The Field Guide to the North American Teenager: Chapters 6–12

In the space of a morning—five minutes, really—life in Austin had gone from a drag to absolutely untenable.

It had started with Anderson High’s east end staircase getting repainted a brand-spanking-new layer of burnt orange, the sort of superficial change parents loved to see but that was a hassle for anyone who actually used the staircase every day.

Every day, more and more students grumbled about their ruined sneakers and orange-stained toes. (Incidentally, there were a lot of sandal wearers in the student body.)

The only people that seemed to revel in this mess were, of course, the walking bags of Frankenstein’s spare parts that made up the football team.

It occurred to Norris at that moment that Hairy Armpits probably would never give this moment a second thought, whereas, for Norris, it was already congealing into something rock-hard in his chest.

“That’s a weird thing to say,” Norris said, clearing his throat. “You're being weird and intense, weirdly intense, and for all you know I could just be aiming for twenty thousand steps a day on my pedometer app, so you’re also being presumptuous about my state of mind or what have you.”

LARVAE FORMS: Permanent swing-pusher, "good listener."
ADULT FORMS: The beleaguered assistant, sober-sorority-sister hair holder, always a bridesmaid, never a bride.

Four hours into his first shift, Norris discovered that the key to excelling at the job was not to think about what he might actually be touching at any point in time. He had no qualms about touching bones, still moist with saliva, or napkins filled with everything from barbecue sauce to chewed-up meat fat.

Madison removed her apron and joined Norris in the sitting area to realign the tables that throughout the day had inched out of their rigorously enforced pattern.

“Excuse me?!” Norris exclaimed, indignant.

“I’m not going to be your lackey—”
“—professional assistant and schedule alleviator,” she corrected.

“Not going to be that either, you megalomaniac. Find someone else to pick up the slack while you slowly take over the world and come up with intricate squad plans.”

“From what I can gather she hates you Madisons,” Norris surmised.

Maddie remained unflappable.

“Before that, she dated Oliver, art kid, president of the photography club. He graduated last year. There was apparently a thing with Seth Ezer at Sallie-Ellen’s birthday this summer, but I don’t have corroboration.”

“Same rules as back home.”
“No drinking, no drugs...” Norris recited listlessly, eye on the house in question.

Norris took a lap around the house, catching bits of scintillating conversations as he moved.

It wasn’t that he didn’t know what to do at parties. He just found them viscerally boring: like getting dressed for a big night out and then spending your evening in an intermission lobby, bumping against people you vaguely recognize and fumbling to align conversation topics for brief windows of validation.

“Been keeping track, have you?” she asked with a quick smirk. Norris shrugged as nonchalantly as he could.

“I should, but all the girls are asking me about the brooding hot black guy in the basement.”

Still, all things considered, this first social foray into Austin life hadn’t been as bad as he feared.

“Don’t yawn in his face when he gets here,” Judith chastised, rinsing the frying pan before the egg grease could harden.

“You’re right,” Norris acquiesced before nodding over to his window.

He was also president of the Irish Student Organization, which was A) a thing and B) had a “small but very involved membership,” although Liam wouldn’t divulge an exact number.

“Maybe we can do this every week,” he suggested at the end of the hour, as they glided off the ice. “Like for an hour or so?”
Norris didn’t even balk. “Sure,” he agreed.

In a past life, he might have been some vicar walking around his parish all day, nodding to passersby and doling out good will.

Norris was about to return to his locker in time to gather his books for American history when Aarti appeared out of nowhere and sidled up to him without missing a beat in the increasing deluge of bodies that filled the hallways once the bell rang.

Norris was about to return to his locker in time to gather his books for American history when Aarti appeared out of nowhere and sidled up to him without missing a beat in the increasing deluge of bodies that filled the hallways once the bell rang.

“That is the meanest thing anyone has ever said to me,” Norris said over the midday chatter as they walked in tandem in a sea of backpacks and elbows.

Anderson High’s go-to mathematics oeuvre was a freaking backbreaker, containing all the material for Geometry, Algebra I, and Algebra II.

The all-in-one tome was one of the school’s cost-cutting measures.

“Oh, come on,” she wheedled. Norris had a feeling Aarti was used to getting her way.

“The movie’s not until eight. I’ll pick you up and leave your virtue unsullied by the end of the night.”

She was in full orange-and-black cheerleader regalia and had a sports bag under her arm.

Her finger moved around as she spoke, like a gifted detective solving a crime scene. She was a very specific sort of savant when it came to juggling the personalities and schedules of the Bone Yard employees.

“You guys know each other, right?”
The two girls shared a bemused look at the introduction before Maddie laughed out loud.

“Hi, Judith,” his father said in that sweet and measured tone meant to hide months of contentious fights and the plate he’d received across the head that one time—one of the Kaplan household’s most dramatic moments.

A protracted silence followed—Divorced Decorum, Norris called it.

The fact that his dad was resolutely avoiding breaking eye contact with the camera told him that this executive decision was being made above Janet’s clearance.

The icon went gray again, relegating Norris’s father to a simple silhouette.