Am I Normal Yet? Read Free Page B

through the crowds, saying “hi” to people as we passed. Jane – TRAITOR – was on a sofa in the living room, surgically attached to Joel. Somehow she found it in herself to stand up and hug us both hello.
    â€œEvie, you guys made it!”
    I gave her a weak hug then pulled away, examining her face. A new piercing dangled angrily out of the bottom of her face.
    â€œWow, Jane, you’ve had your lip pierced.”
    And your personality eaten by your soul-sucking boyfriend.
    â€œI know, right?” she said, all thick and girly. “It hurt like a mofo, but Joel says he loves it.”
    I raised my eyebrows at Joel.
    â€œSome gal you got there,” I told him.
    â€œI know, isn’t she the greatest?” He pulled at Jane’s leg like she was a puppy that needed controlling.
    â€œAww, Joel,” she simpered.
    To distract myself from the mini-sick in my throat, I gestured to my date. Hoping like hell he could control himself.
    â€œHey, guys, this is Ethan.”
    Joel waved, not even bothering to stand and say “hello”. Joel didn’t bother with many people. “WOOOO,” Ethan yelled, like a frat boy at a stag do. “GREAT PARTY.”
    I leaned over to Jane and yelled in her ear over the music. “Jane. He’s really, really drunk.”
    â€œI can see that.”
    â€œWhat do I do?”
    Ethan made the metal sign with his fingers and jumped up and down on the spot. Everyone stared, bemused.
    Jane looked like she was about to offer advice but then Joel pulled her back onto the sofa and kissed her urgently. I stood alone for a moment, contemplating what to do. Distance. I needed distance from the situation.
    â€œI’m going to the kitchen to look for alcohol,” I yelled over at Ethan. He stopped mid-headbang.
    â€œWill you get me some cider?” he asked.
    â€œAre you sure you’ve not had enough?”
    â€œYou can never have enough cider.”
    â€œI think you’re living proof that you can.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œNever mind.”
    Why Jane was a traitor
    Jane and I. Me and Jane. It has always been us against the universe. Well, us against secondary school at least. We met in Year Eight and bonded immediately over our mutual disregard for everyone else.
    â€œHi,” she’d said, sitting next to me – all bag banging on the table in an I-don’t-care way. “I’m Jane. I’m new. I hate everyone in this room.”
    I looked round at the gang of popular girls preening in the corner, the boys all making fart noises in their armpits, the goody-two-shoes craning their necks in the front row.
    â€œI’m Evelyn. I hate everyone too.”
    She flicked me a wicked grin. “Great. So we can be friends.”
    I’d never known closeness like it. We spent almost every waking second together. We walked into school, spent lunchtimes huddled and gossiping, drawing stupid pictures of our classmates, making up our own in-jokes. After school we’d go round to each other’s houses – watching films, making up silly dance routines, gobbling up one another’s deepest darkest secrets.
    In Year Nine, I got sick.
    Then I got worse.
    Then I got whatever is worse than worse.
    Jane was always there. 
    Always there with me in the school toilets, calming me down, shushing me as I scrubbed my hands so raw that blood poured into the sink. Always there at my door after school, on Bad Days, when the thought of even stepping outside was unimaginable – with my homework clutched in her hand and the latest gossip to tell. Always there at the weekends when I couldn’t do anything, or go anywhere, because everything was terrifying. She never pushed. She never judged. She never complained. She just let me lie on the sofa in her living room whilst she played the clarinet.
    When I got better we were stronger than ever. She fought my corner when people called me a weirdo. She didn’t