Fifty Two Weeks

I am not normal.

I don’t know how I’m meant to feel, I don’t feel anything. I don’t know how to act around people.

I don’t find their jokes funny; I don’t understand why you tell people they look pretty if they don’t. I don’t understand why people are friends with people they don’t like.

I don’t want to go to homecoming tonight. I don’t want a fancy limo to take me there, I don’t want a dress with the matching flower Adam will give me. I don’t love Adam or find him attractive, even though everyone else does.

I don’t know why I’m the way I am, I just am and there’s nothing I can do about it. And the only way to deal with it is to fake it.

And I’ve gotten pretty good at faking it after seventeen years of practise.

I guess most people wouldn’t like a life like this, they might even say it isn’t a life at all: pretending to be exactly who you’re not. But I don’t mind, it keeps my parents happy, they like thinking I’m normal.

But tonight will be far more difficult than normal, difficult even for the perfect pretender. For really, what is more difficult to fake than a teenager’s ecstasy at homecoming?

Adam has just rung the doorbell; I can hear the cheery chime echoing up through our perfect, normal house. My parents will be rushing to the door to welcome him in, telling him I’m just finishing getting ready. Adam is the captain of the football team, basically every girl’s heartthrob. I knew when he asked me out I couldn’t turn him down, even if I didn’t find him – or any guy – attractive at all. It just isn’t done; no normal girl would ever turn down Adam.

I can hear my parents offering Adam a drink at the bottom of the stairs but he will politely refuse, he is waiting nervously for me to come down. I sigh as I look into the mirror, my face is emotionless and blank and it contrasts heavily with my joyful, peach, floor length gown: the perfect dress, ever girl’s fantasy.

I force my face into what I know is a warm, friendly smile before I turn to descend the stairs.
Adam gasps as he sees me, just as I knew he would. He politely tells me how beautiful I look and hands me my peach coloured rose he got specially ordered. I kiss each of my parents softly on the cheek before turning back to them for my final, perfect smile as we head out of the door. I have planned this meticulously.

Adam continues to gush at me all the way to the hotel where the dance will be held. I smile and giggle like I’m supposed to but all I can think about is how much I want him to be quiet.
When we arrive Adam opens the door for me and takes my arm. There are clusters of people huddled around outside like swarms of hornets. Occasionally a high pitched squeal will escape them as the excitement becomes too much to bear.

We pass through the doors and we are immediately surrounded by fountains of paper streamers and pools of coordinated balloons. We are suddenly swarmed by a dozen or so people, immediately filling us in on the cornucopia of urgent and vital social happenings that we missed in the five minutes we weren’t here.

I realise as I am pulled away from Adam by an assortment of girls called things like Emily and Melanie and Bethany that this is going to be much harder than I had thought. Everyone is suddenly so much more extravagant: they are laughing harder and longer at even worse jokes than normal, they keep switching between dancing and talking and they never seem to stop.

Oh, everyone is laughing now, I should probably laugh now too.

I can tell that my small talk and my laughter are off slightly, though no one else has noticed. I can feel myself slipping. Everything is being so confusing and I can barely keep up. It’s only been an hour and I’m already struggling.

I’ll say I need some air, other people have been saying that, they won’t think it’s strange if I say it.

I just need to get away from so many bodies crushing in on me. I need time to think, to recollect myself and then I can go back inside and be normal. Better than normal. I can be perfect.

My mother always wanted a perfect child.

I take deep breathes in the cold air as I ignore the pains in my feet, all the other girls do.
I like it when its night, everything moves so much slower and I’m able to keep up. There are so many social factors that make no sense at all and if you forget just one, you’re not normal, you’re not perfect.

“What are you doing out here in the cold.”

It’s Adam, bumbling, shuffling Adam. I can tell he is lovely and if I could feel love for anyone I think it would probably be for him.

“Oh, you know, just getting some fresh air.” I smile and cuddle up next to him.

“Let’s get you back inside, eh?”

I wish he would just leave me out here. Would that be too difficult for him?

“Sure thing, Captain.”

Adam drags me to the dance floor where I laugh and twirl. He pulls in for a kiss and I let him place his fleshy lips on mine and run his tongue along my teeth. Of all the social rules, kissing is the one I understand least. Really, what is so attractive about having the most germ infested body part of someone else inside your mouth, or anywhere near it for that matter.

“Will the nominees for the King and Queen please step up onto the stage!”

Everyone falls quiet for a moment before an excited murmuring erupts.

I pull away from Adam far too hastily, eager to be away from his lips. I worry for a moment whether he will think it strange but he thankfully takes it for a desire to be on stage.
He laughs and pulls me along by my hand up onto the stage. We stand, fingers interlinked, next to all the other nominees.

I have no idea how I was nominated for Queen, I must be better at pretending than I thought.
I clutch Adam’s arm with my free hand and grin for all to see. With the stage lights shining upon us I know that I have to be very careful. This is the moment I had planned most carefully in my bedroom. I will play my role perfectly.

I make sure I look up at Adam excitedly at exactly the right moment, I make sure I wave to one of the Melanie’s or Beverly’s somewhere in the audience, I make sure I squeal and hug Adam at just the moment he is called King.

But now is the time for the Queen to be called, and I am hoping beyond hope that I am not called because without a doubt, every single person in the room will be looking at me. If I slip up, if I’m not absolutely perfect, everything will crumble down.

As the announcer builds up to the name (“And the Homecoming Queen of 2011 is...”) I make sure I bunch my eyes up tight and cross my fingers, pretending I want this more than anything in the world. Because, really, what normal girl doesn’t want to be Homecoming Queen?

I suddenly hear an eruption of cheers and whistles. They’ve called my name.

I allow myself one moment of dread before I laugh and run over to Adam. I grin and even manage to squeeze out a tear as they place the crown on my head.

I link arms with Adam as I look out at all the people watching me. What would a normal girl
be feeling at this moment? She would be so happy, absolutely ecstatic, wouldn’t she? I wish I was normal, I wish that I wanted this, I wish that I could feel any sort of emotion for any of the people in the room, for Adam who was so completely in love with me, for the abundance of Emily’s and Bethany’s in the crowd shouting my name and waving.

I wish I could be the perfect child my mother wanted.

But I don’t and I’m not. So the next best thing is for me to fake it.

“Thank you so much to everyone who voted for me!”I call while wiping a manufactured tear from my eye, “You really have no idea what I’m feeling right now!”

And they really, really don’t.