Twelve Steps to Normal(82)

CRAP. I jump up and run to the kitchen, flinging open the oven. The sun-dried tomatoes are charred black, and the edges of the pizza are curling with smoke. I flip the oven off, hop up on the kitchen counter, and wave a dishrag in front of the alarm, hoping it will make it stop.

“Kira?”

Peach appears in the kitchen, her eyes wide with worry.

Thankfully the alarm falls silent, and I climb down from the counter and set the dishrag down, feeling tears well up behind my eyes. Why did I have to screw this up, too?

Nonnie is suddenly behind Peach, waving her hand in front of her face. “Is everything okay?”

I nod, my throat tight. “I, uh.” I swallow. “I was trying to make dinner. For everyone.”

Nonnie beams at me, but I can’t meet her eyes. If I do, I know I won’t be able to stop my tears.

Peach takes my creation from the oven and waves my abandoned dishcloth over it. “Do you have more dough?” she asks, her voice kind.

I nod, gesturing to the bowl.

Her magenta lips pull into a gentle smile. “Do you want to try again?”

I meet her gaze. I know she’s talking about the pizza, but it doesn’t stop the tightness in my throat and sting of tears behind my eyes. I can’t seem to find the right words, so I nod my head and hope she understands.

Nonnie squeezes my shoulder. “I’ll help.”

Peach walks us through the steps. The first crust I made was too thin on the outer edges, which is why it burned so quickly. She shows me how to spread it evenly, and I put more effort into it than I did before.

“See, you’re getting it.” Peach says. “You know what would go good with this? My chocolate peanut butter cookies.”

Nonnie grins. “I won’t say no to that.”

While I’m put to work gathering ingredients, Peach explains that they might offer her a full-time position at the bakery. They’ve been impressed with her ideas and management skills so far. I find myself congratulating her alongside Nonnie, but not because it might mean she’ll be able to leave soon. Because I am happy for her.

We’re mixing the cookie dough in a large bowl when my dad comes home.

“Something smells amazing,” he says.

“Kira made us dinner,” Peach tells him.

“I had help,” I add.

My dad smiles at me. It’s the first real smile I’ve seen in days.

We fall into a familiar hum. Nonnie gets out plates and sets the table while Peach finds vegetables in the fridge to prepare a salad. My dad takes a pizza cutter to our second creation.

“Save some for Saylor,” I say, knowing he’s working at 7-Eleven late tonight.

Once everyone’s sitting at the table, I redirect the attention my way. “Listen, there’s an away game on Friday in Little Pine. I wanted to invite you guys… if you want to come.”

My dad’s entire face lights up. “I’d love to see you perform, Goose.”

Peach and Nonnie say they’ll be there, and my dad starts talking about my old performances. He even gets out his phone and pulls up a video of my first routine back in freshman year. Normally I’d groan, but I like seeing him so happy. When Peach compliments my technique, he grins.

I know a pizza and an invitation won’t fix things, but at least it’s progress.





THIRTY FIVE


BEFORE I HAVE TO BE on the bus to our away game after school on Friday, I take a detour down to the theater workshop. I figure if I catch Alex off guard, I’ll finally have a chance to explain myself.

I stop in front of the workshop door, take a deep breath, and then push it open.

Nobody pays attention to me as I walk inside. The ground is covered in a thin layer of sawdust, and a few techies are crowded around a hand-painted set, arguing about blocking and props. They don’t bother giving me a second glance as I walk by.

Audrey II is sitting in the back corner of the workshop, fake vines spilling from all sides of her. My heart swells. Alex has done a phenomenal job. The base of the Venus flytrap is layered in different shades of green felt, and the lips of the plant are painted a waxy red. The mouth is gaping, huge, with sharp wooden teeth that have been carefully painted white and screwed into the gums. It’s easy to tell how much work he’s put into her.

Then, to my horror, the mouth begins to slowly close. I jump back—startled—and scream just as the jaws clamp shut.

A few students glance my way, giving me a weird look. There’s a rustling behind Audrey II and a moment later, Alex emerges from the depths of the contraption. When he sees me standing there, his brows furrow in confusion.

“I know you don’t want to talk to me, but I wanted to explain.”

His eyes harden. I may have taken him by surprise, but that’s not enough to wash away his anger toward me.

“It doesn’t matter.” The warmth is gone from his voice.

An ache fills my chest. You don’t matter is all I hear.

Alex steps in front of Audrey II. I think back to all those texts we exchanged, how excited he was to be working on the mechanics of his creation. I want to tell him how amazing it looks, but I know it’s too late for that. I hope it’s not too late for this.

“I really care about you,” I finish, hoping he hears the longing in my voice.

He laughs in this cruel, anti-Alex way. “Really? Because the way you treated me in the cafeteria? It didn’t exactly feel like it.”