Faking Normal Read Online Free

school. I still can’t count higher than twenty on the vent without blinking, but I give myself one more minute of peace in the closet.
    Sixty seconds later, I use baby wipes to blot away the blood. My neck is angry and red, but a polo shirt covers most of the damage.
    “Lex, Heather’s here. Toast is out,” Mom yells.
    My Dane-date shirt, though not the red one Heather suggested, is already in my backpack. I close my closet door and grab my bags on the way out of my room.
    “Sleep okay?” Mom asks as I arrive in the kitchen.
    “Counted all my sheep,” I say. The air vent has a new name. I shove a bite of toast into my mouth. “Don’t forget I’ve got the soccer game. Should be home by eight o’clock.”
    “You’ve got a ride?” She fishes through the bowl on the counter, and I know she’s lost her reading glasses again.
    “They’re by your chair,” I say. “Yeah, I’ve got a ride.”
    Mom kisses my forehead like she does every morning. “Have fun at the game. Hey, family meeting tonight when you get home.”
    I pop the rest of the toast in my mouth so I don’t have to speak.
    “Stop scrunching your nose at me.”
    Her tone’s playful enough that I know I can talk back. “I’ll stop scrunching when we stop having family meetings.”
    Mom tosses the plastic glass I left on the island last night into the sink. “Would you rather we never asked your opinion?”
    “It doesn’t count if you never take it,” I say.
    “We will this time.” There are tears in her eyes. Which isn’t all that unusual, but this has the makings of something bad. Kayla and I have a list of things that make Mom cry. It’s seven pages, front and back, and we bring it out occasionally to tease her.
    Heather’s horn blares.
    “Go. You’ll be late. And neither of us is dying. I know how you think.”
    I open the back door and hide behind it. “Promise it’s not bad.”
    She stares past me but says, “It’s not bad.”
    Liz lets me into the backseat of Heather’s Malibu.
    “Another day in Littrell-topia?” Heather asks.
    I snap my seat belt into place. “Family meeting tonight.”
    Heather raises her sunglasses to glare at me through the rearview. “You are not using that as an excuse to get out of the game.”
    “I wish,” I tease. “No, it’s after. She says it’s not bad.”
    “Then I’m sure it’s not,” Liz says sympathetically. “Your mom wouldn’t lie to you. So what do you think about this Dane thing? Heather told me all about it on the phone.”
    “So y’all talked boys last night?” I ask.
    Heather’s not glaring now. She’s giving me the We didn’t talk about sex look.
    “Yeah,” Liz says. “Well, mostly we talked about you and Dane.”
    “Great. Did you tell her I don’t need a boyfriend?” I say.
    “Yep.” Liz pops Heather on the thigh and says, “You know we can feel you bitch-staring at us, right?”
    Heather laughs like a hyena in heat. I bounce against the seat belt as we jerk between the white dotted line and the rumble strip. Heather’s got a great laugh.
    “Bitch-staring. I can’t believe you said that. Alexi, call your Brother guy and tell him about our friend, the potty mouth.”
    “I’m sure Brother Jacob wouldn’t be all that shocked,” Liz says, but her face is red.
    “Whatevs,” Heather says.
    “Whatevs,” Liz and I say together.
    I feel guilty about cussing too. But I only do it when I’m really upset. And even then I wish there were other words for fuck or damn or shit , but if those other words existed, I’d feel just as guilty about using them, too.
    “Bitch-staring,” Heather says to herself again. “I am the queen of bitch-staring.”
    She is, and we all know it, so we laugh again.
    The Malibu is faithful. We’re at school with enough time to go to our lockers before homeroom.
    Our laughter walks down the hallway with me. There’s a smile on my face, and I share it with Bodee.
    He’s still got the blue hair, but I think it’s left over