KIRA’S 12 STEPS TO A NORMAL LIFE:

These twelve people are a significant part of my life now, whether I want them to be or not. If I focus on each of these steps, my life should revert to how it was before I left Cedarville. That’s all I want, really. For things to be how they once were.

And I’m certain this is the way to do it.

After Grams died, my dad’s addiction, neglect, and lack of communication drew us apart. While I was able to cope with my grief over Grams when I was living with Aunt June, it still doesn’t make coming back any easier. I’d almost hoped nothing changed—that Grams would be here, in this house, waiting to hear all about my time in Portland. Learning how to be a family without her, when that’s all my dad and I have known, is going to be a challenge of its own. But if we’re going to ever try and get back to the type of father/daughter relationship we had when she was alive, it has to be an important part of the list.

Of course, there are some major problems. Obviously, I want Peach, Nonnie, and Saylor to leave, but it’s not purely because they’ve caused an unexpected disruption in my home life. No, because if they don’t leave, Margaret is going to make sure I leave. Again. And being back has shown me that this is where I belong. It’s not only my home—my whole life is here. My dad. My friends. My school. If I truly want things to go back to how they were, I can’t risk exposing the fact that we have other recovering addicts here. The only way to extinguish that threat is to get them out.

In the meantime, I can make sure nobody—especially Margaret—knows they’re living here. They may be a bit odd, but I don’t think they’re a bad influence on my dad. But after speaking with Margaret the night I arrived, it seemed that anything she found out of the ordinary would get both me and my dad sent away.

I won’t let that happen.

And then there’s the questionable: reconnecting with Jay. Okay, maybe I still have feelings for him. But what if he has feelings for me, too? Shouldn’t we see where it can lead?

It’s a thought that’s layered with guilt. He’s dating one of my best friends. I wouldn’t make any moves on him, but I could leave the door open for the possibility of an us again. Like Lin said, Whitney is a serial dater. Their relationship may not last. If I reconnect with him on a platonic level—that wouldn’t be so bad, right?

And yet, I want to make amends with Whitney. I know I hurt her with my silence, but if I can prove that I can be a trustworthy friend again, maybe we could pick up where we left off. Lin and Raegan deserve the same treatment. I mishandled friendships with people who truly care about me, and I’m determined to make up for it.

Even though I was never super close with Breck and Colton, we still hung out nearly every day. Thankfully there’s no weird tension in the air with either of them, but I’d like to show them that I can be as good of a friend as Lin, Whitney, and Raegan. Supporting Colton’s music and potentially helping Breck get on the decathlon team—depending on Breck’s motives—seem like the best ways to do that.

Then there’s Alex, who sent me That Text the weekend before I moved to Portland—after I’d already broken it off with Jay. Which he knew. Everyone knew. And even though I deleted the text, I still remembered what it said:

ALEX: i know my timing is off, but i wanted to tell you i’ve liked you… a lot. for a while.

My heart stopped when I read it.

His timing. Was. Awful.

I didn’t know it was possible to be flattered and hurt and enraged all at once. Why was he telling me this now? Didn’t he already know having to leave Cedarville was painful enough? It’s not like I could do anything about it. Why did he decide to say anything at all?

I never replied. And after seeing him in the office, I regret not saying something. Because I miss his friendship. We always had a natural rhythm, and it was always so easy to talk to him. If I’m lucky to even get that much back, I’ll consider it a success.

Then there’s quite possibly the most difficult step: Forgiving my dad. He’s trying. I can see he’s trying. He’s not drinking, he has a steady job, and he’s building his trust with me. The very least I can do is be open to forgiving him, but that’s something that takes time. And it’s hard not to be difficult when he’s brought home strangers to live with us when he should be focused on fixing our relationship.

It’s even harder not to harbor the resentment I’ve held on to.

As the next week goes by, we fall into our own routines. Nonnie typically keeps to herself in Grams’s room, yet she’s unsurprisingly forward about blaring Queen every single morning. Peach has been sleeping downstairs on the fold-out couch and keeps her arrangement of conservative skirts and boxy blouses in the hall closet.

Aside from rearranging the living room furniture to create an open practice space, Saylor does little to disturb anyone. Although, I’m convinced he doesn’t own a pair of shoes because he’s always walking around barefoot in his loose yoga pants. I’ve started going straight to my room after school to avoid him asking me if I want to practice with him.

On the upside, despite a slightly rusty performance during Wavettes tryouts (we had thirty minutes to learn and rehearse a thirty-second routine in small groups and I’d accidentally stepped right instead of left, throwing the routine off for a moment), I’d earned my old spot back on the team.

Raegan was the first person standing in front of the list when Coach Velasquez posted it. She threw her arms around me and jumped up and down, and I couldn’t help but bounce back in excitement. Even Whitney congratulated me at lunch.

My dad was ecstatic that I’d remade the team, but that enthusiasm faded when I politely told him I didn’t want him at the games. I know his presence would only draw attention from my classmates, and I’m trying to put that part of my life behind me.

One afternoon, I come home after school to find Peach cooking in the kitchen. I try not to let it annoy me too much that she’s taken charge of dinner. That used to be something my dad and I did together. Sometimes we would even imitate Chopped and pull random ingredients from the kitchen and attempt to make a dish from it. Whenever it came out tasting horribly, we’d order a pizza and laugh about where we went wrong.

My dad isn’t home yet. I decide this is a good opportunity to work on step 12 and push Peach toward going home to her own family.

I sit on the barstool, casually flipping open my history book. “Brisket?” I guess from the savory smells wafting from the oven.

She glances up. “Absolutely.”

“I bet your family misses your cooking. What’s your daughter’s name? Veronica?”

Peach pauses for an instant, and I can see a wave of sadness fall over her delicate features. “Yes.” Her tone is soft for once. “And Bailey. Who’s a sophomore this year.”

I let silence hang over us for a moment. Before I can chicken out, I say, “They’d want you to come home, right? You should, you know, talk to them.”

The edges of her mouth jump into a frown. Her gaze is distant, and I can see I’ve dug my way into a sensitive topic. I try not to feel bad, but if I don’t get them to leave, then things won’t go back to how they were before.

Peach excuses herself. When she returns a moment later, I notice her eyes are a little red.

I tell myself it’s better this way, but the guilt clings to me like a static garment all through dinner.

The next week at school is better, but not easier. Especially during lunch. Jay barely makes eye contact with me, yet he’s always more than happy to talk to me during history. Whitney only directs attention toward me when I ask her a question. It’s not like she’s pushing me away—it’s worse. She’s basically attempting to ignore my existence.

But with my twelve steps in the back of my mind, I’m attempting to right things with my friends. So I sit and listen as Raegan freaks out about presidential responsibilities and while Lin stresses about the decathlon team. I’ve only genuinely laughed once, and that was when Colton started throwing tater tots at Whitney to make her stop talking about a Kate Spade purse she was obsessing over. He quickly shut up when she threatened to chuck his iPhone across the cafeteria.

I tell myself that if I keep making an effort, it can only get better from here.

It’s Friday. I’m feeling pretty confident in my toffee oxfords and speckled navy top that I’ve paired with my favorite jeans. I’ve even accessorized with a pair of golden pineapple stud earrings.

Today I’m focusing on step 5—making sure Lin feels valued in our friendship—which is why I got up extra early to help her hang Earth Club posters throughout the school before first period. I find her standing on a step stool she borrowed from the theater department. She’s placing a piece of tape over the first flyer. I read it as she slaps it on the wall.

“We’re not beneath bribing people with food?” I ask.

Lin scoots the stool over several feet. “I’m not letting Principal Lawrence cancel the only club I care about.” She places another flyer on the wall. “So I’m hoping my cookies will bring the boys to the yard.” After a brief pause, she adds, “And girls.”

“I didn’t know Earth Club was so sexual.”

“Oh, shut up. Hand me another piece of tape.”

I do, then we move another few feet down the hall. “Are you coming to Raegan’s on Saturday?” I ask. It’s not unlike Lin’s parents to spring a family gathering on her at the last minute.

“Yup,” Lin replies. Today she’s wearing a knee-length flouncy skirt with a white V-neck that has a giant recycle symbol printed on the front. She pushes her frames up the bridge of her nose before saying, “I haven’t been to her house in a while.”

“You haven’t?” I assumed the three of them stayed close over the summer.

Lin shakes her head. “Raegan’s mom is pregnant—”

“WHAT?”

“I know!”

“How—?”

“Are you really asking me that?”

I shake my head, shocked. Raegan’s always been an only child, and she certainly acts like an only child. She’s always been confident in her personal achievements, but she can be a little self-centered. Like the time she made Whitney and me help her find the classiest pair of heels to wear to her cousin’s wedding when she knew we both had a major biology exam the next day. She would have outright refused if the situation were turned around, which makes it hard to picture her as a big sister.

“Sorry, I just—wow. That’s a surprise.”

“I’m pretty sure it was a surprise for them, too, but they’re embracing it,” Lin says as we round the corner at the end of the hall. “I didn’t see her for most of the summer because she was working as a counselor at Camp Bridgeport. She wanted a summer job where she could escape her mother’s hormonal episodes. Plus, Whitney was super busy with dance camp.” I hand her a piece of tape so she can secure the next flyer. “Meanwhile I signed up for an online pre-SAT class because I was that bored without you guys.”

I won’t lie. This makes me feel a little better.

“Hey, so,” I say as we move into a different hallway. “Have you figured out if you’re going to let Breck on the decathlon team?”

Lin lets out a deeply annoyed sigh. “It’s just—” She thinks for a moment. “I don’t understand why, you know? It makes no sense. And I don’t want him screwing up our chances if he’s not going to take it seriously.”

I nod. As much as I want to work toward step 8 and be a good friend by helping Breck out, I also understand Lin’s concerns. She’s really put her heart in this over the last two years.

“I can find out,” I offer.

She raises an eyebrow, skeptical. “Yeah?”

I shrug. How hard can it be? Breck is pretty transparent.

Ten minutes before the bell rings, the halls become more congested. We’ve successfully hung three dozen flyers down three different hallways. I’m putting the extras in Lin’s binder as she collapses the step stool.

“Hey, Alex!”

I turn to see Lin waving at him from across the hall. My pulse sputters for a quarter of a second. We have algebra together and have already been through the polite, Hi! Hey! You’re back for good? Yeah. That’s awesome. Yeah, it is, routine. This is the first time I’ll voluntarily be in his presence, and my stomach is all nerves.

You need to talk to him.

He waves before changing direction and walking toward us, but I shake step 7 and the entire list out of my head. It’s not the right time.

His text pops back into my head. i know my timing is off—

Lin’s voice interrupts my thoughts. “Do you have tech first period?”

“Yup,” Alex replies. He’s not wearing his beanie today, but he is wearing a navy deadCenter Film Festival T-shirt with a long sleeve black tee underneath. The double shirts are typical Alex Ramos attire. His hair is slightly damp and curling at the ends, as if he rushed out of the shower to get here in time.

Lin holds out the step stool to him. “Would you mind running this back with you? I have to deliver the extra flyers to Mrs. Dwight’s room before the bell rings.”

“No problem.” He takes it from her, then glances at me. “Are you rejoining Earth Club this year?”

His tone is friendly. If he’s holding a grudge against the whole text thing, I can’t tell. But it’s his smile that throws me off kilter. It’s a sincere smile, something I didn’t expect.

I find I can’t look away.

“Yeah, I am.”

“Cool.” He looks back at Lin. “See you guys later.”

I watch him head down the hall, adjusting his backpack as he goes. I never told anyone about the text—not even Lin. My friends knew about Alex’s obvious crush on me in middle school, but since we’d gone our separate ways freshman year I’m sure they assumed those feelings evaporated.

As I watch him disappear down the hall, a strange feeling of loneliness lingers in the corners of my heart. But as fast as it comes, it fades just as quickly when I turn away.

I’m in a surprisingly good mood when I walk into Algebra II after lunch. Raegan had a Leadership meeting and Whitney had a dentist appointment, so it was only Breck, Colton, Lin, Jay, and me at the table—which meant Jay made eye contact with me on more than one occasion. He even offered me some of his cheese fries without doing that weird jaw-clenching thing he does when he feels uncomfortable. It was as if we were both relieved Whitney wasn’t the barrier between us having a friendly conversation.

On the flip side, I feel guilty that I spent all lunch feeling relaxed without her there. I felt even guiltier when Jay pulled his notebook out in AP US History and drew us up a hangman game to play as Mr. Densick explained today’s Data Based Question. Even though we stuck to movie titles, I couldn’t help overthinking it. I mean, this was our way of flirting with each other before he officially asked me out. But he has Whitney, so this definitely isn’t flirting. Or is it sub-flirting?

Then I’d caught him staring at Jana Nelson’s cleavage while thinking of a letter to guess in the puzzle and decided that I was surely overthinking it. Did he do that when we were dating? Stare at other girls? No. I mean, I would have noticed. At least, that’s what I tell myself.

But a tiny part of me questioned how much he’d changed since I’ve been gone.

The warning bell rings just as Alex flops into his assigned desk next to me. My eyes catch his profile. He looks tired, as if he didn’t sleep well last night. I didn’t notice it this morning, but there are dark circles under his eyes. Alex has never been one to party. I guess the stress of this week has caught up with him.

When he catches me staring, he pulls his beanie out from his back pocket and tugs it over his hair. He rests his head on his arms, then pulls the beanie over his eyes. Well. Okay then. I grab my spiral and flip it open to a fresh page.

Mrs. Donaldson walks into the room and begins scrawling something on the board. I hate math even more because of Mrs. Donaldson. She never slows her pace, which makes it hard for me to keep up, and she hates when students ask too many questions. Whitney and I had her freshman year for Algebra I, and I barely passed with a low C. I don’t know what I did to disturb the karmic gods to have her again.

“Good afternoon, class.” She taps her dry erase marker on the board where a sequence of numbers is written. “Today we’re talking about radical numbers and square roots.”

Riveting.

I open my textbook and do my best to pay attention to the formulas she scribbles, but my mind wanders back to Jay and Whitney. This week she made it very clear that they’re already planning on going to homecoming together. It’s obvious that she wants my past with Jay to have nothing to do with her present relationship. I guess I can’t blame her, but I wish it were easier to get my head around.

For now I’m going to focus on Whitney. I can’t control her relationship with Jay, but I can control my friendship with her. That’s why I’m glad Raegan invited us over to her place tomorrow. Maybe if it’s just the four of us without the guys, things won’t be as awkward.

I copy the example problem from the board. I try and understand it, but I’m already lost in the terminology. I wish Mrs. Donaldson would go easy on us.

Next to me, Alex twitches in his seat. He’s asleep on his arms again, head on top of his notebook. I stare down at my own spiral and realize nothing I’ve written down makes sense.

Mrs. Donaldson sets a wicker basket full of Jolly Ranchers on her desk. “For the last ten minutes we’re going to do some Radical Races.”

I sink in my seat, anxiety swelling in my chest. This is not a game I enjoy. At all. Two people are called up to the board to solve a problem from today’s lesson, and whoever solves it before the timer stops wins a Jolly Rancher.

Blood rushes to my head and whirs in my ears. I know she thinks it’s good practice, but it’s too nerve-wracking for me to be put on the spot. I never won any rounds, but at least I had Whitney to laugh it off with after class. Sometimes she would even give me her Jolly Rancher, and I never thought it of as a sympathy gift. She was just being a good friend. This year I’m completely on my own.

“Mr. Ramos.” Mrs. Donaldson is looking straight at Alex. He startles in his seat before lifting his head to look at her. “Perhaps you’ll join us at the board?”

The whole class is staring at Alex. He blinks away the tiredness in his eyes and says, “Uh—”

“Now, please.”

Alex sighs, then slowly shuffles to the front of the room. With his back to the class, he chooses a blue dry erase marker and waits.

Mrs. Donaldson’s eyes scan the room. I pretend to look really, really interested in the textbook in front of me.

“Miss Seneca?”

Crapsticks.

“Please join him at the board.”

My chest tightens. A cold panic falls over me. Every single nerve in my body is on high alert. I stare down at my spiral one last time, hoping something sticks, but all I see is a blur of numbers and letters that don’t make sense.

I stand next to Alex at the board. God, I hate this. I hate her. I would rather endure a pop quiz, because that way I would be able to fail in privacy.

I pick up a purple marker and stare at the whiteboard in front of me. I try to slow my racing heart by taking a deep breath. It doesn’t work. I know I shouldn’t care what the class thinks, but I do. I remember the look of relief on my classmates’ faces when they were called up to race against me freshman year. They knew it was basically guaranteed they’d win, and they wouldn’t bother hiding their smug looks when they did.

I don’t look at Alex.

Mrs. Donaldson reads the problem to us. As soon as we finish writing it on the board, the timer starts. I stare at the jumble of numbers in front of me, wishing I could somehow decipher how to solve it. I raise my marker, but I can’t make my brain understand the functionality of the problem. I need to write something—God, anything—at this point.

I hear Alex’s marker tapping the board beside me. My anxiety intensifies. I feel my mouth go dry. I’m about to lose to someone who spent the entire class sleeping. And everyone knows it. A lump builds up in my throat. Instead of concentrating on the problem, I blink back tears of frustration.

“Time,” Mrs. Donaldson calls. “Please face the class so they can see your work.”

I hang my head and cap my marker. From beside me, Alex doesn’t make any effort to move, either. I resist the temptation to look at his work.

“Please face the class,” Mrs. Donaldson repeats.

I do. As slowly as possible. From my peripheral vision, I can see Alex turning to face the front as well. Instead of looking at the class, I stare down at my oxfords. I pretend I’m anywhere but here.

A few students let out surprised gasps. That’s followed by a few chuckles. My throat tightens. And then I’m mad. Really mad. I refuse to play a part in this stupid game just to get mocked by my own classmates. I can’t be the only one who doesn’t understand this, but it’s my humiliation that Mrs. Donaldson chooses to put on display.

Mrs. Donaldson’s voice booms across the room. “Now, what—?”

Before I can fully comprehend what I’m doing, I march to my desk and grab my things. I don’t have to put up with Mrs. Donaldson belittling me by explaining that this problem was so easy and that I really needed to pay better attention. I refuse to be made a mockery in front of my classmates just because I can’t solve one algebra problem.

“Miss Seneca!”

A few hushed whispers fall over the room as I sling my book bag over my shoulder and push my way out the door. Mrs. Donaldson is still calling my name, but I don’t care. There are only a few minutes of class left anyway, and I can’t stand to be in there another second.

I rush to my locker before the bell rings and grab everything I need for my last three classes. Then I think better of it and grab all the books I’ll need to do homework this weekend. I’m embarrassed enough as it is, and now the entire class knows I’m still an incompetent idiot.

I slam my locker closed and wander down C hall right before the final bell rings. Crowds of students press around me, and I try and pretend I’m invisible. I allow a few tears to fall down my cheeks before wiping them away, taking a deep breath, and pushing my way into the chemistry classroom.