Emma kept her eye on the clock as she put together her saxophone. Even though she didn’t want to, Emma was leaving sixth-period band during the middle of class.
She popped the wooden reed into her mouth and went to lift her saxophone out of its case to put it together, but her fingers slipped on the gold instrument, and it fell back into its case.
“You okay?” Ollie asked, noticing Em’s problems.
Emma shrugged. She hadn’t even dared tell her best friend what was happening for an entire week. She’d managed to say that she had to leave halfway through class for an appointment. She’d skirted the truth and let Ollie think it was a doctor’s appointment. At least this time she wouldn’t be pulled out via a phone call halfway through class while mid-song.
Finding out the results from meeting with the school psychologist filled Emma with dread. She slid the neck into the body and the mouthpiece into place. If she wasn’t special needs, would they take away her chance to turn in her project on a new schedule? And what if the shrink diagnosed her with something? She pulled the neck strap over her head and hooked it to the loop on the back of the horn before lifting it out of its case this time. Screw her sweaty palms.
She sucked hard on the reed as if that would make this ache that had started in her jaw go away. She’d had Nan call the dentist, but they’d said that some students ground their teeth a lot because of stress. If it kept happening, she might need to sleep with a night guard. She’d never had any pain like that before, but she supposed the dentist knew what he was talking about.
Glancing at the clock, anxious for 2:20 to roll around, Emma popped the reed onto the mouthpiece and played her scales. She finished the scales and pulled out her sheet music for the spring concert. Her fingers kept fumbling on the keys, and she ignored Ollie’s curious glances.
Her chest tight, Emma struggled to play the two-measure long passage held together with a slur. She glanced at the teacher, the clock, then back at her sheet music. Finally, the clock clicked over to 2:20. Emma gasped for breath. Was it nerves or her asthma? She nodded to the band teacher and went to the back of the room to put away her saxophone.
She forced herself to breathe as she walked across campus, her backpack thumping heavily with each step.
When Emma opened the door to the special ed classroom, it felt like the whole school was already there. She wanted to run away. Tears pricked her eyes and her jaw throbbed.
Mr. Wale spilled out of his chair, his shirt stretched across his belly. Ms. Ngo sat at the table between him and Mr. Wale. Ms. Range smiled at her while Nan glared. Even the psychologist who had evaluated her sat at the table.
Should she sit between him and Nan? That was the only empty chair. All these people would know if Emma was normal or not. They may as well have invited the track team, the swim team, and the whole AP program. Did they expect her to talk with all these people all at once?
Emma dug her nails into her palms, grounding herself in the not-quite-pain her nails provided. She clenched her teeth, but that didn’t help at all. Her nose felt packed tight like it would explode, almost like when she had a sinus infection but even fuller. And under her tongue felt weird. Was it really grinding her teeth?
“Would you like to come in?” Ms. Range asked, her voice warm. “I promise we’re not talking bad about you behind your back. We all got here in the last couple minutes.”
Emma nodded and stepped inside, leaving her pack at the door. She took her seat next to Nan and prayed they’d be done before the track team made its way to the field for practice. She didn’t need to see Hannah again. Not after getting whatever news she was going to get.
Mr. Wale tugged on his tie. This one had a dinosaur looking up at a meteor on it. That wasn’t a good sign. “At our last meeting, we already hinted around creating you an IEP in order—”
“A what?” Nan interrupted him. “What’s an IEP?”
“I’m sorry.” He gave her a flash of a smile. “An individualized education plan. We talked about an alternate schedule for Emma’s freshman project once we had confirmation of Emma’s executive function issues.”
“Mr. Wale, I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves.” Ms. Ngo chewed her lip. “I’m not going to patronize you. You are very smart, top of your class, but I want to make sure you understand exactly what’s happening and why we’re here.”
“You all thought I didn’t do my English project because something’s wrong with me. We’re here for the shrink to tell us if I’m normal or not.” Emma met Ms. Ngo’s eyes until her eyes started watering. She hated meeting people’s eyes, especially grownups. That wasn’t fair. She hated talking to small groups of people anyway, unless it was something that interested her. Then she could talk for hours.
“That’s a harsh way to put it, but essentially true.” The shrink nodded to her. “Your teachers suspected you had a problem with executive function. You’ve been in our district your whole academic career. I was also able to interview your elementary and middle school teachers.”
All those people thought her brain was broken? Or the shrink had told all her teachers their suspicions. Why would they do that to her? She’d aced every class she’d ever had, even when losing papers and things made it so she had to redo half her work.
“So what?” Nan pushed back from the table and started pacing. “I told you about how smart she is, how she learned so much, and could tell you all about rocks by second grade. She’s smart. She’s not stupid.”
“Mrs. Harrington. Emma.” The shrink’s mouth twisted into a smile, but Emma didn’t believe it. “Please do not mistake a diagnosis with a developmental disorder as being stupid.”
What a crock. That was a total lie. Disorder was another way of saying not up to snuff, stupid, useless.
The shrink stared at her face.
Emma looked at the empty wall, finding a shadow that looked like a superhero with a cape. Her nose itched.
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“Emma, this may be hard to take in, but you meet the diagnostic criteria for autism.”
The shrink’s words punched Emma in the gut. She didn’t know what that meant other than “not normal.” It meant they thought she was less than. She’d always been top of her class. How could they think that? The room closed in around her, Emma shifted in her seat, pulling her knees up under her.
“Like the Rainman?” Nan snorted. “She’s not like that. She might be a little socially awkward sometimes, but she’s not—”
“Mrs. Harrington, please let me finish,” the psychologist’s voice was practically a whisper, but somehow the soft sound cut through Nan’s bluster.
Nan folded her hands in front of her and clamped her mouth shut so fast and so tight her lips turned white.
“Autism isn’t represented in media as it is in real life and, to be honest, autism in girls and women is severely under diagnosed.” The expression on the shrink’s face opened. “It presents differently in men and women. We’re coming to learn that girls of average and high intelligence are good at masking their symptoms.”
“This is bull.” Nan held out her hands, her fingers splayed, and then clasped them again. “Her parents got this baloney diagnosis when she was three. I was sure you would see how smart she is. Not this stupid, bull—”
“Mrs. Harrison, please sit down.” The shrink had gone pale. “Are you telling me that you denied your granddaughter the support she needed her entire academic career?”
Stomach roiling, Emma stared down at the table. No whorls in the wood. No patterns to look for shapes in. She was normal. She wasn’t some kind of freak.
But then, why would her parents have had her tested?
“She doesn’t need any support because she’s normal.” Nan didn’t sit down. “She might have trouble with other kids sometimes, but she’ll grow out of it.”
Her parents had tested her when she was three. Was she really a weirdo?
“That’s not the way this works. Mrs. Harrison, please step outside with me. I don’t want to upset your granddaughter anymore.”
Emma stared up at the clock, as if it would give her an answer. As if 2:37 could tell her something about herself. She wanted to play the numbers game, but what if that was an autism thing? She needed to be normal. She needed to prove she wasn’t stupid.
“Emma, are you all right?” Ms. Ngo put a cold hand onto Emma’s.
“Don’t touch me!” Emma yanked her hand away. “I’m not stupid.”
The pain in her jaw got even worse. She wanted to close herself off from the whole world. How could this be happening?
“I’m sorry,” Ms. Ngo said. “I know better than to touch you without your permission. But being autistic doesn’t mean you’re stupid.”
That was a lie. Emma was sure of it. They thought she was dumb.
“The other staff members and I have been discussing developing a plan with you,” Ms. Ngo said.
“I don’t need a special plan. I’m not—”
“Emma, you want more time to work on your English project, right?” Ms. Range asked.
“Yes?” The question had to be a trap. There was no way to answer and not wind up in the special needs program.
“Maybe it would help if we put aside the acronyms.” Ms. Ngo brushed the thought away with one hand. “Your plan would be an alternate schedule to turn in the different pieces of the freshman project.”
“And some additional supports to do the parts that you couldn’t handle on your own,” Mr. Wale said.
A teardrop hung from the tip Emma’s nose.
“Would you like a moment?” Ms. Range asked.
“I’m not autistic.” Emma crossed her arms and shifted making the foot she’d pinned underneath her tingle.
“I understand that this is difficult.” Ms. Ngo said. “Maybe it’s best if you and I also talk about what it means to have autism. We’ll start by learning about what it is and different ways that someone with autism can compensate for their different thought processes.”
“I’m totally normal.” Emma shook her head.
Ms. Ngo sighed.
“I’m not a weirdo.” Tears blurred Emma’s vision.
“Of course not,” Ms. Ngo said. “But you do need some help. Let’s start with looking into what it means to be autistic. You don’t have to accept the diagnosis or even think of it as something that applies to you, if you don’t want to.”
“I don’t?” Emma blinked at the teacher.
“No. Though, it would be beneficial to look at some issues that autistics struggle with and see if you feel any of those apply to you.” Ms. Ngo smoothed her dark hair. “Or if you have any of what we in the autism community like to call our autistic superpowers.”
“Superpowers?”
“Intense focus is one of them. We tend to have special interests that draw us in.” Ms. Ngo traced her fingers on the orange tabletop.
Wait. We? “Are you saying you’re autistic?”
Ms. Ngo nodded. “I received a late diagnosis. Which is why I chose to go into special education. I wanted to help kids like me who didn’t fit in.”
Disoriented, Emma swallowed hard, trying to take all of this in. No one was talking over each other, but Emma still couldn’t wrap her mind around what was happening. “When am I supposed to meet with you to do all this?”
Mr. Wale frowned. “I’m afraid you need to drop one of your classes this semester.”
“I can’t drop anything. I’m in honors.” Emma crossed her arms.
How could she drop a class halfway through the semester? She was in honors English, AP Human Geography, geometry, Spanish, and band. The only thing she wanted to drop was PE, but freshmen were required to enroll in it. She needed everything else to get into a good college.
Then again, she’d been in band since fourth grade. She played the saxophone like her mom had and that made Nan so happy, but if she had to quit something... “Band, I guess.” Emma choked out the words. Her face burned, her throat felt so dry. What was she going to do if she wasn’t in band with Ollie? “What… What do I tell my friends when I stop showing up to band?”
“We’ve got a perfect cover story for you,” Ms. Range said.
Cover story meant a lie. “I’m not a liar.”
“No one’s asking you to lie,” Ms. Ngo said. “Most of your friends know that you’ve lost your parents, right?”
After a moment, Emma nodded. She stared at Ms. Ngo, waiting for her to say something that would give her a reason to storm out.
“This is a special college readiness program for orphans. It just happens there’s only one orphan at this school right now.”
Emma held up a hand to object, but Ms. Ngo kept talking.
“This isn’t a lie. You are an orphan. It is a special program for you to help you finish high school and to transition to college.”
The same thing Ms. Range had told Hannah. Emma didn’t like it, but it wasn’t technically a lie. Dishonest, but not a lie. “I guess…”
“Think of it this way,” Ms. Ngo said. “You’ve got a toolbox for handling things life throws at you, but most people only use one or two tools. Let’s say some people use a hammer.”
Emma had heard that word before though she hadn’t really understood what it meant.
“You think life’s too hard because you’re stuck trying to use a broken hammer for all of your problems because that’s what you’re used to using, but really, you can use a wrench or a screwdriver or a pair of pliers. You just have to learn how to use those other tools properly.”
“My hammer’s not broken.” Emma’s jaw throbbed. She blinked back the tears.
“You have a perfectly functioning set of tools, but you’re only using a handful of them. Let me teach you to try to use some other tools.”
“My hammer’s not broken.” Emma repeated as she ran out of the classroom. If she was lucky, she could make it to swim practice and think about all this stuff later.
She wasn’t autistic. She couldn’t be. Her hammer worked just fine.