Twelve Steps to Normal(4)

He was on the freshman basketball team and I’d joined the Wavettes—our school’s dance team. On Fridays, he started coming early to football games to see me perform.

I always loved spotting him in the crowd.

I loved other things about him, too. Like how he’d call me Kira Kay, a nonsensical nickname he made up because it rhymed with Jay. Or how he complimented the rare occasions when I got up early to straighten my thick mass of dark hair.

“I have something for you,” he said to me once at lunch.

I raised a speculative eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yup. Prepare to be impressed.”

“I’m fully prepared. Hit me.”

He unfurled his hand, revealing a small tin of canned pineapples.

I laughed. I had recently argued in favor of pineapple on pizza and commented that our cafeteria never put enough on the slices they sold. But he revealed he couldn’t get behind that topping. I believe his actual words were, It’s a tragic way to ruin a pie.

“For the next pizza day,” he clarified, smiling. Oh, his smile was so charming. “Go to town.”

I was attracted to him. I loved his earthy brown hair and taut, long arms. When we saw each other before school, I’d yearn for him to hold my hand. I would get this deep, erratic sensation in the pit of my stomach just thinking of how it would feel to have his fingers twined in mine. It felt stronger than simply a feeling. It was a sort of VOOSH that shot right up my spine and into my heart.

After Friday football games, Whitney, Raegan, Lin, and I would meet at Sonic with him and his friends, Colton and Breck. He always sat by me, and he always ordered the same thing: a blue raspberry slush. We’d talk until we were the last two people sitting at the plastic picnic tables.

We were there so late one night that he offered to walk me home. I was still in my uniform from performing earlier, and he was wearing his red and white Cedarville basketball T-shirt. I liked the way everyone stared at us when we left. It felt like we belonged together.

He walked me all the way up to my porch, where my stomach was cramping from laughing so hard at his impression of our history teacher, Mr. Benet, who dragged out certain words when he spoke to the class.

“Who can tell me about the Treatyyyyyy of Cahuengaaaaa?”

“Stop!” I snorted. “You’re awful.”

“Then whyyyyy are you laughinggggg?”

I playfully slapped him on the chest. He took my hand and pulled me closer to him. My breathing grew rapid, my pulse quickening.

“I like you a lot, you know.”

I didn’t know much about anatomy, but I was pretty positive my heart somersaulted.

I smiled. He stared right into my eyes, his tongue running over his bottom lip. He was nervous. I was nervous. But, oh god, I wanted this so bad. I saved screenshots of his texts when he sent me heart emojis or when he typed that he was thinking of me. I tallied up the number of times we’d held hands and how long we hugged and if he ever took an extra second to smell my hair. But this? This was something I didn’t even have to think twice about wanting.

He leaned close. Our lips brushed.

Contact.

VOOSH.

His lips were soft and cool and tasted like raspberry. I spent the entire weekend playing it back in my mind.

I was the one that started the inconspicuous hangman games in history class. I’d draw the tiny diagram with blank lines on the corner of my notebook and scribble a hint at the top. Movies. Teachers. Sports. After an entire week of playing together, I solved the best hangman puzzle in the history of hangman puzzles:

go out with me?

Of course, I said yes.

We dated for a long time. When I found out I was moving to Portland, I stayed in my room and cried for the entire weekend. I tried to be hopeful at first. I figured that we could stay together through texting and video chat, but I knew it wouldn’t be the same. Eventually we’d grow apart. Or worse, I’d start becoming jealous of every girl who was closer to him in physical distance than me. What I had to do seemed inevitable.

I broke up with him in the school parking lot after practice. It turned out he was more hopeful than me, promising my situation was only temporary. The truth was we both didn’t know that. I had no idea when—or if—I was ever coming back to Cedarville.

There was a knock on my front door later that night. I flipped the porch light on to answer it, but no one was there. When I looked down, I saw a simple greeting card with a rolling green Texas field on the front. I opened it and instantly recognized Jay’s slanted handwriting.

Don’t forget about me, he’d written.

It killed me that he was still so optimistic.

I never said good-bye to Jay, but I hoped he understood. I couldn’t selfishly keep him as mine when I didn’t even know if I’d be coming back. My friends knew I didn’t want to break up with him, but he was still another part of my life that I lost when I was sent to Portland.

But the way my dad’s looking at me tells me that Jay isn’t the one inside.

“I have company staying from Sober Living.”

I’m jolted away from my thoughts of Jay. Wait—what? Someone from the rehabilitation center? I’m confused. And annoyed. It’s almost nine o’clock at night. Why would he have company over so late? Besides, aren’t there post-rehab rules? I’m sure there are. I bet one of them says no hanging out when it’s over or something.