Sara and the Search for Normal Read online

  “I know what that’s like. Doing things that you don’t want to,” I offered.

  “Yeah, but at least you’re beautiful. Black hair, perfect skin. You’re like a prom queen.”

  I gingerly felt my face. Only my parents had ever said I was pretty. “I don’t think—”

  “Oh, please. Do you really think James just wants to chat? You don’t even talk to him.” She whirled on me. “You don’t talk to him, right?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Boys can’t be trusted. Anyway, yes. I pull out my lashes. And eyebrows. And sometimes hair. I hate it, and I try to stop, but haven’t figured out how yet. I’m a classic nut.”

  Without thinking, I reached out and squeezed her arm. “Same.”

  Erin leaned into me. “That’s why we make a good team. I did have some friends before. Tamara. Kaya. They got weird. Didn’t like the hair-pulling.” She sighed. “They stopped inviting me places. And then it all got worse. We moved again, and I didn’t really try at my new school. I could see them looking at me like I was a freak. It’s hard to get started, you know?”

  “I never had any friends.”

  She looked at me. “Ever?”

  I shook my head. I could feel my cheeks getting warm. Not a Game. Just embarrassment.

  “Well, you got one now,” she said. “And you’re stuck with her.”

  I shouldn’t have said anything. It was always safer to keep things to myself. But it had been bothering me, and we were friends, after all.

  “How did you get that bruise on your side?” I asked.

  She pulled back. Her hands went to her sweater, pulling sharply at the bottom, as if it was riding up now. She moved over a bit, and now she looked wary.

  “When did you see that?” she asked stiffly.

  “Last time—”

  “It’s nothing,” she cut in. “I fell. Just, well, it’s weird. I mean, it’s under my shirt.”

  I was confused now. Alarmed. She looked so offended I thought she might walk out.

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s fine,” she said, smiling. But it was a different smile. “Stupid fall. It’s better now.”

  She turned back to the movie. We finished it, but she didn’t talk much anymore. By the time it was over, she had already texted her mom to come and get her. She said bye and left without a hug. I watched the red taillights vanish down the street and went back to the couch.

  “And that is why you don’t talk,” I whispered to no one.

  * * *

  I texted her saying Hey! the next morning, but got nothing back. All day I wondered what I had done wrong. The good news was that it was a Thursday. I didn’t have to wait long to find out.

  When I got there, Erin was already in the office, sitting in the circle of chairs. She looked at me, and I paused at the door. I wondered if I should leave. I started to turn away, but then I felt a hand on my arm, pulling me out to the lobby. I turned and found Erin staring at me, eyes watery.

  “I’m sorry—” I said.

  She gave me a hug.

  “I’m such a diva,” she said. “I’m sorry. I get so moody. I blame the craziness. It was nothing. I was being a pill. My evil brother always says I am. Are we good? Please say yes.”

  I smiled. “Yes.”

  “Good,” she said, exhaling. “I thought I was back to no friends. I hated that phase.”

  “Did you ever try anyone else in the group?”

  I had been thinking about that last night. Had any of them said something wrong?

  “Well, Peter is about as bad as my brother. Mel said she lives too far away to hang out, even though she didn’t know where I lived, which was telling. And Taisha just said I talk too much.”

  I bit my lip.

  “Don’t even say it,” she said, grinning. She pulled me back into the office and slid her seat close to mine. “I get sensitive about … body stuff,” she said, lowering her voice. “Side effect of pulling my hair out and looking like a toe. You’ll just have to put up with me anyway, bestie.”

  Mel, Peter, and Taisha were watching us, so I just nodded.

  Dr. Ring cleared his throat. “Who wants to go first? Peter?”

  Peter was busy chewing a nail again. “What do you want to know?” he muttered.

  Erin leaned close to my ear. “Peter is a grump.”

  I had figured that out already.

  “I think he may have an anger issue—” Erin continued.

  “I’m trying to talk here,” Peter said loudly.

  “Easy, Peter,” Dr. Ring said in his most calming voice. “So, how was your week?”

  Peter turned his glare on Dr. Ring. “It was bad like every other week.”

  “Why?” he asked, pen at the ready.

  “Because I have bipolar disorder, remember?” he snarled.

  Oh, great. We were bipolar buddies. I watched the way he fidgeted while he spoke, his fingers always near his mouth, always itching to chew a nail. I could see some of myself, but I went mostly to Sad Sara, and he seemed to skip to Angry Peter. His eyes were small and hard.

  Dr. Ring nodded. “I remember. But you’re working hard to deal with it.”

  “Yeah. Two pills a day. I still punched a hole in the wall.”

  “Do you want to talk about that or save it for an individual session?”

  Peter folded his arms. “I’m a crazy idiot. That’s what my dad said. What else is there?”

  There were a few murmurs around the room. Erin pulled out an eyelash. She didn’t have many to spare. I fought the urge to chew my own nails. Crazy idiot. Sort of like Psycho Sara. I could almost hear them say it. Ashley and Taj and all the others.

  “That’s an interesting point,” Dr. Ring said. “Sometimes people call us names. They call us crazy. Retards. Freaks. Even psychos. How does that make you feel?”

  He looked at me when he said it, and I decided my shoes were interesting today.

  “Like a freak,” Peter said. “What do you think?”

  “Erin?”

  I glanced at her. Her fingers strayed near her left eyebrow. She put her hand down.

  “Yeah. Like … that.”

  “Sara?” he said. “Is that how you feel? Like their names are all true?”

  I thought about that. I thought about Taj and Ashley and their faces when they called me names. I nodded and had to fight back tears. I wasn’t sad because of Taj and Ashley. I mean, it’s not nice when people call you retard, but it is worse when you say it to yourself. And I did that a lot. In the Crazy Box. In front of the mirror. Retard. Freak. Psycho Sara.

  I was the worst bully of them all.

  “Words can hurt us,” Dr. Ring said. “I am sure we have all felt like that before. But no one here is a freak. You are perfectly normal people dealing with some common challenges.”

  Normal. That word hung in the room. It was a lie. I was still far from normal.

  For now.

  “What do you know?” Peter said. “You’re a Muggle.”

  I looked up. Maybe Peter wasn’t a total loss.

  “You know I don’t like you referring to people as Muggles,” Dr. Ring said.

  “Non-crazies,” Peter corrected, folding his arms. “You get to be normal. I’m sure you guys can deal with a nickname. It’s better than the ones I get. Spaz. Peter Pills. Crazy Idiot.”

  “Peter Pills has a bit of a ring,” Erin mused.

  “No one here is crazy,” Dr. Ring said, making some notes.

  Erin frowned. “I thought that was the point?”

  “We are getting off-topic,” Dr. Ring said. “I thought we could focus on a theme today that was brought up earlier. Let’s discuss these assigned labels and how we can diminish their effect on us. In fact, I would like you to think about how to label yourself in a helpful manner.”

  “Oh, super,” Peter said.

  Dr. Ring spent the rest of the session telling us we weren’t freaks. I don’t know if anyone believed him. I didn’t. On the way out Erin
fell in beside me, a little more somber than usual.

  “Wasn’t that fun?” she asked. “We are all normal people.”

  The other kids were getting into waiting cars. My mom was sitting in the van reading.

  “See you Saturday?” Erin asked. “Want to do something during the day, too?”

  I hesitated. I hadn’t actually put a plan together or anything, but somehow I had sort of decided to go back to the park to read. It was an off-chance meeting. Probably just a onetime thing. But I was hoping for another. She stopped, looking at me suspiciously.

  “James?” she said.

  “I didn’t make any plans—”

  She sighed deeply. “I will be at your house at seven. Bring me stories.”

  She turned and ran to meet her ride. I did the same, climbing into the van.

  “How was it?” my mom asked, glancing up from her cell phone.

  “Enlightening.”

  “What did you learn today?”

  She always liked a summary.

  I paused. “That I am a Mudblood.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Two Muggle parents, one crazy daughter. Like Hermione, but less magical.”

  As we drove away, my mom seemed to be trying to figure out a proper response.

  “Dr. Ring said that?” she said at last.

  “No,” I said, giggling. “Another crazy boy. He calls normal people Muggles.”

  She made a face. “I don’t want to be a Muggle.”

  “Well, if you want to be a witch—”

  “Sara!” she said.

  “I said witch!”

  “Oh.” She settled in again. “So, that’s really all you learned?”

  I drew a little smiley face in the condensation on the window.

  “Well, I also learned that I should probably stop calling myself a retard.”

  Mom was silent for a long time. “Yes, I think that would be a good idea.”

  I finished the smiley face and drew long hair like mine.

  But the reflection behind it wasn’t smiling, so I wiped it away with my sleeve.

  CHAPTER 8 TWO SIDES OF SARA

  On Saturday I went to the park at exactly one p.m. It was the same time as the last run-in, and I wanted to increase my odds. I sat on the grass and started reading Ms. Huggers’s choice for book of the week, which was The Invisible Man. I had a feeling I was going to like it. Being invisible would have solved so many of my life problems.

  I was nearly a quarter done and just thinking I should probably head home when I saw white sneakers above the edge of my book. I glanced up and saw James standing there, smiling.

  “Hey, Sara.”

  He looked different today. His eyes were red and shiny, like wet glass.

  “Can I sit?” he asked.

  I nodded slowly because it had been my plan, but I tried to look like I had to think about it. I wasn’t sure what was coming over me. I didn’t seek out human interactions. I avoided them.

  He sat down, shifted to get comfortable, and stared at the playground.

  “I wondered if you’d be here,” he said. “I was hoping you would.”

  I kept my eyes straight ahead, trying not to look excited. My breathing was shallow. My chest was tight. But it made sense, and it was normal, and the thrill of that almost made me scream. But I had to stay normal with James. I set my book aside, waiting for him to continue.

  He fidgeted, clearly uncomfortable. “So, I wanted to ask you about something. See if maybe you knew anything about it?”

  I nodded.

  “I had a panic attack yesterday,” he said slowly. “I’d had one before, and Dr. Ring told me what it was. This one was in school. I was in the bathroom for an hour. I thought I was going to throw up, but nothing came out. I ended up lying on the floor. It was gross. I thought maybe I would die.”

  I had been there a million times. I was surprised. I knew he was seeing Dr. Ring, obviously, but I had never figured out why. He seemed normal.

  I just nodded slowly.

  “It passed,” he said. “And I called my mom and got to go home. I’m so messed up.”

  “Panic attacks are not very nice,” I murmured without thinking.

  He stiffened. “You spoke!”

  I flushed and shook my head. What was happening to me? I was out of control.

  “You did!” he insisted.

  I shook my head.

  “Obviously, you speak,” he said. “Please say something else.”

  I hesitated. I had started with zero the day after the screaming-in-class incident, and then added my dad, my mom, Dr. Ring, Ms. Hugger, and most recently, Erin. It had taken a long time, but I guess I was trending upward. I decided I could add James to the list. Normal people did talk, after all.

  “Okay.”

  He grinned. He had very white teeth. I decided not to look at him again.

  “That’s a start,” he said. “So … the panic attacks. Do you get them a lot?”

  I had gone this far, so I just kept talking.

  “Yes. I used to get even more before the medication.”

  He nodded and stared at the grass. “I guess the pills aren’t working for me yet. Maybe a little. I guess I don’t feel as sad all the time. Just when it hits, and I remember, it all goes crazy.”

  It finally clicked. That was why he seemed so normal. He was new to this.

  “Somebody died.”

  James hesitated. “Yeah.”

  I looked at the plaid shirt. Not a father. It was too small. “Your brother?”

  He squeezed his eyes and they leaked. “Yes.”

  “Was he older?”

  “He was in tenth grade.” His voice barely worked now. “He was in an accident.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He wiped his eyes, but now his nose was leaking too.

  “It was in a car. An older friend was driving. They went off the road. My brother’s name was Kaylen. He was … my best friend. When he died, I got sad, and I didn’t stop being sad after.”

  He cleared his throat.

  “Did you lose someone too?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “No. I was always … seeing Dr. Ring.”

  I was going to say crazy. But James wasn’t crazy. He was sad. He wasn’t used to panic attacks and Games and all my little tics like Erin was. I didn’t want to scare him away.

  His wiped his face again. “Does it get easier? Being like this?”

  “Not really. No. But it’s not forever.”

  Was that a lie? I hoped not. I wanted to believe. I needed to believe it.

  “I feel like my brain is broken.”

  “It’s hurt. It will get better.”

  He stared at the playground and kept rolling his hands together. “I miss my brother.”

  “Of course. But you just have to keep walking.”

  He gave me a strange look and seemed to be thinking about that. I really needed to stop talking so much. Dad always said I was overly honest.

  He was silent for a minute. “You were nicer when you didn’t talk,” he said finally.

  “I’ve heard that before,” I admitted, flushing.

  James ran a sleeve under his nose. “Can we still just … sit? I won’t talk.”

  “Yes.”

  We sat there for a while. I didn’t read, and he didn’t speak. But it felt good anyway.

  “You have a nice voice,” he said at last. “Even if it’s a little harsh.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that. I just pursed my lips and kept staring at the park.

  “Do you have Instagram or Messenger or something?” James asked.

  I stared at him, confused.

  “Like, on your cell phone?” he said.

  “No … I’m not allowed to have data. Only texting and calling.”

  “Oh.” He paused. “Can I have your number? I won’t text you much or anything. Just, you know, if we want to make plans to meet at the park or something.”

  “Sure,” I said.
>
  My whole body was tingling as we exchanged phones and put in our numbers. I put in Sara Malvern as the contact, and he saw that and smiled and put in James Bennett.

  I had given out my phone number twice now. I was rapidly becoming a socialite.

  “Sara?” he said after a while.

  “Yes.”

  “You going to be here next Saturday?”

  I tried to hide a smile. “Maybe.”

  James laughed and shifted closer, and I was puzzled because I didn’t really mind.

  When I got home, I wrote another rule on my list. It was a little more specific than most:

  138. Hang out with James again and DO NOT mess it up.

  * * *

  Erin questioned me about James for a solid hour. Finally, when she was satisfied, we watched another Ryan Gosling movie and ate popcorn. My dad watched some of it with us. I had to leave a couple times, but Erin had already termed them “Sara breaks” and told me to take as many as I needed. When you are trying to breathe, it’s nice to know you can take your time.

  At one point she reached forward to grab the popcorn bowl, and I saw a bruise on the base of her neck. It was new, but this time, I didn’t say a word.

  She left, and an hour later I was standing in front of the mirror after my shower. I do that sometimes. I stare at my reflection for a while. I guess it started after the mirror day. I think I wanted to see if I looked normal. But mostly I see the names written in the steam. Freak. Psycho. And today, I saw ugly, too.

  I didn’t usually think about that, but today I did. I even knew why. I kept thinking about James. It made my skin prickle and not in a bad way. But it made me want to be normal and cool and beautiful.

  I didn’t know how to … like someone. And so my brain did what it always does.

  It spun the wheel.

  I was still wet and my hair was draped over my shoulders like an oil slick. My face was thin and white and freckled. My eyes were pale green like overcooked peas. My incisors were like fangs, and there was an ugly yellow stain where I had chipped one. Today there was also a pimple on my collarbone with an inflamed circle, and it hurt when I squeezed it. I tried to calm down. Not today. Please.