A Shot at Normal

by Marisa Reichardt

  I’m holding a plastic baggie full of dog shit in my hand, but Noah’s attitude is way more disgusting.

  “I’ll try to keep him away from your house,” I say.

  “Right. I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  My mom has always said you can tell a lot about a person by the way they act around animals. Now I see what she means. I grunt, turn on my heel, and walk back to my grandparents’ house as fast as I can.

  And maybe that’s life. Maybe we go through it, imagining things will always be better if we do this one thing or we have this one thing or we go to this one place or we know this one person. But a lot of the time, the reality doesn’t live up to the expectation at all.

  Is it the same with my vaccines? I thought everything would be better if I could get my shots, but now my parents barely talk to me and my sister feels like she has to choose sides, and she’ll probably choose theirs because she always does.

  Is it worth it? At the end of the day, does it really matter, if it means I could lose everything? Maybe the fantasy of taking my parents to court is better than the reality. Maybe I’ve been so caught up in the fight that I didn’t stop long enough to think of the consequences.

  FORTY-TWO

  I claw my way out of a dream, only to realize the shouting I’m hearing isn’t something I made up in my head. It’s coming from the living room. I scramble out of bed to see what’s going on.

  Mimi shouts, “I’ve bitten my tongue for sixteen years, but this is ridiculous. What you’re doing to your kids isn’t right.” Duke barks when she raises her voice. “Hush,” she tells him.

  “Everyone calm down,” Bumpa says, standing in the middle of the chaos. “It’s Christmas morning. Mimi has hot cocoa and biscuits. There are gifts under the tree. Let’s enjoy ourselves.”

  “I refuse to spend Christmas morning with my mother making snide comments,” my dad hisses.

  My mom puts her hand on my dad’s arm. “Russ. Your dad’s right. Not now.”

  “When then, Melinda? We might as well get it all out in the open. Why are we pretending everything’s fine?”

  “Maybe you should let Juniper live with us,” Mimi says. Her tone is very matter-of-fact. Like it’s the solution to everything.

  “Stop it!” I shout.

  The room goes silent. Poppy looks at me, then my dad. My mom looks at my dad, then Mimi. Sequoia looks at me. Bumpa looks at the Christmas tree lights, avoiding eye contact altogether.

  “Is that what you want?” my dad asks me. “Do you want to stay here with your grandparents?”

  “What? No!”

  “It’s something to consider,” Mimi says, looking at me seriously. “You don’t have to decide right this very second.”

  “You know what?” my dad says, standing up and pointing his finger in the air. “Here’s what we’re deciding right this very second. We’re going home. Get your stuff, everyone.”

  “Russ,” my mom says. “It’s Christmas.”

  “Nope. I’m done.” My dad turns on his heel and pounds up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

  I can hear him yanking things around, shoving clothes and toothbrushes into suitcases.

  “What do I do?” my mom says, wringing her hands. She looks at Mimi for answers.

  “What can you do?” Mimi shakes her head. “He’s as stubborn as always.”

  Poppy edges closer to the Christmas tree, like the gifts might disappear if she doesn’t guard them with her life. “We can’t leave. We haven’t even unwrapped our presents.”

  Sequoia joins her, practically flinging his body across the presents to protect them.

  Christmas gift rules say that my brother, sister, and I can only give each other something we make ourselves, so I made a kaleidoscope for Sequoia and repurposed an antique tin box into an art supply center for Poppy. I polished it until it shone again, then added dividers, some long and skinny enough for her colored pencils, others small and square for stamps and sequins.

  My dad stomps down the stairs juggling two suitcases—one belonging to my parents and one belonging to Poppy and Sequoia.

  “Get in the car,” he says to us.

  Sequoia rushes into my mom’s arms, crying.

  “Oh, sit down,” Bumpa says.

  “Poppy, Sequoia, car. Now,” my dad says, brushing past Bumpa.

  Sequoia grabs a gift from under the tree. Clutches it. “Can we bring our presents?”

  My dad ignores him. “Melinda, are you ready?”

  My mom stands there, looking stunned.

  Mimi stands up. “This is absurd. You can’t make the kids spend Christmas Day driving in a car.”

  “I think I’ve made it clear that I don’t appreciate you telling me what I can and can’t make my kids do.” He turns to me. “Juniper, you’re coming home, too.”

  I cross my arms. “No.”

  “Get. In. The. Car.”

  My dad has never, not once, hit me. He never would. But the look on his face scares me enough to do what he tells me.

  “She needs to get her things,” my mom says.

  “You have two minutes,” my dad says, yanking open the front door.

  “The presents!” Sequoia shouts.

  “I’ve got them,” Mimi says, bending down to quickly gather the gifts. “I’ll put them in the car. You can open everything when you get home.”

  I rush to the guest room and shove my dirty clothes from yesterday and my homemade deodorant into my duffel bag as Sequoia’s sobs echo from the living room.

  When I get to Bessie, Poppy turns to me with rage in her eyes.

  “You ruined Christmas!” she screams. “You’re not the only one in this family. Today isn’t just about you. Today is Christmas for all of us, and you ruined it!”

  “I guess you chose a side,” I say.

  I fling my duffel bag into Bessie, knowing she’s right.

  I ruined Christmas.

  I ruined everything.

  FORTY-THREE

  Nico stops by on New Year’s Eve to tell me Tess invited us over to her house for a get-together.

  “It won’t be like the football party,” he says.

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  I agree to go because I might as well make myself as scarce as possible until my court date next week. Things have been excruciating since getting back from Mimi and Bumpa’s. The days have been long. Quiet. Lonely. I check in with Mimi every day, but I have to sneak calls when my mom and dad are working or running errands because they’re still not speaking to my grandparents.

  “We’re not angry, we’re hurt,” my mom says. “There’s a difference.”

  What they still don’t get is that I’m hurt, too. So I mostly keep to myself. I make my own meals. Go for rides on my skateboard. Do my chores. Hang out with Nico at the library or his house.

  My parents don’t ask me much about where I’m going during the day. But a New Year’s Eve party at night is different, so I ask if it’s okay if I go to Tess’s house.

  “As long as you’re home by your regular curfew of eleven o’clock,” my dad says.

  “It’s a New Year’s Eve party. I’d like to stay until midnight.”

  He glances at my mom.

  She shrugs. “That makes sense,” she says to him.

  “Right. And she makes her own rules now anyway.”

  This is how it is in my house now. My parents talk about me like I’m not even here.

  Sequoia is indifferent. Poppy has disowned me.

  So when I walk into Tess’s beach cottage, my whole body decompresses. Nobody ignores me or glares at me or harrumphs in my direction. Instead, Tess sweeps me into a warm hug and asks what I want to drink. And by that, she means lemonade or soda.

  Her parents are home.

  Tess introduces us as we pass through the kitchen to get to the backyard, but our introductions are brief, as Mr. and Mrs. Nakamura are busy preparing toshikoshi soba for everyone. It smells amazing, and I can’t wa
it to try it.

  “It’s a Japanese New Year’s Eve tradition,” Tess says as she shrugs into her coat to head outside. “The noodles break easily, and each break symbolizes moving on from the past year, leaving regrets behind us so we’ll have good fortune in the next year.”

  “I could use more than one bowl of that,” I say.

  “I know, right?” She opens the sliding glass door, and half the film club greets us with cheers.

  Nico’s correct. This isn’t like the football party.

  It’s way better.

  Comfortable. Familiar.

  It’s like his house two days ago when it was raining, and Tess and Jared came over to watch the first season of Stranger Things with Nico and me. In between episodes I told them all about my vaccines and my court date next week, and Tess looked at me in awe.

  “Wow! You’re like our very own Ruth Bader Ginsburg right here in the flesh.” She high-fived me. “Keep fighting for what you believe in, Juniper.”

  Jared is here again tonight, and he waves to me as Nico and I walk over to scan the elaborate s’mores station, complete with ten different chocolate choices. After taking our picks, we snuggle into a corner of the wraparound couch built into the patio wall and roast our marshmallows while mellow music oozes softly from the nearby speakers.

  Nico spins a marshmallow into the flames, and it catches fire. He lets it burn for a split second, then blows out the blaze.

  “I like the outside extra crispy,” he says.

  “You would, weirdo,” Tess says as she settles in next to me.

  I deposit my marshmallow between two graham crackers and set it aside so I can help Nico slide his charred marshmallow onto another graham cracker. We skipped the chocolate, since most of the candy bar selection had warnings about how they might’ve comingled with peanuts in the factory.

  “Thanks for inviting me,” I say, turning to Tess. I take a bite of my s’more. It’s sticky and gooey even without the chocolate.

  “Sorry if you were expecting a total rager. I’m not into stuff like that,” she says.

  “Totally fine by me.”

  “Good. I knew I liked you.”

  Jared and a few others shuffle back into the house.

  Nico reaches for his s’more, and his shoulder brushes mine. I’m instantly transported to that night watching Stand By Me with the film club. When I wasn’t sure what was going on between us, but every time he took a breath, and his shoulder pressed against mine, I was hopeful it was something good.

  And it was.

  It is.

  It doesn’t seem fair to have something so good when the rest of my life seems so bad.

  “Mine’s cooled down enough,” Nico says, angling the s’more toward me. I take a bite. “Well?” he asks hopefully as I chew.

  “It’s a little overdone,” I say, and Tess laughs.

  “Oh, shit,” she says, suddenly scrambling up. “Jared’s already hauling in that karaoke machine he rented.” She eyes him through the sliding glass doors. “It’s too early.” She looks at us. “Right?”

  I shrug.

  “Is it ever too early for karaoke with Jared?” Nico asks around a bite of s’more.

  “Well, you’re no help.” Tess puts her hands on her hips. “Come join, okay?”

  I nod at the same time Nico shakes his head and says, “No way.”

  Tess rubs her hands together. “Ooh, this is excellent. One of you is in and one is out. The only solution is to find the perfect duet for the two of you to sing.” She sits down again and taps her finger to her chin, thinking. “Maybe ‘Summer Nights’?”

  Nico cringes.

  “Do I know that one?” I ask him.

  He looks at me like really? “Grease?” he asks. “You seriously haven’t seen it?” He sinks his fingers into my knee. “I guess it’ll have to be our next movie. Mostly because I want to know if you find Sandy’s transformation sexist or feminist.”

  “What’s he talking about?” I look to Tess for an explanation. “Who’s Sandy?”

  “She’s this high school girl in the 1950s who basically changes everything about herself to get this guy, who’s kind of a bonehead, to like her.”

  “It’s a musical classic,” Nico says.

  Tess sets her s’more on the edge of the fire pit, crosses her legs, and leans forward. “Some people think Sandy is actually a feminist hero. They insist that when she transforms, she’s embracing her true self. I personally don’t see it. Rizzo? Okay, sure, let’s talk. But Sandy?” She shakes her head. “No.”

  I turn my focus to Nico. “Which version do you believe?”

  “The sexist one. I think Sandy changes who she is to be what Danny wants. Although it can be argued,” Nico says, grinning, “that Danny made some changes of his own in order to be what Sandy wants. He’s even wearing the letterman’s sweater he earned in track by the end of the movie.”

  “Which he ditches immediately when the new Sandy shows up,” Tess says.

  “Your point being?”

  “Everything?” Tess huffs. “Okay, we definitely need to do a deeper dive on this.” She makes a move to settle back and enjoy her s’more until there’s a screech of feedback from the karaoke machine. All three of us automatically press our hands to our ears to block it. “Not right now, obviously, because I have to go save the night.” She strides toward the house. “Jared, you better not blow a fuse!” she shouts at him through the open sliding glass door.

  Jared looks at her, confused, microphone in hand. He looks like Sequoia the time I caught him drawing with a bright blue crayon all over his bedroom wall when he was four years old, and I can’t help but laugh.

  Nico tips his s’more like he’s tipping his hat in farewell. “Have fun, everyone.”

  I rearrange myself, and Nico drapes his arm across my shoulder. I settle, content, into the crook of his arm. We sit still, peacefully watching the flames of the fire spit sparks into the dark night air. It reminds me of camping on the beach with my family a couple of summers ago. Sitting around a bonfire while my dad strummed a guitar. Sleeping in tents. Listening to waves crash. All of us together and happy. So different from the past weeks at my house now.

  “Are you okay?” Nico asks after a few minutes of not talking. “You’re quiet.”

  “I’m just tired.”

  “Are you sure that’s all it is? I’ll do karaoke if you really want. You wouldn’t be forcing me.”

  “I’d love to see you do karaoke.” I laugh. “But that’s not what I’m thinking about.”

  “What’s on your mind?”

  “The fire pit, the night, the music, it all reminds me of camping with my family … when things were good with us.”

  He rubs my shoulder. “And?”

  I focus on the flames crackling, almost dancing. “I’m wondering if going to court is worth it. Maybe I should just wait until I’m eighteen. What if I lose them over this?”

  “You’re not going to lose them.”

  “You don’t know how bad it’s been at home. It’s like they wish I didn’t exist.”

  “The reason they’re mad is because they care that you exist.”

  I thread my fingers with Nico’s. Run my other hand across his knuckles. “I think maybe I’ve been so laser focused on this one thing—getting my shots—that I lost sight of everything else. Like I never thought about what I could actually lose in the process.” I look at him. “My parents are really mad. Even worse, they’re really hurt. I’ve morally wounded them.”

  “But you’re standing up for something you truly believe in. Do you realize how many people would be too afraid to do that?”

  “But is it worth it?”

  “It’s worth it.”

  “Convince me. Because I’m having a hard time seeing it right now.”

  He turns sideways to face me. Pulls my hands into his lap. “Okay. I’ve got it.” He smiles. “You’ll like this one.”

  “Let’s hear it.”

  “It’s
like you’re the opposite of Sandy in Grease. You’re fighting for this because it’s who you are to the core. If you didn’t do it, you wouldn’t be you. You’re the anti-Sandy.”

  I laugh. “That’s quite an analogy. I think I really need to see this movie.”

  He laughs. “You do.” He holds my hands in his, looking at me more seriously. “We’re all going to grow up and make choices that might not be the same ones our parents would make for us. And they’re not always going to be happy about our choices. But we can’t let our parents stop us from being who we are. And living our own lives. Right?”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “And I really do think it’ll get better. Court just needs to be over first.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “I am.” He tucks one of my curls behind my ear. “So for now, let’s just celebrate New Year’s Eve. It’s a new beginning and all that.”

  “With off-key karaoke and burnt s’mores.”

  He laughs. “What could be better?”

  “Kisses at midnight.”

  “Yeah, there’s always that.”

  “Do we have to wait until then?”

  “I’d rather not.”

  He leans in and presses his mouth to mine just as Jared launches into an impassioned rendition of Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’.” I know all the lyrics because my mom insists on blasting it to sing along when it comes on the radio in Bessie.

  And somehow, in this moment, I’m able to forget and remember and forgive all at the same time.

  FORTY-FOUR

  I have this version of court in my head. Of a judge and twelve jurors in a box and rows and rows of onlookers. But my case isn’t like that at all. There’s only Judge Elizabeth Coffman on the bench and a table where Laurel and I are supposed to sit.

  Nico and his mom are here, too. I drove with them. Nico left school after third period and picked me up midmorning. I felt bad about him leaving early, since it was only the first Monday back after winter break, but he insisted. And in the end, I liked having the moral support. I’d spent up until Nico’s arrival avoiding my parents, which wasn’t hard to do, since we hadn’t done much talking since New Year’s Eve a week ago. During one of our phone chats, Mimi offered to come down for court today. I told her I thought it would be better if she didn’t come. That it would be easier to figure out next steps after I have a judge’s official decision.