NORMAL

by Danielle Pearl

  My tears fall now, and my mouth gapes open. Robin just said he loves me. He's admitted he was wrong, admitted he was a hypocrite, and told me he loves me. I forcibly bury Robin's transgressions deep in my broken heart as it begins to mend itself. I have no words.

  "You gotta give me another chance. I won't let you down again," he whispers. He's inched closer to me through his words and now he's right beside me, wiping my tears with his knuckles. I lean into his touch. "Please forgive me?" It's a request, not a demand.

  "Okay," I breathe, without even realizing I've said it. He loves me. I'm still stunned.

  "You hear me say that I love you, sweetheart?" he asks.

  I nod and sniffle, trying to quell my weeping.

  "You love me too?" he asks.

  I nod again. I really think I do. All I know is that even when I was hurting because of him, I didn't want to let him go.

  "Well damn!" He's practically cheering.

  Robin leans in and kisses me softly, and I let him. He holds my face and plants small kisses on my forehead, my cheeks, my nose, and then my lips again.

  Finally, he pulls away and stands, taking my hand. I follow him.

  "Come on, let me take my girlfriend to breakfast." He enunciates the word "girlfriend". He's never said it before and the sound of it exhilarates me.

  "I need to tell Cam I'm leavin'," I reply.

  Robin's eyes narrow. "You won't be spendin' any more nights in anyone's arms but mine." It's a statement, and I suppose not an unreasonable one.

  I nod my agreement.

  I turn to go inside to find Cam, but he's already emerging onto the porch. He must have been listening. Suddenly the thought of him overhearing all that unnerves me deeply. I give him a hug despite the fact that I know it'll bug Robin. Sleeping in his bed with him is one thing, but I won't stop hugging my best friend.

  "Thanks Cam, for last night. For everything," I murmur as I pull away. Cam is reluctant to release me.

  "You sure about this, Ror?" he asks, his voice low and hoarse. I meet his gaze, and I know he's upset by all of this, he doesn't trust Robin, but I didn't expect to see such turmoil in his eyes. I put my hand on his shoulder in consolation.

  "Yeah, Cam. It's fine. He's explained, I've forgiven him. We talked about it and now he's my boyfriend he's promised it won't happen again," I explain in a whisper, I don't want Robin to hear too much. It's awkward talking about him when he's only a few feet away, but Cam deserves an explanation.

  "If that's what makes you happy," Cam murmurs. He's disappointed in me, and that hurts, but this is my decision and I've made it.

  "It is, Cam," I breathe, and then with a pat on his arm, I turn to leave with Robin. My stuff is already at his house since I'm supposed to stay with them for break anyway.

  Robin opens the passenger door for me and as I'm climbing in, Cam calls out, "You call me if you need me, Ror. Whenever, I mean it!" Robin closes my door before I can respond, but I nod to him through the windshield and Cam stays on his porch until we've driven out of sight.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Present Day

  The weekend was an uneventful one. On Friday Sam drove me to school and then surprised me at lunch by taking Tucker to go pick up my car from the medical office park. It was back in the student lot before I got back from the diner. That evening, I found an unexpected ally in Karen, and we spent our dinner out convincing my mother that I'm responsible enough to go to Miami. Mom wasn't exactly eager to agree, but the fact that she's known Carl and her parents since I was little didn't hurt, and she's gotten to know Tina since we moved here and likes her too.

  I know my mom is anxious about the whole thing, and frankly, so am I, but I'm eighteen years old, and like Sam said, I'm only going to be a senior once. I don't want to let Robin Forbes take anything more away from me than he already has. With Carl and Tina - and if I'm honest with myself, Sam - I think I can handle it. In fact, I'm actually looking forward to it. Less than two weeks away.

  When my mom came to my room Sunday evening with my travel itinerary printed out, I had mixed feelings, though my excitement and gratitude were all I allowed her to see. Just seeing the word "Florida" in print made me break out in goose bumps. But Miami is nowhere near Linton - where I assume Robin still is. And I must admit, it gives me some satisfaction that my life isn't the only one that was irrevocably altered by him and what he did. I ruined his life too, or so he, and everyone else in town, screamed from the rooftops. And, vengefully, I wish it were true - I wish I had the power to ruin his life. But the truth is, he ruined his own damned life.

  Right now, my biggest concern is Chelsea and her friends. I'd be more excited for Miami if they weren't coming too. Ostensibly, we're all "friends". We go to the same parties and even find ourselves at the same lunch tables from time to time. But ever since Chelsea called me out for avoiding the locker room and Sam defended me, she's given up on subtlety.

  I find her casting vicious glares my way, particularly when I'm interacting with Sam, but instead of backing away, now I simply ignore her. I've spent enough time letting the popular kids - and adults for that matter - wield their power over me. But Port Woodmere isn't Linton, it's not a small town, and Chelsea isn't Lacey.

  Monday has dragged on and I'm relieved when the last bell of the day rings and my lab period is over. I'm not a science person - English and History have always been my thing - but since lab alternates days with phys ed, it's the lesser of two evils for me. I'd always loved phys-ed, being a retired tomboy and athlete, but the dread of the locker room has overshadowed all else, and even though I avoid it in favor of the bathroom just up the hall, the memory of why I have to do so precedes every gym period.

  After school, I hop in my Jeep and follow Carl to drop off her car at home so we can go meet Tina at the Roosevelt Field Mall. Carl has insisted I do some shopping for our trip, and frankly, she's right. All I ever wear are jeans and tee shirts, but based on what she's asking me to try on, I can only surmise she's planning on pimping me out in South Beach. I decline the leather mini skirt and bare midriff halter and select a few sun dresses that aren't too revealing. I also buy two skirts, one denim and one pink flouncy one that is too girly to be provocative.

  Swimsuits are a bigger issue. Carl and Tina's selections are nothing more than a few tiny scraps of material suspended on strings. I pick out two one-pieces that are probably meant more for my mother than for me, but I don't care.

  Carl barges into my dressing room as I'm checking myself out in a black skirted one-piece. It does nothing for my figure, but everything for hiding my scar.

  "Oh, hell no," Carl declares as she hangs a few more options on the rack.

  I roll my eyes and peruse her latest selections. At least she's heading in the right direction. The bikinis have more coverage, and she actually brought a few one-pieces, albeit ones that are arguably sexier than the bikinis. I finger one with a boy shorts shaped bottom and wonder if it will cover at least most of my scar.

  "Rory, you have the sickest body. You are not covering it up on spring break! The whole point of the beach is to flaunt what you got," she admonishes. I glance down at my skinny legs, shapeless hips, and modest breasts. Definitely not the sickest body.

  I pull out one of the one-pieces she brought in and try to figure out if the cut outs will be too revealing.

  "That'll look great on you," Carl encourages, but she can see my hesitation. "Rory, it's going to be fun, okay? Whatever you're worried about, whatever you're afraid of, just leave it behind. Me and Teen will be with you the whole time. It's going to be great." She's sure using that word a lot.

  "Except when you're off fucking Tuck and Andrew," I mutter under my breath.

  "Hey. That sounded a lot like judgment."

  I turn to her, contrite. "I'm sorry. I'm not judging you. In fact, I like Tuck. And frankly I think you two should quit messin' around and admit you really like each other." This shuts her up. She knows I'm right. "I was just sayin' that you both have
guys going down there. That's all."

  "You have Cap," she hedges. I raise my eyebrows.

  "I don't have him. We're just friends. You're gonna end up with Tuck, Tina will be with Andrew, and Sam will find some girl to hook up with and I'll be up alone in my room ordering expensive room service and movies."

  Carl puckers her mouth like she always does when she's thinking. "Actually Cap has been much less of a man-whore lately," she murmurs. This catches my attention.

  "How so?" I ask, trying to pretend I'm not as interested in the new direction of our conversation as I actually am. Carl shrugs.

  "Well I don't know, it's not like he ever had a girlfriend or anything, but he sure hooks up a lot. Or used to anyway. He hasn't had a regular since Kendall graduated last year, but I mean you see him at parties. Do you see him going upstairs with Lisa or Sarah or any of the other easy girls? I certainly haven't heard of his exploits from Tuck lately."

  "Is that something he usually does? Hook up with a lot of random girls?" I ask, surprised by Carl's words. I'm not naive, I know a guy like Sam probably gets around somewhat, surely he's not celibate, but I haven't observed any of the kind of behavior Carl is describing.

  "Um, yeah. They all do. Even Andy did before he and Tina got together, in fact that's how they started, as a random hook up. And I mean, just friends or not, you're not blind, you see Cap. Tuck's more my type, but even I have to admit, Cap is fucking gorgeous. Every time I look over at the front row in calc, I think I’ve been transported to a GQ shoot!"

  We both giggle. Carl is right. Of course Sam hooks up. I don't know why I haven't thought about it before. And if he's been more discreet about it as of late, I've no idea the reason, but I'm grateful not to have to witness it. Even if he's been more than clear that we're only friends, I have to admit, at least to myself, that I'd rather not witness his exploits, as Carl so eloquently referred to them.

  I pick up the single one piece that is neither too revealing, nor makes me look like a grandmother, and set it aside.

  "That's not all you're getting," Carl says matter of factly.

  I give her a look that says "wanna bet?"

  "Come on, Rory! Flaunt, remember?"

  I'm starting to get frustrated. Maybe this whole trip is a bad idea. Even with the sarongs and cover ups I've selected, there's no way I'll feel comfortable in beach gear. And really, what am I going to do when everyone else is hooking up? Even if Sam doesn't find some random hook up, Chelsea will be all over him, and with my friends spoken for...

  And what about my triggers? I'm bound to have a panic attack. I'm starting to think I've made a horrible mistake.

  "Try on one of the bikinis I brought in, you'll look fantastic. Why cover up when you look like that-"

  "Why cover up?" I hiss. My eyes begin to water and my pulse begins to race.

  No. I'm not having a panic attack. Not here. Not in a fucking dressing room.

  I close my eyes. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven....

  I concentrate on taking long, even breaths and quickly start to calm. No, I won't panic, but that doesn't mean I'm not upset.

  "Why cover up?!" I sob again. I'm crying, and I realize my reaction is over the top, but I'm upset.

  I'm losing it, I know, but I can do nothing to stop my overreaction. In truth, I'm just thankful that it's just an overreaction and not a full blown, cold sweat, hyperventilating, panic attack. I'm vaguely aware of Carl's worried look as I start tearing at the swimsuit I'm wearing and yank it down until I'm standing completely naked except for my low-rise panties.

  "This is why!" I squeal, gesturing to my scar - a full inch of jagged, raised, pink scar tissue visible each above and below my panty line. I continue to cry as Carl jumps up and steps toward me.

  "Oh my God, Rory, what happened?" she asks with wide, worried, bright green eyes.

  I reach up to swipe at my tears. I don't answer her.

  "It's okay, Rory," she coos soothingly.

  "How?! How is it okay?" I ask, sincerely desperate for an answer.

  "However you got that scar is the problem, Rory. Not the scar. It doesn't look that bad. I mean, look at you," she gestures up and down my nearly nude body, "you're still totally gorgeous. You don't have to cover up because of that." She gestures dismissively at my scarred skin, as if it really isn’t all that hideous.

  We stare at each other a few moments as I absorb her words. They help and yet they don't. My scar does not make my body ugly, according to Carl. She thinks it's totally gorgeous. But I don't want that either. To be attractive, to be desirable... to be targeted by men. To be prey. In my preoccupation over my scar, I forgot that it is not in itself the only reason I cover up. It's not even the main reason.

  I take a deep breath and start getting dressed. I tug on my jeans and fasten my bra before pulling on my tee shirt. I pick up the bikini with the boy shorts and bandeau top. It's a bikini, yes, but it's really rather modest compared to what I know my friends will be wearing.

  "Everyone will see it," I murmur as I inspect the bikini, "they'll know."

  "Know what?" Carl asks.

  I don't respond. Instead, I gather the items I've decided to purchase and with one last sigh, add the bikini to the pile, as well as one of the sexier one-pieces that's basically a bikini with a mesh scrap of material connecting the top to the bottom, even though I haven't tried on either of them. I know I most likely won't wear either, but who knows? Maybe with shorts over them... or a sarong. Even if they are on the sexier side, no one can accuse me of "asking" for anything by wearing beach wear on a beach.

  Right?

  Carl links her elbow with mine and, without another mention of my scar, leads me to the counter where Tina is already handing over her credit card.

  ****

  On Tuesday Mr. Frank waits until the last minute of class to hand back last Friday's test. He waits until we're all packed up and filing out of the room. Carl is already out the door with her eighty five and Sam is hanging by the door waiting for me when I'm handed my ninety four. My grin practically splits my face in two. I skip over to Sam and wave the paper in his face.

  "That's my girl," he smiles and holds out his hand for a high five and I comply. He laces our fingers together and somehow we end up holding hands as we walk toward our respective next classes. It's strange how much pleasure the simple connection brings me. The warmth of his touch, the feel of his skin... I've never felt this before, not even with Cam, and definitely not with Robin. "God, I'm impressive," Sam murmurs.

  I laugh. "Excuse me?" I reply, though I can't really argue the point.

  "My tutoring skills. I mean, look, I turned a hopeless math failure into a brilliant student!" he boasts.

  I punch him in the arm with my free hand. "I was pulling an eighty or so, hardly failing!" I correct him, and he grins.

  "Details, details."

  I roll my eyes.

  "Anyway, you're all set for break. You and I are the only ones with single rooms. Carl and Tina are together, Andy and Dave, Luke and Marshall, Chel and Lily, Sarah and Melissa-"

  "I don't need everyone's rooming arrangements, just mine is fine, thanks," I say cheekily, and Sam nudges me with his shoulder. "But why are you rooming alone?"

  Sam shrugs. "Not really interested in listening to Andy and Tina screw each other, or Tuck and Carl for that matter," he makes a scandalized face and I giggle.

  "Whatever, Super Tutor, see you at lunch," I reply and turn off into my next period class.

  ****

  We all end up at the diner at lunch again, including Chelsea. I'm a little disconcerted by the way I catch her looking at me - less combative and more inquisitive. Everyone is talking about Miami. The clubs they want to hit, the boutique shops, the restaurants. Sam and Tucker talk about surfing while Dave makes suggestive comments about taking Lily jetskiing and how he'd be happy to take her "for a ride". As I've gotten to know Dave, I've learned that he never misses a chance for sexual innuendo, and while I usually find myself rolling my eyes
, Lily seems to find his comments complimentary. I guess there's someone for everyone.

  Tuck is trying to talk Carl into letting him teach her to surf and Sam offers to give me a lesson, which I decline.

  "She's from Florida, why would she need a surfing lesson from you, Cap? She can probably ride big waves," Dave announces, then smirks as he recognizes the lead-in for one of his trademark comments. "She can probably ride real big-"

  "Damn it, Dave, will you shut the fuck up?!" Sam growls in my defense.

  I grit my teeth, and I know anyone paying me any attention can sense my tension. I remind myself that Dave makes these comments to anyone and everyone whenever possible. It's not personal. It's not about me. When I've confirmed with myself that I'm fine, I peek over at Sam and realize that he's still aggravated.

  "Chill out, man. I was just sayin-"

  "I know what you were fucking saying and I'm saying to back the fuck off. Could you show the girl some damn respect? Jesus." Sam runs his fingers through his hair in frustration.

  Dave is staring wide eyed, clearly surprised by Sam's defensive response, so accustomed to slinging whatever ridiculous comment that springs to mind without consequence. In fact, Sam usually laughs. Dave says nothing more, he just looks between Sam and me as if trying to figure something out, and it unnerves me, but beside me, Sam is still unsettled.

  "I'm okay, it's fine," I whisper into his ear.

  He meets my gaze to confirm this for himself and though he seems to relax, he replies, "Well it's not fine with me," under his breath so that only I can hear. Under the table, Sam hesitantly takes my hand and I hold on to this lifeline.

  Out of the corner of my eye I see Chelsea spying our interaction, as she always does, and it irks me. As it always does.

  "So, Florida? Is that where you're from?" Chelsea asks, her tone dripping with false cheer.

  I consider her a moment, wondering at her motivation, the direction of her inquiry, before tentatively nodding.