Twelve Steps to Normal

by Farrah Penn

  “Where are we going?”

  We’ve been driving in silence for a few minutes. I open my mouth to give him a destination, but I blank. I only know I didn’t want to go to school. I hadn’t thought where we’d go instead.

  Alex must sense my hesitation because he says, “I know a place.”

  His sense of control puts me at ease as I settle back in the worn seat. We drive another block before Alex pulls into the donut shop a few stores down from 7-Eleven.

  I smile. This is the place where my dad would buy éclairs for my birthday. He’d also get me a carton of chocolate milk until one day in sixth grade when I told him I was “too old” for it and wanted coffee instead. After one sip of the bitter tar-fluid I immediately regretted it, but I was too proud to tell him I preferred chocolate milk.

  Alex holds the door open for me. I’m greeted with the warm scent of freshly sugared pastries. The glass case before us holds dozens of frosted options.

  I choose a strawberry sprinkle. He chooses a chocolate glaze. On a whim I grab a carton of chocolate milk from the door of the glass cooler. Alex doesn’t make fun of me. He even pays, even though I insist I should.

  “I’m the one who asked you to skip,” I say as we walk out. “I should at least buy you a donut.”

  “It’s not like you had to try hard to convince me.” His warm gaze finds mine. “I wanted to come with you.”

  My cheeks flush, and I turn into the same sugary, frosted goo that coats my donut.

  When we get back on the road, Alex’s hand finds the radio knob. “Music?”

  Sensual jazz music flows from its permanent speaker prison.

  “Oh god, no,” I laugh as I release my donut from its bag. “It sounds like the sound track leading up to a bad sex scene.”

  Alex accidentally taps the brakes, jolting us.

  I turn twelve dozen shades of red. Why would I say that?

  Alex lets out a nervous laugh, and I’m thankful when he changes the subject. “I don’t think you’ve skipped school a day in your life.”

  I give a small shrug. “There’s a first time for everything.”

  From the way he glances at me, I know this is his roundabout way of fishing for information. He skipped with me, no questions asked. He deserves to know what’s going on.

  “It’s like… ever since I’ve been back I’ve felt like I’ve been walking on one of those fun house bridges. The ones that try and throw off your balance, you know? And every time I feel like I’m making it closer to the end, the bridge shifts and I’m trying to keep myself from toppling over.” I trace my finger around the edge of the door handle. “If that makes any sense.”

  He’s quiet for a moment. “You told me the other day that you wanted the life you had before everything with your dad happened.”

  “Certain things,” I admit, thinking of my list. I’d give anything to have Grams back. Of course, I still want the recoverees gone. “But the more I try and force it, the more distant I feel.”

  “Maybe that’s the problem.”

  “What?”

  “Forcing things to be the way they were before. I know people make mistakes, and I won’t pretend like I’m an expert in what’s going on in your life, but even when people give us second chances it doesn’t mean it’s going to be the same.”

  My mind lingers on that word: second chances. Despite me ignoring That Text, he’d easily fallen back into the rhythm of our previous friendship like nothing happened. My non-response must have hurt him, just like ignoring Lin, Whitney, and Raegan had hurt them. But he’d stood up for me in Mrs. Donaldson’s class, and here he was cutting class with me.

  My heart flutters. Could he be giving me another chance?

  “So you think someone should embrace a situation they’re put in?”

  “Yeah, if it’s good.” Alex glances at me. “I know working with my mom and sister at Rosita’s isn’t glamorous, but it’s going to help us pay for college.”

  I study him. He’s never been afraid to be fully himself. Most students I know still complain that their parents are so embarrassing, yet Alex talks about working with his mom and sister in his family’s restaurant so casually. With pride.

  That’s when a twinge of guilt strikes me. Because I haven’t been accepting of the recoverees. They’re people who are trying to change for the better, like my dad. And despite my crummy attitude, they’ve been good to me. Even after my outburst about my progress report, Peach still makes my lunch every day. Saylor’s helped me with my homework, and even though Nonnie’s been better at giving me space, she’ll still check up on me from time to time to make sure I’m doing okay. They don’t have to do any of that, but they do.

  Alex starts to merge onto the highway.

  “Where are we going?”

  “On an adventure,” he says, grinning. “You look like you need one.”

  TWENTY FIVE

  ALEX DRIVES US TO CANTOR Creek, a slightly bigger town thirty minutes down the road. Tons of seniors always make a trip here before prom because their mall is bigger than ours, which means there’s a larger dress selection. Even though the dilapidated buildings and charming storefront displays are similar to Cedarville, it feels different. Nobody here knows who we are.

  Alex parks the truck on Main Street, which is double the length of the Main Street in Cedarville. It’s a chilly day—a reminder that Halloween will be here before we know it—but I don’t mind. Because even though it’s brisk, the sun is shining and I’m feeling good. Great, even. Better than I have in a while.

  We walk past a few beaderies and bookstores before entering a particularly dusty antique shop called Memaw’s Attic. An enormous tub of skeleton keys catches my eye. I pick one up.

  “I wonder what doors these unlock.”

  Alex reaches for one with an ornate handle. “Remember the time you lost your keys on the class trip to Austin?”

  I set the key back in the pile. Eighth graders at Cedarville Middle get to go on a class trip to see the capitol and watch an educational film in the neighboring Imax theater. On the bus ride there, my purse had toppled over and my house keys had made their great escape.

  I freaked out after lunch when I was searching for my pack of gum, discovering my keys weren’t there. Whitney came back on the bus with me to help me look. Alex was already inside grabbing his sweatshirt from his seat. I remember he’d asked why we were on our hands and knees and when I told him, he started crawling on the gross, dirty floor with us. Whitney was the one who found them a few seats down from ours. I was so relieved.

  I don’t think I ever thanked Alex for helping.

  “I almost forgot about that,” I say.

  He holds my gaze. “I didn’t.”

  Shame trickles down my spine. I’d rejected him in middle school when I ignored his obvious feelings toward me, and I’d moved on to Jay when I knew I didn’t have a chance with Alex at the Sadie Hawkins dance. Yet after all of that, he’s still willing to be my friend.

  And maybe more?

  I want to show him that the times we spent together were meaningful to me, too.

  “We did that project. At your house,” I find myself saying. “The Ancient Egyptian one?”

  He picks up an antelope saltshaker, grinning. “I had to give Marlina and Ana my allowance money that week. Otherwise they would have never left us alone.”

  He’s not even bothering to hide how he felt before. I set down another key and look at him.

  “Alex—”

  “I know.” He adjusts his beanie—his nervous habit. “I know you didn’t feel the same way about me, but it’s not like I was very subtle.”

  I shake my head, confused. “I just—I don’t get it.”

  He looks amused. “I didn’t think my feelings were that complex.”

  I take a deep breath. There isn’t a better time than now.

  “No, I mean, I wasn’t a good friend. Back in middle school? I hurt you. I knew you liked me, and I didn’t even acknowledge it. A
nd I never replied to that text you sent before I left for Portland. I feel like I always mishandled your feelings. Even after not hearing from me for so long, you’re still here, being a really good friend to me. It’s more than I deserve.”

  I don’t expect him to appear surprised, but he does.

  “Says who?”

  Now I’m confused. “What?”

  “Who says it’s more than you deserve?”

  Is he trying to make this hard for me? I grow frustrated. “You weren’t the only one I stopped texting when I left. I didn’t even keep in touch with Raegan or Lin or Whitney, and Whitney’s still mad about it.”

  “Kira.” His voice is serious now. Quiet. “You were going through a really hard time. Of course, I understood why you didn’t text me back.”

  I look up at him. His face is sincere.

  “After I sent it, I honestly thought it was an unfair thing to do to you. You had enough to deal with already.” He leans against the crate. “Plus, isn’t Whitney dating Jay now? I don’t get why she’s mad at you when she would do something like that knowing what you were going through.”

  This is something I’d thought about, too, but I thought it was selfish of me. It’s not like my friends had ditched me. They were constantly trying to make me feel included even though I was thousands of miles away. Couldn’t they understand why it was hard for me? And yeah, maybe it was unfair that Whitney didn’t tell me about Jay, but I always thought we’d had a solid friendship—one that boys and bouts of silence couldn’t break.

  But it’s not Whitney who understood that. It’s Alex.

  “I was going to ask you to Sadie’s freshman year,” I admit.

  “Really?” Alex blurts, disbelieving.

  “Yeah. Until Lacey did.”

  “And you went with Jay.”

  He doesn’t say it in an accusatory way. He’s stating a simple fact.

  I nod. “Yeah.”

  We stare at each other for a moment. I wonder where we’d be if we could rearrange bits of our past. If he said no to Lacey. If he said yes to me. If I replied to his texts. If I kept in touch with my friends.

  If, if, if.

  We’re quiet as we exit Memaw’s, but I can’t stop thinking of what he said. Am I justified in my feelings of annoyance toward Whitney? Don’t I have a right to be upset with her for hiding such a big secret from me?

  We wind up meandering into an unusually warm gift shop. I watch Alex push up his long sleeves, and the sight of his lean forearms leaves me momentarily dizzy.

  I swallow. “Alex?”

  He turns to me, his eyebrows raised in question.

  “What’s with the two shirts?”

  “Oh. It’s for theater rehearsals. I have to wear all black when I’m moving props, so I wear it under my shirts so I’m not carrying around a change of clothes.”

  I smile. “It’s very trademark of you.”

  “My signature style. I bet you had no idea I was so fashion forward.”

  I laugh, then pick up a bottle of lavender aromatherapy room spray and spritz it in the air. Alex scrambles backward.

  “Sorry,” he tells me, standing a few feet away. “My asthma. I, uh, have really weird triggers.”

  “Oh!” I quickly cap the spray and wave my hand in the air, trying to make it evaporate. “Sorry! I forgot! You had that attack in PE class in fifth grade.”

  Alex groans, pulling his beanie over his head like an ostrich burying its head in sand. “I wish people didn’t remember that.”

  The nurse, the vice principal, and the principal rushed to the gym when Coach Mendez paged for Alex’s emergency inhaler. When his inhaler didn’t work, they had to call 911 and then his parents. Everyone was talking about it at school the next day. To make it even worse, his mom wrote a note that said Alex had to sit out running the mile in PE, but that only made him stand out even more. Lacey even tried to fake an attack to get out of running and when that didn’t work, she made fun of Alex for the rest of the week.

  What did he ever see in her, anyway?

  “I’ve gotten better, but I try and stay away from things that trigger it,” he says as I lead us out of the shop. “Perfumes, hairspray, scented lotions—”

  “Living with two sisters must be so fun.”

  He laughs. “Actually, they let me have my own bathroom for that reason. It’s pretty awesome.”

  “Ugh, that must be nice.” Then I stop myself. Alex doesn’t know about the recoverees, and he knows I don’t have any siblings.

  He throws me a confused glance, but doesn’t push it.

  We get ice cream for lunch even though it’s in the sixties. When I shiver, he takes off his beanie and places it on my head.

  “Sorry I don’t have a coat on,” he says.

  His smile is enough to fuel the warmth inside me.

  We keep walking. He swings his arm next to mine and talks about continuing to build the gigantic Audrey II plant model for the spring musical. He helped make the shell for the homecoming parade, but he has the mechanics all planned out. He created a giant gap in the back to control the movements of the plant’s mouth by using a series of pedals and pulleys to open and close it. As he explains his pulley system, all I can focus on are his hands and the rush I felt when he carefully stabilized me in the dark theater.

  We’re almost back to his car when his phone rings. He gives me an apologetic smile before answering, “Hey.” I watch as the color drains from his face. “Okay. I know, okay? It’s fine. Okay… okay. See you.” He hangs up, then turns to me. “Ana noticed I wasn’t at school today.”

  Dread seeps through my veins. “This is my fault. I shouldn’t have—”

  “Kira.” He steps toward me, his eyes deliberately falling on mine. “You didn’t make me do anything I didn’t want to do.”

  His words launch me halfway to the moon.

  “But we should get back.” He checks the clock on his phone. “Don’t you have to be at the pep rally before the game?”

  I let out a string of curse words. He laughs. I’d almost forgotten about homecoming.

  “Are you going to the game?”

  He stares at me. “Do you want me to go?”

  “I mean… if you wanted—you don’t have to.” Now I’m having a hard time meeting his gaze. Jeez. What is wrong with me? I look up, take a deep breath, and find the word I was searching for. “Yes.”

  “Okay then.” His smile is a promise. “I’ll be there.”

  Alex drops me off at the back doors of the gym, then goes to find a parking spot. Even though it’s Friday, everyone is still here to partake in the homecoming festivities. I pass through a sea of glitter and ribbons and mums, but they don’t bother me like they did before.

  My heart is racing as I maneuver my way to the locker room. I can’t erase the image of the way Alex looked at me in the shop. How he remembered the details of times we spent together.

  How he remembered me.

  Nearly all my teammates are dressed in uniform by the time I enter the locker room.

  Raegan’s the first one to pounce. “Where were you today?”

  I pull my poms out of my dance bag. “I didn’t feel well,” I lie. “But I’m okay now.”

  “Well, good.” She gives me an odd look. “What are you wearing?”

  My hand flies to the top of my head. Alex’s black beanie. I forgot I still had it on.

  “Nothing,” I say quickly. I don’t know why I’m lying to one of my best friends. I stuff it in my bag before peeling off my clothes and changing into my uniform.

  Whitney comes up to me as we’re heading to the gym for the pep rally. I notice she isn’t wearing her mum, but seeing as we’re about to perform that obviously makes sense.

  “You’re here.” She says this as if she expected me to bail on our routine. “Does my lip liner look off?”

  “It’s perfect,” I say, because it is.

  She still double-checks herself in her front-facing camera.

  Raegan le
ads us into the gym, which has been decorated in a sea of red and white. Nearly everyone in the stands is wearing their RED OUT shirts, the ones students get at the beginning of the year to wear to games to show school pride. We take the center of the floor and perform our Rihanna routine. I try to scour the crowd for Alex, but I can’t find him. My heart sinks.

  We have an hour and a half to kill before the game. The Wavettes’ moms made us sandwiches and brought us bags of chips as a quick dinner, so Whitney, Raegan, and I take one corner of the room and sit down to eat. But instead of making idle conversation, Raegan begins intently reading something on her phone.

  Whitney sighs. “Please don’t tell me you’re on that SAT app again.”

  “No, I’m reading pregnancy tips,” Raegan says, not looking our way.

  “For the last time,” Whitney says. “You. Are. Not. The. One. Having. This. Baby.”

  Raegan rolls her eyes. “I know, okay? But my mom isn’t exactly young anymore. There can be more complications when you’re older.” She points to her phone. “Swimming! I should have thought of that. It’s good for joint pain. I need to tell her.” She starts tapping out a text on her phone.

  Whitney rolls her eyes, but I understand. Raegan can’t control her mom’s pregnancy like she can control one of her Leadership Council projects, and that scares her. Plus, I know she wants to be involved in her future sister’s life as much as possible, despite the fact that she hasn’t entered this world just yet.

  While Whitney yammers on about some celebrity couple, I sneak Raegan a text.

  ME: your mom will be fine. don’t worry xo

  I follow up with a few of the dancer and party horn emojis to get her pumped for the game, and she gives me a half smile. I know she won’t stop stressing—it’s ingrained in her nature at this point—but I want her to know she has friends who care about her. It’s the least I can do for all the supportive texts she sent me in Portland. The ones I didn’t bother replying to.

  We make our way outside at six thirty. Because the homecoming court is being announced at halftime, we perform our second routine before the opening kickoff. My switch leaps aren’t the best, but for the most part we nail it.