Sort of Normal

Chapter 9

Carter

Carter, 15

Boone, 18

"My sister is such a catch," Kara declares. "The boys at the dance are going to go crazy over you."

Hopefully she can't see my blush underneath my makeup. I'm not used to being told I'm pretty. "Nobody is going to look at me twice if my date is my brother." Especially if he's high. God, I hope he's not high. He promised me he'd stay clean tonight. He keeps disappearing deeper and deeper into the life of an addict. Maybe a fun night out will be enough to make him want to try to get sober—I want him to expect more of himself.

The doorbell rings downstairs, and I can't help giggling; I've been looking forward to tonight.

Kara insisted I try on as many formal dresses as we could find, so we spent weeks going around to different stores. Eventually, we both fell in love with a sky blue dress with a knee-length hemline. When I spin, I feel like Sleeping Beauty in the cartoon movie. Kara paid to have my hair done in a pretty, messy bun that's swooped off to the side of my neck. She also made me get my nails done, which was fun because she got hers done, too.

"One final touch?" Kara asks, going over to her jewelry box. She opens it and carefully searches for something before turning toward me. In her hand are beautiful diamond earrings in the shapes of flowers. She holds them out to me, smiling. "When I went to my first dance, my mom gave these to me. I wanted to make a tradition out of it when my daughter had her first dance. I want you to have them."

In the middle of reaching toward them, I stop. Daughter? "Kara, you keep them for when you and Gabe have kids."

"I want to give them to you," Kara says, closing the distance between us and dropping them into my palm. "You're my kid."

Flash flood sirens swirl in front of my eyes. What did I do to earn someone like Kara in my life? "Thank you."

"Don't cry," she says, "or else I'll cry."

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself not to. I won't ruin my makeup and look like I'm having my mugshot taken instead of going to a dance. After I put the earrings on and manage to strap myself into a pair of heels, Kara links her arm through mine to help me down the stairs, so I don't fall flat on my face.

I think I can hear Gabe talking in the living room to Declan, and I tell myself it has to be a good sign. The last time he came over, he was so strung-out that Gabe had to ask him to leave, which didn't end well. I'm glad it's all been forgotten and they're moving on.

Kara rounds the corner first, and I immediately know something is up. Her shoulders droop slightly, and she looks back at me, her excitement still there, but also nervousness.

I find Boone sitting on the couch, wearing the suit we bought Declan. He immediately stands, gripping a bouquet of violets tightly. There's a note tied by lace to the flowers. He looks absolutely handsome, even if the suit is tight because Declan's thinner and shorter. Boone shaved, which makes him look younger and his hair is brushed to perfection.

My heart should drop because he's here and not Declan, but it doesn't. It soars. Don't get me wrong, I'm disappointed in Declan for not showing up, but there's no better consolation prize than Boone. I’ve been dreaming of this moment with him since I realized boys could be more than just friends.

His gaze moves in slow pursuit of the way I'm dressed. I don't think I've ever really looked like a woman to him. I've always been too young. Only, right now, I feel mature and beautiful, caressed by the look in his eyes. I've always thought—or maybe pretended—that there were moments here and there, but this is on a whole new level. It's almost as if he likes me as much as I like him.

"You're beautiful, pretty girl," he breathes, coming toward me. The term of endearment leaves me breathless.

"Thank you," I say. My voice sounds far away. "You look very handsome."

"When I have you on my arm, I will be." He closes the distance between us and leans into me. I think maybe he's about to push my hair behind my ear or hug me, but instead his lips find my cheek, barely missing my mouth. He smells like cologne—maybe Gabe's—and his lips are soft against my cheek. He’s kissed me like this a thousand times before, but I’ve never noticed that his kisses heat my skin like a hot spring in the middle of a tundra.

"Oh," I sigh, my body tilting into his.

His free hand moves down my arm as he pulls away and laces our hands. We haven't held hands in a long time. "These are for you," he says in a quiet voice. "I couldn't reach your windowsill."

"Thank you," I repeat, taking them from him. I'm at a loss for words, for breathing. I'm pretty much at a loss for everything. I'm a mess. I carefully maneuver the flowers so I can read the note and not drop his hand. "Your brother shouldn't have stood you up, but I'm glad to be here with you. There's no one else I'd rather be with."

"I want tonight to be special for you," he tells me when I look up.

I already know it will be.

#

My high school managed to decorate the dance with paper mâché stars and shimmering centerpieces. I heard someone say that this was all of the leftover decorations from the senior prom last year. Hand-me-down or not, it looks perfect to me.

It felt as though the whole school stopped to look at us when we arrived, since he doesn't come to these things. He ignored them and guided me to the edge of the dance floor, isolating us. Whenever a girl walked over to talk to him or asked him why he's here with me, he put less distance between the two of us to make a point. It's like he's my boyfriend for the night.

We danced to two slow songs already and are on our third. Boone's not a very good dancer, and neither am I, but then slow music comes on, and he wraps his arms around me. I rest my head on his shoulder, and it's like we're gliding on clouds. I want to live in tonight forever.

"You know," Boone says into my ear, so I can hear him over the music, "this is my first dance."

I look at him, biting at my lip. I knew that already. I made it my business to know Boone's dating life. I just always feared he'd take a girl to a dance, they'd laugh over punch, and fall in love to the tune of some eighties song. I only ever wanted that to happen with me, but I just never thought we'd have the chance.

Boone runs his hands up my back then down, dangerously close to my butt. I don't know if he means to, or if I'm just imagining it. He starts to sing, and I shiver. His voice is a raspy, barely-there wind against my skin, and easily one of the best things I've ever experienced. I move closer into him until I can hear his rapid heartbeat and feel it thrumming against my cheek.

When the song finishes, we stay like that. Even when a new fast beat one comes on everyone seems to magically know the dance to. Maybe he doesn't want to leave either? Maybe this is magic for him, too?

"Let's go somewhere quiet," he says, pulling away.

He leaves his arm behind my back as he guides me over to the table where our drinks and purses are. We sat down with his friend, Jason, and his girlfriend, Alex. She broke her foot playing soccer, but they came anyway. I love the way they look at each other—almost as if they were dancing in their imaginations. Jason laughs at something she's saying and leans in to kiss her, then notices us.

"Hey," he says. "Not fans of the Cotton Eye Joe?"

"Don't even know what that is," Boone says with a laugh. "Can you watch our stuff? We're gonna take a walk."

"Definitely," Alex says. "Take your time. We're stuck."

"At least you're stuck with me," Jason says.

"Thanks," Boone tells them both before he leads us away. He moves us through a small crowd on the outer perimeter of the dance floor and through an exit I didn't know existed. I've been in high school for a few months, but I've been avoiding the gym at all costs.

The fall air is chilly against my bare arms, and cold bumps spread out along my arms. Boone looks down at me, then down at himself, and then back at me.

"Don't even think about giving me your jacket," I tell him. "You'll be cold."

"That's not my ingenious plan," he says and winks at me. We walk around the back side of the school until we're near the wetlands I've visited for my freshman science class. The grass is a healthy green, the algae are thick, the cattails are reaching for the stars, and the water is completely still in the moonlight.

Boone leans against the shed next to the wetland. I start to lean beside him, but he reaches out and pulls me so my back is against his chest. He wraps the lapels of his jacket as far around me as they'll go and then braces his arms around my middle. He lays his forehead against my shoulder.

"Are you having fun?" he asks. The vibration of his voice is delicious.

"Yes," I say back. I can't talk above a whisper after the dancing, the chilly air, and his close proximity to me. It's all so dreamy, and I don't want to shatter it.

"Even though I'm not Declan?"

"I'm happy it's you here," I admit. It's the most I can say without feeling guilty. Honestly, if I had known Boone would come with me, I'd have asked him instead.

"Me, too," he agrees. He starts moving his thumb in gentle circles above my belly button. It lulls me farther into him. I wonder what it would feel like to be this way with him whenever I wanted—if we could always be like this. "Getting to spend time with you like this is somethin' to treasure." I don't know if I just imagine it, but I swear I feel something soft brush against the apex of my neck. His lips? God, just the thought of that being a possibility makes me shiver again. His arms tighten. "You really look gorgeous tonight, Carter. You're the prettiest girl I've ever laid eyes on."

I don't know what to say. All of the air leaves my lungs. He really thinks that? Boone Fell thinks I'm the prettiest girl he's ever seen? How can that be? Boone has his pick of girls, even if he never seems to want to do any picking, so it doesn't make sense for him to think about me like this.

"I've been thinking too much about you for my own good—I always have," he continues. "You mean the most to me. You own me.”

I'm not sure what he's saying. I hope he's telling me he has the same feelings for me I have for him, but I don't want to get disappointed if that's not it. Maybe he's talking in "brother" or "friend" terms like he normally does, and I'm too busy reading between the lines.

I turn in his arms, needing to see his face, hoping the answers will be there. They are. He's looking down at me with a soft, intense expression, his eyes glowing in the star light. He looks as he did back at the house—as if he wanted to kiss me.

Please kiss me.

He slips a hand up to my neck as he leans into me. He murmurs unintelligible words, and something like doubt flickers in his eyes before he angles his face to press a soft kiss against my lips. My first kiss.

It's like any kiss he'd put on my head or my cheek, only there's more pressure and it's on my lips. A romantic sort of kiss I can't think through or process. He pulls back slightly, looking for something in my wide-eyed expression.

"Should I have done that?" he asks.

My answer barely comes out. "Yes."

"Should I do it again?"

"Yes."

This time I process too much—everything. Not just his lips and hands and heat, but also the magic of the moment. We're on my high school grounds, but my heart would adamantly say we're floating in the sky, surrounded by glimmering lights.

He kisses me deeper, holding me tighter, but the kiss doesn't go any further. It stays in chaste perfection, which is probably all I can handle. This is as far as I've ever let my dreams go.

#

"I hate him. I hate him. I hate him," I say over and over again as I shove my laundry into the washer. I don't know how many times I've said that or some variation of it. I was keeping count, but at about twenty-nine I gave up. I mean, it's not as though he were worth me counting how many times I've said I hate him if I actually do hate him, right?

"Stupid," I rant, slamming the door shut. "Stupid," I continue, pressing the button, "asshole," I finish, relishing in the loud noises of the washer gearing up. I might have added a pair of my shoes for the added clunk. I can pretend it's Boone's head or something equally liberating.

I cross my arms, and the satisfaction instantly fades away. What was that even supposed to accomplish? I've been avoiding and ignoring all things Boone for six days now, but he's still at the forefront of my thoughts. I can't escape him, no matter how many times I beat up the washing machine or throw clunky shoes in it.

"Gah," I mutter. I should've told Kara about the kiss, only she was too giddy to notice my downer mood. Gabe must have mentioned my plans with Luke, and I didn't have the heart to bring her down. Also, I don't want another lecture about letting my heart get the best of me. I already know how much Boone affects me, and I really don't want to talk about that.

Plus, if I think too much about him, then I think about how wonderful it felt to kiss him. How it made me feel whole and right and how empty I've been since we lost contact. How I hate him and love him, but that stupid, stupid, asshole managed to make the love side win out.

"What did that ever do to you?"

I jump, immediately straightening the tank top I'm wearing because it's not exactly flattering. "Luke? What are you doing here?"

Luke gives me a strange look—as if I should know the answer, which I probably should. We've been texting a lot, only I don't really remember what’s been said. Luke's sweet, cute, and smart, but for some reason my mind feels as though it were everywhere else except with him. I want to like him. He's the type of guy you meet, fall in love with, and grow old with. He doesn't leave or go back on promises. He's there. Forever.

"My parents and I came over for dinner," he answers.

"Oh, gosh, yeah." I remember now. Gabe said they would be coming over because—he claimed—he wanted to pick Luke's dad's brain about administration, but I wouldn't put it past him to have an ulterior motive. I didn't expect them for a while, but I've been purposefully hiding and avoiding all human contact. Time flies when you're miserable. "Sorry."

"It's okay," he says, shrugging. "When I get angry at washing machines I forget things, too. So, why do you hate it, and what makes it an asshole?"

I stare at him blankly. Great, he heard that. "My clothes just didn't get dry."

"That's not the dryer," he points out.

"That must be why."

"Right." He grins, as if I were hilarious or something. I'm not sure what it says that he hasn't noticed I've lost my mind. Maybe he's a smile-through-the-pain type of guy. "Well, Kara asked me to come find you. She has the food ready."

"She's used to dinner parties," I explain. "Our dad and her mom come over a lot." I have no doubt my voice shows just how much of an enjoyable experience that is.

He laughs. "I get that. It's the same with my grandma."

"Glad to know everyone's family is dysfunctional," I say. "Not just us."

We walk to the dining room where everyone's already seated and waiting on us. I feel a little better about the way I'm dressed when I see everyone else looks just as casual. Well, except for Luke. I've noticed he dresses as if he were always prepared to go to a last-minute business meeting.

It's nice getting to hang out with another family of three. I like the way Luke's parents boast about him and how he's more than happy to gloat about them, too. I haven't gotten a lot of healthy instances of what a family should be, so it's nice to have them as an example. It's also nice having a reminder not all dinner parties have to include a dad that wishes you didn't exist.

#

After we're done eating, Luke's mom and Kara shoo us outside so they can do the dishes. I don't miss the conspiratorial look in their eyes. It seems as though everyone but me had a plan for my life.

I blush and lead Luke out the back door.

"You know, I think we have a fan club," he announces once the door is closed. “And we’ve only been texting.” The blush suddenly turns cold and I feel the color drain from my cheeks. The idea of dating Luke is nice—he’s a good fit for me, he has a stable life, Kara and Gabe approve of him. But actually dating him? It doesn’t feel right.

But maybe that’s how dating is supposed to be. You are getting to know another person, maybe even getting to know yourself in the process. Nobody in their right mind goes into that without an ounce of nervousness, right?

Except it should be good nerves. Not that what I feel for Luke is bad, necessarily—just platonic. Then again, that could be exactly what I need. I’m so used to crazy highs and dramatic lows, to messy hearts, and to broken promises that I might not know a healthy way to love and need another person. Luke might be what I need to learn to be normal.

"Hey, Carter?" Luke says. There's something weird in his voice.

"Yeah? Sorry I'm going all space cadet on you. I'm just—life with washers is hard, you know?" I laugh nervously.

Luke doesn't laugh back. "It's not that. Why's there a guy up there?"

My heart drops.

No.

Of course he'd be out here. He only ever comes when it's dark because he doesn't want Gabe finding him. He's still delivering these notes even though I haven't been reading them. They're piling up on the window; the paper getting ruined and the flowers dying. It's been hard to ignore them, but I have. I've been tempted to read them and pretend I didn't. My fear is if I do that, I'll find something worth reading that'll send me back in his direction. After our kiss, I can't do that again.

"Boone," I yell in a whisper, stomping to the bottom of the trellis, "why're you here?"

He removes the flowers and note from his back pocket and sets them on the windowsill. He glances down at me, grinning. "Hey, pretty girl. You're talkin' to me."

"You shouldn't be here. I told you to leave."

"Yeah, but that was a few days ago, and I figured my restrictions were up. You know, expired."

He expertly climbs down the trellis, knowing where to grab to not hurt his hands. Close to the bottom, he lets go and jumps off, landing on his feet like a cat who's about to catch his prey.

"Who is this guy?" Luke asks me. "Should we call the cops?"

"It'd be worse if you called good ol' Gabe. He's the big guns," Boone says with a deep chuckle.

"Well, if you're not quiet, he's going to come out here anyway," I warn.

Boone just grins at me. I'm sure he thinks this means we're best friends again. I tell him to leave, and he thinks he should stay; I tell him to quiet down, and he thinks it's me saving his life.

He brushes his hand on his dirty, grease-stained jeans and then holds it out to Luke. "Boone Fell. The it's to Carter's complicated."