Twelve Steps to Normal(11)
“Are you okay?” she asks me. “I mean… you feel safe at home and everything?”
Even though there are three strangers living in my house, I’m the one who feels like a stranger. Although it’s ironic, I don’t feel unsafe.
A tiny thought of uncertainty digs its way into my brain: I’m not sure if Margaret would feel the same way.
“Yeah,” I tell her. The letters my dad wrote me during treatment were heavy with apologies. Even though that doesn’t change anything between us, I believe he’s sorry enough to not let anything like that happen again.
“Good.” Lin fiddles with the strap of her lilac book bag. “Are you going to join Earth Club again this year? If we don’t have at least twelve members, Principal Lawrence is pulling the plug.”
Since I was a part of exactly zero clubs at my school in Portland and completed a whopping total of zilch extracurricular activities, rejoining Earth Club will help fluff up my college applications. Besides, I need to spend more time with Lin. It’s clear I’ve knocked her down a few notches on the importance pole.
“Count me in.”
She smiles, and her approval makes me feel good. I think of all the things she used to tell me that she didn’t share with Whitney or Raegan. About liking David Cornwell, who was a red flag in Whitney’s book because he told the faculty they should invest more of the school’s budget in Academic Decathlon versus the dance team. Or about how she actually loves going to engineering conventions with her parents, even though she says otherwise in front of our friends.
I want to get back to the close, unbreakable friendship we used to have. I promise myself I’m going to be a better friend from now on, no matter what it takes.
FIVE
I PART WAYS WITH LIN in the auditorium as we line up according to our last names. The plan is to quickly get my schedule so we can continue to catch up before first period. I’m not excessively eager to see Whitney anymore, which sounds horrible, I know. But swiping my boyfriend—ex-boyfriend, whatever—and not telling me is a lot to process first thing in the morning.
“Um,” I say as soon as I’m handed my schedule. SENECA, KIRA is printed neatly at the top, but the classes are definitely not correct. For one thing, English I is a freshman class. I need English III. And Geometry? I took that sophomore year. “This isn’t right.”
The attendant sighs, as if this isn’t the first time she’s heard this today. “Main office. Go talk to your guidance counselor.”
Of course. I should have expected this with the kind of morning I’m having.
I step out of line and attempt to find Lin in the crowd, but it’s impossible with the whole school in here. I’m stopped multiple times by old Wavette teammates and other students in my grade who say they’re happy I’m back and ask a few polite questions about Portland. It’s nice to feel so welcome, especially after my abrupt departure, but I don’t want to be late to my first class, so I try and hurry along.
If this were any other day, the grayish-blue walls and scuffed linoleum would depress me. But today I let myself soak it all in. I’m enthralled by the rows of navy lockers and the slightly cheesy motivational posters tacked to the walls. I relish the echoing of the morning announcements that are being ignored by groups of friends loudly comparing schedules. I’m obsessed with the normality of it all. I will never again refer to this fine institution as prison.
When I walk into the front office, I immediately spot dozens of students in the waiting area. A stressed secretary barely acknowledges me before grabbing my schedule and jabbing her keyboard like it recently wronged her.
“Let me guess.” She pushes her rimless glasses up the bridge of her nose before looking up at me. “Your schedule’s wrong?”
I wonder if she can read minds.
She lets out a frustrated sigh. “Our system bugged out last night. Have a seat and I’ll call your name when your guidance counselor is available.”
I look around the waiting room for a place to sit and quickly realize that’s not going to happen. All the chairs are taken, and a lot of students have already claimed the corners as standing space. I don’t recognize many of them, so I figure most must be freshmen.
I end up standing awkwardly next to the front door. I’m tempted to pull out my phone and text Lin or Raegan, but I don’t want to risk having it taken away on my first day. The secretary looks like she’s ready to snap at anyone who steps out of line.
“Ramos?” she calls.
I freeze. Wait, Ramos? Alex Ramos?
My eyes fly to the back corner of the room just as Alex stands up. His gaze falls on mine, and his eyes widen in surprise. But before either of us can say anything, the secretary ushers him toward the guidance counselor’s office.
Here’s something I haven’t mentioned about Alex Ramos: At one point in time, I had a crush on him.
But then freshman year happened.
Alex was unofficially inducted into the theater kid clique while I became a part of the Wavettes, but we’d always meet out front after school to wait for our parents to pick us up. And because my dad was constantly late, Alex’s mom began to offer me rides home, which I gratefully accepted.
This wasn’t a big deal at first. During those car rides I’d tease him about getting paint on his Converse from painting theater props and he’d threaten to tell my friends that I still listened to One Direction. But there was one Friday where my mood had turned sour. My dad had stumbled home late the previous evening reeking of beer and causing me to worry even more about his emotional state over Grams.