Searching for Normal

by C. J. Darlington

  I thought about inviting Amelia and Izzy to come along as well, but that felt like too much too soon.

  “I looked into that stable near my house,” Tessa said right as the last bell rang. I was surprised she’d stayed to talk to me through the first bell. Punctuality was important to her.

  “Really?”

  “It’s small, but you should go see it.”

  “Maybe I will.”

  I walked into World History and took a seat in the back, like I usually did. Izzy waved at me from her seat near the middle, and I returned it. I tried to focus, but every time I looked at our teacher, Mr. Lucas, I thought about Jade and Kelsey accosting me at his truck.

  I stared at Izzy’s wild and curly hair, imagining her reaction if she knew my secret. Izzy was almost always bubbly and cheerful. Her Snow-White Dwarf’s nickname might be Happy. If I just straight up told her the truth, I could see her being empathetic and concerned about my well-being, but likely she’d give me too much attention.

  She was a good Christian girl too. Didn’t I just prove in the parking lot when I cursed that I wasn’t? I’d made Jesus my Savior as a kid and decided to stick with that as I grew up, but what did it really mean now? God hadn’t kept my dad from dying, and if I was honest, I didn’t know what I thought about that. But if I shared those doubts with someone like Izzy, she might quote a bunch of Scriptures she’d memorized in Sunday school about how God was trustworthy.

  I believed God was real. I believed the Bible was true. But did God really love me? Why would He? I hadn’t done anything to deserve it. And while in my heart I knew that was the whole point of Jesus’ sacrifice, that it was by grace and all that, reconciling the awful things in this world wasn’t easy.

  At all.

  Chapter 13

  MY AUNT WAS WAITING AT THE CURB in her red Jeep when I walked out of school. A few snow flurries drifted from the slate-tinted sky.

  “What are you doing here?” I hadn’t known she was coming.

  “Get in!” Aunt Laura said with a laugh.

  I spotted Jade exiting the building, so I quickly jumped into the passenger seat. Stanley stuck his head forward from his position in the back seat to rest his head on my shoulder. He licked my cheek. I didn’t mind one bit.

  “Stanley’s got a date,” my aunt said.

  “A . . . what?”

  “Someone’s interested in adopting him.”

  My heart sank.

  Aunt Laura pulled out of the school lot onto the road. Her turn signal clicked, and she glanced over at me. “I told you not to get attached.”

  I reached up and pet the big greyhound’s head. His ears were as soft as a rabbit’s. I’d only known him for a few short days, but he’d already wriggled into my heart. Yeah, he stole half my bed at night and sometimes knocked things down with his tail, but the look he gave me when he squeaked his toy, like a little kid hoping I’ll play catch, was the purest sort of joy I’d ever seen. Even Amelia’s exuberance couldn’t compare.

  “How do you do this?” I asked.

  “First time for me, too.” My aunt’s earrings jangled as we drove over a pothole. “The way I see it, giving him a home temporarily allows me to help even more dogs like him. These dogs sometimes come straight from the track, and they’ve never experienced the things a lot of dogs grow up enjoying.”

  “Like . . .”

  “Toys, for example. I think they’re fun for him because he’s never had them before. At least not as an adult dog.”

  Stanley lay down on the blanket my aunt had placed over the seats. He’d actually raced? It was hard to picture this couch potato revving to 45 mph.

  “No toys?”

  My aunt shook her head. “Racing greyhounds aren’t pets.”

  “Was he mistreated?”

  “Not necessarily, but some are. Just like with horses.”

  “So, he raced?”

  “Yep.”

  “And then they just discarded him?”

  “They can only race until they’re three or four. Someone cared enough about him to bring him up here. He’s from Alabama.”

  I almost laughed, imagining him with a southern accent.

  We drove through Riverbend, and I settled in, lulled by the car’s rhythmic movement. Aunt Laura stopped at Starbucks for coffee, and she bought me a hot tea and ordered Stanley a puppuccino, which was just whipped cream in a cup.

  I giggled like a five-year-old holding it for him. His long nose went all the way to the bottom of the cup, and he smeared whipped cream all over his schnozzle.

  “What do you know about these people?” I asked as we continued on our journey.

  Aunt Laura told me they were a young family with twin ten-year-olds, a boy and girl. Lived near the edge of town. Had never had a dog but wanted one for their kids. No cats.

  I twisted around in my seat and stared at the greyhound, picturing him somewhere else, somewhere not with me. I’d tried really hard not to let him into my heart, but who was I kidding? I could see a stray cat on the sidewalk and in sixty seconds consider it my duty to save it. Or own it.

  “I know you want to meet Mason,” Aunt Laura said.

  I cradled my paper cup, still full of piping-hot tea.

  Aunt Laura stopped at a red light. “You can understand my dilemma?”

  “I guess.”

  “I’m not pretending to know the man now,” she said. “But Mason King broke your mother’s heart. I will never forget that.”

  “It was years ago.”

  She nodded. “And that’s why I don’t pretend to know him. People change. But the core of who we are, our personality, usually doesn’t, Shay.”

  “But can you understand what I’m feeling?”

  “How much did your dad tell you about your other grandfather, your mom’s dad? My dad?”

  “Just that he died.”

  “He wasn’t a good guy.”

  “Okay.”

  “It’s a long story, but Mason reminded me of him.”

  “Have you seen all his videos?”

  “Most,” Aunt Laura said.

  “A guy like that, who helps horses, how bad can he be?”

  “That’s definitely a good quality.”

  “I just need to know,” I said. “Wouldn’t you want to?”

  Aunt Laura sighed. “I probably would.”

  “Then you have to let me.”

  “Shay, your grandparents are still your official guardians. I’m working on that, but they’d have to be involved.”

  “You didn’t tell them?”

  We pulled onto the road of Stanley’s potential family. He stood up, as if sensing the change.

  “Of course they know you have a bio father, but I don’t think they have a name or a face or anything else attached to him.” Aunt Laura was checking the house numbers as we drove into the development. All the houses looked alike, with only the paint colors being different. One house was still under construction with Tyvek covering its exterior, and men worked on the roof. “Honestly, I don’t think they want to even consider he exists.”

  Maybe I was being stupid. I should let the sleeping dog lie, no pun intended. Do I really want to mix up my life even more than it is already? My dad is gone. I should just accept it and move on. Mason King is a complete stranger to me, and yet . . .

  We pulled into the driveway of the home.

  “I’ll stay out here,” I said.

  “What, really?” Aunt Laura pulled up the emergency brake and attached Stanley’s leash to his collar. “Don’t you want to meet them at least?”

  “No thanks.”

  I didn’t tell her I thought I was going to cry. That wouldn’t exactly be of much help, now would it? The front door of the house opened, and someone waved at us.

  Stanley wagged his tail.

  Aunt Laura didn’t push me, and as she walked the lanky greyhound inside, I couldn’t keep myself from bawling. I knew my tears were for more than Stanley, but I couldn’t even begin to narrow down e
verything that was wrong with my life.

  Chapter 14

  “I’M SUPPOSED TO HELP YOU TODAY.” Amelia’s hug squeezed me so hard that her sweater, which felt like some sort of wool, scratched my face. Two days had passed since my meltdown outside Stanley’s potential adopters’ house. It was Friday, and I was ready for school to be over.

  “Whoa, hold up.” I broke free and eyed my friend. I’d barely gotten through the door of drama class before Amelia grabbed me. “Help me with what?”

  “Class, silly!”

  “But—”

  “Ms. Larkin noticed you were having some trouble, so I offered—”

  “I’m not having trouble.”

  Amelia cocked her head. “You are.”

  I laughed out loud.

  “What?”

  I covered my mouth with my hand. I’d barely slept the past two nights, and my exhaustion was apparently giving me a case of the sillies.

  “What’s so funny?” Amelia looked down at herself. “Is it my outfit?”

  “No, no.” I would never laugh at someone’s clothes, though Amelia’s choices in fashion always did intrigue me. Things rarely matched, but somehow, she made them work. She followed a lot of fashion designers online I’d never heard of, so I didn’t question her taste. Just look at how far my fashion choices got me. Exhibit A: Jade’s Instagram feed, posted for all her friends to mock.

  “I’m sorry.” I tried again to keep the laughter at bay, but it was futile.

  “Shaaaay!” Her voice whined, and that did it. I erupted in giggles, which was so out of character for me, but it felt so good and needed.

  “You . . . looked . . .” My classmates were staring at me now. I needed to get this under control. Breathe, girl. Don’t look at your friend.

  “Felix.” I barely got the name of her Labradoodle out.

  Amelia was laughing now too. “What about him?”

  “When you cocked your head.” I did my best to calm myself, barely succeeding. “You looked . . . just like him.”

  Amelia stared at me with wide eyes for a second, and then we both lost it.

  A full minute later I finally gasped for breath. “Wait, seriously? Ms. Larkin said I needed help?”

  “She didn’t really have to, but yes.”

  I groaned. My abs actually hurt from the laughing. “It’s really that bad?”

  “Shay, every time you stand in front of anyone, you look like you’re about to be run over by a truck.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “You have to loosen up.”

  Tell me something I don’t know, Amelia. I wasn’t sure how to break it to her how hard this whole drama class experience had been for me. I barely managed the One Act, and I certainly didn’t want to do another, let alone a full-on play. But Amelia dreamed of being on a stage, preferably Broadway. Sometimes it felt like we were from different planets, or countries at least. Like she was from warm and sunny Brazil, and I lived in Antarctica.

  Izzy and Tessa joined us a minute later, and Amelia proceeded to tell them how much “help” I needed. The laughter from earlier faded.

  “I can meet with you after school, and we can do some improv,” Amelia said. “Brie and Presley say improv is the best way to deepen your talents.”

  Wait, who? Were those the upperclassmen she’d sat with at lunch a few weeks ago?

  “I can’t,” I finally said.

  Technically, I could, but I wanted to spend some time with Stanley. He wasn’t officially being adopted yet, but things had gone well with the family, and I didn’t know how much more time I had with him.

  “Why not?” Amelia prodded. “It’s important.”

  “To you maybe.”

  “Shay, it should be important to you.”

  A match flamed inside me. Excuse me? What gave her the right to—

  Izzy took a step toward us. “Let’s go sit down and talk more later, okay?”

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” I snapped, and I could feel my friends looking at me like I’d just declared I wanted to go skinny-dipping or something.

  “Somebody’s moody,” Amelia muttered under her breath.

  I saw Tessa elbow her, but she was right. How could I go from laughing uncontrollably to major PMS mode in five minutes? It wasn’t fair to Amelia, I knew. I mumbled a “Sorry” that I really did mean, but I glanced around the room and realized I hadn’t spent a single minute in this place feeling like I belonged. I just got through it. I enjoy my friends and sometimes we have a little fun, but who am I fooling? Drama is not for me. I seriously need to talk to Ms. Larkin about dropping her class. Was it too late for that? Would it affect my GPA?

  Somehow I got through class and managed to escape the school building without having to talk to anyone beyond a quick “See ya next week” or “Have a fun weekend.”

  By the time I walked back to the bookstore, my mood had mellowed a little, and I decided to cut through the store. Books generally made me happy, but lately I was finding it harder to read for pleasure. One of the things I missed the most about my dad was sharing books and talking about the stories as we read them. He’d been a voracious reader of all kinds of books, fiction and nonfiction, and he got a lot of free copies because of his design work.

  Reading didn’t hold the same joy without someone to share it with.

  “Hey there, Shay.”

  The college-aged clerk who worked for my aunt most evenings waved at me from behind the register. Her name was Ginny, and she had tattoo sleeves up both her arms and played guitar in a rock band. But her hard exterior hid a soft inner core, and she’d babysat Stanley whenever he hung out in the store, talking to him like he was a child.

  Ginny took one look at my face and grimaced. “One of those days?” she said.

  I dropped my backpack on the floor and flung myself into the leather chair set up in front of the glass display window where Matilda had curled up for a nap. One other book browser, an old lady wearing a purple hat, browsed the cookbooks, but the store was oddly quiet and peaceful. I had a few minutes’ reprieve before the after-school crowd showed up. Tonight, a local thriller author was doing a book reading and signing, so I imagined the place would fill up by then.

  I was glad business was good for my aunt, but I wished the store was this quiet more often.

  “I want to quit Drama so bad,” I said, rubbing my eyes.

  “Why’s that?”

  “How long do you have?”

  Ginny grabbed a stack of hardcovers and a handful of Sharpies. She made her way over to the author table set up for the book signing. The featured book was Whence the Night Comes by D. L. Morrows. Why do authors use their initials instead of their real names? If I wrote a book, I’d stick with Shay. It was unusual enough.

  “D. L.,” I said. “What’s it stand for?”

  “Hmm . . . the big mystery.” Ginny stacked the books on the table and grabbed a little stand for one copy propped up front and center. The cover featured a misty lake and a woman’s silhouette running toward it. The typography was typical blocky thriller. Not bad, though I bet Dad could’ve spiced it up somehow.

  “You don’t know?”

  “Oh, I do.”

  I rolled my eyes. If I had an older sister, she might tease me the same way, so I tried not to mind.

  “How badly do you want to know?” Ginny kept a straight face.

  “Not that bad.”

  She came around the table and crossed her arms, staring down at me. “Your aunt wants you to clean the bathrooms and sweep the storeroom.”

  I ducked down into the chair, pulling my face into my sweatshirt. I wanted to curl up in a ball and go to sleep for a year. Aunt Laura paid me to do a few hours of work each week, which was far better than an allowance, she said. It would teach me responsibility and give me a good work ethic. I honestly didn’t mind most days, but my lack of sleep was catching up with me big-time. I’d probably offended my friend, who was just trying to help me today, albeit rather brusquely,
but still.

  “It’s Dwight, by the way,” Ginny said, moving behind the register to ring up the purple-hat lady’s purchases. “And the L is for Lloyd, I think.”

  Okay, D. L. was a little more mysterious, and for a thriller writer, that was probably a positive. Maybe I’d check out the novel later. If it wasn’t too scary. I’d read Frank Peretti’s The Oath with Dad and had a nightmare about a dragon chasing me across an open field.

  I pulled out my phone and decided I was feeling too lazy to type up a text. I started a video, still huddled down in the armchair.

  “Sorry for being crabby today,” I said. “Want to hang out tonight and do homework in our usual spot? I’ll be here.”

  I smiled to myself. Some teens party on Friday nights or stay up super late. Our group does schoolwork together. So exciting.

  A few minutes later I climbed up the stairs and crashed in the apartment with Stanley. Tessa said sometimes she felt lonely at night. Today was my day. I’d been surrounded by people since before eight o’clock but still felt like the one ugly duck in a flock of swans.

  Maybe I’d grown up sheltered or spoiled or whatever with my dad working at home and being around more. I’d never felt alone. If he went on a business trip, I usually went with him or stayed with my grandparents.

  But he wasn’t here now . . . an aching fact I felt every single day.

  Chapter 15

  AMELIA PLOPPED DOWN onto the yellow beanbag chair in our little alcove at the bookstore, and I felt a whoosh of air hit me from the movement.

  “Did you know that The Phantom of the Opera is the longest-running Broadway show?”

  Izzy had already claimed the second beanbag chair, so Tessa and I were left with the love seat. I dragged the small end table closer so I could spread out my homework. Tessa didn’t seem to mind having no table, and Amelia and Izzy hadn’t even pulled out their papers yet.

  “Wait, I thought it was Chicago,” Izzy said.