Something Like Normal(29)

She smiles. “I’m a waitress, remember? It’s all good.”

A wave of anger crashes over me. At myself for being unable to control my reactions. At Harper for just putting on a smile and saying it’s all good when it’s not all good. I throw my soda cup at the wall. It bursts on impact, splashing Coke everywhere.

“You’re too fucking nice to me.” I’m yelling at her and I don’t know why.

“What do you want me to do, Travis?” she yells back. “Be mad at you about this? Don’t be stupid.”

I drop down onto a bench, my head in my hands. “I’m sorry.”

Harper sits down and leans against me. Her comfort moves through me from where her body touches mine, and it makes me feel better.

“I should have known,” I say.

“Probably,” she agrees. “We can see something else. How do you feel about monsters?”

She points across the hallway to the theater, where an animated kids’ film is playing, and raises her eyebrows. I look around. We’re alone. No one to catch us if we switch theaters. I grin. “On three—”

Harper laughs, but we don’t sneak. We just pick up the snacks and walk into the other theater. The previews are still playing, so we haven’t missed anything. We try again, picking seats near the middle.

The tension in my body is gone as I reach over the armrest and take Harper’s hand in mine. “Thanks.”

She doesn’t look away from the screen as she smiles. “Shut up and eat your popcorn.”

But she also doesn’t let go of my hand. Even when the movie is over.





Chapter 8

A couple days later I awake and find myself unable to get out of bed. Literally. I can barely lift my arms and legs beneath the sheet, and it feels as if something is holding me down. Panic spreads through me and I wonder if this is some new thing wrong with me. It’s not bad enough my brain plays tricks on me, now my body isn’t cooperating?

“Mom!” I call out. I can’t reach my cell phone or even push off the covers.

My bedroom door swings open and a deep voice says, “Your mama can’t help you now, boy.”

Jesus Christ, I think I’m dying.

I lift my head and C. J. Moss is standing in the doorway with Kevlar doubled over laughing in the hall behind him.

“What the fuck did you do to me?”

They come giggling into the room and I hope whatever they’ve done is not duct-tape related. That will hurt. Kevlar strips off the sheet with a flourish. Crisscrossing my body is a network of a couple dozen bungee cords, holding me in place. I want to be pissed, but I can’t, because Kevlar has this high-pitched giggle that makes it impossible not to laugh.

“I thought I was having a fucking stroke,” I say as they free me from my coated elastic prison, making them laugh even harder. “What are you doing here?”

“I was bored.” Kevlar packs a pinch of dip while I pull on a pair of shorts. “So I called up Moss over there and said, ‘C. J., my man, it’s time for a road trip.’”

Moss rolls his eyes. He doesn’t talk much. Of course, you don’t really need to talk when Kevlar won’t shut up. I can’t even imagine that road trip.

“So we jumped in the truck and here we are,” Kevlar says. “Let’s have some fun!”

“What time is it?” I peek between the blinds. “Jesus, Kenny, it’s still dark outside.”

“I choose to see it as a preemptive strike on the day.” He rubs his hands together like he’s starting a fire. “C’mon, Solo, time’s a-wastin’.”

“What do you want to do?” I yank on a T-shirt and start making my bed.

“I say we—” Kevlar starts to speak, but Moss clamps a hand over his mouth. “I want to go deep-sea fishing,” he says. “I remember you talking about that, Solo. I want to catch fish.”

“Done.”

“I was thinking more like hot girls in bikinis and body shots—oh, hello again, Mrs. Stephenson,” Kevlar says as my mom comes into the room. We really haven’t talked much since Dad moved back home, and I feel uncomfortable around her again. I don’t want things to be this way between us—she was really cool for a while—but I don’t think she wants to hear what I have to say. And vice versa.

“Thanks for aiding and abetting their mission, Mom,” I say. “They strapped me to my bed with bungee cord.”

She laughs. “I came up to see if your friends will be spending the night.”

“Thank you for your generosity, ma’am,” Kevlar says. “But we’ve already booked a room down on the beach.”

“We should probably get going,” I say.

“Where are you boys off to at such an early hour?” Mom asks.

“Fishing.”

“Oh, that should be fun.” The enthusiasm in her voice doesn’t match the sadness in her eyes. “Will you be around for dinner?”

“We’ll probably go out.”

“Okay, well, be sure to take sunscreen.” She follows us down the stairs, and when I shut the front door behind us, it feels like the day we left our outpost in Marjah. There were dogs that hung around our camp and even though we weren’t supposed to feed them, we did. When we left for the last time, this one white dog with black spots on his ears stood there looking hopeful—as if maybe we wouldn’t leave. That’s how my mom looks now and it makes me feel bad.