heart pounds as Margaret digs through her purse for her keys. If she sees him come inside, then it’s over. Done. She’ll find out I lied and will call my dad and—

  A short beep sounds as Margaret unlocks her car, then slides inside. I look back down the sidewalk to see Saylor’s an uncomfortably close distance away.

  “Again, call me anytime you need me,” Margaret says.

  “Sure. Will do.” I hope I don’t sound as distracted as I feel.

  With a small wave, she shuts her door and starts the engine. Saylor’s only a few feet away when she shifts into gear and drives down the street. I hold my breath, waiting for her to circle around, but she doesn’t. After a few more seconds, the car disappears from sight.

  I let out my breath.

  “Hey,” Saylor says. “Who was that?”

  “No one. Don’t you have to work?” It comes out more accusatory than I want it to, but I’m still stressing from that uncomfortably close call.

  If Saylor notices, he doesn’t show it. “I mixed up the schedule. I don’t work again until tomorrow.”

  He opens the door. I’m about to pull a disappearing act to my room when he says, “You know, I’m pretty good at algebra.”

  Heat boils inside my chest. Peach must have told him about my D in algebra. I can’t have
any sort of privacy around here.

  “I’m working on it,” I say, avoiding his gaze.

  Saylor just shrugs. “All right, then.”

  I head to my room and change out of my dance clothes. It’s annoying that Saylor’s forcing himself into my business. He should really be focusing on saving up the money for his yoga profession or whatever.

  I plop myself down at my desk, determined to finish all my algebra homework. We’ve only started learning about quadratic functions, but of course Mrs. Donaldson assigned the hardest problems in the textbooks (all even numbered so we couldn’t cheat and get the odd answers from the back index). Lin and Raegan are in pre-calc, so we don’t even have the same textbook. And I definitely don’t want to text Alex for help, because then he’d ask why I haven’t gone to see Ana. It’s not that I don’t want to—Ana is great—but Wavettes practice this week has been even more demanding with the homecoming game on Friday.

  I sigh, slamming my book closed. Frustrated with my own incompetence, I walk over to my window. Saylor is lying in the hammock reading a book, the hood of his sweatshirt covering his long ponytail. Before I can change my mind, I begrudgingly grab my textbook and go downstairs.

  “You know anything about quadratic equations?” I yell from the porch.

  Saylor looks up from his book. The tree leaves above him rustle. “I know a good amount, yeah.”

  He gets out of the hammock, and I feel a tiny surge of relief as he follows me back inside. I lay out my textbook on the kitchen table and point to the cluster of problems.

  “Give me a sec,” Saylor says, scanning through the previous lesson. “It’s been a minute since I’ve done this.”

  I nod, grateful not to feel forced to fill this silence. I sneak a glance toward the living room, but Peach isn’t there. That’s weird. She’s usually here by now. A small part of me feels guilty for the relief that eases in my chest.

  “Right, so you first have to make sure the equations are set to zero before you can solve.” Saylor takes my pencil and begins writing down the first problem. “Also, keep in mind that the square of a negative will always be positive. Here, let’s walk through this one.”