Uniquely Normal

Chapter 1: Prologue

Always and forever.

A voice uttered the words inscribed on the dark-stained wooden plaque above my headboard, rousing me from the depths of my immersive dreams. Feeling a pair of intense eyes fixated upon me, I hesitated, unsure of the intent.

Was it malicious? I hoped not. Part of me resisted opening my eyes, fearing some malevolent force lurking in the shadows of my room, perhaps even within the confines of my closet.

With a quick breath, I dared to open my eyes.

The room materialized from the darkness, colors blending into focus. And there, at the foot of my bed, sat my youngest sibling, Macy, calmly spooning Froot Loops into her mouth. "What the hell are you doing?!" I yelled in a hoarse whisper. my voice not yet ready for anything louder. And neither were my ears.

"Mom sent me in here to wake you up so I thought I'd be creative." She jumped off my bed, spilling a couple of drops of milk onto the umber hardwood before she skipped into the hallway.

I heard the scratchy intercom crackle to life. "Ren! I hope you're awake," my mother's melodic voice flowed through the speakers. I extricated myself from the warmth of my bed, feeling a cool breeze brush against my legs. With winter looming, there seemed little reason to shave them if they were only for my eyes.

I made my way to the intercom, pressing the button to respond. "Serenity's currently unavailable. Please leave a message after the beep. Beep!" I mimicked, earning a chuckle from my mother. "Just get ready and join us for breakfast before school."

The bathroom welcomed me with warmth, a contrast to the chilly tile beneath my feet. Waking before the sun had fully risen for school carried a tinge of dread. It wasn't that I despised it... I just didn't relish it. School was school, often a blend of fleeting happiness and mounting stress.

Lost in thought, I sifted through my mind's inventory, sorting through emotions as one might peruse a playlist, selecting which to entertain. I lingered, allowing time to pass absentmindedly until the door burst open, its force causing it to rebound against the gray wall.

Wesley stood in the doorway, squirming like an eager child. "Can you hurry up, please? I really need to use the bathroom!" His dark curls bobbed with his movements, his fair skin tinted with a rosy hue.

Bewildered, I rolled my eyes. "You do realize this is my bathroom?"

"I realize that you are lucky to have your own bathroom, especially one that works!" He put emphasis on the words "that works." He and his basketball pals (unfortunately, Kenji included), broke Joey's toilet bowl during a wrestling match in the bathroom.

Why were they wrestling in the bathroom? I don't know. Since Joey, and I had the biggest rooms, we were lucky enough to have our own bathrooms. Tyrone and Macy urged us to somehow finish high school and college quicker and get onto adulthood so they could have our rooms once we moved out.

"And why can't you use Mom and Dad's?"

"Dad is in the shower. And Macy is in the main!" I hummed. "The half downstairs-"

"Tyrone is in it! All the bathrooms are taken right now." His squirming increased.

"I guess. I mean I'm trying to do my makeup and stuff so be quick—" he zoomed past and sat on the toilet. As soon as his butt hit the seat, he started farting.

"Are you pooping?!" He laughed at my disgusted look. I slammed the door behind me, a fake gag leaving my throat.

Winter loomed on the horizon, November 27th marking the precipice. In a week and a half, the snow would blanket the earth in its wintry embrace.

Leaving my room, I descended the stairs, only to encounter Macy darting past, a blanket cocooning her form. "Macy, what's going on?" I queried, trailing her to her room. "Why are you wrapped in a blanket? Up to something you shouldn't be?"

She looked up, flashing her big brown eyes and tightened the blanket. "I'm not up to anything."

"Remove the blanket."

"W-What if I'm naked underneath?!"

"We have the same stuff, mine is just bigger. Take it off." I walked over and pulled the blanket off of her. She was wearing fishnets, a red latex skirt, a yellow off-the-shoulder crop top, and a choker. All items that belonged to me.

"Besides the fact that none of that goes together and you look stupid, they're mine. Put it back!"

"Ugh!" She flared her nostrils and stomped away. Her long black braid swaying with her steps. As if in cue, Tyrone came jogging up the stairs, hesitating at my annoyed expression. "Hey, can I borrow your blue and red Jordan 1's?" he asked tentatively, already anticipating my response.

"No," I replied flatly.

"But they'd look great—"

"I don't care," I groaned. "Why is everyone trying to raid my belongings today?" Rising at six a.m. for school was vexing enough, but the added grogginess from interactions with my siblings only compounded the irritation.

In the kitchen, I slumped onto a stool, resting my forehead against the granite. If I lingered in this position long enough, perhaps sleep would reclaim me.

"Hey, Mom, who cooked breakfast?" Macy inquired.

"I did. Why?" We all groaned in unison, pushing our plates away. My dad chuckled, his golden-framed glasses bouncing against his brown skin. My mother glanced around, bewildered. "Oh, come on. My cooking isn't that terrible."

My dad enveloped her in a consoling hug. "Sorry, honey, but it is. Let me handle the cooking."

"Guys, she's joking. I made the eggs, bacon, and grits," he interjected.

This was my family—multicultural and spirited, bound by adoption. My mother's battle with endometriosis led her to opt for a hysterectomy after hormone therapy proved futile. Now, she presided over a brood of five.

My 14-year-old brother Tyrone, and I could easily pass as my father's biological children, with our dark brown eyes mirroring our skin tone. My mother, of Indian descent, boasted olive-toned skin. Macy who's 8 is the cutest Korean little girl you'd ever see. Wesley, my seventeen-year-old counterpart, a white-passing Mexican, relished any opportunity to assert his ethnicity amidst playful banter. And Joey, 20, boasted fair skin courtesy of his Norwegian heritage, with a surprising trace of Mongolian ancestry.

"Do you think joey will be back home for Christmas?" I asked. We all missed him. He was busy partying it up in college being the academic go-getter he deserved to be. Joey meant a lot to me. When I was first fostered, Joey was the only other kid here, and although we didn't like each other at first, it grew to be immense love.

"He wouldn't miss it for the world."