Am I Normal Yet?

by Holly Bourne

  I pulled a face and scratched my head. “Er…yeah…I’m not so sure. Maybe riot on the streets, raise a revolution and overthrow the entire system?”

  “Careful now,” Amber replied, spraying more neon pink icing crumbs onto the floor. “Talk like that gets people thrown into psychiatric institutions.”

  I was initially too shocked to laugh, so was Lottie. But then it sank in and I giggled. The giggle turned into a laugh. Lottie joined in, and then a relieved Amber. We laughed and laughed and laughed until all Lottie’s remaining eye make-up had run off, Amber’s face was the same colour as her hair, and I felt like “me” for the first time in weeks.

  With time, we laughed ourselves out. I felt pressure on my hand. Lottie had taken it gently, turning it over and examining my scarred skin. A tear ran down her cheek. Just one.

  “Evelyn,” she asked quietly. “Why are you here?”

  I looked at them both. My new friends. Who would inevitably become old friends. The sort of friends it’s worth going to Hell and Back for, as long as you find people like them along the way.

  “I’ll tell you,” I said.

  And I told them.

  Epilogue

  Hi Oli, it’s Evie. How are you? Long time, no see. I was just wondering if you fancied meeting for a coffee? I think we’ve got a lot we could talk about…

  Read on for an exclusive sneak preview of Holly Bourne’s next unmissable book

  OUT FEBRUARY 2016

  SITUATIONS that are DESTINED to FAIL:

  The world’s most gruesome hangover

  +

  A ten-hour-long plane journey

  +

  Economy seating

  +

  Being five foot eleven

  One

  Don’t be sick on the children… Don’t be sick on the children…

  Their little heads bobbed beneath me in the queue to get on the aeroplane. My stomach lurched again and I grabbed it. If I clutched at my guts hard enough, hopefully they’d not empty themselves over the excitable heads of the kids in front.

  I couldn’t be certain, but vomming over innocent kiddlywinks could possibly jeopardize my acceptance onto a long-haul flight.

  Why had I done that last shot last night? Why, please? Why? WHY!?

  The flight attendant in front checked another ticket and beckoned the passenger past. The line crawled forward under the brutal fluorescent lights of the departure lounge. The aeroplane waited outside the floor-to-ceiling window, looking way too small to carry all these people to America. It was white, like the horse a dashing knight would ride to rescue princesses in a fairytale. But I was no princess, and I could rescue myself thank you very much. All I needed was this aeroplane to put an ocean between me and my evil stepmother.

  My stomach lurched again as I remembered how I’d said goodbye…

  “Look at the state of her,” my stepmother, Penny, said, loud enough for everyone in the security queue to hear. We were at that annoying bit of the airport process where everyone realizes they can’t take any liquids with them so decant all their bottles into see-through plastic bags.

  “I am here, you know?” I rolled my eyes because I knew it annoyed her and downed the rest of my water bottle.

  She ignored me. “They won’t let her on the plane.”

  I looked at Dad desperately for help. He held back a smile.

  “Relax, Penny. Think of all the drunken stags they let onto planes to Vegas every day.”

  “I’m not drunk!” I protested, causing about ten separate clumps of travellers to stop and stare.

  Dad laughed and pulled me into a hug. I clung onto him, nestling into his shoulder, inhaling his smell. It helped with the nausea.

  “No, you’re not drunk, are you, poppet? Just hungover. You had quite the leaving do. Though you do smell drunk.” He took a deliberate whiff and pushed me away… “PHEWEE.”

  “I showered this morning…”

  … Which I had. I’d also just happened to sweat out the previous night’s sambuca shots on the drive to the airport.

  Dad pulled me in for another hug. “In that case, come ’ere.”

  It would’ve been a tender moment if Penny wasn’t there. But she was obsessed with always being there – like she was terrified if I got one moment alone with Dad, like, ever, that I’d make him realize what a manipulative evil bitch she was. And to be fair, I would certainly give it a go. Of course, Craig was there too – ruining the moment. Because you can’t have a clichéd evil stepmother without the standardized evil stepsibling.

  As if on cue, Craig looked me up and down and said, “You smell like your mum.”

  How dare he HOW DARE HE howdarehehowdare hehowdareHE? The crimson mist he always evokes in me descended through my hangover. I saw spots, and my foot went out instinctively and kicked him hard in the shin.

  He yelped and fell down – totally, totally faking.

  Penny and Dad went into utter-defence mode and the usual chaos broke out.

  “AMBER. YOU SAY SORRY, YOUNG LADY.”

  “CRAIG, ARE YOU OKAY? DON’T CRY.”

  “You’re crazy, just like she is,” Craig added from the floor.

  Dad held me away from Craig as I launched myself at him again. “Amber, no!”

  I strained and struggled against Dad’s arms. Penny stood protectively in front of her son – shooting me her demon glare. Like I was just attacking Craig for no reason. Like she hadn’t just heard what he’d said.

  People were looking. Security staff included. Dad made hush noises into my ear, stroking my hair, while I yelled, “You take that back, you take that back!”

  “Amber, come on. Calm down. They really won’t let you on the plane…”

  I looked around. A uniformed dude was making his way over. Penny clocked him at the same time. I saw the conflict cloud her face – getting me told off versus making a scene… She chose not making a scene.

  “Shh,” she said – to both of us.

  Craig and I glared at each other, but we both straightened up, and acted casual. The security guard stopped, examined us, then walked back to the little booth he’d come from.

  I sighed. I felt so sick. And I’d wanted to say goodbye to Dad – just us two. I threw my empty plastic bottle into the bin provided and didn’t look up.

  “You apologize, young lady,” Penny demanded.

  I pulled my rucksack straps tighter to readjust my bag – suddenly really angry. With my stupid stepmother. With my stupider stepbrother. With Dad. For not telling Craig off, for never telling Craig off…

  “He should apologize too, for what he said!”

  “I meant it,” Craig called from behind Penny. And Dad had to stop me lurching at him again.

  “You know what? I can’t be arsed with this.” I turned and stormed off into the security queue, knowing they couldn’t follow.

  “Amber? AMBER!” Dad called.

  I ignored him and kept walking.

  “Amber, come on, say goodbye nicely.”

  “Goodbye nicely,” I fired back over my shoulder, funnelling into the line, getting my boarding card out ready.

  It was the last thing I’d say to him in six weeks.

  Don’t be sick on the children. Don’t be sick on the children.

  The two girls in front were blissfully unaware of their vomit-related danger. They swapped pink puppy cards while their parents fussed with passports, checking and re-checking they were still in the same pocket.

  I was so mad at Dad. I was so mad at Dad ten million per cent of the time. What was so crappy was that airport scene wasn’t even extraordinary. Just the normal everyday occurrence of me versus Craig, me versus Penny…with Dad set on keeping the peace, rather than keeping on the side of his only daughter. I was so exhausted from fighting. I was so exhausted from feeling left out.

  I was so exhausted from missing Mum…

  The boarding queue inched forward again and everyone moved along, dragging their bags behind them. My tummy churned, comp
laining about the rubbery duty-free eggs I’d eaten while crying silently in the harsh neon lighting of the airside restaurant.

  If I could just not vomit…

  If I could just look normal enough to be let on the plane…

  Then this summer could start. I could be with Mum and figure out what went wrong and how to get her to come back and start to feel whole again.

  It was the family in front’s turn and the girls scurried under their parents’ legs, asking the air hostesses how high the plane went, how fast, if there were Disney films on the flight… Not asking the important question: “Is that sick-looking girl behind us going to blow chunks on our little heads?”

  They were nodded through, out of splatter range. It was my turn. I took a deep breath, scraped back my bush of hair and stepped forward to give them my passport.

  Look presentable. Look presentable. Look presentable.

  The air hostess had so much make-up on that I couldn’t figure out what she really looked like. I focused on her foundation-caked cheeks as she took my red leather passport. She smiled and her cheek cracked.

  “First time flying alone?” She used the same voice she’d used with the children.

  I was scared to open my mouth so I just nodded.

  “If you need anything from us, please just let me know.”

  “Thanks,” I mumbled.

  She peered at me curiously. “Are you okay? You look scared.”

  I’m scared of flying with the world’s worst hangover…

  “I’m a little scared of flying…” I came up with a genius idea. “…I get travel sick!”

  “You do look peaky.”

  “I’m sure I’ll be okay.”

  I’d come up with the perfect cover. Thank God.

  “Let us know if there’s anything we can do. Seventeen is still quite young to be flying alone.”

  She beamed at me, and I decided it should be illegal to be that happy so early in the morning.

  The headache hit just as I’d squeezed myself into my window seat.

  “Ouch,” I said, out loud, startling the giant man sitting next to me. He’d struggled to fit into his seat and his knees were practically up by his face as he scrunched himself in. My own long legs already ached in the practically non-existent space. I reached into my bag for an ibuprofen, swallowed it dry, and took out my phone.

  I had two messages. One from Lottie, one from Evie. I smiled for the first time that morning.

  Lottie: I’M SO SORRY I GOT YOU SO DRUNK. IT WAS ALL AN EVIL PLOY TO GET YOU TO STAY HERE THIS SUMMER. ARE YOU ALIIIIIIIIIIVE?

  Evie: Don’t leeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeave us!!!!!!!

  My smile dropped. I was going to miss them so much!

  Their messages triggered a flashback to the previous night…

  …“I’M GOING TO BE IN THE SKY THIS TIME TOMORROW.”

  We’d taken a taxi up Dovelands Hill after the pub had kicked us out. It was our hill. We’d all gone up there the night we’d first become friends. I stood up on the bench, tipped my head back and pointed into the inky blackness above me, almost falling over in the process.

  Evie grabbed my arm to keep hold of me.

  “Amber, get down. I’m far too tiny to catch you.”

  “AMERICA, HERE I COME!!!”

  Lottie was dancing to no music on the sloped grass beneath us – spinning with her arms wide out.

  “Amber, I’m going to miss you so much! Can I fold myself into your suitcase and come with you?” she asked, going spin, spin, spin until she fell over with a thump onto the grass and started laughing.

  “Help,” Evie said. “You are both too wasted for just me to look after. Amber, take my hand.”

  I looked up at the sky once more, then stumbled into her arms and let her guide me onto the grass. I fell next to where Lottie was lying face-up on the ground. Evie sighed and got down next to us. All our heads were together, and we all looked up.

  The stars were spinning.

  “One of us better not have nits,” Evie said.

  “Only you would think of that,” Lottie replied… Which was true.

  I laughed, and stared upwards, watching the universe above me turn and turn and turn…

  “I can’t wait to see my mum,” I said, quietly. Feeling just so…good in my stomach. “It’s going to be so brilliant.”

  “How long has it been?” Lottie asked.

  “Two years…”

  Spin spin spin spin spin.

  “Yikes.”

  “I know…”

  I pushed thoughts out of my head. Thoughts like, She didn’t even invite you to her wedding, and, You were the one who asked to go this summer, not the other way around, and, Why did she have to leave you to get healthy?

  The alcohol, as always, helped me do this.

  “We have six whole weeks together,” I told the sky. “Six perfect weeks…”

  “Careful.” Evie’s hair tickled my face. “Nothing is ever perfect.”

  “Especially if you’re working in a summer camp surrounded by hyper American children,” Lottie added.

  “Quiet time now, oh negative ones.” I closed my eyes, smiling as I pictured how Mum’s face would look when we met at the airport…

  The fasten-seatbelt sign wasn’t even on yet, so I figured it was safe to message them back before take-off.

  I’m so hungover!! What am I doing on an aeroplane?! Help me! My head hurts so much!

  I closed my eyes and listened to the aeroplane noises – the intermittent beeping, the low roar of the air-conditioning, and people politely-but-not-politely organizing each other’s luggage in the overhead compartments. All these people, sharing a journey with me. We’d be marooned together in a tin can flying through the sky for ten hours, then never see each other again.

  Flying was weird.

  My head hurt.

  What would it be like seeing Mum again?

  Was she going to, like, explain?

  My head hurt.

  My phone beeped. Twice.

  Lottie: I can’t believe you’re going to be in charge of actual children! American ones too. Will they be called things like Hank?

  Evie: You’ll be fine! Just think, any story worth hearing starts with someone our age getting on an aeroplane.

  I didn’t want a story worth hearing though – I just wanted time with my mum…

  I also wanted to ignore the nagging voice in my head, crowing that nothing is ever that simple when it comes to Her.

  So I’m spending the summer in CALIFORNIA, with the mum who upped and ABANDONED me – and I think I’m falling for a guy guaranteed to BREAK MY HEART. This is a SITUATION DESTINED TO FAIL.

  All Amber wants is a little bit of love. Her mum has never been the caring type, even before she moved to America. But Amber’s hoping that spending the summer with her can change all that.

  And then there’s Prom King Kyle, the serial heartbreaker. Can Amber really be falling for him? Even with best friends Evie and Lottie’s advice, there’s no escaping the fact: love is hard.

  About Holly Bourne

  By day, Holly Bourne is a journalist and relationship expert for TheSite.org, a charity-run advice and information website for 16-25 year-olds. By night, Holly writes YA novels and blogs about feminist issues.

  Holly’s first two books, Soulmates and The Manifesto on How to be Interesting, have been critically acclaimed and translated into six languages. Her favourite things to complain loudly about are: the stigma of mental health, women’s rights and the under-appreciation of Keanu Reeves’ acting ability.

  Q&A with Holly

  What does feminism mean to you?

  Equality for everyone, regardless of their gender. IT REALLY IS THAT SIMPLE. I know some people think feminists want to win power from guys, walk them around on leashes made from our plaited grown-out armpit hair and then lock them all in cages. But that’s not it. Feminism is for all genders. Feminism benefits all genders.

  What was the inspiration behind writing Am
I Normal Yet?

  I really wanted to write about relapse – and how being labelled with a mental health problem changes how you view yourself. I work for a charity website, TheSite.org, and we were launching a sister website called Madly In Love. It’s all about how mental health impacts relationships and vice-versa – and Evie just came to me! I loved the idea of exploring how much “crazy” is “normal” when you’re dating someone who never lets you know where you stand.

  What first got you interested in feminism?

  I always had this feeling growing up that something was…wrong…but couldn’t quite work out why I was feeling so icky. I had this constant conflict inside of me between feeling something wasn’t right, but then also wanting to partake in the wrongness. I remember one rainy day at school, the boys decided to spend their lunch-hour lining all us girls up in order of who had the nicest arse. Half of me thought, “this is disgusting” and the other half thought, “I hope I win”.

  It was only in my twenties, when the fourth wave of feminism hit, that I was like – hang on – I LIKE THIS. I LIKE WHAT YOU’RE SAYING VERY MUCH. And, How To Be A Woman by Caitlin Moran really did change my life. It made feminism FUNNY, and approachable, and it was like a big fat fire was lit inside of me. I really think humour is the best gateway drug into feminism. Start with the ridiculous, like, I know, I’ll spend forty quid painfully waxing off all my pubes, even though no one ever sees them…then build up to the big stuff – rape culture, abuse, female genital mutilation, rights to education…

  Evie, Amber and Lottie call themselves “The Spinster Club” – did you ever take part in a similar group growing up?

  When I was sixteen, me and two friends were the only single girls on Valentine’s Day. So we had a sleepover and called ourselves The Spinster Club as a joke. It really was the best fun ever. But it more involved dancing to a band called Feeder (yep, I’m old) and eating raw cookie mixture than making strategic plans to overthrow the patriarchy.