NORMAL (10 page)

"So can I tutor you? I could really use the extra credit."

I snort.
"Please,"
I say sarcastically, "you don't need any extra credit in calc." I've seen his test scores. He knows his shit.

"I do, actually. My tests are fine, but Mr. Frank and I don't exactly see eye to eye on homework. You see, I don't like to waste my time doing it since I know the coursework, and Mr. Frank won't give me my A if I don't student tutor to make up for not turning any of it in last semester."

"And God forbid you were to earn a B," I tease.

He narrows his eyes at me and smirks again. "God forbid," he agrees.

"Well I guess I can't very well be responsible for letting you mar your perfect academic record," I say with a shrug, wondering where I've pulled this wit out from.

Sam grins.

"Do you think you could help me before Monday's quiz? I'm totally lost," I admit.

"Sure, how's right now?"

"Perfect."

Sam starts walking down the hall and I follow.

"Should we go to your house?" he asks.

I startle, though I try to hide it. "My mom's not home," I reply.

He furrows his brow.
God,
I wish he wouldn't do that, I don't know why but it's just adorable when he does it.

When I realize he's confused, I elaborate. "I, um, I'm not allowed to have guys over when I'm alone," I lie. In fact, my mother and I have never discussed this, there hasn't been a need since I have no plans to put myself in such a position any time soon. Though, I'm sure she'd agree this rule is a good idea.

Sam looks skeptical. Obviously this isn't exactly par for the course for a normal eighteen year old, but he should already know that that isn't what I am. "What about your dad?" he asks. We're still walking, and I know he's glanced over at me, but I just continue to look down so he doesn't see how affected I am by his seemingly innocuous line of questioning.

"No Dad," I murmur as casually as I can manage.

"Oh. I'm sorry," he offers, but I shake my head.

Now I look at him. "Don't be. We're better off without him." I don't know why I give him this personal tidbit, but I do.

Sam nods. "Yeah, I can understand that," he replies, and something in his eyes tells me he really does understand it in some profound way. Vaguely I remember Carl or Tina saying something about his father having left his family when Sam was in middle school and I wonder if there's more to that story, but I don't pry. "Anyway, we can go to my house," he offers.

I stop walking. "I, uh, can't," I murmur. I don't elaborate, and I inwardly curse my life that I can't even make plans to study without complications from my fucked up past.

"My mom's home. My sister too," he assures me.

It's nice of him to play to my issues, but the truth is it doesn't help. Even with his family in the house, it doesn't mean he couldn't get me alone, and if he did, I would panic. No question. "What time's the school library open until?" I ask.

"Seven, I think."

****

There are a few other students studying or doing coursework and of course the school librarian, Ms. Pitser, is sitting quietly at her post at the reference desk. I have to focus extra hard not to be distracted by Sam's looks, but the extra focus actually works. The way Sam explains the formulas, in his deep, gravelly timbre, somehow makes more sense than when Mr. Frank drones on and on in first period every day.

He has me grasping the concepts in no time, and the way he smiles at me when I get a problem right, like he's proud of me... it's an effective incentive. In just over ninety minutes he declares that I'm ready for Monday's quiz, and by the time we're heading out of the library I'm feeling pretty self-satisfied.

The more we chat, the more it becomes clear that regardless of what I've said, we are becoming friends. There's a strange kind of comfort, a rare connection, that I seem to have with Sam, and I realize how unlikely it is to find, and decide that maybe I should give him a chance. After all, it's not like I'm trying to replace Cam.

"So, why doesn't your sister go here?" I ask, braving a question I've been wondering about.

Sam hesitates. "She used to, but, she's homeschooled now," he shrugs.

"Why?" I blurt without thinking. I think my eyes widen with surprise at my own invasiveness.

Sam looks over at me, thoughtful for a moment. "That's kind of personal, Rory. No offense, but you're the one who doesn't want to be friends," he replies, not unkindly, and even half-smiles to soften the blow.  

I frown. He's right. I stop walking and he follows suit.

"Yeah... um, so I'm real sorry about that. Actually, I think I'm probably sorry about almost everything I've said to you since we met," I let out a brief ironic laugh at my own expense. "Look, I kinda had a rough year, and I'm still kinda dealin' with things. It's not easy for me, even just this friends thing," I murmur, gesturing between us. I'm inwardly cringing by how much I've revealed, by how pathetic I'm sounding. But this is me, I
am
pathetic.

Sam grins. "Well being honest is a pretty good start." He's completely sincere, there's no doubt. His fingers twitch once, as if he wants to touch me but he doesn't. And vaguely I realize that I don't think I would panic if he did. "You know, that friends offer is still on the table. Anytime you're ready, okay?"

I smile, I can't help it. I don't respond directly to his offer. Instead I say "I was homeschooled for a while." If asking about his sister's being homeschooled was personal, then I hope he understands that my confiding this is an offer of friendship. It's the best I can do right now. "When we moved here, my dad didn't come with us. My mom needed to work, so I had to, you know, come here," I explain. I was terrified to go back to any school, let alone a public school, but I was comforted by the fact that no one here would know me, and I didn't want to make it harder for my mom, who after years of what was basically volunteer work, now has to work long hours at a private firm to keep us afloat.

Sam starts walking again and I fall in line beside him.

"You're from Florida, right?" he asks.

"Yeah."

"We're all going down to Miami for spring break.  The seniors go every year, it's kind of tradition."

"Not that part of Florida," I murmur.  

Sam takes a deep breath. "Beth, my sister, she went through a bad breakup last year. She's doing fine now, but for a while... anyway, she just fell behind a little and it's easier for her to catch up at home with a private tutor, which is why I'm so ahead in calc," he explains.

"Oh," I murmur.
A bad breakup
.
Maybe I can use that to describe my year last year. It doesn't sound so bad.

"So, you coming to Andrew's tonight?" Sam asks.

I nod as we approach the juncture where the old and new parts of the building meet. It's also where I exit the building to avoid passing by the locker rooms "I, uh, go out this way," I say.

He pauses and furrows his brow. "That's the faculty lot. The student lot is this way," he nods further down the hall.

"Yeah, I know. I just, um, walk around from here," I explain, explaining very little.

Sam looks warily out the window at the blackness beyond the glass doors. "Why would you do that? I mean, I know it's not too late, but it
is
dark..."

He's right, and suddenly I'm stuck having to choose between walking the perimeter of a nearly empty building in the dark and walking through an equally empty hallway, alone with a guy, past the locker rooms.

Fuck
. I swallow audibly, looking dubiously between my two options, both of them so disconcerting that my pulse accelerates exponentially. But I know there's no way I'm walking past those locker rooms, not when the hallway is all but deserted, and definitely not with a boy. I take a deep breath and turn to Sam.

"So, look, you saw me have that panic attack my first day..."

I wait for him to acknowledge this with a nod.

"So I have these triggers. I know it's weird-"

"It's not weird," he cuts me off, and I blink at him for a moment.

"Well it's not normal," I counter.

He doesn't make any sign of agreement with this, but he doesn't argue either. "So, triggers?" he prompts.

"Um, yeah... I just really don't want to walk past the locker rooms if I don't have to."
So much so that I hide in the bathroom next to the cafeteria to change for phys ed eighth period every other day.

"Okay," he replies - no judgment. "I'll walk you," he offers, and starts out the main exit, but stops when he realizes I haven't moved. He looks at me inquisitively.

I take a deep breath. "So if we're gonna do this - this
friends
thing - I need you to understand somethin'."

He nods as if to urge me on.

"Some of these... triggers... Look, I can't walk out there with you," I gesture out the doors. "Not alone. It's not personal, okay? It's got nothin' to do with you. I really don't wanna offend you, like I've said before, you've been nothin' but nice to me." I'm rambling, my nerves betraying my otherwise carefully hidden accent, and I'm not sure if I've made any sense.

"Okay, Rory. I get it," he says.

"You do?" I ask, incredulous.

Sam nods. "I do. How about we make a deal? When we're approaching a situation that makes you uncomfortable, you just tell me, okay? And I won't get offended and I won't judge. We can even have a safe word," he suggests.

I laugh. "A safe word? What is this, BDSM?" I tease.

He chuckles. "Hey, if you want me to restrain you, just tell me, Ror."

My entire body stiffens.

"Safe word,"
I whisper shakily, and Sam's expression drains of mirth.

"See... It works," he murmurs tentatively, and I relax, which I'm sure he notices. "But you have to pick an actual word, not just 'safe word'."

"How about
calculus?
" I suggest.

Sam chuckles again and it unnerves me how much I enjoy the sound. "Calculus it is," he agrees. He looks out the dark glass doors again. "So we have a little dilemma. I can't walk you to your car, but I can't let you walk around the back of the building in the dark all alone either," he murmurs contemplatively.  

I want to argue that I'll be fine alone, but I'm not sure I will. I surreptitiously feel around to the pocket of my bag for my pill bottle.

"Here, give me your keys. I'll bring your car around front," he offers.

I want to argue that he doesn't have to do that, but I don't. Instead, I wordlessly hand over my keys.

"Stay here," he says, and turns to head in his original direction.

"It's the silver jeep!" I call out, but he waves me off, as if he already knew what I drove. Although it's probably the only car left in the student lot besides his own, so it shouldn't be too difficult to deduce, especially with his math abilities.

The hall is mostly empty but a few faculty members pass by every now and then; they scarcely notice me. It's barely minutes later when Sam pulls my car around, and I thank him. It's on the tip of my tongue to offer to drive him back to the student lot, but I can't bring myself to do it. I'm not sure I can be alone in a car with him. In fact, I know I can't. So I watch silently as he jogs back into the building and cuts through back to his own car.

****

It's only a few hours later that I arrive at Andrew's house with Carl. Tina is already here. Chelsea has started a game of "Never have I ever" where someone says something they have never done, and the rest of the group must drink if they have. I sit holding my cup of beer, surprised how open people are being about such personal experiences.

Sam doesn't play. He stands in the corner with a few of his friends chatting and sipping his drink.

"Never have I ever... had sex in water," a girl named Sandy shouts.

"Fresh or salt?" Andrew asks and Tina playfully punches his arm.

"What does it matter?! Either, both!" Sandy replies in her drunken excitement and a few people sip their drink, including both Andrew and Tina.

I have yet to take a sip.

"Never have I ever... gotten laid on school property," a guy whose name I've forgotten says and two boys take a sip.

I shoot out of my seat and murmur to Carl that I need some fresh air. Barely a moment later, I'm through the back door where a girl I think is named Lisa is smoking a cigarette.

"Can I bum one?" I ask. I don't want to smoke, and I rarely do it, but the truth is, I find cigarettes calming. She hands one over as she finishes her own and heads back inside and I'm grateful to be alone.

I sit on one of the steps that lead from the back door to the patio and inhale long and hard, allowing the nicotine to relax my nerves. I remind myself that smoking is bad
. Lung cancer, emphysema, heart disease.
I've silently repeated this mantra again and again on the rare occasions I've smoked, but it doesn't stop me from sucking the thing down to the filter any more than it has the last time or the time before that.