The New Normal by Ashley Little Page A

upstairs, directly above us. It would stop, then repeat, stop, then repeat, again and again. I closed my eyes and listened for a moment. It was strangely soothing. I opened my eyes and looked at my dad.
    â€œIt’s your mother. She’s doing that yoga chanting thing again.” He reached into the cooler he kept beside the couch, cracked another beer and switched the TV back on.
    That night I prayed. I prayed that all of my hair would grow back. I prayed that working at Cruisy Chicken would be okay. I prayed that my mom and dad would be okay. It took a long, long time for me to fall asleep. The sky had already begun to lighten when I finally drifted off, and I worried that I would sleep through my alarm and be late for my first real day of work.

    Mom dropped me off at Cruisy Chicken the next morning.
    â€œGood luck, Tamar. It’s a proud day.” She smoothed some of the hairs of my wig. She was getting all gushy over the fact that I had my “first real job.”
    â€œDon’t get too excited, Mom. Besides, it’s not a real job. It’s a McJob.”
    â€œWell, you’re going to do great.” She leaned over and gave me a kiss on the cheek.
    â€œThanks.” I hopped out, slammed the car door and hoped she wouldn’t honk as she pulled out of the parking lot.
    She honked.
    I worked from 11:00 AM to 7:00 PM . I bagged fries and chicken and buns for eight hours. My skin was radiating chicken grease by noon. Only one person was nice to me. A guy named Mike, who said he was in grade ten at my school. I had never seen him before. He showed me how to close the tinfoil dishes faster by running a plastic knife along the edges. He told me we got free soft drinks during our shifts.
    Don didn’t work on weekends, and I was glad he wasn’t there. The assistant manager’s name was Karen. She had bleached-blond hair that she wore in a high ponytail. Her roots were coming in and had formed a dark crown around her hairline. On my fifteen-minute break I walked across the plaza to get some fresh air. I felt like throwing up. All I could smell was grease. A thick film of grease sat heavily on my skin, and I tried to scrape it off my face with my fingernails.
    I could see the lights from the movie theater flashing around in the sky above me like the Bat-signal, and I wished I was working there instead. At the end of my shift, Karen asked if I could work the same hours the next day.
    â€œSure,” I said. But I’d rather stab myself in the eye with a fork, I thought.
    Mom was waiting in the car for me when I came out. “How was it?”
    â€œFine,” I said.
    â€œDid you bring any chicken home for dinner?”
    â€œNo. I never want to eat chicken again.”
    She laughed. “Your dad likes chicken.”
    â€œI’ll bring him some tomorrow then.”
    When I got home, I threw my wig in the sink to soak the grease out of it. Then I realized I wouldn’t have time to comb and dry it before Roy came to pick me up. I would have to wear a bandana. I had a shower and tried to erase the static blare of a hundred thousand orders for different Cruisy Combos rattling around in my head.
    The doorbell chimed around quarter after eight. All three of us froze. No one had rung our doorbell in a long time, and it sounded hollow, eerie.
    I slid across the hardwood floor and flung open the door.
    â€œHi,” Roy said.
    â€œHi.” I grabbed my coat and purse as the parents crept toward the doorway. “Mom, Dad, this is Roy.”
    â€œHi, Mr. and Mrs. Robinson.”
    â€œPleased to meet you, Roy,” Mom said, smiling like he’d told her he’d discovered the cure for cancer.
    Dad nodded, narrowing his eyes.
    â€œWhat about your dinner, Tamar?” Mom said as I turned to go.
    â€œI’ll grab something at the bowling alley.”
    â€œAll right. Take good care of her, okay, Roy?” Then my mom enveloped me in a huge hug, as if I would