Am I Normal Yet? (18 page)

No. I couldn't. No. How much had I swallowed already?

No. No. NO.

I spat it out, right there, onto the table. All over the tissue box. I heaved, dry retched. A piece of bread that had wedged in my throat spilled onto the wooden top, thick with mucus. I gagged, I really was going to be sick. Hold it in hold it in hold it in. I hated Sarah. I hated the world. I grabbed her water glass, downed it. I tried swilling my mouth out but I'd had too much water and it spilled down my chin. I knocked the glass over as I choked, spilling it everywhere.

Then I dropped to the industrial carpet, gasping for breath. I tried so hard to breathe but the sobs…the sobs wedged in my throat, stopping the oxygen.

“Evie. EVIE? Calm down. BREATHE, EVIE.”

My eyes bulged out of their sockets. I could hear this odd donkey-like heehaw breathing. It was me. Where was my air? I was going to black out.

Sarah's hand was around my hand. Squeezing tight.

“Listen to me. Listen to my voice. Let's breathe in for three. Come on, one, two, three…”

I tried, but another sob erupted, blocking my windpipe.

“Stop crying, Evie, listen to me. In for three, one, two, three…”

I concentrated on her voice and managed to grab a quick gasp of air.

“Good girl. Now out for five. One, two, three, four—”

I managed till four but another sob bubbled. I coughed on nothing.

“In for three…

…out for five…

…in for three…

…out for five…

…in for three…

…out for five…”

Soon my sobs dulled to a whimper.

Soon my breathing came back.

Soon I was able to get up off the carpet.

Soon I'd meet my friends for coffee and pretend that it hadn't happened.

I went home to change before I went to meet the girls for a half-term catch-up. I had dried phlegm all down my jumper, I'd cried my make-up off, and my fringe had separated into tear-drenched clumps.

I prayed Mum was out before I unlocked the door. She did admin for the small estate agents down the road and I could never work out her hours, as it was sometimes mornings, sometimes afternoons. She didn't appear to be home so I tiptoed inside. Rose wasn't in either. All I could hear was the ticking of the grandfather clock on the landing.

For once, luck was on my side.

I hovered over the loo, letting the smell of stale bleach turn my stomach and coughing up any remaining sandwich. When I was satisfied, I lay on my bed and observed myself for signs of illness. This is hard when, generally, signs of anxiety are the same as signs of illness. It's such a torturous circle. I eat something, I start to worry I'll get sick, this releases adrenalin which makes my stomach churn and my hands shake. That, of course, makes me think I am actually sick, so I get more scared, and feel more sick.

Over and over. Day after day. So much life lost.

I focused on my breathing, trying to slow my body down. With time, it slowed. I wasn't ill, I didn't think. I'd spat the chicken out in time. Or maybe it was never going to make me sick in the first place. Maybe the sandwich was fine. Maybe sell-by dates are ridiculously over-the-top and I shouldn't live and die by them.

Maybe…the word of hope.

Maybe I won't ruin my whole life, just my teens.

Maybe one day I'll be like everybody else.

Maybe one day I'll be happy.

I brushed my teeth until I spat out blood. I stood in the scalding shower until my skin turned tomato. I brushed my teeth again. With a dash of make-up and a quick blast with the hairdryer, I left the house once more. I would just about be on time.

As I walked, kicking up piles of soggy leaves, trying to get the last bit of angst out of me, I thought about how Sarah'd finished our session.

When I'd finished crying, she'd sat on the arm of my chair, asking prying questions.

“Your new friends, Evie, what are they like?”

I thought of yesterday and managed a small grin. “They're spinsters.”

“What? Aren't you a bit young to be calling yourselves that?”

I smiled again. “It's a private joke.”

“I see.” She paused. “Why haven't you told them?” she asked.

Because I'd lose them. They wouldn't get it. They'd treat me differently. I wouldn't be “normal” to them any more, even if I never freaked out ever again. Once they knew, they'd always be watching…waiting…wondering if I was going to lose it. I didn't want anyone else to look at me like that. I'd had enough with Mum, Dad, Jane and everyone at my old school.

“It just hasn't come up, that's all.”

“Have you talked to anyone at college, about coming here? Have you even hinted to anyone?”

And even in my state, I felt a goo when I thought about Guy. I smiled again. “There's this one guy.”

“Guy?”

“That's his name actually. Guy. Guy the guy.”

Sarah didn't comment that I'd brought up another boy. She must've been losing track. It was
my
life and
I
was losing track. Things, life, just kept happening. Was it always like this? Or had my life been on pause for so long that I was on fast-forward now to catch up with everyone?

“And what did you tell Guy?”

“I didn't tell him as much. He was at the party, when I did the shots you don't approve of. He looked after me. And I got in a state about being sick, and he was…nice. He mentioned he had a mate with head problems once.”

So nice. So unlike-Guy nice.

“Maybe you should think about opening up more, Evie? People are much more understanding these days.”

I thought about meeting the girls for coffee later. How we'd chat, and laugh. How much I enjoyed feeling normal around them.

“Hmm.”

And I retched again, just to get her off the topic.

Oli wasn't in film studies the first day back after half term. I came in late and found his seat next to mine glaringly empty. It should've had a neon sign on it, flashing, “you're a bad person, you're a bad person”.

I could've messaged him to ask how he was.

I didn't though.

I just sat there, torturing myself with how selfish I was, imagining how much he was hurting. And yet still not messaging.

A film played on the screen at the front of the classroom. We weren't supposed to watch films during the classes – that was our homework. But Brian was hung-over – on a Monday – so he turned off the lights and put on
Dogville
, this totally screwed-up film with Nicole Kidman in it.

Of course, there was rape in it, which pissed me off. “Important” films had a tendency to do that. Like a storyline can't be meaningful unless there's been violence against women. It was like the rule of films. If an actress makes herself ugly for a role, she automatically wins an Oscar. If a scriptwriter shoves in a rape, the film's automatically “important”.

Time sludged on by and I tapped my foot on the carpet – excited for lunch, excited about seeing Guy again. I hadn't heard from him at all over half term…but maybe he was shy? Thinking about him distracted me from my self-loathing around Oli. Would it be awkward? It would definitely be awkward, but in a nice way.

The bell finally went and I made my way to our usual spot on the grass next to the college smoking area. It wasn't as busy as normal, the biting wind putting everyone but the most determined smokers off. I wondered how long we'd be able to keep this up – it was getting colder every day. There he was. Wearing his beanie again. All alone as the others hadn't arrived yet. I put on my prettiest grin – the one where I close my mouth and tilt my head down, and because I'm short I look all demure.

“Hey,” I said, sitting next to him, my knees all bandy with nerves.

He didn't look up. “Oh, hi,” he said, with the least amount of enthusiasm in the world.

I bit my lip. “Umm, did you enjoy the party? I've not seen you since… I was so drunk.” I found myself giggling in a really dumb way. Guy opened his rucksack and pulled out his rolling tobacco and Rizlas.

“Yeah,” he replied, with even less enthusiasm than before, which was a scientific feat let me tell you. “You were, I guess.”

“Thanks for looking after me…”

“Whatever.” He sprinkled some tobacco onto his papers and began to roll while I stared at the back of his hat. Completely stunned.

Awkward silence descended. Or maybe it was only awkward for me? Guy just sat quietly, smoking.

Had I made the whole thing up? The thought made me want to cry. My ribcage seemed to tighten, like it was squeezing my heart in on itself. I kept opening my mouth to say something, but shame kept closing it again.

“Er… Guy?”

“What?” He looked at me, but he may as well not have bothered. There was nothing in his face – no warmth, no affection.

“Umm… Oh Amber's coming.”

I blinked back the first stirrings of tears and watched her approach. She was shivering and pulling the arms of her coat down – bless her, she said no coat ever fitted her long body. She was grinning from ear to ear.

“You'll never guess what!” she called, completely ignoring Guy, as I wished I had.

“What?”

She jogged over and chucked her bag on the grass next to us. “Where's Lottie?”

“She had philosophy with Jane and Joel at the other end of college.”

Amber plopped next to me and gave me a giant smile. “She needs to get here NOW!”

“Why?”

“Because…I've made these!” And she reached into her bag like a magician into a top hat and withdrew some small laminated cards. She chucked one at me.

Guy peered over. “What is it?” he asked.

“It's our spinster membership card,” Amber answered.

“Your what?”

I turned over Amber's masterpiece in my fingers. I knew she did art but I'd never seen her stuff before. The small card in my hand was stunning. She'd used black calligraphy and inked intricate designs of cats all over the front, all of them with tiny speech bubbles saying, “I'm ironic.”

“Wow,” I told Amber, ignoring Guy. “Girl, you are so talented. I love the ironic cats.”

Amber turned the same colour as her hair. “Turn it over.”

I flipped the card and found my name on the other side.
Evie – Spinster number two.

“Oi,” I said. “Why am I number two?”

She laughed. “I'm number one. I made them.”

“I love them,” I told her truthfully. “This may be my new favourite thing.”

Guy leaned over and every hair on my body stood to attention. He glanced at the card as I resisted the urge to hide it. What sort of spinster would I be if I wasn't proud of my membership card? Especially around blokes like Guy, who I'd decided was The Epitome of Bell-ends. He didn't seem that bothered anyway…

“Girls are weird.” He removed his space from my space, making me feel the gap.

I evilled him. “Oh, we're not the weird ones, believe me.”

Amber shot me a questioning look and I just shook my head. Maybe I should tell her about Guy and the party? But that would make me fail the Bechdel test. It was all very well being a strong independent woman, but it was hard when boys' confusing behaviour kept making you lose your focus.

“Your mate's here,” Guy announced. “Is she sick?”

The shadow of Lottie lumbered over, with Joel and Jane behind her. Lottie did look different, mainly because she wasn't wearing any make-up when she usually used eyeliner like face lotion. She wore just a plain checked oversized shirt too, rather than her usual lacy beady get-up. She'd been moping all half term, and didn't look like she was going to stop any time soon.

“You're sick,” I muttered to Guy under my breath.

“What?”

“Nothing.” And I turned my attention to Lotts.

“You all right, Lottie Botty?” Amber asked, as she sat between us, letting out a sigh.

“Hey, guys, yeah, I'm fine.”

“You don't sound fine,” I told her.

“Well, you know, my boyfriend still turned out to not be my boyfriend.”

I saw Guy look interested but he didn't say anything. I knew this because I'd been sneaking glances at him every fifteen seconds to see if he'd been looking at me. He hadn't. Because obviously I'd dreamed up all of it in my stupid little brain.

Amber pulled out a third membership card. “Here, this will cheer you up.”

The moment Lottie saw it she lit up a bit. “This is awesome,” she declared, holding it up to the light. Jane and Joel rocked up with their arms around each other.

“What's awesome?” Joel asked, without saying hello.

Amber answered. “Our spinster membership cards.”

They looked at each other in unison. “Your what now?”

“Our spinster cards,” Lottie repeated. She held it up to the couple who were now in the process of sitting down and putting Jane's head in Joel's lap. “We are reclaiming the word.”

“Cool, I guess,” Jane said, before twisting her head around to check her reaction matched her boyfriend's.

“I don't understand,” Joel said. “Aren't spinsters like old cat ladies?”

Amber rolled her eyes. “Tell me this, Joel. Is there a male version of an old cat lady?”

“I don't get what you mean.”

“Is there a horrid word used to describe men who don't find anyone?”

“Er…” Joel looked bored already but that didn't deter Amber. She was on fire; I'd never seen her this happy.

“Exactly! Which is why we're reclaiming it. Spinster is the new cool word for awesome girls who don't let their lives revolve around men.” She gave Jane a special look – Jane didn't notice, as she was busy tracing the outline of Joel's jaggedy eyebrows with her finger.

“Oh, cool,” Joel said, in a dead way that made it obvious he didn't find it cool. “Anyway, good party last week, wasn't it, everyone?”