A Shot at Normal

by Marisa Reichardt

  “Hey, Juniper with the cool name,” he says as I pass.

  “Oh.” I shift from one foot to the other. “Hi.”

  He walks up next to me. Instead of sitting on his bike, he stands to the side of it, with one foot on the pedal, while we wait for the traffic signal to say WALK. He looks over at me and smiles, and I can’t help but smile back, because he has a good smile. And good teeth. Like someone who had braces.

  “So your shift is over?”

  “Yep. Done for the day.”

  “Do you like working at the library?”

  He shrugs. “It’s okay. It’s a job. Plus, I get holidays off. Well, except Halloween.”

  “Maybe one day Halloween will be the national holiday it deserves to be,” I say, and Nico nods enthusiastically.

  “It’s a pretty good one.”

  “Yeah, it’s a pretty good one.” I sigh. “On another note, I want to get a job. The library seems like a cool job. The books are the best part, but I guess you don’t really have a lot to do with them.”

  “Yeah. They stuck me in the computer lab because I can troubleshoot and reload the printer ink. It’s a whole thing. But I’m allowed to read as much as I want while I’m there.”

  “That’s pretty cool.”

  “It’ll be good in the summer. But so far, I’ve only been reading books for school.”

  “I’m guessing you go to Playa Bonita?” I gesture at his shirt.

  “Yeah. Do you? I haven’t seen you there.”

  “I go to school in my kitchen. Homeschool. Our mascot is basically a vacuum cleaner.”

  He laughs, and I like the sound of it. Rich and real. Straight from his belly. “I’ve never met someone who’s homeschooled. It seems like a sweet deal. More freedom and stuff.”

  “I hate it.”

  “Like you hate your name?”

  “My parents are obviously the worst.”

  “That sucks.”

  The light changes, and instead of pedaling away on his bike, he hops off the single pedal he’s been standing on and steps into the crosswalk to walk next to me.

  “Do you live this way?” I ask, wondering if he’s a neighbor I haven’t met yet.

  “Nah. I have a film club meeting at school at six.”

  I glance at my watch. “I think you’re going to be late. It’s six oh seven.”

  “I’ll be fashionably late,” he says. “Are you this way?”

  “I’m across the street from the school, actually.”

  “Do you like movies?”

  “I love movies. Not that I’ve watched a ton of them.”

  “Wanna go to this film club meeting with me? We’re screening Stand by Me as part of our Stephen King series.”

  “Is this the part where I tell you I’ve never seen it?”

  “That’s the whole point.”

  I laugh. “Right.”

  “So do you want to come be a film geek with me?”

  I glance down the street at my house. My mom is fiddling with the planter boxes underneath the front window. Her back is to me.

  “Let me just … I’m going to go ask my mom. Wait here. Okay?”

  “Um, okay. But I can come with if you want. I’m not weird about meeting parents.”

  “No. It’s better if I go by myself.”

  “Okay.”

  I rush up to the house, while Nico stands on the sidewalk, holding up his bike with one hand on the seat.

  “Mom,” I call out as I hustle toward her.

  She turns around, dirt stains all over her gardening gloves. “Goodness, Juniper, where’s the fire?”

  “Sorry. I’m in a hurry, that’s all. I was at the library and I met these other kids working on the same book as me for English.” I can’t tell her I want to go watch a movie. She’ll have to know the name of it so she can look up the plot and parental rating, which will take forever. “They’re having a study group at the school tonight, and I was wondering if I can go.”

  She swipes her wrist across her forehead, leaving a smudge of dirt behind. “That’s quite a coincidence.”

  “I know, right? I didn’t even have to go to a beach cleanup to meet people.”

  “Humph. You’ll just be at the school? Right across the street?”

  “Yep.”

  “For how long?”

  “A couple hours.”

  She pulls down the top of her glove to look at her watch. “That should give you until a little bit after eight o’clock. Seems reasonable.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” I want to hug her for not making a big deal out of it.

  “Mm-hmm.” She glances down the street toward Nico. “Is that boy the only one in the study group? Where’s everyone else?”

  “They’re already there. Nico stayed with me so I’d know where to go.”

  “He could’ve at least come over to meet me.”

  “He wanted to. I told him it was okay if he didn’t.”

  “It would’ve been more okay if he did. Remember that next time.”

  “I will,” I say over my shoulder as I open the door. I drop my library book on the table in the living room and grab the book I’m reading for Kitchen School. And then I hurry back down the street to Nico before my mom tries to shove homemade oat-and-flaxseed bars in my hands so I can share them with the other kids to clean their digestive tracts.

  Nico raises his eyebrows. “Well?”

  “I can go.”

  “Yeah?”

  I laugh. “Yeah.”

  “Cool,” he says, grinning a grin that makes my insides flip.

  So cool.

  SIXTEEN

  By the time we get to the classroom, the movie has already started. The lights are off and I trip over my own feet trying to find a place to sit in the dark. Nico sets his backpack by the door and reaches his hand toward mine. I let him guide me through the maze of wayward desks and the legs of students sprawled out across the floor.

  I’ve never held a boy’s hand before. But this isn’t like holding hands for real, so I should just calm down. Anyway. I like the feel of it. Nico’s grip is firm but not forceful. Confident. Nice. And when he seems to give my fingers a light squeeze, I try not to dissolve into a fizzy puddle. I barely notice when he grabs a pizza box from a nearby desk.

  He finds us a place to sit on the floor. Somewhere we can rest our backs against the wall. We’re in our own space, away from everyone else. He sets the pizza down between us, opens the lid, and shines the light from his phone screen.

  “Sausage and pepperoni,” he whispers. “Hope you’re not a vegetarian.”

  I whisper back, “At home we usually make pizza with cauliflower crust and pile veggies on top.”

  “I can get something different.”

  He closes the lid and pushes off the wall to stand up, but I stop him by putting my arm across him like my mom does to me when she suddenly has to slam on the brakes in Bessie. “No, it’s okay. I’m not at home.”

  “You sure?”

  “One hundred percent.”

  “Well, then dig in,” he whispers.

  I can hear my dad’s lecture about processed meats in the back of my mind. I flick him away like an annoying bug, grab a slice, and take a bite. The pizza is salty and spicy and greasy, and it’s so good that I let out a literal moan that makes Nico laugh. I freeze, waiting for the people watching the movie to shush us.

  Nico leans closer so only I can hear. “The best, right?”

  “Oh my god.” I take another bite. “Where has this been all my life?”

  “Arnoldi’s makes killer pizza. They swear it’s because they ship their water in from New York for their crust.”

  After two slices each, Nico moves the box aside and we settle back against the wall. On-screen, a kid is being chased by a dog through a junkyard, and a titter of laughter wells up.

  “This movie is one of my favorites,” Nico whispers in my ear, and the breath from his words makes my neck tickle. I can feel it all the way down to my fingertip
s. And the base of my spine.

  I try to watch the movie, but the truth is I’m too distracted by how close Nico’s sitting to me to fully focus on anything but his breathing. Every time he draws in air, his shoulder pushes against mine just the tiniest bit. I wonder if he notices it, too. All I can think is that I miss holding his hand.

  Reel it in, Juniper. It’s a movie and some free pizza, not a promposal.

  Still. His shoulder won’t stop touching mine.

  When the movie ends, nobody hurries to get up and turn on the lights. Especially not me. I’m glad Nico doesn’t, either.

  He lets out a happy sigh. “That’s the sign of a good movie,” he says in my ear, and my whole body goes fizzy again. “Sometimes you have to sit in the dark for a little bit after it’s over, just taking it in.”

  “I get like that with books. Sometimes I’ll finish the last page and literally hug it. Like I need a minute to collect myself or whatever. To inhale. Or exhale. I don’t know.” Nico tilts his head to the side, studying me. “What? Is that weird?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Okay, good.”

  “So what’s your favorite book-turned-movie?”

  I scrunch my forehead. “You’re asking me to go deep on something I don’t know very well, because I don’t watch a lot of movies. How about you tell me yours instead.”

  “Probably The Shining.” He leans in. Nudges my elbow with his. “But don’t tell Stephen King.”

  “I’ll try to remember. I mean, we are like this.” I cross my index and middle fingers together.

  He locks his eyes with mine. Smiles. “Lucky you. He’s a genius. I hope he teaches you everything he knows.”

  “You do know he makes books, not movies, right?”

  He nods. “So have you lost all respect for me because I know his movies better than his words?”

  “No.”

  “Cool.”

  “But why shouldn’t I tell my BFF Steve The Shining is your favorite?”

  “Well, I don’t know him like you do, but he’s been pretty vocal about not liking Kubrick’s adaptation. Calls it misogynistic. Says it lacks emotional depth. It’s a whole thing.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep.”

  “Do you agree?”

  “I can see what he’s saying.” Nico stops like he’s thinking. “It’s just … The Shining is so aesthetically awesome, you know?”

  “I don’t know, because I haven’t seen it. Are there any adaptations he does like?”

  “Supposedly this one. Stand by Me.”

  “Well, I’m glad I saw it, then.”

  “Me too.”

  The lights finally flicker on. Nico pushes his back against the wall and raises his arms high above his head to stretch. I can’t help but notice the way the bottom of his T-shirt rises up to expose a sliver of skin from his stomach.

  “So you enjoyed that?” he asks.

  At first I think he means did I enjoy that sliver of stomach, but he means the movie. “It was good. Even the barfing scene.”

  “Sorry we got here a little late. Maybe we can watch the whole thing from the beginning sometime.”

  “Definitely.” I want to ask when. Like give me the exact time and place and I’ll ditch school in the kitchen to be there.

  In one fluid motion, Nico jumps to standing, hovering above me. He puts his hand out to mine. I grab it and he pulls me up from the ground, giving my hand an extra squeeze I know I’m not imagining this time. But then he lets go.

  And we’re standing there facing each other, only a few inches between us, until a stocky guy with Real Woodstock Jimi Hendrix hair and a smattering of chin pimples accidentally bumps Nico hard enough on the shoulder with his camouflage backpack that Nico goes toppling into me. My hands automatically grab his waist to steady myself, and I suddenly feel like we’re slow dancing.

  “Dude,” Nico says to the guy, “watch the backpack.”

  “Sorry, man. Just wanted to say cool pick on the flick.”

  I turn to Nico. “Wait. You picked the movie?”

  He shrugs. “Yeah.”

  “Why are you acting all shy and embarrassed? You did a good job,” I say.

  “Thanks.”

  “I’ve got the next one,” the guy with the backpack says excitedly. “So get ready. You know I like my sci-fi.” He rubs his hands together. “I’m thinking Brazil. Or Blade Runner. Or both.”

  “Figures.” Nico shakes his head. “Juniper, this is Jared, by the way.” Nico waves his hand between his friend and me. “Jared, Juniper.”

  Jared tilts his chin at me. “Hey.”

  “Most people in our club are here simply because they like movies,” Nico says. “But Jared wants to go to film school same as I do, so we appreciate each other on another level.”

  “We do,” Jared says. “Which is why I was trying to decide if I was gonna give Nico a hard time for bringing a newbie tonight. But you seem cool enough.”

  “Ah. But how do you know I’m cool?” I grin. “We’ve barely talked. I could be a total asshole.”

  He laughs. “Nah. Nico doesn’t really hang out with assholes.”

  “Except you,” Nico jokes.

  “Dude. That hurts,” Jared says, pressing his hand to his heart in mock pain.

  I use the sleeve of my hoodie to hide a giggle.

  “Did I mention he wants to be an actor, too?” Nico tells me. “In the movies that he writes and directs? Which I’m sure he’ll accomplish, because he’s really good.”

  “You know it. I’m gonna be a triple threat.” Jared points at me as he walks away. “Juniper, thanks for coming. Maybe I’ll see you next week.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” I glance up at the clock. Realize it’s ten minutes past eight. “I should go. I told my mom I’d be home around now.”

  “Oh.” Nico grabs his backpack from the floor. “I’ll walk you.”

  I was hoping he’d say that.

  SEVENTEEN

  We stroll out of the classroom with a few others from the film club, all of them chatting excitedly about the movie, debating symbolism and the duality of the characters as they straddled childhood and adulthood. Nico’s enthusiasm is palpable, and I’m struck by how much respect the others seem to have for what he has to say.

  I should probably chime in with my thoughts, but I’m too distracted by being in an actual high school hallway and the distinct stink of cafeteria grease and hormones. Body spray and deodorant. Books and sweat. Yet I still want to stop and read every single flyer taped to the red-and-yellow-striped walls of this building. I want to swipe my hand across the lockers. I want to peek into the classrooms and see the rows of desks lined up and read the assignments on the whiteboards.

  I want to belong here.

  My focus narrows in on a hand-painted banner hanging above the double front doors, advertising Playa Bonita’s Homecoming next week. I wonder if Nico is planning on going to the game, or if he’s taking someone to the dance.

  Bids: $20 for a single or $35 per couple.

  Will he use money from his job at the library to buy a ticket? Or tickets?

  The group disperses at the steps in front of the school. Some shove empty pizza boxes into the nearby recycle bin. Others pile into cars. A few take off on foot. But everyone leaves with the promise to see each other tomorrow or at the next meeting. I want friends like that. And the assurance of when and where we’ll see each other again.

  It’s one more reason I want to go to regular school. I wish my parents would change their minds.

  “Do you like school?” I ask Nico as he unlocks his bike.

  “I guess. But, I mean, it’s school. Does anybody really like school?”

  “What about the parts that aren’t school?”

  “Like film club? Yeah.”

  We walk past the flagpole and onto the sidewalk, the windows of my house glowing bright across the street.

  “We obviously don’t have stuff like film club in homeschool. I’d be the o
nly one going.”

  “Is that why you don’t like it?”

  “That and a lot of other reasons.” I sigh. “I think I’d like the nonschool parts of regular school. Clubs. Football games. The cafeteria.” Homecoming.

  “Juniper, nobody likes the cafeteria.”

  “They don’t? I feel like I’m missing out on a crucial part of the American high school experience.”

  “You’re really not.”

  “If you say so.”

  It’s impossible to convince someone the things they take for granted are worth longing for. So Nico doesn’t think the cafeteria is all that great. The food is probably gross. And the walls probably smell like oily tater tots, and there are probably cliques at every other table, like this movie I watched with Mimi called Mean Girls. But it’s a room full of teenagers, and that alone makes me want to be smack-dab in the middle of it.

  “Why don’t you just go to Playa?” Nico asks.

  “My parents would never agree to it. And since I’m a minor, I’d need to have their permission to enroll.” I won’t even mention the vaccinations.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but can I ask what their reasoning is? Is it a religious thing?”

  “No. It’s a hippie thing.”

  “Ah, sure.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, you know you can come to our film club anytime you want, right? You can be an honorary member.”

  “Sweet.”

  “We’ll always have film club,” he says dramatically, and it makes me laugh.

  “Ugh, that makes me sound so pathetic.”

  “I meant it like, ‘We’ll always have Paris.’ You know? From Casablanca.”

  I look at him, confused. “Is that a movie?”

  He waves his hand. “Forget it. It’s not even that funny.” He gestures toward my house. “This is you, right?”

  “Yeah.” I look up and stop short on the sidewalk.

  I gasp and pull my hand to my mouth. Holy hell. My front door. Who did that? And why? I almost sink, but Nico balances me.

  There’s a giant letter A painted in red paint on our front door. The point of it hits the exact middle of the top of the door, and the rest of it drips right over the original stained-glass inlay, across the threshold, and onto the doormat.