Some Kind of Normal

“Hey,” I said.

She smoothed her hands down the front of her shorts and shifted her weight. “Hey, yourself.”

A pause.

“You’re late,” she said, eyes narrowing a bit.

Huh. She wasn’t going to make this easy.

“Well, shit, Everly. I didn’t know we were punching a time clock or anything.”

“Ever,” she replied.

Confused, I opened my mouth and had to wait a moment for my brain to catch up. It did that from time to time, and I was always afraid the wrong words would come out. It made for awkward conversations sometimes, which sucked when trying to scrounge together some kind of attitude. Some hint of the guy I used to be.

“What?” Good one. When in doubt, only use one word.

“Ever,” she said again, this time a little softer. “I prefer Ever now.”

“Oh,” was all I managed to say.

For a few moments that was all we had. The sun. The sprinkler going crazy on either side of us (reason for the nice green grass). And silence.

“So I guess we’re not studying here,” I said, eyeing the house.

“No,” she replied quickly, turning around as some young kid ran down the steps and shrieked when he hit the water. She shook her head and yelled. “Isaac! You better make sure you don’t track mud into the house or Mom won’t be happy. I’m—” She glanced back at me. “We’re heading to the library.”

She didn’t wait for her brother to answer.

Everly Jenkins blew past me and headed straight for the car. She yanked on the door, we both winced at the sound the dried-out hinges made, and then she disappeared inside.

Her brother was drenched and still watching us, so I gave the kid a wave—he looked like he was around ten years old or so—and headed back to the Mustang.

The library it was.

I slid into the driver seat and tossed my laptop into the back. I was about to turn the key and rev the engine when Everly—or rather, Ever—pushed a piece of gum in her mouth and inserted a pair of earbuds. I wasn’t used to girls ignoring me.

That right there was my move. The best way to avoid conversation was always earbuds.

I started the car, my eyes still on her, when suddenly she whipped her head up. Her cheeks were still pink.

“What?” she asked, eyes narrowed. Her attitude was all wrong. She was prickly as hell and nothing like the girl I remembered.

I shrugged and said nothing as I pulled out into the road. She seemed different somehow. Couldn’t put my finger on it, but it seemed to me like I wasn’t the only one who’d changed over the last year or so.

We cruised a couple of blocks, and then I hung a right onto Main Street. The library was downtown just past the town square. I’d just turned left onto Chestnut Street when I caught sight of Bailey Evans and a dude I didn’t recognize. The guy had his arm slung across her shoulders, and she was looking at him, offering her mouth up for a kiss.

Bailey is my ex-girlfriend, just one part of a shattered past that I’d failed to hold on to. I wasn’t in love with her or anything—we’d never been about that—but I missed her. Or maybe I missed the idea of her. Of having someone to hold on to.

Or maybe I just missed getting some action. It had been a while.

Everly turned to follow my gaze, but she didn’t say a word, and a few moments later I pulled into the library parking lot.

I cut the engine and cleared my throat as it ran on for a bit and then sputtered to a stop.

She nodded toward the hood as she took out her earbuds.

“That doesn’t sound too good.”