A Blind Guide to Normal

by Beth Vrabel

  “Great, Ryder.” Clack, clack, clack. “See you tonight.”

  “Bye, Mom.”

  “Bye.” Clack, clack. “And Ryder?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Maybe order some takeout instead?”

  About two hours and forty-seven pages of Angela’s Ashes later, the doorbell rang. I hopped up to grab the cash for the pizza delivery guy, knocked my head into the enormous brass chandelier that looked like it belonged to NASA, and startled the General, who shot off the table with a shriek, which woke up Gramps, who had been drooling all over himself on the couch.

  “What is it? What is it, Marlene? What do you need?” he yelped, shooting to his feet. Marlene was my grams, who died when my dad was a baby.

  I rubbed the lump on my head and shook off the General, who had attached herself to my ankle as the doorbell rang again. I ignored Gramps.

  “Coming!” I called at the door. Man, the pizza delivery guy must be on a tight schedule, judging by the way he was now rapping against the door.

  “I’ll get the door. It’s my house.” Gramps elbowed past me.

  I pushed him back. “I’m already on the way!” I was so sick of the old man being in my face all the time! Not to mention I had been pushed around plenty at school already today.

  “Richie Ryder, let me by!” Gramps stomped on my foot. For real! That crazy old man!

  He threw open the door before I could tell him that the few sprigs of hair he had on his shiny head were standing straight up and the tweed pattern of the couch was now embedded on his cheek. I was a half-step behind him, his demon cat still clinging to my ankle, and holding the other throbbing foot in my hand.

  And there in front of us wasn’t hot, delicious pizza. It was Max and, judging by the luscious lashes on the older man standing just beside him, his dad.

  Chapter Seven

  Max’s dad threw out his arm over Max the way Mom does to me when she has to brake the car suddenly. “Um, sorry to disturb. Is this the Raymond residence?”

  “Yes, but I’m not buying cookies or hot dogs or whatever it is Boy Scouts sell.” Gramps crossed his arms.

  “Gramps, this is a kid from school. Max.”

  Gramps nodded, making the sprigs of hair standing straight up flop over to the wrong side. “First day of school, already has buddies coming over.”

  I fell into a massive coughing fit.

  “I’m Josh Waters. This is my boy, Max. May we come in?” Max’s dad asked.

  The traitor cat twirled in between Max’s legs as we sat around the dining room table.

  Max slumped in his chair, half turned away from the rest of us. Mr. Waters, a broad man whose muscles bulged around his crossed arms, sat straight in his chair. Gramps kept making stupid jokes. I hoped for instantaneous Cat Scratch Fever and death.

  “The thing is,” Mr. Waters said, “I got a disturbing phone call after school today from Miss Singer. It seems Max here was bullying Richie Ryder.”

  “It’s just Ryder,” I said under my breath.

  Mr. Waters continued as if he hadn’t heard me. “Miss Singer said Max was poking fun at Richie Ryder’s visual condition.”

  “Yeah, that’s something we have to keep an eye on,” Gramps said. Then his mouth twitched. “But just one eye, of course.”

  Mr. Waters’s nostrils flared but he didn’t say anything.

  “It was a misunderstanding,” I said. “Lash—I mean, Max—wasn’t referring to my eye when he called me a freak.”

  “You called him a freak?” Mr. Waters’s mouth turned dead-man white, he was pressing his jaw together so tightly. Max squirmed more than one of Mom’s bugs under his dad’s glare.

  “Oh, now, I’m sure Richie Ryder deserved it. Kid signed up for quilting class, for Pete’s sake. Cah, cah, cah.”

  “Thank you, Gramps. Real helpful.”

  “It wasn’t like that,” Max said. “He was hanging all over Jocelyn and wouldn’t back off.”

  Mr. Waters’s chin popped in the air like he had gotten slugged. “Wait. What?” He turned his death glare on me. “You were giving Jocie a hard time?”

  “No!” I threw my hands up. “No, man. I was just talking with her.”

  “I prefer to be called Mr. Waters or sir.” Mr. Waters crossed his arms. This time the muscles bulged a bit more than necessary, I thought.

  “And I prefer to be called Your Royal Highness.” Gramps had a sudden sharpness to his voice. “Sounds like this was all a misunderstanding. Richie Ryder would never harass Jocelyn. The two of them are buddies. Saw them talking—laughing even—on the way home this afternoon.”

  This news had very different effects on the Waters men. Mr. Waters’s face relaxed back into its normal position. But Max’s flamed.

  “That’s good,” Mr. Waters said. “Not that Jocelyn can’t take care of herself.” This came out a little bit like a warning. He took a deep breath. “The thing is, we’ve come to make amends. Max, here, has to be in good academic and social standing with his teachers in order to remain a student at our martial arts studio. He’s up for a promotion to second dan black belt. If Miss Singer doesn’t endorse him, he doesn’t test. And then he’s off our sparring team. It’s that simple.” He turned to Max while I processed the fact that the kid who currently looked like he wanted to chop me into bits for talking with his girlfriend could probably do just that with his bare hands.

  “You’re a black belt?” I asked stupidly.

  Max nodded. “Since I was eleven.”

  “Huh.”

  “What?” Max snapped. Mr. Waters narrowed his eyes at me, too. Both seemed waiting for me to make some snide comment about martial arts.

  “Nothing,” I said. “It’s just—I sort of pictured you more as football material. You know …” I waved my hand toward him. I mean, the guy was pure muscle.

  “I didn’t want to be on the team,” he said.

  “Oh, right.” I nodded, remembering. “The Guinea Pigs.”

  Max’s jawbone clenched. The General hopped up onto his lap. The two of them glared at me. “I’m sorry I pointed out that you’re a freak. It has nothing to do with your eyes.”

  “Eye,” Gramps broke in.

  “Um, thanks,” I said. “Cool. See you tomorrow.” I stood up and moved toward the door, giving a silent prayer of thanks when the Waterses and Gramps followed suit. The General hissed as she slid to the floor.

  “If there’s ever anything we can do, please let me know,” Mr. Waters said. He handed Gramps a business card. I saw a profile of someone doing a martial arts kick on it.

  “So you’re an instructor?” Gramps squinted at the card. “At WMA?”

  “Waters Martial Arts,” Mr. Waters filled in. “I’m the owner. Fourth-degree black belt.”

  I thought about Jocelyn practicing in the front yard the day we moved in. I had a good guess where she took her karate lessons.

  “This school of yours? It got any openings?” Gramps asked.

  Mr. Waters’s eyes raked down the old man’s pudgy frame and floppy hair. “We could certainly find a way to accommodate anyone interested in learning the sport in our beginners’ lessons. They’re led by newer black belts. Most of them are a bit younger than—”

  “Anyone, eh?” Gramps cut in. “Even freaks?”

  Both Max and his dad’s jaws dropped open.

  “Gramps, knock it off,” I cried, feeling my cheeks flaring red.

  “Cah, cah, cah.” Gramps smirked at us. “I think lessons—toughening this kid up, you know—would make amends. Don’t you think, Richie Ryder? Might be a good hobby.”

  “I don’t think martial arts is really my thing.”

  “It used to be,” Gramps said. “You were an orange belt, I think, before …”

  “Green,” I cut in.

  Mr. Waters cocked an eyebrow at me.

  “I took tae kwon do lessons before I got …”

  Here’s the thing: I know it’s just a word. Cancer. Just a word. But it’s a thick, sticky word tha
t gets gunked up in my throat sometimes. So I just finished with, “When I was littler. Like seven. Master Johnson said I was a natural fighter.”

  Mr. Waters nodded, his lip jutting out. Max crossed his arms and scowled at me.

  “But that was a long time ago,” I added.

  “Yeah,” Gramps, with his impeccable timing, laughed. “From the looks of you and that girl, I’d say you’re more of a lover than a fighter now.” He poked his wrinkly elbow into my ribs. Ribs that Max clearly wanted to snap. In fact, I heard this crunching sound and thought the force of his glare was doing just that—cracking my ribs—before realizing it was just his teeth grinding together.

  “I think we could whip you back into shape,” Mr. Waters said.

  “Nah. I don’t think I’ve got an inner ninja anymore.” I forced a grin. The whole idea of it was insane. Me? To prove it, I went into the crane pose and flapped my “wings” like it was the chicken dance.

  “Yes, mastering martial arts requires strength, drive, and dedication.” Mr. Waters stared hard at me. Seriously, I felt myself shrinking, arms mid-flap. I wasn’t a crane; I was one of Mom’s bugs, getting dissected by his glare. “It tasks athletes to focus. You’re right. That doesn’t seem to be your thing.” Mr. Waters turned toward the door. Max’s smirk felt like he was squashing bug-me under his heel.

  Then Mr. Waters suddenly turned back to me. He cocked his head to the side as he took me in. Quickly, I dropped my arms and stood straight. I glanced at Max, who rolled his eyes and groaned softly. “Luckily,” said Mr. Waters, cocking his head to the other side, “martial arts also provides those skills. Classes are every weeknight. Come as often as you can, Richie Ryder. Beginners class starts at five-thirty sharp.”

  “But, Dad—” Max yanked on his father’s sleeve. I heard him whisper Jocelyn’s name.

  “Oh, I think she can handle it.” Mr. Waters was the one to smirk this time. Max shook his head at me once and followed his father out the door.

  “Cah, cah, cah.” Gramps clapped his hands together.

  “What have you gotten me into?” I sighed.

  “Ah, calm down, boy. Maybe this will help you with your anger issues.”

  “Me? What anger issues?”

  “Exactly,” Gramps said just as the doorbell rang again. This time, it actually was the pizza guy.

  Chapter Eight

  “Give karate a shot. What’s the big deal?”

  Alice and I had resorted to the lamest of communication options: talking on the phone. Of course, we were FaceTiming, but it still felt foreign to be talking instead of texting with her after not seeing her in months.

  “Have you seen The Karate Kid?” I asked her. “The original movie, where the kid gets his butt handed to him when he checks out his nemesis’s karate studio?”

  “Duh. Everyone’s parents make them watch that movie,” Alice replied. She was sitting in this strange chair shaped like a hand. I think she was in a library or something.

  “Yeah,” I said, moving through the house toward the living room. “But now imagine I’m the kid about to get his butt kicked, and instead of a fierce old Japanese man at my side, I’ve got Gramps.” I swung out the phone so it captured Gramps in all his leisure-suit-wearing glory as he chomped down a slice of pizza. “See?” I asked.

  “Hi, Gramps.” Alice waved.

  “Hi, Girl in the Phone!” Gramps said around a cheesy bite.

  I moved back to my bedroom and shut the door. “See what I mean?”

  “He’s sweet,” Alice said. I should’ve realized Alice wouldn’t see reason with Gramps. After all, she counts a man in a nursing home among her friends. Speaking of which, some girl kept bopping into the screen on Alice’s end. “Say hi to Kerica!” Alice moved her iPad so I caught a glimpse of the girl. “Kerica, this is Ryder.”

  The girl looked up from a sketchbook and nodded but didn’t smile. Neither did I.

  “Aren’t you at Addison?” I asked.

  “School ended an hour ago,” Alice said. All three of us were quiet for a second. “I’ve been so excited for you and Kerica to meet. My two best friends!”

  Another lull. Look, I know it’s dumb and everything, but I didn’t like the idea that I was half a best friend. Alice was my closest friend. Period. And I got the feeling Kerica felt the same, based on the not-so-super warm greeting.

  Alice’s white cheeks pinked a little. “Anyway,” she said slowly, “back to karate. I think you should do it. My cousin Sam has a couple friends who do karate. They go to tournaments and everything.”

  “Sam, the gymnast?” Kerica said in the background. “Aren’t he and his friends always getting picked on?”

  Great, now OBF (Other Best Friend) was showcasing superior Alice background knowledge. Round One: Kerica.

  “Not anymore,” Alice said. “I mean, they’re sort of picked on. But not for the karate. Sam said it made his one friend super fierce. Like no one would mess with her now.”

  “Fierce is good. I could use some fierce.” I made a fierce face.

  “Is he constipated?” Kerica asked.

  “You know I can hear you, right?” I said, but maybe not in such a nice voice.

  Alice moved the phone so Kerica was just barely in the background. “Sorry, Ryder. Listen, what do you have to lose? I mean, this girl you like, you know she goes to the karate studio, right? So you’ll get to know her better. And Lash Boy; it might not hurt to get to know him better, too. Maybe he’s not as bad as he seems.”

  “You make sense, Porcelain,” I said slowly, thinking about Jocelyn. “Don’t know what I’d do with you.”

  “Ah, I’d be just as lost without you, Ryder.”

  Kerica glared at me in the background. Round Two: Ryder.

  I ignored Kerica and focused on Alice, instead. “Um … hmm. Right. Well, I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

  “Ryder?” Alice’s voice was soft. She moved closer to the screen like she was trying to see me better. Or maybe to block out Kerica. I don’t know. “What else is up?”

  “Nothing. See you later.”

  “Come on,” she said quietly. “What else is bothering you?”

  “Nothing.” My voice was stiff. Alice stared at me, her eyes flicking back and forth super fast, the way they do when she’s nervous. “It’s just Gramps. He said something really stupid.”

  “What?”

  “He said karate would help me with my anger issues.” I laughed, but it sounded strange. More like one of Gramps’s crow calls. “Like I have anger issues.”

  Alice swallowed and moved back from the screen. “Oh.”

  “What?” I groaned.

  Super low and after too long of a pause, she said, “It’s just that—maybe—your anger issue is that you aren’t angry. I mean, you sort of have a right to be a little angry. But all you do is make everything a joke.”

  “What would I have to be angry about? Artie?” I grinned, feeling like myself again as I pointed to my fake eye. What was wrong with Alice and Gramps, thinking that not being angry was an actual, for-real problem? “So I don’t spend any time looking at the past. So what? I keep one eye forward, all the time.”

  Alice sighed but smiled. Kerica, on the other hand, burst out laughing in the background.

  Round Three: Ryder.

  In biology the next day, Miss Singer told us to partner up and review cellular structure facts. Jocelyn turned toward me right away. I played it cool, sliding my desk over near hers and opening up my notebook like it was no big deal. But inside? I was jumping around like the General when Gramps gets the laser pointer out.

  “Okay,” Jocelyn said. “Eukaryotic cells have proteins with microfilaments and microtubules.”

  “Right.” I scanned the textbook for more details. “And the cytoskeleton provides the framework for the cell.” I glanced at Jocelyn, who was supposed to be writing notes. Instead, she was watching me. Okay, she was watching my eyes.

  I could imagine what it looked like when I was reading. One
eye not moving in sync with the other while scanning the words. I cocked an eyebrow. “Any questions?” I asked.

  She shook her head and tugged at the sleeves of her shirt.

  “Part of the cytoskeleton is made up of actin filaments. They’re like strands that push against each other and are what let the organelles move. When you see actin, think action. Actin, action. Got it?” Again, I caught Jocelyn staring.

  She hurriedly picked up her pencil and started scribbling notes. I put down the textbook. “What do you call a fish without any eyes?”

  Jocelyn’s pencil stopped mid-word. “What?” she said, not looking at me.

  “Fffssshh.”

  Her smile was more of a grimace. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to be staring like that.”

  “No biggie,” I shrugged and picked up the textbook again.

  She finished writing action in her notes. “It’s just …”

  “I get it. You’re curious.” I picked up my own pencil and sketched the parts of a white blood cell in my notebook. “I’ll tell you what happened. I was seven. At a restaurant. Mom said I was too old for chocolate milk but I insisted. The waiter barely stirred in the chocolate sauce, so I got Mom’s iced teaspoon and stirred it myself. But I forgot to take it out before taking a drink. Bam! Spoon in the eye.”

  “Shut. Up.” Jocelyn’s face paled. “My mom was always warning me about that!”

  “Dude, I totally made that up.” Then I went and snorted. So suave.

  Jocelyn whapped at me with her pencil.

  “All right, all right!” I held up my hands. “I’ll tell you the truth.” I took a deep breath. “It was Christmas of my ninth year and all I wanted was an official Red Ryder, carbine action, two-hundred-shot range model air rifle.”

  Jocelyn leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms. “Let me guess: you shot your eye out. I’ve seen A Christmas Story. My uncle plans the family party around when the movie marathon is on TV every year.” She picked up her pencil and half turned from me. “If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine. It’s none of my business, anyway.”

  Her face got droopy and stiff all at once. Without really thinking it through, I covered her hand with mine to stop the scratch of her pencil. Most of her hand was covered by her long shirtsleeve but where her skin touched mine was soft and warm.