Page 10 of Role Model
“Hey,” she says, looking up at me as though we’re best friends. Like she didn’t run away with the rest of them the other day.
I want to remind her that I never begged her to be my friend. She and I have the same taste in music and we would listen to my playlists during lunchtime, that’s how I joined the group. Then they all started to treat me like a burden, like a weird hanger-on. They would never come out and say it, but they made sure to make me feel it.
But I never asked them to be my friend.
But, all I can say to her is, “Hey.”
I don’t know if she feels guilty. She wouldn’t say if she did. She holds up her phone and says, “You’re everywhere. I can’t scroll without a video of you coming up.”
I drop my bag by my locker. “I don’t really want to see any of it.”
“Okay but in total it’s, like, millions of views. My mum was asking about you.”
I almost want to laugh at that. Ana had a birthday just after the start of term. She invited me when we were alone in the toilets, washing up for lunch. Two days later, she uninvited me, claiming that her mum had said it was “one person too many”. I saw Naomi, Ana’s38Mum, at the school gates as I headed home after that. She fully underestimated my astute autistic hearing.
“Such a strange one, that girl. Very odd. I think Ana feels a bit sorry for her but I told her she can’t bring home every stray she comes across.”
The other mothers had murmured in understanding, while I pushed my way through the crowd and refused to show them how upset I was.
“You’re famous,” Ana finally says, her voice full of wonder.
I shake my head. “Well, I hate it. People are staring. Whispering. I don’t like it.”
A look of sympathy flashes across Ana’s face before we both hear the door open. The noise from the school hallway filters into our form room for a quick second and when I turn to look, I feel a sting of anxiety. Sable and Jaya are removing their headphones and looking at me with looks I can’t put a name to.
“It’s the superstar,” Sable finally says, her voice dripping with insincerity. “You know the teachers are trying to make a bunch of photographers leave the car park? They’re waiting for you.”
I avoid her accusing glare and glance at Jaya. She’s looking at me as if she’s seeing me clearly for the first time. Her face isn’t cruel, like Sable’s, or39pitying like Ana’s. She’s assessing me. Looking me up and down, without meanness. Just examining me. Something about her opinion of me has changed, but I don’t know what.
Miss Leslie suddenly blusters into the room.
“Morning, girls,” she says, distractedly. When her eyes land on me, they widen and she says, “Aeriel!”
“Yes, Miss?”
“Dr Mars is ready for you in the SEN space.”
Sable snorts, clearly finding any mention of being different funny. I feel my face flushing red. I want to ask Miss Leslie if I have to go but I know what the answer will be, especially after the early meeting with Mr Archer and my parents.
I walk to the SEN space and catch a glimpse of the school car park from the corridor window. Sable was right. There is a small cabal of photographers standing at the wrought iron gates. Mr Archer and Miss Duncan, the deputy head, are shouting at them. I suppose they’re yelling at them to leave. Just as I’m about to open the door to the SEN space, one of the photographers spots me. He raises his camera and it flashes before I’m able to look away. I blink, surprised by how caught it makes me feel.
“Aeriel!” he yells. It’s so loud, I can hear it despite the glass between us. “Smile!”
40
Chapter Six
I step into the SEN space. It’s a spacious room with brightly coloured animals painted onto the white walls. An insipid zebra. A dopey giraffe. A lion that is smiling out at us.
As if trying to say: ‘I’m not really a predator. Don’t be scared. I’m actually really nice.’
“Aeriel!”
Dr Mars is sitting at a large, square table. Papers, pens and stim toys are scattered across it. Two other students are already there, Txai being one of them. He looks up when Dr Mars says my name and his face breaks into a wide smile. I’m not used to people reacting like this when I enter a room, so I don’t know what to do. I try smiling back, though it’s a small and slightly embarrassed one.
“She’s here!” he cries out. “Niamh, this is Aeriel.”
41The girl is small with brown hair and brown eyes. She gives me a small nod in greeting and then goes back to what she’s writing. She also has an electronic tablet next to her pencil case. She sees me looking at it, so types some words into it. She speaks to me through the device, with a voice that sounds a little like the navigational woman in Dad’s car.
