Page 15 of Role Model
Ariel was a spirit who served the wizard, Prospero. And did everything he said.
Now everyone is staring at me. I realise that I was probably not meant to say anything at all, let alone tell the Queen that she had the wrong Shakespearian play. I also didn’t bow my head, which I was told to do.
But I’m a Scot. We’re not supposed to bow to anyone. Mum believed that, too. Once.
55“You’re a little superstar,” the President says. She seems more relaxed than the other grownups, her smile actually meets her eyes. She reaches out to gently shake my hand. “You had all of my staff gathered around a cell phone, most of them crying. You’re a little online sensation.”
I have no idea what to say but the King speaks for me. “You may have to fill us in, Madam President. Prime Minister. We’re not always up to date on the comings and goings of the internet.”
“Well,” the President speaks with great warmth and enthusiasm. I can see why people voted for her. She’s all charisma and teeth. “This little lady made the most amazing speech about having autism–”
“Being autistic,” I breathe but no one hears me.
“–so inspirational, saying it doesn’t define her, it’s something she overcomes and that kids like her can do anything.”
It all sounds so warped; I want to correct it, the same way I corrected the name of the play but I can’t find the words. I just know that none of them understand, but they think they do, and they’re getting it all wrong. I don’t overcome being autistic like it’s a hurdle on a pitch. They are the hurdle. They are the obstacle. I don’t understand why they can never accept that autistic people are complex and that we can be so much56more than just someone sad or someone inspirational.
“Very impressive,” the King says and I don’t know what to do.
“You should meet my daughter,” the President says. She throws her arm around my shoulders and walks me away from the stiff circle of world leaders.
“Aren’t they intimidating?” she whispers to me, in a conspiratorial way that makes it seem like we’ve been friends forever. “I always get nervous at these things.”
That cannot be true. She’s the President of the United States. Mum once said that Americans invented modern politics and I have to believe it in this moment. It’s like falling under a spell. She knows I’m scared so she’s pretending she is too, to make me feel more at ease.
“Cassidy,” she says, as we reach a tall girl who is speaking to some other guests. “This is Aeriel Sharpe. You’re going to be dinner buddies.”
The girl turns and smiles a beatific smile, one that shows how at home she feels at events like this – state dinners with a million people to remember and so many conversations you have to pretend that you’re interested in.
“Finally, someone my own age,” she says.
I feel the president’s arm stiffen on my shoulder. “I thought we discussed the nose ring?”
57“We did discuss it,” Cassidy says, still smiling. “I think it goes with the outfit.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say quietly.
“Hey, you too,” she says. “I saw your video. They made everyone at our school watch it.”
I grimace. The idea of hundreds of schoolchildren in Washington DC watching a video I was forced to film is excruciating.
“I’ll leave you both to complain about your famous parents,” the president says and before I can turn around, she’s gone. Swept away by other party attendees.
“So, your name’s Aeriel?”
I turn back to the president’s daughter. “Yes.”
She tilts her head and regards me for a moment. “Your accent is strange. You don’t sound as hoity-toity as everyone else here.”
People mentioned my accent a lot when we first moved to London. “I’m Scottish.”
“Oh, rad. I’m part Scottish, I think. Or maybe Irish? Are they the same thing?”
This is a common occurrence for Scots. Everyone has the magical, mystical, not real version of Scotland in their heads. The hills and the stags and the roaming in the gloaming. I just smile and nod, knowing they58have no idea of my Scotland. The real Scotland. The one with Glaswegian men who pretend to chase you with a big fish from the market stall just to make you laugh. Or the protesters who constantly camp outside of the parliament building in their tents. The man who walks from one side of Edinburgh to the other every single day, so often that he became a local legend whose prowess spread far and wide. The old ladies at the garden centre who would get together to chat over soups and scones. The street painters. The bus drivers. The snow. The rain. The rare days of sun.
I want to go home.
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