Halfway Normal

by Barbara Dee

  “Yeah, him,” Malik said. “It’s not like he’s a little conceited; he’s so in love with himself that all he does is stare at his own reflection in the water. And then that nymph, what’s-her-name?”

  “Echo?” I said.

  “Right. She’s so in love with him that all she does is follow him around, repeating his voice. Until she’s nothing but a voice.” Malik made his hand fall over and smack the desk. “It’s regular emotions, but bigger.”

  “Interesting,” Ms. Farrell said. She waited. “Any other ideas?”

  I couldn’t stay quiet. “I think we’re supposed to feel that the gods are like movie stars. And you know how when you see a movie you identify with the hero, even though the hero is a beautiful, famous actor? I think we’re supposed to think the gods are bigger and stronger and more emotional than us, and we’re also supposed to identify with them.”

  Addison laughed in a nasty way. “Yeah, Norah, so who do you identify with? Wait, I know—how about that Spider-Girl?”

  “What Spider-Girl?” Malik demanded.

  “You know, Arachne, the braggy girl who made everyone pay attention to her weaving all the time. Until finally Athena got sick of it and turned her into a spider.”

  Harper frowned. “I don’t get what that has to do with Norah.”

  Addison swished her braids. “I just meant because Norah likes attention. The way Arachne did.”

  My insides froze. It was like I’d swallowed a block of ice.

  “Whoa,” Harper said. “Addison, you did not just say that.”

  Addison blinked. “What’s wrong? All I said was—”

  “Yes, we all heard what you said,” Ms. Farrell cut in. “And I’d like to assume—I’m going to assume—that you didn’t mean how it must have sounded to Norah.” She walked over to her desk, like she was changing the channel. “Okay. Norah was saying before how we root for certain gods and goddesses, not because we think we’re on the same scale as they are, but because we see ourselves in them, or feel connected to them somehow.”

  Harrison waved his arm. “Okay, but what if we don’t feel connected to any of them?”

  Ms. Farrell peered at him over her Harry Potter glasses. “Oh, I certainly hope that’s not true. Because if it is, you’re going to have trouble with our first big project.”

  KRAKEN

  When it was lunch, I didn’t look for Harper. If she was sneaking out of the building for a dumb slice of pizza, I didn’t want to know about it. Because it was a stupid thing to do (versus sneaking into eighth grade lunch to meet Griffin, which was something I absolutely had to do). Plus, it meant hanging out not only with Kylie, whose idea of “fun” was getting in trouble over melted cheese, but also with Addison, who’d just called me a show-off in front of the entire class. And based on what? The fact that people wouldn’t stop commenting about my cancer? Like she thought I wanted people to pay attention to that, when the truth was exactly the opposite. The whole thing was insane. She was insane.

  I took a seat at the table I’d shared with Griffin. After a couple of minutes, Cait came over.

  “Okay if I join you, Norah?” she asked shyly.

  “Sure,” I said. I moved my napkin so she’d have room for her sandwich. Not a hamburger, thank goodness.

  She sat. “Can I say something? I thought what Addison said in English was really mean. You didn’t deserve it.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I don’t know why she said that.”

  “It’s almost like she’s jealous.”

  “You think she’s jealous?”

  Yeah, Cait, I just said that. “I don’t know. I really don’t understand. It’s crazy to be jealous of someone for getting sick.”

  “Yeah, really crazy,” Cait agreed.

  I nodded. We both ate our lunches. Cait wasn’t much of a conversationalist, but she was a nice person, I had to admit.

  All of a sudden, she looked up and blurted: “Can I ask you something? You know that eighth grader Rowan, right?”

  “Yeah, he’s in my math class. Why?”

  “I don’t know. I was just wondering what he’s like.” Now she blushed.

  “Why?” I asked. “You like him?”

  “No. I don’t know. Maybe.”

  Should I tell her what I thought about Rowan? But how could she not see it for herself? The way he was always fussing with his hair—it was kind of obvious, wasn’t it? Maybe you weren’t supposed to tell people that their crush was a conceited jerk, like how you weren’t supposed to tell people they had red lipstick smeared on their teeth. Or maybe this was more of a spinach-in-the-teeth situation, where if you didn’t say something, you were the jerk.

  Just then Malik came over to us. He looked upset. “You guys seen anyone messing with my posters?”

  “What posters?” I asked him, glad not to be talking about Rowan.

  “I keep putting up posters for the election, and they keep getting taken down.”

  “Why would anyone do that?” Cait said.

  “Good question.” Malik shook his head in disbelief. “No one’s even running against me.”

  “So why are you putting up posters, then?” I asked.

  “Just so people know there’s an election and vote. Last year like twenty kids voted. In total. Sometimes I wonder why I’m bothering,” he grumbled as he walked off.

  A minute later Harper showed up. She took the seat next to me without saying a word. I didn’t want to advertise her stupid pizza outing to Cait, so I just asked Harper if she’d “accomplished her mission.”

  “I didn’t go,” Harper admitted.

  “You didn’t?” I could barely contain my excitement.

  “Yeah,” Harper said. “I stood in front of the girls’ room waiting for Kylie. Addison never even showed up, but guess who did. Silas. I swear, he’s so in love with Kylie he’d follow her anywhere. And I refuse to hang out with that traitor. So.” She shrugged.

  “How is Silas a traitor?” Cait asked.

  “To Norah,” Harper said. “For never visiting her at the hospital.”

  Cait’s face crumpled. “Oh. But I didn’t either.”

  “Well, but you apologized, at least,” I said quickly. “And explained about it, which Silas never did. And anyway, Silas was always one of my best friends. But since I’ve been back, he barely even talks to me.”

  “That’s so weird,” Cait said. “Do you know why?”

  I shook my head.

  “Traitor,” Harper pronounced.

  I turned to her. “Okay, but you’re friends with someone who insulted me in English class.”

  “You mean Addison?”

  “Who else?”

  “Actually, Norah, I told her off right after English. I said if she said anything like that again, I’d never speak to her. Again. Ever.”

  “You did? Well, thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  The bell rang.

  “Oh crap, I didn’t get any lunch,” Harper said. “Norah, I’m taking your apple, okay?” Before I could say yes, she grabbed it and started chomping.

  * * *

  At dismissal, I told Harper I’d meet her in the art studio for Art Club, but I had “something to do” first. She didn’t ask what it was. But I took a deep breath and words tumbled out: “I need to meet that boy I told you about, Griffin. And I think I may like him, but there’s nothing going on between us, just this little art project. And I’ll be right back.”

  “Okay,” Harper said, smiling a little.

  I ran down the stairs to the band room. Cait was sitting on the floor outside the open door, singing along as Rowan played Nirvana. The funny thing was, her voice was louder and stronger than it ever was when she was talking. As soon as she saw me, she sprang up, blushing hard.

  “Isn’t he great?” she said. “I wish I could play an instrument.”

  “I’m sure you can, if you really want to,” I said.

  She shook her head. “I took guitar lessons for a few m
onths, but I was so bad the teacher quit on me.”

  “Well, what about singing? I heard you just now—you’re good!”

  Her eyes bulged. “No, no, I’m the worst singer ever, Norah! I mean, I love to sing, but I’m terrible—Oh. Excuse me!”

  Griffin had come out into the hall, causing Cait to race off.

  “Hey,” he said to me, smiling.

  “Hi,” I answered. “I can’t stay long; I’m doing Art Club.”

  “That’s awesome, Norah. You should do Art Club.”

  I smiled back. “You wanted to ask me something?” I reminded him.

  “Right. So the band really likes the griffin drawing. And we were wondering. Um.”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, if you’d maybe design a sort of band logo. Since you’re amazing at drawing creatures.”

  “Oh. Well, thank you. But—”

  “We’re called Crackin’.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You know. Like the beast.”

  “Oh, you mean Kraken? Like the sea monster?”

  “Yeah.” He smiled shyly. “The name was my idea.”

  “Cool. That’s a really good band name.”

  “You think so?”

  “Definitely. And it goes with Hydra.” Erg. Why did I say that? What a dumb thing to say!

  But Griffin nodded. “I guess that’s what made me think of it: giant sea monsters, squids, tentacles. But with suckers, so not like norahs.”

  “Right. Totally not like norahs.”

  “Anyway.” He seemed a bit confused. “So . . . would you do some sketches? And then we’ll pick one?”

  “Sure.” I held out my hand for him to shake. “It’ll be fun.”

  And then something terrible happened: Instead of shaking my hand, he gave me a hug.

  GIRL TALK

  The hug confused me. I hadn’t been lying when I’d told Harper that nothing was “going on” between Griffin and me, at least not in a romantic, dramatic Greek god sort of way. But I’d also been wondering if maybe he liked me back, just the teeniest, tiniest little bit. Because: the hand-holding? Noticing I was a lefty? Being so interested in norahs? I couldn’t help adding it all up and thinking that maybe, possibly, this was a back-and-forth crush situation.

  And yet . . . a hug? That’s what people do when they’re trying to cheer you up. You don’t hug someone you crush on. You hug people in the hospital, the way the nurses hugged me at Phipps. I had a ton of hug experience these last two years, so I knew what hugs meant. I mean, I didn’t know what I wanted from Griffin—but it wasn’t a hug.

  When I got back to Art Club, I thought Harper would demand a bunch of details. But she didn’t even seem interested. She sat hunched over a huge poster board, sketching away while Astrid was peeking over her shoulder.

  “Too abstract,” Astrid was telling her. “No one will get it, Harper.”

  “No one will get what?” I asked.

  Astrid fluttered her smeary purple eyelids at me. “What she’s communicating about Overcoming Challenges. It’s for a mural, so it’s all about communicating. And what are you doing here, Norah?”

  “I signed up for this club,” I announced cheerily. “On Tuesdays.”

  “You did? I thought you were doing Bugs.”

  “I changed my mind.”

  “Well, you can’t do a mural if you’re here just once a week.”

  “Fine with me.”

  “And it’s already incredibly crowded in this studio.”

  “That’s okay. I’m small, so I don’t take up much room. Can I sit here?” I pulled over a chair next to Harper, who sneaked a smile at me. “Hey, that’s a really cool sketch. Can you tell me what it’s about?”

  “Sure,” Harper exclaimed.

  Astrid grunted and stomped off.

  “Bugs?” Harper asked, giggling.

  I had to laugh too. “Yeah, I know. It was just something I told her once.”

  “Anyway, thanks for the save,” Harper murmured. “She’s driving me bananas.”

  “I can see why. Just ignore her, Harper.”

  “Yeah, I wish I could. But she’s who decides which murals go up. And I really hope one of them is mine.”

  I didn’t want to say this, but I kind of thought Astrid was right about Harper’s sketch. I mean, it didn’t communicate anything to me, either. Just shapes: a big round one on a big triangle, and a lot of squiggly bits up and down the sides. Battling cancer was nothing like squiggly bits, or those shapes.

  Although if you asked me to draw a picture of what it was like, a picture that would “communicate” to everyone who didn’t understand, I probably couldn’t do a whole lot better.

  * * *

  When Art Club was over, Harper and I waited in the school parking lot for Dad to drive us home. Normally, Harper had to take the late bus home after Art Club, so I was glad we could give her a ride.

  We shared a squished granola bar Harper had found at the bottom of her backpack, and watched Aria run circles around the school. Aria was so tall and strong-looking that I couldn’t look away. What must it feel like to be so athletic? I wondered. Every time she passed us, she gave a little wave, while Harper shouted, “GO, ARIA” and “WOO” and other cheers. The whole time this was happening, Harrison was standing over by the gym doors, watching. I’d never noticed before that he liked Aria, but the way he turned his head every time she zipped by, you could tell he thought she was some kind of superhero. And to be honest, I almost agreed with that opinion.

  All of a sudden, I heard a familiar squeal. Thea, dressed in a neon green soccer jersey, was sprinting across the parking lot. Toward Griffin, who was walking by himself as he carried his bass.

  As soon as she caught up to him, she threw her arms around him, nearly knocking the bass to the sidewalk. Then she squealed again, and started jumping around like a hot popcorn kernel.

  I couldn’t watch.

  Harper noticed my reaction. “Who’s that girl? You know her?”

  I shrugged. “Yeah, that’s Thea. She’s in my math class, and she’s friends with Astrid.”

  “Huh. Well, she really likes that boy, obviously.”

  I didn’t answer.

  “Okay,” Harper said, searching my face. “So is that The Boy?”

  “You mean Griffin? Yeah.”

  Harper shielded her eyes from the sun. “Well, Norah, looks to me like you’re in a crush triangle. Although in my opinion she likes him more than he likes her.”

  “Where’d you get that from?”

  “She’s acting all animated. And squealy. But he’s basically just standing there.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything,” I protested. “He’s holding a heavy instrument; he’s not going to jump around!”

  “Maybe. Although he could put it down, you know.” She stuffed the granola bar wrapper into her pants pocket. “So what’s going on between the two of you, anyway?”

  I could see it was a test: Would I shut down again, or would I tell her? But I couldn’t think of a reason to avoid the topic of Griffin anymore. And besides, wasn’t this what normal friends did in the normal world—talk about crushes?

  So I told her everything: about the griffins and the norahs, about the Kraken logo and the hug. She listened without interrupting.

  Then she said: “Does he know you’re a seventh grader?”

  I shook my head.

  “And does he know you’ve been sick?”

  “No,” I admitted.

  “Are you going to tell him?”

  “Are you nuts? Why would I?”

  “Why? So he can see the real you.”

  “I am the real me. And I’m not lying to him, Harper.”

  “Um.”

  “What does ‘um’ mean?”

  “It means I think you sort of are, actually.”

  “How can you say that? Just because I’m not going, Oh hello, Griffin, I think you’re nice, what did you write for the third math problem, and by the way, last year I h
ad leukemia—”

  “Well, but it happened to you, Norah. It’s important. Why not tell him?”

  “Because then he’ll feel sorry for me! And we’ll have to keep talking about it all the time!”

  Harper groaned. “Norah, no one is better than you at not talking. You’re like the World Not-Talking Champion. So if you don’t want to keep discussing it, just tell him that! But not even mentioning it is crazy. And also kind of unfair. To you and to him.”

  Fortunately, that was when Dad’s car pulled up. Harper and I got in.

  “So sorry, girls,” Dad said. “My editor called just as I was running out the door—”

  “Not a problem, Mr. Levy,” Harper said. “Norah and I love having extra time for girl talk.”

  The way she said it: “girl talk.”

  CYCLOPS

  That evening, I Skyped with Mom (“Norah, you look tired. Are you sure you have enough energy for Afterschool?”), texted Ayesha (I got a 9/10 on my first two homeworks!), then spent a long time researching kraken. The thing about mythical creatures: No one knows exactly what they looked like, so there are always different versions. In this one article I read, the kraken was described as a giant octopus with spikes on its suckers. Which to me sounded extremely rock band–ish, so I decided to draw it that way.

  Around nine thirty, Dad came into my bedroom. “Norah, can we chat a sec? About tomorrow.”

  “Sure,” I said, closing my sketchbook and my laptop.

  He sat on my bed. “So this is good news, actually. My editor wants me to cover a player on the triple-A farm team for the Yankees. They’re out in Scranton, Pennsylvania, which means I’ll need to spend tomorrow on the road.”

  My mind raced. “So that means you can’t pick me up after school? How will I get home?”

  “I thought maybe you could take the school bus home, just for tomorrow. But could we keep that between us?”

  “You mean not tell Mom?”

  He winced a little. “Well, yeah. Because it does violate the No-Bus rule.”

  A secret from Mom put me on Dad’s team, which I didn’t appreciate. On the other hand, the No-Bus rule was ridiculous. I mean, I was exposed to school germs all day; what could a few extra germs on the school bus do to me? And it was so great how Dad could take a travel assignment again.