Twelve Steps to Normal(78)

“Fine.” I say quickly, hoping he can read my expression and drop the entire thing.

He nods. I expect him to tell me he’ll see me later and go sit with theater friends, but he doesn’t.

“Who… uh, who were those people?”

Everyone at the table is listening closely, and I suddenly realize why. Aside from Lin, my friends don’t know how close I’ve become with Alex. Not once have I invited him over here, yet he’s making an effort because he cares.

But I can’t answer him truthfully, and I don’t have any reasonable excuse to use as a cover-up. So I do the first thing that pops into my head and deny everything.

“What people?”

Alex’s brows furrow. “Last night? At your house?”

I’m weighed down by stares. I’m sinking faster than I can swim.

And then I ruin it.

“Why does it matter?” I snap.

His eyes widen. “I just—”

“Just stay out of it, okay? It’s none of your business.”

My words are sharp. Hurt crushes his features. I immediately want to take it back, but I can’t. Before I can say anything else, he shakes his head and walks away.

I close my eyes. I am the worst.

Whitney turns back to glance at him. “Was Alex at your house last night or something?”

I shake my head. Lin aggressively slams her flashcards on the table. She knows I’m lying. Alex knows something’s up. I’m stuck in this terrible, sick cycle that I can’t seem to break.

I backtrack. “Sort of. He gave me a ride home.”

“He’s cool,” Breck says. “Gave me a jump the other day in the parking lot when my battery died.”

Lin’s disapproving look cuts me deep. That’s when it hits me: My twelve-steps list will never, ever work. You can’t create a set of goals to make your future more like your past. That’s not how you move forward. Instead I’ve twisted everything into a giant lie that I’ve been attempting to live out, and keeping up with it is exhausting. I’m destroying everything good around me.

I turn to get Alex’s attention, but he’s not sitting at his usual table. When I do a quick sweep around the room, I notice he’s not there. He’s already gone.





THIRTY TWO


I’M GROUNDED, WHICH ISN’T SURPRISING given the way I acted last week, but my grounding extends over the weekend of Halloween. So on Saturday when everyone goes to Colton’s house for a horror movie marathon, I’m stuck at home.

I’ve trashed my twelve-steps list, tearing it up into tiny pieces and watching them fall in the wastebasket in my bedroom. When I went back and read through the twelve steps, I realized I’d written a list that was meant to fix important relationships for the sake of re-creating the past I wanted. The twelve-step program doesn’t guarantee life rewinds back to how it was before the addiction. The addict has to do a lot of work evaluating their own behavior while accepting that life won’t be exactly the same as before, in order to make a better future for themselves.

That’s what I need to do, too. I don’t have control over certain things that’ve happened in my life. Dad’s addiction. Gram’s passing. Moving in with Aunt June. Living with the recoverees. Because you can’t control life’s misfortunes. They’re inevitable. You can only control how you react to them, and how you move forward.

I’m in my room braiding and rebraiding my hair as the sun is just beginning to set. It casts a hazy purple glow over the costume-filled streets. I almost wish Nonnie would turn Queen’s Greatest Hits on to drown out the happy screams from the trick-or-treaters outside my window.

A mixture of boredom and desperation kicks in, and I wander downstairs and into the kitchen. A warm, sugary scent hits my nose. Peach and Saylor are making candy apples. There’s a hint of spice, of autumn. It reminds me of all the times Grams would make her sweet apple pie for our Thanksgiving dinners.

Peach spots me first. “Hey, Kira.” Her voice is gentle, but not quite as chipper as usual, which makes my stomach burn with guilt. I’ve given her such a hard time, yet she continues to reach out. “Saylor has never made candy apples, can you believe that? So I’m teaching him. Care to join us?”

Saylor doesn’t meet my eyes. He’s wearing a fleece pullover that conceals all his bracelets. He looks incomplete without them.

I can tell he doesn’t want me here, and for some reason that hurts. He’s always had a soft soul, but now there are no signs of empathy.

Not that I deserve any.

“No thanks,” my voice comes out small. Ashamed.

My dad appears. He’s wearing his old glow-in-the-dark jack-o’-lantern T-shirt that he always brings out this time of year. There’s an enormous plastic bowl of candy in his hands.

He turns to me. “Feel like takin’ on candy duty tonight?”

Instead of hanging around the kitchen where I’m not wanted, I figure this is the next best thing. “Sure.”

I take the bowl outside and sit on our porch swing. At least this way I won’t have to listen to the doorbell ring all night.

It’s a chilly evening, the kind that reminds me that winter is right around the corner. I’m wrapped up in my oversized Cedarville sweatshirt and a worn pair of sweats. The first kid I hand candy to asks why I’m not wearing a costume. I pull my hood over my head to hide my lack of effort, and he scampers back to his parents.