Fighting For Normal

Running on Empty

After three days of fever and a painful ache in my left thigh, my return to school wasn’t dramatic, but I definitely wasn’t feeling great. I made it through the morning by sheer will. Language Arts was bearable, Algebra II hit us with a surprise quiz (thanks, Mr. Gryzwacz), US Government dragged on like wet denim, and Physics felt like trying to understand a foreign dream.

Now, at lunch, a turkey and Swiss sandwich on wheat sat open-faced in front of me, with cold sweet potato fries on the tray. I poked one with my pinky, leaving an orange smear on the paper, but I wasn’t hungry. A bottle of lemon tea stood untouched beside my plate.

My tired eyes drifted over to Chandler. He was laughing at something Emory said, his smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. My stomach fluttered nervously, a familiar feeling whenever he was near. I quickly looked away, cheeks warming. Just act normal, Sloane. Totally normal.

Noelle bounced on her stool, her coral-painted nails tapping an uneven rhythm on her phone. I recognized the bright shade from our last Walgreens run - perfect for her bubbly personality. She kept checking her phone, grinning wider with every message.

“Okay, okay - guys!” Noelle’s voice cut through the side conversations. “Listen up!”

Emory raised a brow, his usual dry wit showing. “Do we have to?”

“Yes!” she said, unfazed. “I have news. Big. Spooky. Life-affirming news.”

Tinsley glanced over, a silver chain glinting beneath her collarbone. I sighed quietly as Stetson snorted beside me, stealthily stealing fries from everyone’s tray but his own. My elbow brushed my faded denim overalls as I leaned back. I’d paired them with a soft yellow t-shirt and my scuffed white Converse, laces always untied. A simple silver locket rested against my shirt.

“Saturday night,” Noelle announced, lowering her voice like a secret, “Drive-in. Double feature horror marathon.”

Chandler leaned in, interested, his faux hawk shifting. My heart skipped. “What kind of horror?” he asked, voice low and thrilling. “Creepy cults? Possessed dolls? Zombies with therapy issues?”

“No clue,” Noelle shrugged, hands fluttering with excitement. “It just said ‘Two films. One unforgettable night. You’ve been warned.’” She clasped her hands, practically vibrating. “Please say we’re all going. I’ll wear glow-in-the-dark earrings. Bring snacks. I’ll die if we don’t go.”

I glanced around. Stetson caught my eye, a mischievous sparkle there. No one was saying no. This was happening. A mix of nervous excitement and dread washed over me. Horror movies weren’t my thing, but spending the night with Chandler, even in the dark, was tempting.

I sighed, pretending to complain. “Fine. But if I get possessed,” I warned with a smirk, “I’m haunting all of you equally.”

Emory smiled, eyes twinkling. “Fair,” he said. “Haunt responsibly.”

By the time the final bell rang, I was running on empty, each step a struggle. French II had been a blur of nasal vowels and verb conjugations - my notebook filled with messy notes and half-finished passé composé exercises. Visual Arts dragged on forever, and the charcoal in my fingers felt like heavy weights. PE finished me off. After a few laps around the track, sweat stinging my eyes and an accidental knee to my sore thigh, I was completely drained.

Now, I was walking down the hallway with Stetson and Maekynzie. My backpack thumped against my back. Soon, we reached the lockers, where the rest of our group waited: Chandler, leaning against his locker; Noelle, sitting cross-legged beside him; Emory flipping a shiny coin; and Tinsley tracing the chipped outline of a skull sticker on her locker door.

“Okay, hear me out,” Stetson said, already switching gears. “If we push the back line up and pressure high, we can force an early turnover.”

Chandler straightened, nodding. “Then I can slide up the left side and cut in. You hold the center, and we draw them wide.”

“Exactly,” Stetson grinned.

“Do you two ever talk about anything besides game strategy?” Maekynzie asked, rolling her eyes.

Chandler shrugged. “Not when there’s glory at stake.”

Glory. Right. There was a soccer match tonight. I’d completely forgotten. All I wanted was to disappear under a thick blanket with noise-canceling headphones and no movement for the next two days.

I leaned against my locker, eyelids heavy, rubbing my sore thigh. Somewhere in my bag, a crumpled granola bar waited, but I didn’t have the energy to reach for it.

“You good?” Chandler asked, breaking through my fog, eyes on my face.

“I’m fine,” I muttered, though I didn’t believe it.

He didn’t argue. Slinging his backpack to one shoulder, he crouched and patted his back. “Hop on.”

“What?” I blinked.

“You look like you’re about to collapse,” he said warmly, teasing. “Piggyback or bust.”

“Oh my god,” Maekynzie sighed dramatically. “You two and your soft sitcom moments.”

Stetson laughed, arms crossed. “This is gonna be great.”

“I’m not doing that,” I muttered, but I hadn’t moved.

Chandler stayed put, hand still out.

I looked at his broad back, then his smiling profile - warm, gentle, with a hint of challenge in his eyes. I sighed and climbed on.

My arms wrapped around his shoulders, my cheek brushing his shirt collar. Chandler rose with an exaggerated grunt, as if I weighed a ton, and I playfully swatted his arm. He chuckled softly against my ear and started walking, steady and sure.

From behind, Noelle called, “Don’t drop her!”

“Never,” Chandler answered, almost seriously.

The low rattle of keys and the creak of the front door woke me before the voices did. I blinked at the ceiling, still curled up on the great room sofa with a throw pillow under my head and a blanket wrapped around me. Maybe Stetson or Chandler, but they were gone now.

“Is she awake?” Pops’ voice floated through the room.

“She’s stirring,” Uncle Jake said, appearing in my peripheral vision with a slight head tilt. “You won’t melt if you move, sweetheart.”

I groaned and pushed myself up. Everything ached, especially my left thigh. The blanket slipped off my lap and pooled around my hips.

Dad stood by the archway, still holding his keys like he hadn’t quite made up his mind. “You up for going?” he asked, his gaze firm but hopeful.

“Yeah,” I said, the word heavier than I wanted, thick with exhaustion.

Dad nodded toward the door. “Then let’s go. They’re already warming up.”

Before I could swing my legs off the couch, Uncle Jake reached out and gently helped me up. “Don’t rush,” he said. “You’ve got that post-nap wobble.” A wave of dizziness hit me, proving him right.

I grunted, rubbing my thigh. “PE’s fault,” I muttered, feeling the sting from the accidental knee still fresh.

Jake smirked. “Sure, blame cardio.” Then he rested a hand on my shoulder, steady and comforting.

I noticed Pops watching quietly from behind Dad, worry creasing his brow. He seemed like he wanted to say more but held back.

I followed them to the Suburban, each step sending a dull throb through my leg. Dad took the driver’s seat, Pops slid into the passenger side, and Uncle Jake opened the back door for me with a wink.

“Let us know if it’s too much,” Pops said softly over his shoulder as he buckled his seatbelt. “We can drop you off anytime, no questions asked.”

“I’m good,” I lied. They had already come for me, Chandler would be there, and being alone at home felt worse than the pain in my leg.

Dad’s eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. “Let’s just aim for ‘good enough.’”

I nodded, relieved to have some room to breathe.

The final whistle blew, its sharp sound cutting through the humid night air.

Stetson patted his opponents on the back, his actions practiced, as if losing by one goal didn’t hurt. Chandler, however, moved slowly, eyes fixed on the torn-up grass, his jaw tight with a tension that hadn’t been there before the game.

In the bleachers, the mood sank. Dad exhaled sharply through his nose, a silent sign of disappointment. Pops and Uncle Jake wore matching frowns and crossed arms, their faces showing quiet frustration. Noelle tried to cheer us up, shouting, “Still proud of you!” but her voice cracked and faded into a whisper. Maekynzie threw her arms up in frustration, muttering, “We were robbed,” as she paced in small circles. Emory leaned away, flipping a shiny coin in the air, catching it without looking, clearly distracted. Tinsley sat silently with her boots on the railing, arms folded, unreadable.

From the field, Stetson looked at me. Neither of us smiled, but he gave a small nod, and I nodded back.

Chandler didn’t join the post-game huddle. Instead, he quietly walked toward the equipment shed at the edge of the field, its silhouette lit by the stadium lights. Despite the pain in my leg, my heart pushed me to follow.

I found him leaning against the worn siding, arms crossed, staring off beyond the field. He didn’t look at me at first.

“You didn’t have to follow,” he said quietly.

“I know,” I replied, hands deep in my overall pockets. “I wanted to.”

A comfortable silence fell between us, filled only by the hum of the lights and the chirping crickets.

Chandler finally looked at me, his eyes searching mine in the dim light. “I hate losing.”

“I know,” I said softly, echoing his feelings.

His shoulders relaxed slightly, as if a small weight had lifted.

He gave a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Do you ever stop knowing everything?”

“Not when it comes to you,” I said honestly.

That made him laugh softly, a quiet, real sound.

Then he leaned in slowly, as if giving me a chance to pull away. My breath caught, but I stayed. Our lips met in a brief, tender kiss, the smell of grass and sweat filling my senses.

When we pulled apart, my eyes fluttered open, breath caught in my throat.

Chandler blinked and hurriedly said, “Sorry. That might’ve been -”

I kissed him again before he could finish. This kiss was deeper, deliberate, answering his question without words.

When we broke apart, there were no words - just the warmth of his lips and his hand finding mine.

Down the hill, Stetson was still on the field, juggling a ball alone. The rest of the group was drifting down the bleachers, their voices faint: Emory flipping his coin, Noelle buzzing with new energy, Tinsley walking ahead with hands in pockets.

Finally, Chandler said quietly, “I’m parked by the tennis courts. Wanna ride home?”

I didn’t answer right away. I just watched him, feeling the comfort of his hand in mine. Then I nodded, small but sure. “Yeah,” I whispered. “I do.”

We walked off together, holding hands, our shadows stretching long and tangled behind us.

The ride was quiet, but in a good way - a calm silence between us. I watched the trees blur by, a dark wall broken by the steady flicker of streetlamps. The radio played softly, an acoustic song in the background. Chandler drummed his fingers on the steering wheel beside me.

We didn’t mention the shed, the kiss, or how my hand brushed his on the way to the Jeep, our fingers lingering without pulling away.

At the intersection near my neighborhood, Chandler signaled to turn but didn’t. The blinker clicked on, then off, uncertain, until he finally asked, “Want to go somewhere? Not home yet.”

I didn’t hesitate. “Yeah,” I said before I even thought.

We ended up at the overlook west of town. The gravel shoulder was rough, and pale wildflowers crept up the worn guardrail in the moonlight.

Chandler turned off the engine, and the sudden silence felt huge. Neither of us moved. I pulled my knees up, wrapping my arms around them, making myself small. Chandler stayed in the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely on his thigh. We said nothing.

The night hummed with small sounds: insects buzzing in the grass, a distant dog barking, a car swooshing far below. Shadows of sound floated in the air.

Chandler fiddled with his soccer jersey, smoothing and wrinkling it. I watched his profile glow softly in the dashboard light. Our eyes met now and then, then drifted away.

After a while, he pulled a crumpled receipt from the center console and folded it into a small, uneven triangle. He set it on the dashboard like it mattered.

I stretched my legs and quietly rested a foot on the glovebox, my shoulder almost touching his. Our hands didn’t reach out, but the space felt smaller, charged with silent closeness.

Finally, Chandler sighed softly, easing some tension. “It’s late.”

I nodded, my voice barely a whisper. “Yeah.”

He started the Jeep, the engine humming as he drove back down the hill. The headlights swept over gravel and dark trees, leading us toward the warm lights of town. The quiet ride continued, holding a comfortable promise between us.