NORMAL (6 page)

"Night Sleepin' Beauty," he whispers before standing from my bed and strolling out of the room, closing the door carefully behind him.

Present Day

I
climb into the passenger seat of Carl's Audi. She tells me that Tina is already at the party and we'll meet her there. I look at the clock on her dashboard and estimate that I'll need to kill about three hours before Mom goes to bed and I can sneak back home.

When we arrive, Tucker hands us both red plastic cups and points us to the keg, but I put mine down on the first flat surface I can find. I haven't taken a pill today, but I still don't really like to drink. Tina and Andrew are laughing and talking with a group of people and Carl goes off to join them while I hang back a few feet from the crowd. A minute later Tuck jogs over, slings his arm around Carl and plants an exaggerated wet kiss on her cheek. She playfully pushes him away, but it's clear she doesn't mean it. Everyone looks so happy and carefree...
normal.

I don't belong here.

"Having fun?" Sam inquires from behind me.  

I startle but catch myself quickly. His tone tells me his question isn't an earnest one; he can tell how much fun I'm having.

"Didn't mean to sneak up on you."

I shrug. "Tons," I murmur, unenthused, "you?"

"A blast." He matches my level of excitement. "Can I get you a drink?" he offers.

"I don't really drink," I reply.

"How about some water?"

"I- uh-"

He hands me his unopened bottle of Poland Spring and I thank him.

"You don't seem to want to be here," he observes and I frown. He's right, I don't, but it's rude of him to point it out, isn't it?

"Neither do you," I counter. Sam smiles, and it's an unexpectedly wistful smile. I'm surprised by it. I'd expect something more cocky from such a gorgeous, confident guy.

"Touché... I have a lot on my mind," he explains.  

If he expects me to ask him about it, he's going to be disappointed. Even though I find that I am interested to know what's plaguing the mind of this beautiful boy, I worry that if I ask about his problems, then he'll have the right to ask about mine. But he doesn't give me a chance to ask, and I think maybe he didn't want me to after all... maybe he didn't even mean to say it.

"You wanna go for a walk?" he asks, nodding in the direction of the open grassy area that leads to what looks to be a pond.

Is he seriously hitting on me?

He doesn't even know me, and the one thing he does know is that I obviously have issues. He probably thinks that the crazy ones are easy. I narrow my eyes at him. I straighten my shoulders indignantly and square my stance. False confidence all the way.

"No. I don't want to go for a fucking walk. I'm not gonna fuck you, or hook up with you in any way. Or anyone else for that matter. Spread the fucking word," I spit before taking a swig from his water bottle to soothe my suddenly dry throat, which I can only hope did not betray my nerves.

Sam is staring at me wide eyed like I'd just grown another head so I turn and start stalking away from the hordes of people, toward the pond, marching in the exact direction I'd just insisted I did not want to go. My heart is pounding, but this isn't panic, this is anger.

Ugh! Guys!
They're all the fucking same.

"Hey!" Sam calls after me.

Can't he just take no for an answer?

He catches up with me and grabs my arm to stop me.

I don't think. I wrench out of his grip, turn, and smack him across his face. "Don't touch me! Don't
ever
touch me!" I growl. We're now far enough away from the crowd that no one notices us, but if I scream, they'll hear me.

Sam's fingers caress his cheek where my palm made contact, his eyes even wider than before.

"What the fuck is your problem, Rory?! I wasn't fucking hitting on you!" He rubs his reddened cheek again. "Damn it!"

He wasn't hitting on me?

As my boiling blood starts to simmer, shame floods through me. Why was I so certain his invitation for a walk was code for a hook-up? Why would I even think he'd want me that way at all?
God
, if he didn't already think I was crazy...

Damn it, Rory, don't panic.

Sam is glaring at me, but something in my mortified expression must warrant pity, because he takes a deep breath and I can sense his anger beginning to dissipate.

"I was... you just didn't seem like you were up for a party. I thought you'd want to get away from all those people." He gestures to the crowds, now off some ways, shoving his fingers through his messy brown locks in frustration. "I wasn't trying to
fuck
you. I realize that we don't know each other very well, but what about me that you know so far, exactly, makes you think that I'm the kind of guy that would lure you down to a lake, lay you down on the dirty ground, and have sex with you with a hundred of our friends not fifty yards away?"

I swallow anxiously. I've offended him. He's pissed, though he's speaking calmly. I feel moisture pricking the back of my eyes and I will it to stay put. It is beyond reason how much I have humiliated myself in front of this guy in just one week.

"I-" I choke back a sob, close my eyes and silently count back from ten in double time. When I open them again, I meet his gaze; he's looking at me expectantly. "I'm so sorry," I breathe.

Sam exhales deeply and runs his fingers through his hair again. "Look, I shouldn't have grabbed your arm like that, I wasn't thinking," he murmurs. Now he's apologizing and I'm more than sure he has nothing to be sorry for.

"Not just for slapping you."
Oh God, I freaking hit him!
"
God
, but I am
so
sorry for that. But I'm sorry for assuming...
I
wasn't thinking. I..." I pause and look away before whispering, "I don't know what's wrong with me." It's a lie. I know exactly what's wrong with me.  

Sam's expression warms, and it's not full of pity either, it's... compassion. Empathy. He sighs.

"There's nothing wrong with you, Rory."

I look away again, anywhere but at the deep blue oceans that unnerve me so. They seem to know more about me than they should. "Sure there isn't," I mutter bitterly under my breath. Suddenly Sam takes a step so he's directly in front of me, silently demanding eye contact. His arm twitches, like he wants to touch me but thinks better of it.

"There's. Nothing. Wrong. With. You."

He glares at me like he can convince me of this with just a look. Everything in my gut is screaming that he's a good guy. Like Cam. But if there's anyone whose instincts can't be trusted when it comes to guys, it's me. I was even wrong about Cam. I'd thought I'd known everything about him. But he was keeping his secrets, too.

But Sam saw me freak out, he knows I have issues, but no one else here does. Which means he's kept my secret. Otherwise it would have been all over the school in a heartbeat. That's got to count for something.

"Sam, you... thank you. I mean it, but you know that's not true. And I know you didn't tell anyone what happened my first day. When I..." I trail off and shake my head. He doesn't need a recap, he was there. "Thank you for that. You've been nothin' but nice to me. There's nothin' about you that would make me think anything bad about you," I say meaningfully, answering his original question. "Except that you're a guy," I add quietly.

Sam looks sad for a moment, but offers me a weak smile anyway. "I was just hoping we could be friends.
Just
friends." He covers his mouth and whispers conspiratorially, "no public fucking on the grass outside of parties, I promise."

I smile, but it's a wistful smile, because I could never be Sam's friend. Though something in my bones really wishes I could. Very much, I realize. But I no longer believe that guys and girls can really be
just friends
, and I'm too attracted to him to even try. I could never fully trust him, not really, and I could never trust myself with him.

"Why would you even want to be my friend?" I ask, because really, if I were him I'd have run screaming in the other direction.

He thinks about it a moment, then shrugs. "I don't know, Ror, you just seem...
real.
" He shrugs again. Something about the way he says "Ror" reminds me of Cam, and the memory of our friendship cuts me so deeply that I wince.

"I wish I could be your friend, Sam," I murmur.

His eyes are full of some unfathomable emotion and I wonder how this conversation has gotten so intimate. We barely know each other.

When Sam speaks again his voice is so low it's practically a whisper. "Who hurt you, Rory?"

I match his tone. Barely audible. "Everyone."

He looks back at me, bemused. Out of my peripheral I see a girl stalking over to where we're standing. Belatedly I realize it's
that
girl - Queen Bee - Chelsea. Sam follows my gaze and notices her too, and I can't tell if he's relieved or disappointed by her arrival, but either way the spell is broken, and suddenly it feels like we're standing too close. I take a step back from him.

"There you are!" Chelsea says to Sam, like she's been looking all over for him.

"Here I am," he agrees, taking the cup from her hand and gulping a healthy sip of beer.

"So I wanted to ask if you're coming on Sunday?" Chelsea asks excitedly. It's like I'm not even there, which would be fine if we were with a group of people, but since it's just the three of us, her not acknowledging my existence is just beyond awkward. I'm invisible again.

"Coming...?" Sam replies, his expression blank.

"To brunch, silly. Your mom didn't tell you?"

Sam groans like this is an old argument. "Come on Chel-"

"Cap! Come on, it'll be fun," she whines.

Sam gives her a skeptical look. "I think you and I have different ideas of what constitutes
fun
."

Chelsea glares at him for a second before changing tact and smiling again. "Your mom's coming. If you come I'm sure Bits will too. You know how much she needs to get out, Cap-"

"Alright, Chel, fine whatever," Sam interrupts her.

"It'll be good for-"

"Have you met Rory?" Sam interrupts again and I don't know if he's saving me from being ignored or using me as an excuse for a subject change.

Chelsea turns and finally acknowledges that I do, in fact, exist. She looks me up and down before plastering on the fakest smile I have ever witnessed.

"No, I don't believe we've met. New girl, right?" Chelsea says through overly whitened, perfectly straight teeth framed by unnaturally glossy, red lips.

I just nod. She reminds me so much of Lacey with her false enthusiasm.

"So nice to meet you."

I don't say it back. I just say "thanks". Chelsea takes a step closer to Sam and puts a hand casually on his bicep. It's a possessive gesture and he doesn't stop her. Idly I wonder if Carl and Tina were right about their relationship - or lack of relationship.

"So, how do you know Cap?" she asks.

"I, uh, don't really," I murmur, and Sam's brow furrows. "Um, excuse me." I spot Carl with Tina and a couple of other girls over on the deck and I head straight for them without turning back, leaving Chelsea and Sam to their private conversation.

Sam doesn't seek me out again and other than briefly locking eyes with him once later in the evening by accident, I have no other interaction with him. I don't know why he unnerves me. And not in the way other people unnerve me. Other guys. There's no fear. But there's something.

I ask Carl to drive me home around 11:00 pm and go right to bed praying for a dreamless slumber, though I know instead it will be fitful and riddled with nightmares.

****

The weekend is slow and uneventful. I mostly read and hang out with my mom. On Sunday afternoon I turn down a shopping trip with Carl in favor of therapy. I can't reschedule. I've tried that before as an excuse to avoid the sessions altogether, and they know my maneuvers by now. Though lately I've been more receptive of Dr. Schall, whom my doctor down in Florida referred, I've only been in New York a few weeks and we don't really trust each other just yet. Instead, I show up to my appointment and make arrangements to move my sessions to Thursday evenings so my weekends can be free to spend time with my new friends. Dr. Schall is happy to oblige me and is pleased that I'm working my way back into social situations. The road back to normal. Even though Dr. Schall hates that expression. He doesn't believe in
normal
and
he hates when I use the word.

I spend the rest of my Sunday studying calculus and realize that I'm even further behind than I thought.
Damn
I hate calculus.

The next day I ask Mr. Frank about extra help and he points disinterestedly to the student tutoring sign-up sheet tacked to the bulletin board, so I quickly add my name to the list of "tutorees" and hurry off to my next class. When I head out to the parking lot to meet the girls for lunch, Tina and Carl are talking to Andrew and Tuck and their friends are close by. I see Sam, and he sees me, but doesn't approach me, doesn't say "hi". I remind myself I told him we couldn't be friends, but for some reason his going out of his way to ignore me stings.