Page 29 of Hoax and Kisses
This is such an important milestone for her, and I’m excited too. She’s finally getting the help she needs at this new private school. After two years on her public school’s waiting list for that extra support, I lost my patience. The change was long overdue, honestly, after the bullying she’s been subjected to. I had enough of seeing her come home sad and hurt. Girls can be pretty fucking mean in those early teen years.
I fought long and hard with Mom to get her to agree to move Daphne to that school.
At first, it was“It’s too expensive,”and“Do you really expect me to make the drive all the way there every day?”
She nitpicked everything, every little detail.
Until one night, she broke down in tears in front of me, and we had an honest talk. It wasn’t only about the money or the drive. She didn’t want her daughter to be seen as different. Not “normal,” as if my sister was supposed to conform to some rigid idea instead of defining it for herself.
We went back and forth for hours.
“You’re labeling your sister,”she said.“Shielding her isn’t the solution.”
At the end of the day, we compromised. Dad will handle the drop-offs and pickups, and I’ll pay for the school.
Shit. That tuition fee, though.
The thought alone gives me a headache. It’s not fucking cheap. But I’d do anything for Daph, and the school is worth every penny. Sure, bullying can happen anywhere, but our tour of the facility put me at ease. The robust mechanisms they have to support neurodivergent kids are impressive, and I was instantly relieved when I noted the openness of the teaching staff and the welcoming atmosphere in general.
I toss my jacket and bag onto the back seat and drag myself behind the wheel. I’ll figure it out. I always do.
As I turn the key in the ignition, I throw a glance at my sister. “All fastened?”
With a nod, she slips her headphones into place. “Ready!”
I can’t help but stew in my frustration as I drive away.
Even on Daphne’s first day, Mom couldn’t be bothered to be here. My sister doesn’t notice Mom’s lack of involvement, her disappointment. I hope she never will. At least Dad called this morning to wish her a great day.
Forty minutes later, I pull into a parking spot and touch Daphne’s arm with a soft press. When she looks up, I say, “We’re here.”
She removes her headphones and surveys the bright yellow and orange building in front of us. At the entrance, Ms.Claris, Daphne’s teacher, is welcoming the students who are trickling in with a genuinely cheerful expression.
At the sight of her new school, Daphne bounces around in the back seat, flapping her hands and arms.
I wait while she stims, familiar with her reaction when she gets excited. After a moment, she calms down and peers out the window again.
“Do you want me to come with you?” I ask.
Her mouth tugs down. “Will people make fun of me?”
The question guts me. “Not at all. It’s your first day.”
She pulls on her fingers, one at a time, over and over, the way she does when she’s apprehensive.
“It’s normal to be a little scared,” I say, my tone gentle. “Come on, I’ll take you.”
As we approach the building, hand in hand, Ms.Claris gives us a warm smile.
“Welcome, Daphne,” she says. “I’m Ms.Claris, your new teacher. How do you want us to say hello today?” She points to a sign with drawings of three options: a wave, a high five, or a hug.
Daphne contemplates her choices with a hum. And then, her face lights up. She breaks into a smile, rocking back on her heels. “A high five, please.”
Ms.Claris holds her hand up. “You got it.”
With her lip caught between her teeth, Daph taps her hand.
“You can go inside whenever you’re ready,” her new teacher informs her.
