Twelve Steps to Normal(40)

“Awesome.” She turns to me. “See you at lunch!”

I watch as she practically skips down the hall. “You just made her entire morning.”

His eyes light up when he looks at me. “Did I?”

I pull a cheesy grin. “There’s a heart of gold beneath that rebellious spirit.”

Alex cringes, then yanks his beanie down over his eyes. “I can’t even look at you right now. That was awful—like a really bad movie tagline.”

I snort out a laugh. “What? You mean you wouldn’t go see it?” I pretend to think about it. “Maybe I can make a career out of this.”

Alex unveils his eyes. “I hate to break it to you, but no.”

“Oh! What about this, braving true triumph is the key to her heart.”

“God, no.”

“The ultimate courage requires the ultimate sacrifice.”

“I think these are actually causing me physical pain.”

I forgot how easy it is to talk with him. If he’s still upset about my non-response to his text all those months ago, I can’t tell. I know I need to talk to him about it, but the next words out of my mouth aren’t a confrontation.

“You’re here early.”

Alex gives me a questioning look.

“I mean, Raegan says you’re usually late to homeroom.”

He studies me for a moment, a hint of a smile on the edge of his lips. “Yeah, I guess I am. My mom didn’t need help in the kitchen this morning.”

“Did you tell her both me and my stomach greatly thanked her for the pan dulce?”

“Yeah, she was stoked.” He grins. “I also told her how much you loved the Pulparindo.”

“Love is a strong word, frankly. It’s a solid B-plus.”

“Your tastes just aren’t as refined as mine.”

The warning bell rings. I glance at the clock to make sure it’s right. It’s unlike me to lose track of time.

I look at him. “I better get to homeroom.”

“Me too,” he says. “You know, to surprise Raegan with my ability to be on time.”

With a quick wave, he departs down the hall. I watch him for a moment. He didn’t have to write that stuff on the board during Radical Races, but he did. There’s a part of me that’s glad for the familiar comfort of his friendship, but there’s an even bigger part of me that feels like I don’t deserve it.





“Can anyone tell me the nickname of Roosevelt’s political advisors?”

I’m sitting in AP History armed with two pens. I use the blue one every time Mr. Densick mentions something that could be on the AP exam, and my black one scribbles the notes that will be covered on our first exam. If I’d known this class would give me early onset carpal tunnel syndrome, I’d have seriously reconsidered.

I take a short break to massage my wrist, but being a leftie my elbow accidentally knocks into Jay’s. He looks up at me. Today he’s wearing a pale blue polo shirt under his letterman jacket. (Mr. Densick likes to crank up the AC so no one falls asleep. Freezing us out seems like the better option to him, apparently.) It’s a good color on him. I think I’ve told him that before. Then I wonder if he’s wearing it because I’ve told him that before.

I force those thoughts to an abrupt halt. No. I am not going there. I’m a better friend than that.

Sorry, I mouth, then point to my limp writing hand.

Jay smiles, then shrugs. He makes sure Mr. Densick is preoccupied with talking about the current slide on the board before flipping open a fresh sheet of paper in his notebook. He draws a tiny hangman game in the corner. There are twenty spaces for letters underneath it. Then he raises his eyebrows at me, hinting I should play along.

I freeze. This is the second time he’s initiated this in class. It doesn’t help that he looks immaculate today. His short brown hair is styled, like he took time this morning doing it. I tell myself not to look at his most attractive features (eyes, lips, hands) because I have to put a stop to the fluttering inside me.

At the top of the hangman Jay writes MOVIES in block letters.

Okay. This is not a big deal. I keep building it up because I want it to mean more than it should. But to Jay, it’s just a way to pass time in class. Besides, we’re friends. And I’m supposed to be in the process of reconnecting our friendship, according to step 6 on my list.

I shift my spiral over an inch so he can read. A? I guess.

Jay fills two A’s in the blank spaces.

“Who can tell me,” Mr. Densick is saying, “What the very first agreement for self-government in America was called? We went over this yesterday.”

“Mayflower Compact,” Jay calls out.

“Thank you Mr. Valenski, but next time please raise your hand.” Mr. Densick writes Mayflower Compact in huge letters on the board. “I would highly advise you to familiarize yourself with this.”

I go back through my notes and put a star next to where I’ve written about the Mayflower Compact. I flip back over to my page and guess: T?

Jay grins. There are three T’s.

His movie ends up being The Fast and the Furious, which I guess near the end, but I stump him with Shrek. We play back and forth for the rest of class, stopping occasionally to scribble important information from Mr. Densick’s slides.