NORMAL (3 page)

"Seniors only," Carl explains, "but most juniors leave too, once they get their license. The school isn't especially strict about it."

Oh right, they don't get their license until seventeen in New York. Sucks for them.

Carl clicks open her Audi A4 when a pack of boys pushes its way through the stream of students. Like I have a built-in sensor for him, my gaze shifts straight to Sam. The pack's leader. Tucker is with them, and the three others with them are all good looking too. Though none of them have anything on Sam. I don't need to ask where they fall in the high school hierarchy. One of the guys jabs Tucker with his elbow to get his attention before he turns and jogs over toward us. I feel my pulse quicken.  

The guy grabs Tina, who hadn't seen him approach, and yanks her arm, pulling her to him as she gasps, startled.

I react.

I drop my backpack and seize his arm to unlatch him from my new friend.

"Get the hell off of her!" I shout.

He stills. Tina stills. I retract my hand.

Finally, I notice Tina's
other
arm - frozen in its outreached position, her hand affectionately caressing his cheek.

And again, I'm mortified. He wasn't attacking her.
He's probably her goddamned boyfriend!

"I... I'm sorry," I murmur pitifully.

"Rory, this is my buddy Andrew. He and Tina are together." It's Sam speaking. Sam has somehow made it over to us and has his hand gently on my shoulder. "Andy, maybe you shouldn't sneak up on your girl like that," he adds with another of his lighthearted chuckles.

It's a kind thing to do. He's trying to make it seem like mine was a reasonable reaction. Like I'm not crazy. But instead of feeling grateful, I'm annoyed. I don't need him to make me feel normal. I'm
not
normal. And I've already accepted that I never will be again.

Andrew is still freaked out by my outburst, but he's gentleman enough to let it go. He tells me it's nice to meet me - though I know his meeting me was anything but nice - and shakes my hand, which I suffer through. I hate the archaic tradition. Who wants to have a strange man touch their hand? Lately I've avoided the gesture whenever possible, but after my freak-out, it's the least I can do. Andrew turns back to hug Tina and whisper in her ear with a smirk. She giggles. I quickly glance around and am relieved to realize that only us, a few people directly around us, and Sam's pack even noticed my outburst.

But then I see a group of girls standing around a white BMW. There's no questioning where this group falls in the high school hierarchy either. They are the popular girls. They are who I used to be. My old friends. My enemies. And the tall skinny one with the skimpy skirt and the ten pounds of makeup is nothing short of
glowering
at me. She flips her long, chemically straightened, black hair. I swallow nervously before I realize where her gaze is locked, and it's not just on me - it's on Sam's hand on my shoulder. I quickly shrug out of his grip and he frowns at me.

"We've gotta go. Lunch," I explain.  

I take care not to meet Sam's eyes, but his black wool coat gapes open and fully visible is his fitted tee shirt and jeans, and I realize that focusing my eyes on his body isn't really any less distracting. His physique is clearly defined even through his clothing.
Is that normal?
No wonder Queen Bee over there was glaring at me. Befriending Sam is definitely not the way to stay off of that group's radar, which is currently my prime objective. I don't want the popular girls to know who I am. That is not the way to stay invisible.

And then Tucker is here. He gives Sam that handshake-half hug thing that men do.

"Cap," he greets, and then he notices me. "So I see you're still hogging the new girl. Hi, new girl, I'm Tuck."

I say nothing.

Sam rolls his eyes. "Rory, this is Tuck, Andrew, Marshall, Dave, and Luke." He gestures to each man as he introduces his friends. Marshall and Dave laugh and playfully elbow each other. "Guys this is Rory, she's new."

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," Tuck says mock formally.

Carl's arm slides around me and she pulls me toward the car. "Okay, Tuck, leave her alone. Can't you see she's way out of your league?" she teases.

Tuck puts his hand to his chest like he's been mortally wounded, but his eyes crinkle with an amusement.

"Aw Carl, princess, you know you're the only woman for me!" Tuck calls as I climb into the back seat behind her. Carl giggles and winks at Tuck before hopping into the drivers' seat.

The diner is no more than a five minute drive. Over lunch, Carl catches me up on life. From what she describes, I deduce that while she and Tina are not part of the clique with Queen Bee, they're nowhere near outcasts either. Obviously, Tina is dating one of the popular guys and Carl explains that while she and Tuck have never been in any kind of serious relationship, they've hooked up several times and they clearly like each other. Apparently Tuck is just a pathological flirt, as Sam had said, and I shouldn't take any of it personally. It's his way of being welcoming. He's
harmless.

There's that word again. But I know better. Of course he's harmless. Everyone is harmless. Until they're not. Robin used to be harmless too. I don't say any of this to Carl though.

"So how do you know Cap?" Tina asks. I blink back at her in confusion.

"Who?" I reply.

"
Cap
. Sam Caplan. Cap."

"Oh. I don't really. I was just late to my first class and he found me in the hallway," I explain.

"Lucky bitch," Tina teases, and she and Carl both laugh.

I may be a lot of things, but
lucky
isn't one of them.
Bitch
, maybe.

"Did you see Chelsea giving her the death glare? When Cap came over in the lot?" Tina says to Carl with a hint of mischievous amusement.

"No. But it doesn't surprise me. It bugs her enough that he ignores her when she tries to flirt with him, and now he gives a girl some attention? It must be eating her alive!" They both giggle hysterically as if the idea of pissing off Chelsea, whom I assume is Queen Bee, is the best thing ever. I really don't blame them, everything about her screams "mean girl", but the fact that
I'm
the thing pissing her off - that makes me a target.  

"Did they date?" I ask.

"In her fucking dreams... their families are friends, though," Carl replies. "Cap doesn't really
date
. He has this 'no girlfriends in high school' rule, Tuck told me. He hooks up, but the girl he used to hook up with graduated - she was older. I think Chelsea thought she'd get her chance this year, but he just ignores her and it drives her crazy, and now that she saw you two together-"

"She didn't see us
together
. And he wasn't giving me
attention.
He was just being nice. Because I'm new. He was... introducing me," I shrug and try to ignore my friends' skeptical looks. "What?!" I finally snap. Carl and Tina exchange a look.

"Maybe I'd believe that if Cap was the type to just randomly chat up some new girl. I mean, you've seen him!" Carl says excitedly.  

I frown. She makes him sound conceited. I hate that. But something about it rings false. Sam didn't seem that way at all to me. At my expression Carl continues.  

"No I didn't mean it like that. It's not that he's full of himself. I think he just gets sick of girls falling all over themselves. Tuck says he just doesn't like attention. They're best friends, you know. If Cap wants a girl, he'll let her know. And he'll get her, believe me." I had no doubt. "The rest of it, it's just annoying I think. I mean, take Chelsea - they've been friends since we were all kids, and then suddenly we're in high school and he can't be around her without her trying to flirt with him in one way or another."

"Poor him," I murmur. It comes out sarcastic and the girls laugh. I mean it to sound that way, because for it to be earnest would sound silly. To pity someone because they get too much positive attention from the opposite sex, but the truth is I kind of know what Carl means. Not to that extent, of course. I've certainly never had boys falling all over themselves, but I understand unwanted attention. "But really, I was just having trouble finding the class, it was really nothin'," I assure them.

"And again, maybe I'd believe that if you weren't, like, freaking hot," Tina counters. I throw a french-fry at her and laugh.

"I am not," I insist.

"You kind of
are
," Carl murmurs and I can see she's being genuine. I roll my eyes.

Okay, I know I'm not ugly, but I'm definitely not "like, freaking hot". Especially now that I'm dressed down and practically makeup free. Maybe I should lose the lip gloss.

****

The rest of the school day continues uneventfully. Most of the students leave through the side entrance as it's adjacent to the student parking lot, but it's also where the gym is, and the locker rooms. Intellectually I know that football season is long over, and that there are plenty of people out and about around the hall that leads to the locker rooms, but my therapist says I should avoid triggers as best I can, and high school locker rooms are definitely a trigger. I make my way through the main entrance and around the perimeter of the building, like I did for lunch, and by the time I get to my car, almost everyone has left. I hop into my jeep and drive straight home to get started on my calculus homework.  I'm already behind. I'm going to have to ask my teacher tomorrow if he has any extra help hours or tutoring.  

The good news is that my AP English class is working on just about the same list of books I'd been reading back in Linton, and the ones that weren't on the old syllabus, I'd already read on my own. At least that's one thing that'll make life easier. Hey, you take the good where you can find it. Or at least that's what I try to tell myself.

The next morning I make it to first period - which is now homeroom for the next ten minutes - with time to spare. Carl has saved me a desk next to her near the back and I'm grateful for it. We chat for a few minutes before the bell rings. I try not to stare when Sam walks in, but the kid is just freaking gorgeous. I try to be inconspicuous about it, and realize I'm not the only one. Most of the girls in the class are trying to steal glances at Sam. I can see why he might find it annoying, but really, who has a "no girlfriends in high school" rule? Idly I wish Robin had had that rule, but stop myself. I'm not supposed to dwell on past events I can't change. My therapist would chasten me for even thinking it.

I steal one more glance at Sam who's texting on his iPhone and chatting with the guy he introduced yesterday as Dave, before the teacher, Mr. Frank, walks in as the bell rings. The students settle and quiet down and just before he turns to face the smart board, Sam peeks back at me and half smiles. For a moment, I think I imagined it, but then Carl nudges me with her elbow and mouths, "see!"

I don't
see
really. He's just barely acknowledged me.

I don't tell her the real reason Sam was nice to me yesterday. Why he's acknowledging me today. I don't tell her that he caught me freaking out in the hallway and popping drugs barely in time before I hyperventilated and passed out. Which is what happened the first time an attack hit about ten months ago. I don't tell her that he's only being nice to me because he thinks there's something wrong with me. Because he
knows
there's something wrong with me. Because he pities me.  

Pity.

It's funny how things change. Nine months ago I'd have welcomed it. It would have been a nice change from all the accusations and scorn. If they pitied me it would have meant they believed me. Now, I don't want pity. I want to pretend like none of it ever happened. That was the whole point of moving across the country. That no one would know. But while Sam may not know what happened, he's witnessed the scars. Not the physical scar, but the emotional ones. And those are far worse.

****

Over the next few days I fall into a routine. Classes, lunch with Carl and Tina, more classes, homework, reading, and declining invitations for any other social activities. When Friday rolls around, it becomes more difficult to use excuses about having to have dinner with my mom to get out of hanging out after school. Everyone is going to a party at Andrew's tonight. It's the kind of thing I'd have been excited about a year ago. But now, I decline.

When I mention it to my mom over dinner, she gives me that look. That sad, pathetic look that reflects that I am just a shell of my former self. But I also see her own self-pity, reminding me how much this has all hurt my mother too, and I make the snap decision to try and alleviate some of her pain.

I decide to go to the party.  

I don't spend much time getting ready. After all, I don't want to look like I'm trying. If I can hang out for a little while - at least until Mom goes to bed - she might think I'm recovering in some way. That I'm on the road back to normal. It's so easy to forget how traumatic it must have all been for her, too.

I wait in the living room for Carl to pick me up, aware that my mom is watching me closely, searching for signs that I'm not ready for this so she can order me to stay in. But I know that isn't what she wants. What she wants is to find the unlikely reassurance that I'm starting to be okay. So I give it to her.