Twelve Steps to Normal(81)
I blink. That night seemed so strangely bizarre. In my head, it was a huge deal to see everyone standing out in the open outside. And the fact that Alex seemed concerned and asked if I was okay, like I needed help, made me think that he was already thinking the worst. But in reality, how was he supposed to know the entire situation?
Lin slides off the desk and reaches for her backpack. “You shouldn’t have been so hard on him, but I guess I get why you were. It’s a lot to deal with.”
She’s giving me an excuse for my lousy behavior. She’s always been a good friend in that way—but still. I know I don’t deserve it.
“It was really crappy of me,” I say as we walk out of the classroom. I notice Raegan has already hung blue and silver posters throughout the hallway to promote the winter formal. “I feel like I’ve ruined everything.”
Lin slips her thumbs under the straps of her backpack. She’s had the same pastel pins stuck on them since eighth grade: a cartoon lion’s head, a daisy, one with chevron stripes. “I can see why he’s upset. He’s been into you for so long.”
Heat flushes through me, but the feeling of regret is more potent.
“And he’s one of the good ones—it’s obvious he cares about you. Like, really cares. If someone I had strong feelings for snapped at me like that, I’d retreat, too. But listen, I don’t think it’s too late to fix it.”
We’ve reached the double doors that lead to the junior/senior parking lot. Instead of opening them, I face her. “You don’t?”
She shakes her head. “We both know Alex is a really sweet guy, and he’s always worn his heart on his sleeve around you. It’s not going to be easy. I’d hate to be in your shoes, to be honest. But if you really care about him, you have to try.”
I let my arms fall to my sides, exasperated. “I’ve tried all day!”
Lin rolls her eyes. “All day? Kira, do you really blame him for not immediately forgiving you?”
As much as it hurts to hear it, I know she has a point. It’s not like I stole his favorite T-shirt or something. I’d basically slammed a door in his face, choosing to be cold and ruthless instead of opening up about the parts of my life I’d been trying to hide. Alex has never judged me, and neither have my friends. What am I so scared of?
I remember the gentle press of Alex’s fingertips as he pulled his beanie on my head the day we skipped. I think of the way his eyes crinkle when I make him laugh, how he always gives me his full attention when I’m talking to him instead of browsing through his phone. I remember the comforting smell of his boy deodorant and clean laundry scent. I think of what he said at the restaurant—You do remember that you’re the one I kissed the other day, right? He was vulnerable with his feelings toward me for the second time, and then I go and push him a million miles away.
Lin’s right. I can’t give up yet.
“Is he worth it?”
I don’t hesitate. “Yes.”
She shrugs, opening the door to the expansive parking lot. “Then try harder.”
THIRTY FOUR
BY WEDNESDAY, ALEX STILL ISN’T responding to any of my texts. I’d tried my best to summarize the situation, not fearing the consequences of Margaret anymore. I wish he’d let me explain everything in person, but he avoids his locker at all costs and he won’t look in my direction in algebra. When Mrs. Donaldson catches me leaning over to get his attention, she smacks her dry erase marker on her desk.
“One more word out of you, Miss Seneca, and I’m sending you down to the office.”
Then she pairs me with Peter Thompson—one of the smartest kids in our grade—for a Radical Race. As punishment, probably.
Of course I don’t win.
But I think of what Lin said. Try harder.
Alex isn’t the only person I need to try harder with, though. There are other people in the house who deserve better than what I’ve given them. I haven’t exactly shown that I’ve appreciated everything everyone has done for me. Not only Peach, Saylor, and Nonnie, but my dad, too. He’s spent months trying to earn my forgiveness, and what have I done in return? Behaved selfishly. Screamed awful things at him. But he hasn’t given up, and neither has anyone else.
I stop by the grocery store after school and pick up some ingredients. It’s been a while since I’ve made a pizza from scratch. My dad and I used to have pizza Wednesdays where we’d make our own pie and watch the newest episode of Crime Boss. He was always in charge of the crust while I made the sauce, but I figure it shouldn’t be too difficult. Plus, I want to extend a kind gesture to everyone tonight—a first step toward an apology.
No one is downstairs when I get home, which I was hoping for. I pull up a recipe on my phone and get to work.
It’s a fairly straightforward process. After I knead the dough, I start on the sauce. Once both are prepared, I flatten, spread, and top with shredded cheese, oregano, and some sun-dried tomatoes. Then I pop it in the oven, setting the timer before I flop over on the couch. I feel good—like I’ve accomplished something.
I waste time browsing through channels since a new episode of Crime Boss isn’t on until eight. I’m about to settle on watching a ridiculous reality show when the fire alarm blares—no—pierces through the entire house.