Am I Normal Yet? Read online

  All Evie wants is to be normal. And now that she’s almost off her meds and at a new college where no one knows her as the-girl-who-went-nuts, there’s only one thing left to tick off her list…

  But relationships can mess with anyone’s head – something Evie’s new friends Amber and Lottie know only too well. The trouble is, if Evie won’t tell them her secrets, how can they stop her making a huge mistake?

  Praise for Holly Bourne

  “The banter and bitchiness is UTTERLY ADDICTIVE.” Non Pratt, author of TROUBLE

  “Bourne is the writer I’ve been waiting for.” Escape into Words

  “So very readable.” The Bookseller

  “Bourne is a prodigiously talented author who has the gift of making fiction seem real.” Lancashire Evening Post

  “[The Manifesto on How to be Interesting is] probably the best YA novel I’ve ever read, and that’s a strong statement to make.” Emma Blackery, Youtuber

  “Full of wisdom, heartache, and honesty, The Manifesto on How to be Interesting tops John Green in my book.” Never Judge a Book by Its Cover

  To Mum and Dad (again), for making me strong

  Contents

  About this book

  Praise for Holly Bourne

  Dedication

  Recovery Diary

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Recovery Diary

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Recovery Diary

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Recovery Diary

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Recovery Diary

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Recovery Diary

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-one

  Chapter Forty-two

  Chapter Forty-three

  Recovery Diary

  Chapter Forty-four

  Chapter Forty-five

  Chapter Forty-six

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Epilogue

  Exclusive preview of How Hard Can Love Be? by Holly Bourne

  About Holly Bourne

  Q&A with Holly Bourne

  Am I Normal Yet? online

  Read it. Love it. Share it.

  Acknowledgements

  The Manifesto on How to Be Interesting by Holly Bourne

  Soulmates by Holly Bourne

  Copyright

  One

  It started with a house party.

  This wasn’t just any house party. It was also My First Date. Like first EVER date. In my entire life. Because, finally, following all the crap that had gone down, I was ready for boys.

  His name was Ethan and he liked the Smashing Pumpkins (whatever that is) and he’d managed to grow real stubble already. And he liked me enough to ask me out after sociology. And he was funny. And he had really small, but cute, dark eyes, like a ferret or something. But a sexy ferret. And he played the drums and the violin. Both! Even though they’re, like, totally different instruments. And and…

  …and – oh, Christ – what the HELL was I going to wear?

  Okay, so I was stressing. And obsessing. “Obstressing” times a million. In an utterly deplorable way. But this was a big deal to me. I was doing something NORMAL for once. And I reckoned I could just about pull it off. And I did know what I was wearing. I’d run through every possible clothing combination in existence before opting for tight jeans, black top and a red necklace, i.e. what I reckoned to be the safest date outfit ever.

  I was going to be normal again. But I was going to step back into it safely.

  The outfit

  JEANS = Cool, just-like-everyone-else, and I-won’t-sleep-with-you-right-away-so-don’t-even-think-about-it-mister.

  BLACK TOP = Slimming – yes, I know…well it was a first date, and my drugs had made me a bit…puffy.

  RED NECKLACE = Hints of sexiness underneath, for when you’ve been a good boy, and in six months’ time, when I’m ready, and you’ve said you love me, and lit some candles and all that stuff that probably doesn’t actually ever happen to anyone…

  …Oh, and you’ve been deep-cleaned and put through ten STI tests.

  Nice. Safe. Outfit.

  Put it on, Evie. Just put the damn thing on.

  So I did.

  Before I get into how it went and how it was the beginning of something, but not the beginning of Ethan, I guess you’ll want to know how I met him so you have some emotional investment.

  Bollocks. I just gave away that Ethan and I didn’t work out.

  Oh well. Whoever had a great love affair with a guy who looked like a sexy ferret?

  How Evie met Ethan

  New college. I’d started a brand new college, where only a handful of people knew me as “that girl who went nuts”. Despite my tiny collection of mostly-home-educated GCSEs, the college let me in to do my A levels because I’m actually quite smart when I’m not being sectioned.

  I noticed Ethan in my very first sociology lesson. Mainly because he was the only boy in there. Plus, the sexy stubble ferretness.

  He sat across from me and our eyes met almost instantly.

  I looked behind me to check who he was staring at. There wasn’t anyone behind me.

  “Hi, I’m Ethan,” he said, giving me a half-wave.

  I waved back with a flap of my hand. “Hi, I’m Evelyn…Evie. Always Evie.”

  “Have you done sociology before, Evie?”

  I looked at the crisp new textbook on my desk, its spine still utterly intact.

  “Erm, no.”

  “Me neither,” he said. “But I heard it was a Mickey Mouse subject. An easy A, right?” He did this big grin that caused all sorts of stuff to happen to my insides. So much so that I had to sit down in my chair – except I was already sitting in it, so I just sort of wiggled awkwardly, panicked, then giggled to cover it. “Why are you taking it?” he asked.

  A question. You can answer questions, Evie. So I smiled and said, “I thought it was safer than psychology.”

  Oops. Think. You think before you answer questions.

  His face wrinkled underneath his mop of unruly hair. “Safer?” he repeated.

  “Yeah, you know,” I tried to explain. “I…er…well…I didn’t want to get any extra ideas.”

  “Ideas?”

  “I’m very impressionable.”

  “What sort of ideas?” he leaned over the desk with interest. Or confusion.

  I shrugged and fiddled with my bag.

  “Well in psychology you learn about all the different things that can go wrong in your brain,” I said.

  “So?”

  I fiddled with my bag some more. “Well, it’s more to worry about, isn’t it? Like, did you know there’s this thing call
ed Body Integrity Identity Disorder?”

  “Body Identi-what-now?” he asked, doing the smile again.

  “Integrity Identity Disorder. It’s where you wake up one day, convinced you shouldn’t have two legs. You suddenly hate your spare leg, and you really want to be an amputee. In fact, some sufferers actually pretend to be amputees! And the only way to cure it is to get a limb hacked off illegally by this special leg-hacker doctor. People don’t usually get BIID, that’s what they call it, BIID, until their early twenties. Either of us could get it. We don’t know yet. We can only hope we stay emotionally attached to all our limbs. That’s why sociology is safer, I reckon.”

  Ethan burst out laughing, making all the other girls in my new class turn and stare.

  “I think I’m going to like doing sociology with you, Evie.” He gave me a tiny wink and a cheeky head tilt.

  My heart started beating really quickly, but not in its usual trapped-insect way. In a new way. A good way.

  “Thanks, I guess.”

  Ethan didn’t do anything other than stare at me for the rest of the lesson.

  That’s how we met.

  I looked at my reflection. First up close, my nose pressed against the mirror. I stepped back and looked again. Then I closed my eyes and opened them really quickly to surprise myself into an unbiased reaction.

  I didn’t look bad, you know.

  From my reflection, you definitely couldn’t tell how nervous I was.

  My phone beeped and my heart did a little earthquake.

  Hey, just on the train. Looking forward to seeing u tonight. x

  He was coming. It was real. Then I saw the time on my phone and panicked. I was seven minutes away from leaving late. I chucked everything into a bag, then ran to the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my hands.

  Just as I’d finished, it happened.

  BAD THOUGHT

  Have you washed them properly?

  I nearly doubled over. It was like someone had stabbed me in the guts with a knitting needle.

  No no no no no.

  And then another came to join the party.

  BAD THOUGHT

  You should wash them again, just to make sure.

  I did double over then, holding onto the edge of the sink as my body crumpled. Sarah’d warned me this could happen. That the thoughts may come back when I cut down my dosage. She told me to expect it. It would be okay though, she said, because I had “coping mechanisms” now.

  My mother knocked on the bathroom door. She’d probably been secretly timing me again – anything over five minutes was a warning sign.

  “Evie?” she called.

  “Yes, Mum,” I called back, still knotted over.

  “You okay in there? What time do you need to leave for your party?”

  She only knew about the party. She didn’t know I had a date. The less Mum knew, the better. My little sister Rose knew, but had been sworn to secrecy.

  “I’m fine. I’ll be out in a sec.”

  I heard her footsteps thump down the hallway and I let out a slow breath.

  Logical thought

  You’re okay, Evie. You don’t need to wash your hands again, do you? You only just washed them. Come on, up you get.

  Like a well-trained soldier, I straightened myself and calmly unlocked the bathroom door. But not before one last brain malfunction muscled its way in for a parting shot.

  BAD THOUGHT

  Uh oh, it’s coming back.

  Two

  After a dismal summer of constant frizz-rain, September had been on its best behaviour. My leather jacket swung over my shoulder as I walked to the train station. It was balmy and light still, with kids rollerblading down the pavements and parents sitting in their front gardens with evening beers.

  I was so unbelievably nervous.

  I hadn’t wanted to meet him by myself. But Jane – TRAITOR – was getting a lift to the party with Friend-Stealer…sorry, I mean Joel.

  “You don’t really need me there to pick your date up,” Jane had said, in a sickly-sweet voice. “Isn’t that a little…immature?”

  I, personally, thought it was more immature to dye your naturally-blonde hair jet black as an act of rebellion against your perfectly-nice parents – like Jane had. But I didn’t tell her that. I just stared at my feet so I didn’t see the patronizing crinkle at the sides of her kohl-covered eyes.

  “I just thought it would be cool, like, if we all rocked up together?” I replied. “You and Joel. Ethan and me. You know, as a group?”

  “Hon, he’ll want it to be just you and him. Trust me.”

  I used to trust Jane…

  I used to trust my judgement.

  I used to trust my thoughts.

  Things change.

  And, today, things were spiralling.

  What if Ethan didn’t turn up? What if it was the worst night ever? What if he could tell I was mental and lost interest? What if I never found anyone who could put up with me? I mean, yes, I was better, but I was still…well…me.

  I remembered what Sarah told me about dating.

  What Sarah told me about dating

  “I got a date,” I said to her.

  I sat on my favourite chair in her office, twirling a stuffed bunny in my hands. Sarah did Family Therapy too, so there were always loads of toys to play with when she told me things I didn’t like.

  It’s impossible to surprise a therapist – I’d been with her two years, and I’d learned that early. Yet Sarah did sit up in her big leather chair.

  “A date?” she asked, her voice all neutral and therapyish.

  “This weekend. I’m taking him to a house party.” The bunny spun faster and I couldn’t help but smile. “I guess it’s not like a date date. I mean, there won’t be any candles or rose petals or anything.”

  “Who is this date with?”

  Sarah jotted notes on her big A4 pad, like she always did when I said something interesting. It felt like an achievement, when she got the Bic biro out.

  “Ethan from my sociology class,” I said.

  “Right, and what is Ethan like?”

  My tummy bubbled and my smile spread out wider, like margarine.

  “He plays the drums. And he thinks he might be a Marxist. And, he finds me funny. He actually said yesterday, ‘Evie, you’re so funny.’ And…”

  Sarah broke in. With her classic question.

  “And how does that make you feel, Evelyn?”

  I sighed and thought about it a moment.

  “It feels good.”

  The Bic biro moved again.

  “Why does it make you feel good?”

  I dropped the bunny back into the toy bin and stretched back, trying to work out the answer.

  “I never thought a guy would fancy me…I guess. What with everything up here…” I tapped my brain. “And, it would, you know, be nice to have a boyfriend…like everyone else…” I trailed off.

  Sarah narrowed her eyes and I braced myself. Two years had taught me narrowed eyes = a blunt question.

  “It might be nice, but do you think it’s the healthiest thing for you right now?”

  I stood up, instantly mad.

  “Hey! Why can’t I just have one normal thing? Look at how much better I am. I’m coming off my medicine. I’m going to college every single day. I’m getting good grades. I even put my hand in a bin last week, remember?”

  I slumped back down again, knowing she wouldn’t rise to my dramatic outburst. Sure enough, she remained composed.

  “It’s normal to want something normal, Evie. I’m not denying you that, and I’m not saying you can’t or shouldn’t do it—”

  “You couldn’t stop me anyway, I’m a free person.”

  Silence to punish my interruption.

  “All I’m going to say, Evie, is that you’re doing brilliantly. You said so yourself. However…” She tapped her biro on her pad, rolling her tongue in her cheek. “However…relationships are messy. Especially relationships with teenage
guys. They can make you overthink and overanalyse and feel bad about yourself. And they can make even the most ‘normal’ –” she made the quote sign with her fingers – “girls feel like they’re going crazy.”

  I thought for a moment. “So you’re saying Ethan is going to mess me about?”

  “No. I’m saying boyfriends and girlfriends in general mess each other about. I just want to make sure you’re strong enough to cope with the mess, alongside everything else.”

  I crossed my arms.

  “I’m still going on the date.”

  It was a bit of a walk to the train station. The sun set gradually, making the sky an inky purple. There is lots of sky about where I live. Most houses are detached, with big sprawling gardens. The town centre has a Starbucks and a Pizza Express, a few pubs and all the other usuals, but it’s still just an island of buzz in a vast sea of suburbia.

  Ethan sent another message, telling me when his train was due to arrive. He lived a couple of towns over. It was exactly a nineteen minute train journey.

  BAD THOUGHT

  What if he holds onto a pole on the train? What if someone with norovirus sneezed into their hands, and then held the same part of the bar before Ethan? What if Ethan then holds my hand?

  I stumbled on nothing and almost fell flat. Dating did bring a whole load of new mess into my brain. But, as ever in my brain, it was never “normal” mess.

  Things I reckon it’s normal to worry about before a first date

  Will it be awkward?

  Will they fancy me?

  How do I look?

  Will I like them?

  I’d had all the above, on a recurring merry-go-round of neurosis ALL DAY, but I’d also had stupid stupid bad thoughts about stupid stupid bacteria. As bloody always.

  To distract myself, I replayed how Ethan and I had got to this first date.

  How Ethan and I got to our first date

  He’d come into our second lesson looking pretty damn pleased with himself.

  “Hey,” I said, shyly, as he sat opposite me.

  “Alien hand syndrome,” he answered, nodding cockily.

  “Huh?”

  “It’s a new thing for you to be scared of. Alien hand syndrome.”

  He’d remembered our conversation! And he’d done his own research! I grinned and tilted my head. “Oh yeah? And what’s that?”

  Hang on… WHAT THE HELL IS ALIEN HAND SYNDROME? WILL I CATCH IT?