Fighting For Normal

ulsed behind my eyes. I was still hot and drenched in sweat, remnants of the fever clinging to my skin. As I

. A surge of nausea threatened to overtake me, and I close

darkness. Pops’ voice, usually laced with playful teasing, held genuine worry as he

forting, even with an underlying sharpness - the scent of worry clinging to him. His hand gently brushed against my cheek, and despit

torrent of tears. His arms wrapped around me, a sanctuary in the chaos

bbing soothing circles on my back. “Maybe

l ‘hurry-up-or-I’ll-leave-you’ mode, ready to launch into his usual snarky routine. But he froze in the doorway, the scene before him de

on’t be going to school today, Stetson,” he s

room. Pops sat on the bed and leaned back against the wall, pulli

atures were all angles and edges – a prominent nose, thin lips, and those captivating blue-gold flecked eyes that commanded attention. And then there was me. My ash-blonde hair fell to

ugh relationships, leaving broken hearts in his wake. Me, they said, was too afraid to let anyone truly in. I reveled in the quiet – I was the volleyball captain too, but

he one who knew when to push and when to simply sit in the silence. And despite the occasional bickering that came with being twins,

m me once more. The rhythm of his heartbeat and the soft scent

r of afternoon sunlight cut through the closed curtains. With a soft sigh, I pushed myself up, a wave of gr

Bernard, our fluffy white Samoyed, dashed toward me, his tail a whirlwind of joy. He leap

,” I whispered, scratching behind his ears. “Missed you too.” Bernard was a sixteenth birt

tary, the sound barely audible. Our spacious living room was a familiar haven – the slate sofa and matching loveseats arranged around a glass-topped wooden table. The sofa faced the fireplac

ed up against him, resting my head on his shoulder. With a light touch to my for

” I admitted. Pops stroked my hair lovingl

y?” he

gh the thought of food didn’

Joey launched into a description of his latest escapade. A familiar wave of comfort washed ov

y scene. Stetson burst in, breathing hard, his backpack flailing. “Sorry, Sloane,” h

irs, his heavy footsteps announcing his rush to c

pisode. Pops stretched, a wide yawn splitting his face, as the Friends credi

g an order for one buffalo chicken, one deluxe, and two orders of stuffed che

sing play as he settled back on the couch. He hummed along to the familiar

se is home,” Pops said, grinning as he got up to answer the door. Sure enough, Dad’s familiar voice dri

ked, crossing over to give me a

bread. The irresistible scent of melted cheese and warm marinara filled the air, making my stomach growl in anticipation.

,” I confessed, my m

d Pops disappeared into the kitchen. Uncle Jake returned with three beers, Pops following with paper plates and napkins. Uncle Jake handed o

u, munchki

iend since they were fourteen. Living just four blocks aw

rs, now in a navy blue t-shirt, khaki shorts, and blindingly white socks. He flicked off the TV and grabbed his beer

g an arm around his shoulders.

used of robbery and assault. The guy swore he was innocent, but there was a prior record

and Uncle Jake swooped in, a whirlwind

timate party pooper. A glance at the stack of worksheets confirmed my worst fears: Pre-Calculus, Physics, and G

said, his tone steel

couch, squeezing my shoulder. “Thanks for the pizza, guys.”

umbles escaping my lips. Up in my room, the

thing. I sank onto the bed, inhaling the fresh, clean scent of my sheets mixed with the subtle vanilla of my candles and a lingering hint of perfume from my vanit

omework packet. Might as well get started.

my phone buzzed to life. Noelle’s name flashed on

peared on the screen. Her golden blonde hair fell around her face, fram

just walked ov

said you were sick, and I didn’t want to disturb

“Just buried under a

night.” Despite her bubbly personality and stereotypical ‘dumb blonde’

ssip I’d missed. Her stories about the new boy and the dramati

aked open. Dad poked his head in. “It’s getting late

forced a smile. “Okay, Dad, I’ll be done soon,” I c

nded the call. With a defeated sigh, I dove back into the homework abyss. Pr

tes had passed. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I scribbled the answer to

urred, and my focus wavered. A glance at the clock startled me – 11 pm already! With renewed