Sara and the Search for Normal Read online

  “One hour!” their teacher, Mrs. Gregory, said. “And we don’t all have to use computers!”

  They all used computers except for one: Daniel Leigh. He was with his best friend, Max, at first, as always, but Max sat down with Taj to play a computer game, and Daniel wandered alone into the shelves. He had sandy-blond hair and blue eyes and was nearly as pale as me, despite playing football outside. He had something wrong with him, I was sure. I had seen hints: soft words and sweating and muscles tensing. Something screaming below the surface.

  I watched him through a crack in the shelves. He was looking at some adult fiction they kept in the library for teachers and overachievers like us. He was a closet overachiever, though. He was only looking there now because he thought he was alone.

  I picked up a book called The Runaway Robot by Lester del Rey. I was about one page in when I realized the robot was telling the story. I closed it and tucked both copies under my arm.

  When I snuck another peek through the shelves, Daniel was playing a Game. Not one of mine—clearly, Daniel had his own.

  He picked up a book and put it back and picked it up. His body was stiff. I thought I could hear him whispering. He kept looking down the aisle to make sure no one was watching. Maybe he could feel my eyes on him. But his body was shaking, and I could almost feel it when he clenched his fists—a rising pressure that wanted to burst out of his eyeballs and throat and skin.

  “Seven, eight, nine, seven, eight, nine,” he whispered, and he put it back and picked it up, and then he dug his nails into his scalp so hard I was sure it must have cut him. “Seven, eight, nine, seven, eight, nine, seven, eight, nine …”

  At each number he put the book back on the shelf, and it seemed like he wanted to keep it there on the ninth, but he couldn’t and had to do it seven times, eight times, and then try again. It was eleven more full sequences before he left. And even then, he moved slowly. Reluctantly, looking back once before hurrying away. He hadn’t beaten his Game. He was just like me.

  I watched him go, and I felt bad for him. But I felt good, too. Relieved.

  I now knew for sure that I wasn’t the only crazy kid in Erie Hills Public School.

  That realization turned to guilt, and that turned to a reminder that he wasn’t in the Crazy Box. He was stronger than me, or at least a far better actor. The relief turned to jealousy.

  That night I read the entire book because I didn’t want to turn off the lights. I had done something bad. Two partially dissolved pills sat on my desk; I had spit them out and shoved them into my pocket as soon as Mom turned around. I didn’t want to take them anymore. Things were going well. It had been a good day … not even a single Game. But even though I hated taking the pills, I was afraid of what would happen if I didn’t. Finally, when the book was done, I turned off the lights and lay there, trying to remind myself that I was getting better.

  I wasn’t the only one staying up. I had thirteen text messages from Erin, all of the usual variety:

  Someone posted a photo from the birthday party. Thanks, Aunt Deb!!

  Do you ever wonder why peanut butter isn’t called peanut paste?

  I think a boy just flirted with me. He said hey, but it was a loaded hey.

  But at 10:15, I got one from James. I saw his name and opened it right away.

  Hey! It’s James. Guess what: I went in my brother’s room again. I didn’t get a panic attack!

  I smiled and wrote back:

  You are making progress.

  There was a pause.

  Maybe. Some days are still bad.

  I read that and then stared at the ceiling again, screen open, bathed in blue light. James had some bad days for now. Then it would be one a week. One a month. Then normal James again. And he would want normal friends. Friends who didn’t take pills or play games. I had to change. It felt like I was adding glue, just a little at a time, enough to fix the cracks but never be truly fixed. But I realized I was being selfish. James had lost his brother. He needed support.

  You’re doing good, I wrote back. Keep going. Good night, James.

  James: Good night, Sara.

  I turned of the screen and let the darkness come back. It always came back for me.

  * * *

  I slept for about an hour that night, which was not enough. I didn’t take my pills and surprise! I played False Alarm twice. And when my mom gave me my morning dose, I took it and tried not to feel like a failure and failed at that too.

  I yawned all through math, and blinked through English, and my head started wobbling during science even thought it was my favorite subject.

  Finally Ms. Hugger put the textbook away and sat down on the edge of my desk.

  “Tired?” she asked dryly.

  I blinked. It felt like my eyelids had glue on them. “A little.”

  “Me too.” Ms. Hugger sighed. “Sara, I have to tell you something.”

  “Okay.”

  “I will be leaving at the end of the semester.”

  I looked at her, awake now. “Where are you going?”

  “I will be working with a student at another school. A boy with autism.”

  I thought about that for a moment. It didn’t make sense. We got along. We liked each other. Or … I liked her. I racked my brain for all the times I had annoyed her. There were a lot.

  “Did I make you leave?” I murmured.

  “No! Of course not. Working with autism is just my specialty, and the school thought I was the best candidate for him. He’s been struggling. Someone new will be taking over for me.”

  “Oh.”

  I kept my eyes on the desk.

  She squeezed my hand. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No.”

  “Sara—”

  I pulled my hand away and started drawing a blue whale. I had been working on them.

  “You’re going to have someone great take over, trust me,” Ms. Hugger said.

  “Okay.”

  “We still have a little while together.”

  “Why?” I said softly. “Just leave now.”

  I drew a big tail fin and the water passing beneath it. She was swimming fast.

  “Sara, this isn’t because of you. You will be fine with a new teacher—”

  “You said I wasn’t getting better,” I whispered. “You told me that.”

  “It’s not always about getting better—”

  “Yes, it is!” I shrieked.

  That wasn’t her job. I knew that. But I didn’t want her to go.

  Her eyes were glassy now. “Sara, we have still made a lot of progress—”

  I drew more wavy lines around the whale, her tail pointed at me. She was going faster and faster now, swimming away from Psycho Sara. Why wouldn’t she? Everyone should. Maybe everyone would eventually.

  “I hate it here!” I screamed. “I hate this room! I hate you!”

  I ripped up my drawing and I scattered the floor with whale parts. I started to cry. Ms. Hugger hugged me. I think she was crying too.

  We did that for a while, and then we picked up the scraps of paper together and had lunch. I could tell that she was sad. Her eyes were still glassy, and she ate slowly. I put my sandwich down, taking a deep breath. I may be crazy, but I am not cruel.

  “Ms. Hugger?” I said.

  “Yes, Sara?”

  “I think you are a very good teacher.”

  She smiled and bit her lip. “Thank you, Sara.”

  We went back to our lunches. I was in control again. I needed to be smarter. Everyone else had given up on fixing me, but not me. I just had to follow my rules and focus.

  You will be better soon.

  CHAPTER 15 I SEE STARS

  On Wednesday I asked if we could eat lunch in the cafeteria. Ms. Hugger clearly still felt bad about leaving at the end of the semester, so she said yes right away.

  We always get to sit alone … even if someone was at the table before we sat down. Ms. Hugger was eating an apple and reading, so I just a
te in silence and people-watched.

  “I think they found my replacement for next semester,” Ms. Hugger said suddenly.

  “Who?” I asked.

  I’d had three special education teachers in my life and seriously hated two of them.

  “Miss Lecky. Principal Surrin says she is highly recommended.”

  “Super.”

  She lowered her phone. “I know that change is hard. But you’ll like her.”

  “I liked you.” I didn’t mean for it to sound so accusatory.

  She put her book down altogether and sighed. “I don’t want you to think that—”

  And then something hard connected with the back of my skull.

  My head snapped to the side. and I saw stars and heard screaming and Ms. Hugger was yelling at a boy named Brian who looked completely horrified. The stars cleared and I felt a sharp, shooting pain and something warm in my hair. I touched my head and found blood.

  “We were playing around,” Brian said, almost pleading. “I got pushed. We were just getting pumped up for the game. I didn’t see you guys, I promise. Oh man, I am so, so sorry.”

  He was almost in tears, but I think Ms. Hugger had been waiting for a chance to yell.

  “Get to the office! Now!” she shrieked. The whole cafeteria was looking. “Now!”

  Ms. Hugger pressed a napkin to my head and led me to the office while Brian shuffled along behind us. She burst through the door and everything went mad.

  “He punched her!” Ms. Hugger screamed. “Band-Aids!”

  The receptionist dropped her phone. Principal Surrin came flying out of her office. Even the little kid waiting on one of the chairs went white.

  “I got pushed!” Brian pleaded. “I didn’t punch her! It was just my elbow—”

  Principal Surrin stared at us in disbelief. “Brian … my office … now,” she whispered.

  Brian went in like a lamb to slaughter while I was led to the nurse’s office. Ms. Hugger was completely manic. She was pacing and checking my scalp as the nurse held gauze to my head. I half expected an MRI.

  I knew I was getting the crazy girl treatment. Don’t punch Sara in the head, silly Brian. You might knock another screw loose! I hoped he put one back in place.

  “Your mother didn’t answer, but your father is on his way,” Principal Surrin said, coming into the room.

  Uh-oh.

  “Do you feel dizzy?” Ms. Hugger asked. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

  It was two, but I didn’t feel I should dignify that with an answer.

  “It’s just a cut,” the receptionist said. “It might need a few stitches.”

  I was hoping she was wrong about the stitches. I hated the hospital.

  Fifteen minutes later, Dad came in. I was surprised he didn’t shatter the glass door. He was wearing his orange town jacket and his eyes were wild. I was back in the waiting room with an ice pack squeezed to my head, and I turned to him, grimacing. Ms. Hugger jumped to her feet.

  “Mr. Malvern—”

  “Who hurt my daughter?” he hissed.

  “He’s being dealt with—” Ms. Hugger said.

  “Who? ” he snapped.

  I had never seen him so angry. His whole body was shaking.

  Ms. Hugger could see the danger now. “A boy. It was an accident—”

  “You don’t hit people by accident,” he said. “Where is he?”

  Principal Surrin walked out and put on her most serious voice. “Mr. Malvern, correct?”

  He looked at her and she halted midstep. She probably saw his eyes. Then she stepped in front of the door to her office, where poor Brian was probably hiding under a desk. My father started that way with fists clenched and murder on his face. Even Principal Surrin looked afraid.

  I was up instantly. I wrapped him up in a hug, letting my ice pack fall. I hugged him so tightly that he had to stop walking or drag me with him. His body was tense, shaking, but then he seemed to notice me and stopped. He bent down and softly ran his fingers over the Band-Aid.

  He cupped my face and looked at me. “You okay?”

  I nodded.

  “She … she could maybe use a few stitches,” the receptionist offered meekly.

  He breathed for a moment, considering. I think he still wanted to kill Brian.

  I looked at him and mouthed, “Can we go?”

  He nodded. “Okay.”

  Then he took my hand and led me out in silence.

  CHAPTER 16 AN UNCOMFORTABLE MEETING AND ICE CREAM

  He decided I had to get stitches. That meant more strangers, more waiting, and angrier Daddy as he watched me flinch while the doctor sewed me up like a doll. I could hear his teeth grinding. When we finally got home, we watched TV and ate ice cream. Mom was already home when we got there. She was on the phone with the principal for a while and then announced that both sets of parents were going to attend an apology meeting tomorrow. Dad muttered something threatening. I wasn’t thrilled about the plan either.

  She also called Dr. Ring’s office to let him know that I wouldn’t be attending that night. Erin naturally texted me immediately after the session to see where I was, and I replied that I was punched in the head. That was probably unwise. She sent four text messages and then called, and I had to explain everything. She offered to personally beat up Brian for me, but I told her she would have to get in line. My dad seemed unwilling to let me out of his sight. He was also cracking his knuckles a lot.

  “You all right?” I asked him.

  He grunted. “Fine. You know, I could just give him one good right—”

  “No punching children,” my mom said, walking by on her way to the kitchen.

  He grunted again and turned to me, checking my head. “How does it feel—”

  “Same as ten minutes ago,” I said. “I’m fine. I can take a punch. I’m like Rocky.”

  He snorted and pulled me in under his arm. “That you can. It’s what I admire most.”

  “That I can take a punch?”

  “Yeah. You go through a lot.”

  I frowned. “I don’t think—”

  He turned my chin to face him. “You’re the strongest person I know. Stronger than me, that’s for sure. But if that boy ever looks at you again, I will turn him into some sort of paste.”

  I giggled. “We’re going to see him tomorrow.”

  “He gets a pass for the apology.”

  He pulled me in tighter, and I thought about what he said.

  * * *

  The next day, Brian and I were sandwiched between our respective sets of parents.

  “Go ahead,” Brian’s mother said. Her hands clearly still wanted to smack him.

  “I am very, very sorry,” Brian said. “It was an accident, but it was stupid. I’m sorry.”

  Principal Surrin was at the head of the oval table wearing a pantsuit, which she probably only wore for serious occasions. I had been in the office boardroom before, but I had never gotten a pantsuit. She turned to my parents.

  “And on behalf of the school, we sincerely apologize that this event occurred as well.”

  “Not your fault,” my mother said. She gave Brian a friendly smile. “Accidents happen.”

  My father was like a statue. He didn’t smile or flinch. Brian’s parents watched him nervously. They had probably heard that he wanted to murder their child yesterday and twenty-four hours wasn’t really sufficient for a cooldown. Brian’s father looked ready to make a block.

  “I am very sorry,” Brian said again, and this time he looked at me.

  I nodded. He really was sorry. Even for bullies, punching the crazy girl is low.

  “Brian will be much more careful about roughhousing in the future,” his mother said.

  She laid a hand on his shoulder and must have squeezed because he nodded hastily.

  “Good,” my mom replied. “Well, I think we can all move on.”

  Principal Surrin shifted. Her eyes were on my father. I knew this was for him.

&nbs
p; “We’re … all okay with moving on?” she asked.

  My father managed a curt nod, and Brian and his family quickly left the room.

  “He seems like a nice boy,” my mother said. “No harm done.”

  “Except for three stitches,” my father replied coolly.

  My mother rolled her eyes. “Sara is fine. Thank you, Principal Surrin. I should get back to work. Sara can get back to class—”

  “I already took the day off,” my dad said. “I’m going to take Sara home.”

  “Of course,” Principal Surrin said. “I’ll tell Ms. Hugger.”

  My mom glanced at my dad. “Are you sure—”

  “Yes.”

  And that was final. Even Principal Surrin knew it because she stood up and ushered us to the door. We walked out of the school as a family—Mom and Dad and me in between them.

  “Can we get ice cream?” I asked.

  We had already gotten some last night, but I figured it was worth a shot.

  “Yes,” my father said.

  “No,” my mother said.

  They looked at each other, and then my mother relented. “Just a quick stop, then.”

  Ten minutes later we were sitting in Dairy Queen. My mother was being thoroughly trounced in passive-aggressive arguments today, probably because my father still looked a bit murderous. We sat at a square table, Daddy and me eating Blizzards while my mother drank ice water.

  My father was watching her sip on it and seemed even angrier, but I wasn’t sure why.

  “What are you and Sara going to do today?” my mother asked.

  “Hang out,” my father said.

  “Hmm,” she replied.

  She looked at her cell phone, obviously impatient.

  But I loved Oreo Blizzards. I was savoring it. And then my dad sat up straighter.

  “Your friend from work is here,” he said to my mom.

  I followed his gaze and saw a man waiting at the counter. He was big and broad and had red tattoos on his forearm. Dad said he was a friend from Mom’s work, but he was wearing overalls and had work gloves in his back pocket. That did not seem like normal attire for an insurance office. My mother looked and my father looked, and the man stiffened when he saw my dad.