Halfway Normal

by Barbara Dee

  She led us to Dr. Glickstein’s office. Nurses and nurse practitioners and assistants I’d never spoken to before all smiled at me as we walked down the brightly lit hallways to Dr. Glickstein’s office. I wondered if they were smiling because they could see I looked better—or if they’d always smiled at me and I’d just been too sick to notice.

  “Norah Levy!” Dr. Glickstein shook my hand at his door, the way he always did. It was a joke, a this-is-how-grown-ups-behave handshake. His eyes twinkled behind wire-frame glasses. “How’s it going out there?”

  “Pretty good,” I said.

  “She’s been back at school a full week,” Mom explained. “And exhausted all weekend.”

  Dr. Glickstein gazed at her as if she were across the street. This was another thing he did: treating my parents politely, but making it clear that they weren’t the patient, and he wanted to hear from me. “Any of those rotten kids cough on you, Norah?” he asked as he took out his stethoscope.

  “No. And no one sneezed on me either.”

  “Let’s keep it that way. You’ll get re-immunized six months after chemo—until then, avoid germs, please, kiddo, and scrub those hands throughout the day. How’s the appetite?”

  “Uneven,” Dad said.

  “Fine,” I corrected him. “But I’m still super-aware of smells. Especially when there’s meat.” I stuck out my tongue.

  “That’ll fade. But maybe you’ll always have a thing about Big Macs.” Dr. Glickstein winked at me. “There are worse things. Let’s see your weight.”

  I stepped on the scale.

  “Up three pounds,” Daphne announced, beaming. She was one of my favorite nurses, always interested in my drawings.

  “Is that enough?” Mom asked. “I mean, is she gaining at the right rate?”

  “Norah’s gaining at the right rate for her,” Daphne answered.

  Something about the way Daphne said that decided me. “Um, can I ask a question?” I said. “In private?”

  “You mean you want to talk to the doctor in private?” Mom repeated, as if she wasn’t sure she’d heard right.

  “Yes, actually,” I admitted.

  Mom’s cheeks turned red. Dad’s mouth made a small O. The truth was, I wouldn’t have minded for Mom to stay, but no way was I going to talk about this in front of Dad. And for me to ask Dad to leave—that would seem like choosing sides, which I refused to do.

  “Absolutely,” Dr. Glickstein said with a calm smile. “Mr. and Mrs. Levy, would you mind stepping out in the hall for a moment?”

  “It’s Ms. Lewis now,” Mom snapped. “Dr. Lewis, actually.” But she walked out of the exam room, with Dad right behind her, not even throwing a glance in my direction. Were his feelings hurt? Were Mom’s? This was the first time I’d ever asked to speak to Dr. Glickstein privately, and probably I should have warned my parents back in the waiting area. Although if I had, they’d have totally freaked. I mean, they were still both capable of freaking over a single sneeze.

  Dr. Glickstein closed the door. “What’s on your mind, Norah?” he asked kindly.

  I chewed the inside of my cheek. “I was just wondering about . . . uh, about my body. When it’ll catch up. To other girls my age.”

  “Ah. Do you remember when we discussed this?”

  I shook my head. Sometimes on chemo I was a bit foggy-headed, and afterward forgot about certain conversations. It was embarrassing, and also a little scary.

  “Well, Norah, the chemo does have certain side effects you’ll be experiencing for a while. Most girls your age who’ve been through cancer treatment don’t develop at the same rate as their peers. But you will catch up eventually. And you’ll get a period, too, never fear.”

  I shrugged. “I don’t care so much about that. It’s more about how I look. Compared to everyone at school, I’m just so . . . little-girlish. And with my hair so short—”

  “Hey, your hair is adorable.” Daphne smiled. “And your body is still recovering, honey. You’ll get there.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” It was what Mom had told me, but coming from a doctor and a nurse, it just sounded more believable.

  Dr. Glickstein asked if I had any other questions. I shook my head.

  He chuckled. “Okay, so can we invite your parents back in, before they both have heart attacks? Because I skipped class the day they taught CPR in med school.”

  “Haha,” I said. Skipped class. That’s so funny.

  THE SOCIAL THING

  After the exam I had a bone marrow aspiration so they could check me for any leukemia cells hiding deep inside my bones. (Even after two years of treatment, I still hated needles worse than anything, and this one hurt like a whole hive’s worth of beestings. But at least it was over pretty fast.) Then I had an appointment with Raina while my parents sat on separate couches in the waiting room, reading their phones.

  Raina seemed happy to see me, but a bit distracted, like she’d just run a tough marathon. I guessed she’d had a hard time with some patient.

  “So how’s school going?” she asked.

  “Fine,” I said. “And you were right! I mean about the work not being hard for me.”

  She grinned. “Not surprising, smartypants! And the social thing?”

  “Yeah, so you were right about that, too. Silas is a jerk. He’s practically ignored me the whole week.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Norah. But maybe over time—”

  “And I’m still good friends with Harper, but I can’t do a bunch of things, and I don’t want to keep explaining everything to her, you know? Or talking about cancer stuff, which makes me feel guilty, because she thinks I’m hiding information. Which I sort of am, I guess.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Plus, she’s hanging out with these girls who aren’t my friends. They’re not my enemies or anything, although Kylie says it’s depressing when I talk about being sick and Addison acts like she thinks I’m faking. But I guess since I wasn’t around for two years, Harper decided she needed new friends. Which I totally understand, but . . .” I shrugged.

  Raina nodded thoughtfully. “Norah, let me ask you a question. Is there someone at school to talk to?”

  “You mean someone like you?”

  “Yes. Not necessarily a counselor. Any adult, really.”

  “Well, there’s my guidance counselor, but she’s kind of bossy. She wants me to do this stupid Overcoming Challenges thing where I have to stand up in front of the entire school and talk about cancer.” I shuddered. “Which, by the way, she refuses to say. She just keeps saying I was ‘sick’ or ‘out,’ never that I had leukemia, or even just cancer. And it really, really bothers me!”

  “That does sound tricky,” Raina agreed. “Did you tell her how you feel about that?”

  “No, but I’m sure she can tell.”

  Raina took a small box of Skittles out of her pocket and handed it to me. “So here’s a thought: I wonder if you’d be interested in joining a support group at the hospital. It’s for kids who’ve returned to school but are still patients at Phipps.”

  “You mean come back to Phipps—”

  “Just once a week. After school. For support.”

  “No, that’s impossible,” I said immediately. I could fast-forward to the conversation with my parents: Norah, you can’t do BOTH the support group AND Afterschool. It’s too much! So for now, why not put Afterschool on hold, and later, when you get your strength back—

  Raina chewed some Skittles. “Why is it impossible?”

  “Because I have other stuff to do.”

  “Like what?”

  “After-school stuff. Plus homework! And I need to rest.”

  “Norah, it’s only one afternoon a week. And it’s on Fridays, so you don’t need to worry about homework.”

  That made it sound doable, I had to admit. But the thought of coming here every week? It would feel like a giant step backward. And seeing all those sick kids in the waiting room every time—I just couldn’t. No matter how comfortabl
e it felt when I stepped off the elevator, I didn’t belong here anymore. I didn’t want to belong here.

  “I can’t,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

  The catch in my voice seemed to take her by surprise. “Well, will you at least think about it?” she asked.

  I nodded. But of course I wouldn’t.

  EARRINGS

  As soon as we were in the car on the way to the airport, Mom asked if I’d “gotten all my questions answered today.” By that, I knew she meant: I can’t ask what you talked about with Dr. Glickstein “in private,” but will you at least tell us the general topic?

  So I said the general topic was Hair.

  “You couldn’t discuss that in front of us?” Dad asked. “Hair?”

  “Well, it’s embarrassing.” That wasn’t a lie. “Also, I wanted to ask them about ear piercing.”

  That wasn’t a lie either—at least technically. Because ever since my phone call with Harper yesterday, I had wanted to ask about ear piercing. I was thinking that with long, swishy earrings like Ms. Castro’s, nobody would mistake me for a boy.

  The quick way Mom was breathing, I could tell she was trying not to freak. “Norah, honey, ear piercing is a parent decision, not a doctor one.”

  “Yeah, I know. But I wanted to hear if they were okay with it before I asked you.”

  “Why? Because you assumed I’d say no?”

  “I thought you’d say I could get an infection or something, so I should wait. And I’m sick of waiting for everything! That’s all I do! Wait, wait, wait!”

  “Okay, I’m lost,” Dad said.

  Mom huffed impatiently. “Greg, we just need to get on the Whitestone Bridge—”

  “I know how to get to the airport, Janie!! I mean, what does ear piercing have to do with hair?”

  “I just think I would look a lot better if I could wear earrings,” I explained. “At least while my hair is short. And they do it—the piercing—at the mall. Harper went with Kylie and Aria yesterday—”

  “Hold on,” Mom said sharply. “Norah, I’m about to get on a plane. This is not the time to bring up ear piercing at the mall!”

  “But why? I don’t even need you to come with me. I could go with Harper. Or Dad.”

  “Not me,” Dad said. “Not my department. Sorry.”

  Then I made a bad mistake: “Or with Nicole.”

  “No,” Mom snapped. Her face went red. “You can do it on your birthday, Norah. With me.”

  But my birthday wasn’t until April. “My hair will be all grown in by my birthday! I won’t need earrings then!”

  “I’m sorry, Norah, but I just can’t think about this right now! We should have had this conversation yesterday. And I really do not want another fight with you just before I get on the plane!”

  The car went silent. Dad put on the radio: traffic and weather on the eights, then sports. I stared out the window for a while, then took out my sketchbook to draw some norahs.

  When we finally got to the airport, Mom had passed from mad-at-me to sorry-she-yelled-at-me. “Baby, I’m going to miss you terribly,” she said as we hugged. “But you can call me anytime, day or night. You know that, right? And we’ll Skype.”

  “Sure,” I said. “That’ll be great.”

  “And I’ll be back here to see you in three weeks! Maybe we’ll do the ear piercing then, all right? Would you like that?”

  “But my hair will be longer in three weeks.”

  “Norah, honey . . .” Her eyes filled. She didn’t seem annoyed with me now. Just sad. Sad for everything.

  And suddenly, so was I. All of it—the divorce, the cancer, Mom leaving—was just totally unfair.

  “Sorry, Mom, I was just teasing,” I said quickly. “Yes, I would like that. I love you.”

  “I love you too, baby. Be good, and listen to your dad.”

  “I will.”

  I’m sorry I brought up the earrings like that. I wish I were nicer—a better patient. A better daughter. And sorry I said I’d do it with Nicole. You’re my mom—of course I’ll do it with you.

  Please don’t go.

  But then she left, because it was time, and she had to.

  * * *

  That night, Nicole cooked us dinner. It was really good (pasta with vegetables; brownies for dessert), but after Mom took off, I guess I wasn’t feeling very hungry. So while Dad and Nicole watched a movie in the living room, I curled up in bed with D’Aulaires’ Book of Greek Myths and opened to the story of Persephone and Demeter, how Demeter never rested until she got her daughter back from Hades. I knew there were other stories about moms and daughters, but right then it was the only one I felt like reading.

  SPIDER-GIRL

  The next morning, Griffin was late for math. Ms. Perillo frowned as she reminded him of the rule: Late three times and you get detention.

  He waited for her to turn to the whiteboard, then leaned over to me. “You coming to Afterschool today?”

  I nodded.

  “Can you meet me in the band room?”

  “Griffin? First you show up late, and now you’re talking?” Ms. Perillo was definitely annoyed. “Do I need to change your seat?”

  “No. Sorry,” he said. But as soon as she turned away, he raised his eyebrows at me. Same question, I guessed.

  Yes, I mouthed.

  He grinned, and I willed myself not to blush.

  Before English started, I told Harper I’d be staying for Afterschool on Tuesdays, and was doing Art Club. She seemed thrilled—she even gave me a hug—so I knew the weirdness between us wasn’t permanent. Which was a huge relief.

  But then she said: “Only one thing. The girl who runs Art Club is horrible.”

  “You mean Astrid? Yeah, I know her from math class.”

  Harper made a barf face. “She hates me. We’re doing sketches for these murals we’re supposed to put up in the halls. I’m supposed to do one for the Overcoming Challenges thing, but everything I draw, she says it’s not ‘public art,’ or she doesn’t think it ‘communicates,’ or something.”

  “I’m sure your drawings are great, Harper.”

  “She’s all like, ‘This is my club, and I’m in charge, so you have to do what I say.’ ”

  “Well, if I do Art Club, I’ll stick up for you,” I said.

  “If? If ?”

  “When I do Art Club.”

  “Yay!” Harper clapped her hands and did a crazy little jig.

  For a second, it felt like everything was back to normal between the two of us. It wasn’t more Harper taking care of poor Norah; this was Norah taking care of Harper. First time in two years! Woo!

  But then Kylie and Aria spoiled it all by walking over. Over to Harper, to be exact.

  “Wanna go out for lunch?” Kylie asked in a pretend-evil sort of voice. Her dark eyes were sparkling, making her even prettier.

  Harper gave her a crooked grin. “What do you mean by ‘out’?”

  “You know. Out of the building.”

  “What? You mean leave the school?”

  “Don’t be such a baby. It’s just crossing the street for a slice of pizza, then coming straight back.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Come on, Harper. Lunchroom pizza tastes like microwaved dog poop.”

  “Harper, you’ll get in trouble,” I murmured. “And for a stupid slice of pizza? It’s totally not worth it.”

  Aria nodded at me. “I told Kylie the same thing, but she’s not listening to me, either.”

  Kylie snorted. “That’s because you’re boring, Aria. So is Norah. Harper’s not boring. Are you, Harper?”

  Harper did a combination laugh/sigh. “Can I please just think about it, Kylie?”

  “Only if you think fast. Addison’s coming, and we’ll be in the first-floor girls’ room at the start of lunch. And we’re not waiting.”

  She and Aria went into English.

  “You’re not actually thinking of going with her, are you?” I demanded.

  Harper shrugg
ed. “I told you, Norah, we’re friends.”

  “That doesn’t mean you need to follow her around like a little lamb!”

  “Who says I do? Besides, I didn’t say I’d definitely go.”

  “You didn’t say you wouldn’t.”

  “Norah, just stop, okay? Kylie’s fun. And I really hate it that you’re jealous.”

  “I’m not jealous! I just don’t get what’s so great about her.”

  Harper looked right into my eyes. “You want to know? She tells me things, okay? I know her feelings. And I don’t have to beg her for information.”

  * * *

  In English, Ms. Farrell was talking about how the ancient Greek gods and goddesses were constantly falling in love, cheating on spouses, being jealous, having babies, breaking up, getting revenge, then doing it all over again with someone else. On the whiteboard, she’d even made a giant multicolored chart about all their love affairs, with Zeus almost always in the middle, cheating on Hera with some random female.

  “It’s like a bad soap opera,” Harrison complained.

  “I think it’s cool,” Kylie protested. “More interesting than some things we could be studying.”

  “But you have to admit it’s kind of trashy. I mean, for a religion.”

  Ms. Farrell laughed. She was wearing Harry Potter glasses and a maroon scarf that wasn’t Hogwarts, but close enough. “Yes, Harrison, I suppose that’s fair. Why do you think so many of these stories are about love and passion, especially the messy kind?”

  “So people want to hear them?” Aria guessed.

  “But not everyone,” Addison insisted. “My parents have been married for like twenty years, and they don’t cheat. So like, if they were ancient Greeks, why would they want to hear about gods who cheated?”

  “Fair point,” Ms. Farrell said. “Why would they? Any ideas?”

  Malik raised his hand. “Maybe it’s not about the gods acting better or worse than regular people. Just bigger.”

  “Bigger how?”

  “Just in every way. Like that guy who was in love with himself, what’s-his-name?”

  “You mean Narcissus?” I asked.