The New Normal Book Novels & Stories

He nodded once and, without looking up again, said quietly, “Good. I want to be normal.” “You will be,” I promised. And as the baby moved—a small insistence of life—I realized this chapter was the hinge. The noise had been cut. The hands had been stopped. The room had finally chosen rules over crowds. All that remained now was to show the after. Not a perfect after. An earned one. —End Chapter 74

This is the story. A young girl paced round her room. She was set for school, but she was nervous. It was a new school and who wouldn’t be nervous. You see she wasn’t like others. She wasn’t what one would call human. No she wasn’t a superhero. All those comics were just a serious rip-off. They were so silly. Did they know those things were real? Anyway why she was nervous. She was going to a new school when she had just accepted her old school. There she just blended in with the crowd and was never noticed. Now she was going to a new school, a prestigious one where eyes will always be on her and they would be judging.

I know it's not healthy, but it's a gimmick I can't ignore. The title is: Randomness: tales of an ordinary girl. HM, OK. Let's go. “I'm Moniquinha, an ordinary girl. Even if you don't relate, it's okay. You may be an exception, a bright person, a special girl. And that's the amazing thing about it all: being different. Because, like I said, I'm pretty ordinary. And from the height of my normality, this book of randomness was born. Small texts, from short stories to chronicles, with experiences and bitterness; reflections and hope.

When she’d arrived, nearly a month prior, she had expected that her world would crumble entirely, from the foundations up; that she would never again have a chance to experience any kind of normalcy, but rather, doomed to a lifetime of unspeakable terrors. (She’s ashamed, now, to think of what awful things she’d thought of.) But in truth, Regina finds it shockingly easy to adjust to a new kind of normalcy. The kind spent whispering inane comments and questions to Mattel, in the dark of the night, no longer nearly as frightening (for either of them) when beside a person who’s willing to hold your hand. The kind where, on certain evenings when Regina hears a particularly enchanting passage, sh

A week since we’d traded the warm Cuban sun for the sterile anonymity of a suburban safe house somewhere in central Pennsylvania. The walls were beige, the furniture bland, the air so stagnant it felt like we were living in a museum exhibit titled “Normal Family Life.” It was suffocating. I leaned back against the headboard, resting my hand on Laura’s thigh, her warmth a grounding force against the chaos in my mind. “You think we’ll ever go back to normal?” I murmured. She turned to look at me, her blue eyes searching mine. “What even *is* normal?” She replied softly, her fingers lacing through mine. “I think we’ll find our way back home soon. To our version of normal.”

commented Mey as she lowered the stained Harry Potter book that she had read countless times and peered over at Jess and me. Sometimes I wondered if she wanted to remember each line on that book, or perhaps that was what true fans do — reread the books over and over again because it was that interesting for them. “Seriously, Jess,” said Norma, putting down her fork and finishing the last bite of her caramel cheesecake. “What on earth have you done to sweet innocent Mey? Did you swap her with a replacement on Target or something? She got a whole new vocabulary after you two started hanging out alone.”

“I think I love book coffee dates.” I lift my head from the book I’ve been stuck on page forty-two for five minutes. Not that ‘Normal People’ by Sally Rooney isn’t good. It’s painfully good. But trying to hold up this masquerade is frying every single brain cell I own. One wrong sentence from me and proof, busted.

“Yes, thank you. If you have any questions please walk up to my desk to talk to me. Tasmine please head to the back of the classroom and see if there is a copy of the book in those boxes.” “Ok.” I do as I was told, walking past a group of girls they are giggling, they are the same ones that had been snickering, ah man really why do they need to be bitchy for, I found the boxes the teacher was talking about, as I open up the top box they talk loud enough for me to hear. “Didn’t take the new girl long to become Noah’s new fling.” Said the girl with dirty dark blonde messy hair, that is half up in a messy bun, with too much eyeliner on.

"Come on. Let's go home, check on Michael, eat actual food. Small steps toward normalcy." "Normalcy," she repeated. "What's that even look like for us? We're a mafia prince and a poisoned heiress with more trauma than sense, raising a kidnapped child and a pregnancy conceived through medical rape. That's not normal." "Then we'll create our own normal. Make up rules as we go." I helped her into the car. "Marissa, there's no instruction manual for what we're going through. We're improvising, making mistakes, figuring it out day by day. That's okay. That's allowed."

"Sheila, I'm not like you. I didn't grow up rolling in mud. Mom and Dad worry about me because they love me. You don't mind, right?" I met her provocation calmly. "I don't mind. You're the younger one. It's normal for them to worry about you more." She froze, unable to figure out why I wasn't reacting the way she expected. But she didn't have time to dwell on it. Matthew soon arrived to pick her up, and the two happily left for the Northern Plains. I didn't react at all. I simply went back to my room and continued packing. I didn't own much. In this house, almost nothing truly belonged to me.