M
s. Chatman inhaled a deep breath as she locked her eyes with mine. During her pregnant pause, I could tell she was searching for the right words. My heart raced, and I felt nervous. “What am I thinking?”
“What?”
She glanced from me to Yesenia. “No, that’s too easy.” She changed her mind. “What is she thinking?”
I didn’t know what Ms. Chatman was getting at, but I looked at Yesenia anyway. Maybe hanging out with her was just a Hallmark way to cheer myself up. I didn’t know Yesenia — she couldn’t talk to me or anything. But I didn’t feel sorry for her, not really. I stared into her milky blue eyes. “She wants to get back to the story, because Harry Potter’s life is a lot more interesting than mine. But she’s content too. It’s a beautiful day, and she has friends here, so she’s pretty happy right now.”
Yesenia banged her hand on the table, harder than normal. “Was I right? You think this conversation is boring and you want me to start reading again, don’t you?”
She banged her hand again, causing Ms. Chatman and me to both start laughing.
Ms. Chatman turned her attention back to me. “Samantha, I’m not going to lie to you. You are a very unique person, and I can see where your friends are coming from. There have been times when I’ve suspected dyslexia isn’t your only disorder.”
“So you do think I have Asperger’s syndrome?”
“No.” Ms. Chatman smiled reassuringly. “When I asked you to tell me what Yesenia was thinking just now, I was asking you to read her. You’re below average at reading books, but you know how to read people. I’m not saying you’re an expert on it — sometimes you lock yourself away inside that head of yours — but for the most part, you’re decent at it. You’ve managed to form a friendship with a fellow student who can’t talk. Your ability to understand body language is the only thing supporting your friendship with Yesenia. I have other students with Asperger’s syndrome, and I know they struggle with nonverbal communication a lot more than you do.”
It wasn’t the high praise I’d hoped for, but it was honest and that’s what I needed. I took a breath and asked, “What about other forms of high-functioning autism?”
“Autism is a complicated disorder. If you’re concerned, I can talk to your mother and make arrangements for a psychiatrist to come in and run some tests. But if you are in any way autistic,
high-functioning
is the operative word. You’re doing well academically, socially, emotionally. And I’ve definitely never had any other autistic student with your ability to overcome difficult challenges.”
“So what do you think is wrong with me?”
Her face opened up into a wide smile, and her eyes sparkled. “I don’t think anything is
wrong
with you. You are wonderful.” Her focus shifted from me to Yesenia and then to the other students working across the room. I knew she was mentally comparing me to them, searching for similarities and differences. I’d asked the question and was trying not to stress over the answer. “But numerous studies have shown a large correlation between dyslexia and attention deficit disorder.”
“ADD? I’m sort of lazy. I hate running around in circles.”
“You’re body hates running around in circles, but what about your mind?”
My mind was always spinning, or swimming, or running, or leaping. “I thought I was just smart.”
“You are smart. You’re brilliant. But you’ve told me yourself, you get overwhelmed sometimes. You don’t like to be around too many stimulants at once, so you close yourself off. You focus on one thing — one thing that makes sense, has order, and follows rules. Some kids bounce off the walls; you do math.”
“So if I wanted to, I could just take some Ritalin and stopping thinking about math all the time?”
“I’m a teacher, not a doctor. I can’t prescribe drugs. Besides, I don’t think you need them. You’re a very capable young woman who copes with difficult situations extremely well. Taking Ritalin might help you quiet your mind, and it might make it easier for you to focus on multiple tasks at a time, but given everything else happening in your life right now, I don’t think having a mind that’s constantly running full speed is a bad thing. Many of the coping skills you’ve developed for dealing with your dyslexia wouldn’t be possible if you didn’t also have ADD.”
“So I guess it’s a good thing that learning disabilities often come in clusters.”
“For some people, it’s a lot to handle. But for you, I agree. Being Samantha Wilson is a good thing. And if you need to do really hard math in your head sometimes to help calm yourself down, well that’s a good thing too.”
I picked up the book I’d been reading to Yesenia. “Being me isn’t so bad. But being me and knowing how to read would be even better.”
Yesenia didn’t bang her hand on the table. Instead she swung her arm out and hit me in the leg. I turned to face her properly. “All right, already. I said I’d start reading.”
Ms. Chatman laughed and listened while
I
read my friend Yesenia a story. It wasn’t easy. I struggled to decode the words. But Yesenia didn’t complain, and I didn’t think about math.
Two weeks later, I headed into the girls’ bathroom near my locker between classes. Kaitlyn was in the bathroom, touching up her makeup. At first I thought the midday primping was just a part of her normal vanity, but then I noticed how puffy and red her eyes were.
“Hey, are you okay?”
She glared at me in the mirror. “I’m fine.”
She was being mean, bitchy Kaitlyn. I’d started seeing the nice, friendly Kaitlyn more often, and it saddened me to see how tenuous our friendship was. Behind the anger and frustration in Kaitlyn’s eyes, there was also a lot of sorrow. She was hurting about something, but I didn’t know what. I stepped toward her and rested my hand on her shoulder. “I’m a pretty good listener. I don’t know what’s bothering you. But if you want to talk to somebody, you can.”
She continued to touch up her makeup. “I don’t have time for a charity-case friendship with the queen of special ed right now. I have to go to class.”
Ouch.
I’d just wanted to be nice. I left the bathroom without using it and hurried off to class, trying not to think about how two-faced Kaitlyn could be. I didn’t need her as a friend. I had plenty of friends of my own. If she wanted to act like a raging bitch all the time, she deserved to cry alone in the bathroom.
She attempted to apologize that afternoon in English, if you could even call my sixth-period class English. The basketball team made it to the playoffs, and Mr. Donavan didn’t have time to grade papers, so he had us do a unit on comedy. We sat in a dark classroom watching Charlie Chaplin and Three Stooges movies. That day we were watching a Marx Brothers film when Kaitlyn leaned over in her seat and whispered to me, “I’ve got a DVD of old
I Love Lucy
episodes. Do you want to get together tonight and
study
English?”
“I thought you didn’t have time for a charity-case friendship right now.” I kept my eyes on the screen, wishing Groucho’s pratfalls were actually funny.
“Jeez, I’m trying to apologize, okay.”
“Whatever.”
“Come on, Sam,” Kaitlyn refused to let it drop. “I’ve been having a super-bad day. I’m sorry I took it out on you earlier, but I think I need an
I Love Lucy
marathon tonight. So can you come over?”
I laughed. Groucho had just slipped on a banana peel, so several other students laughed at the same time, but I wasn’t really paying attention to the screen.
Kaitlyn still made me sort of nervous, but she was the closest thing to a female friend I had. Miles and Haroon were having a videogame-athon that afternoon, but some girl time sounded like more fun, and I did enjoy the comic genius of Lucille Ball.
Then it dawned on me that it was a Monday. “I’m supposed to have dinner with my mom tonight. But she’s always complaining about how I never introduce her to any of my friends. If you want to come over and hang out at my place, you’re totally welcome to.”
Her blue eyes sparkled. “Am I?”
“Are you what?”
“Your friend?”
If she had to ask, the answer must have been no. Kaitlyn wasn’t being rude anymore, but she was still Kaitlyn Banks, and I was still Samantha Wilson. Of course we weren’t friends. “If you don’t want to come over, I get it. I just thought I’d offer.”
“No, I want to. We aren’t really friends yet, I guess, but we should be.”
When I told Nate about my plans to hang out with Kaitlyn that evening, he didn’t act remotely jealous, so apparently only my friendship with Eli wigged him out. He just smiled and told me to have fun.
When we got to my apartment, Kaitlyn followed me into my room. She totally ignored the geek trophies. I’m sure she saw them but opted to pretend they didn’t exist in the same way polite people pretend not to see a giant zit on a person’s forehead. Instead, Kaitlyn focused her attention on the collage of photos covering the wall above my bed.
Pictures of Gabby and Arden dating back to early elementary school were woven between recent shots of me and Nate. I’d even tacked up a couple pictures of Miles and Haroon. She ran her finger over a picture of Gabby, Arden, and me dressed up for Halloween in seventh grade. We were too old to trick-or-treat, but we didn’t care and went out anyway. “What are your friends’ names?”
“Gabriella and Arden.”
Kaitlyn kept her back to me, examining my past life. “You guys really liked each other, didn’t you?”
“Of course. They’re my best friends.”
Kaitlyn turned away from the wall and slumped down on my bed. She picked up Bearnoulli, my teddy bear, and hugged him to her chest. “None of my friends like me. And I don’t really like any of them either.”
“Are you serious?” I couldn’t even imagine spending all my time with people I didn’t like.
She pretended to smile, but the weak curve of her mouth only made her look more pathetic. “Yes, no, I don’t know. Jessica and I got in a big fight today. She’s supposed to be my BFF, but she’s a total frenemy. We fight about everything. It’s like the entire basis of our relationship.”
“Is that why you were crying this morning?” I sat down on the bed beside her. “’Cause of Jessica?”
“Yeah, it’s totally stupid. We were fighting over Brice.”
“The basketball player whose house we went to for that party a couple weeks ago?”
“Yeah.” She fell back against my pillows and stared up at the ceiling. “After you left, Brice got really flirty with me. I was drunk and acting stupid. He kept on touching me and complimenting me and doing everything he could to convince me to hook up with him. I almost did. Brice is a really popular senior, and I’ve had a crush on him pretty much forever. When he asked me to go up to his room, a big part of me wanted to. But he’s a total player, and I didn’t want to just be a random hookup. So I gave him my phone number and went home without really doing anything.”
“And he didn’t call you back?” I tried to see where the tragedy was.
“No, that’s what’s so horrible. He sent me, like, a dozen texts that weekend, and he called me the following Tuesday. We talked for over an hour. I really thought he liked me. Like we could maybe actually start dating or something, not just hook up at a party.” She blinked, fighting off the moisture that was starting to gather in the corners of her eyes. “Then last weekend, there was a party at this cheerleader’s house, and I was fully planning to get together with Brice. Sophie and Eli are hanging out now, so she was all excited about all four of us acting couply together or something. Everything seemed to be falling into place. Then Jessica full-on threw herself at Brice the second we got to the party. She dragged him upstairs in search of a bedroom before I even had a chance to say hi.”
“She knew you liked him?” I set a tentative hand on Kaitlyn’s shin.
“My liking him was the only reason she bothered to hook up with him.” Kaitlyn held Bearnoulli tighter. “She does this all the time. Every time she finds out I like a guy, it becomes her personal mission to screw him before I can.”
“Why are you still friends with her?”
“Because she’s popular, and I’m popular, and we’re supposed to be best friends, so we are.”
“But” — I bit my lower lip — “you hate each other?”
“Not all the time.” She sat up and pulled her leg away from me. “Sometimes she’s kind of nice. And sometimes I’m bitchy too. I’ve just had a crush on Brice for a while. I let myself believe he actually liked me, you know. But five minutes with Jessica was more than enough for him to forget who I am. Today I saw them holding hands and acting all couply at school. That’s why I was crying. It’s pathetic, I know.”
“It’s not pathetic.”
She rolled her eyes at me. “Samantha, you think everything about me is stupid and pathetic. You recognize all my friends for the bitches they are, and if you knew Brice, you’d think he was a total meathead. I just don’t have the confidence to be myself the way you do. I want people to like me. So I hang out with Jessica.”
“Okay, yes, I do think your friendship with Jessica is messed up.” I picked at a loose thread on my bedspread. “But I don’t think it’s pathetic that you got your heart broken. I get the whole wanting-to-be-liked thing. When Nate compliments my outfit or tells me he likes my hair, it makes my entire week. Wanting to be not only accepted but actually desired, it’s important. And even if what you had with Brice was nothing more than a stupid crush and it wouldn’t have lasted very long, you still had feelings. If someone else, anyone else, stole a guy I liked that much from me right when I thought we were about to get together, I would totally be crying in the bathroom.”
“You really don’t think my desire to be popular is vapid and pretentious?”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Vapid and pretentious? Let me guess, those are words Lissa uses to describe you?”
“Those and
asinine, frivolous,
and
sophomoric.
”
“We’re sophomores. We’re supposed to be sophomoric.”
Kaitlyn smiled, and this time it reached all the way to her eyes. “That’s what I’m always telling Lissa.”
I looked past Kaitlyn to all the pictures of me with Gabby and Arden, all the pictures of me with friends who loved me unconditionally. “I understand why you want to be accepted, why you want to have friends. I really do. But I don’t understand why you’re willing to stay friends with Jessica. She’s awful. You could do so much better.”