Excerpt from The Funny Thing About Norman Foreman by Julietta Henderson , plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"So then, Mum, if there is a heaven, that...that means Granny and Grandad are there too, right?"

I realized I was just being blown off course from one shitstorm into another. "Mmmm."

"So then, do you reckon they would...that they might be keeping an eye out for Jax? Do you reckon it matters if they don't know what he looks like? And do...do you think they know he's my best friend?"

I knew my limitations. "Norman, have you brushed your teeth tonight? I smell cheese." I reached over to pat his leg, and it felt like stroking a ruler. His already tiny frame was becoming even thinner, and it scared me how small the pile of Norman under those sheets and blankets was. A sudden flashback to my father took its shot, opportunistic as always. The hours and days and sometimes even entire weeks that he'd take to his bed, skinny legs and arms surrendered in pajamas. Curtains closed, blankets drawn up to his chin, my cups of tea and carefully cut triangles of toast untouched. Me, sitting in school all day worrying, wondering how long until he came back to life this time. Leave me be, Sadie, love. Just let me sleep, there's a good girl. I squeezed my eyes tight so I couldn't see him anymore. My disappearing father. My disappearing son.

* * *

"Hey, Mum?" Norman's voice was so soft I had to lean right in to catch it. "I reckon you're right, though." My heart did an extra pirouette then stubbed its toe on the way round just to show me who was in charge. There he goes, still trying to make you feel better, Sadie.

Seconds ticked by like omnibuses and, when it became clear to both of us there would be no more reassuring motherly advice forthcoming, Norman unfurled out of the bed. He still had his school uniform on underneath his pajamas. I stood up and wrapped both my arms around him as tight and close as I dared without knocking the top off a scab or hurting him and wondered if it were possible to hug the sadness out of someone. Squeeze and squeeze so hard that it just pops out the top of their head like a pimple, and then all that's left is for time to do its work and heal it over. I felt Norman's hip bone press against mine as he squeezed me tighter, too, and I wondered what he was trying to pop out of me. Answers, probably. Chance'd be a fine thing.

When I heard the tap running in the bathroom sink and the hollow sound of Norman's methodical toothbrushing, I sank back onto his bed and rolled into the shallow imprint he'd left behind. I lay there in his musty, boy-smelling dent and tried to imagine what it felt like to be a kid who'd lost his best and only friend in the world. Bad. It felt bad. I had to stop after just a few seconds when my chest threatened to cave in on itself.

From the bed, I could see the poster Norman and Jax had made a couple of years before hanging above his bookshelf. I knew everything on it by heart, and after seeing it up on the wall for so long I barely had to look at it to know what it said.

The yellow cardboard was way oversize for the sparse lettering of their five-year intentions, but the lack of literary substance was made up for by the abundance of carefully stuck-on photos. Jax and Norman had worked on that poster for a whole weekend, debating the position of every picture, the color of the writing, the best adjectives to describe themselves. "Teenage Super Fucking Comedy Geniuses" had been one of Jax's suggestions. It had been grudgingly vetoed, due to the risk of alienating an older audience and a younger audience not actually being allowed to come. A fairly astute decision, in my opinion.

Excerpted from The Funny Thing About Norman Foreman by Julietta Henderson . Copyright © 2021 by Julietta Henderson . Excerpted by permission of Mira. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.